Dingo the Dissident

THE BLOG OF DISQUIET : Qweir Notions, an uncommonplace-book from the Armpit of Diogenes, binge-thinker jottings since 2008 .

Friday 30 September 2016

The horror! The horror!

Not even Kafka
could have imagined
the faceless and unaccountable
that is the universally-celebrated

Wednesday 28 September 2016

A long time ago

a wise Oriental wrote:

The man without shoes should weep
for the man without feet.

Tuesday 27 September 2016

Lead (second version)

is the complaisant metal
the poisoner of the poor
the roofer of the rich
the liner of coffins and sarcophagi
the metal of death.
 The lead in your pencil
is graphite, a form of carbon
(much softer than diamond)
the element which made us
and the whole living world as well,
and which naturally
ignores us
and our helium heaven,
our carbonic-sulphurous hell.

Monday 26 September 2016

Widenings and deepenings

of Awareness
are (for those few who are interested)
There is no instant
wisdom is (for those few who are interested)
Most of us (few)
need to live over 100 years
to become more profoundly aware
- by which time
we are too used
and too tired to care.

Sunday 25 September 2016

Some dog-walkers

especially teenage women
especially in France
seem to prefer the lead
to the dog

Saturday 24 September 2016

An American tourist

asked me this morning
if there was mains (piped) water
in this French village.
She did not look convinced
when I told her that good water
had been running from household taps
for well over a hundred years.

Buggery at Eton

almost inevitable
was taken as normal

but buggery after Eton
was quite unforgivable.

Likewise in Ancient Greece

men with beards tarried
and frotted with beardless
and testosteronal youths
but not with other bearded men
who, inevitably, were married*.

*apart from Diogenes, of  course.
We know about Socrates' hard-done-by wife
but not about the wives of Plato, Aristotle, etc.

Friday 23 September 2016

My Vast Wealth

Since artworks
are mere enhancements
of luxury
I revel in the luxury
of my many paintings.

Thursday 22 September 2016

My Education.

In the 1950s I was unwillingly sent to Belfast's only 'Public School', The Eton of Ulster. (Ha! ha!), first as a day-boy living 2 miles away, and later as a boarder 'to knock the edges off' a misfit, a 'maladjusted boy'.  I was certainly not maladjusted before I attended this college built originally for 'the sons of Presbyterian Gentlemen'.
There were no Catholic pupils.

Of the thirty-odd teaching-staff only half a dozen were competent, and only three or four were inspiring - and they had been neither to a 'public' school, nor to Oxbridge.  

The slimy little music teacher turned out to be a predatory pædophile, another teacher was a bully to other members of staff and to pupils, the art teacher was a deplorable joke in poor taste, being the only female member of staff.  The teacher of Ancient Greek was in his doddering eighties.  The prevailing creed was Rugby-Cricket-CCF (Combined (Militarist) Cadet Force).  The only 'darkie' was a Malayan princeling who was good at cricket.

I was never admitted to the tennis courts.  The swimming pool was unsanitary (dead frogs, etc.) outdoor and very cold.  The physical fitness 'teacher' had no interest in boys who did not have big pectorals and small buttocks.  One of the rugby-coaching teachers (called 'masters' perforce) spent an inordinate time supervising the rugby teams in the showers.

I was written off because I hated competitive sports and wasn't a genius.  I was unable to combine Biology with French and English (subjects taught by three of the few non-incompetents).  I was frequently caned - often having been set-up by other boys - by the headmaster who was aptly nicknamed Greasy. 

I was bullied, of course, but not seriously.  The worst incidents were those when a top rugby-playing boy (later to 'play for Ireland') pissed in my mouth while others held me down.  Since then I have never engaged in 'water-sports'. 

As soon as I was released from this expensive unpleasantness I dropped out.  I have never since willingly met an ex-Public Schoolperson - except for three publishers, one of whom was another drop-out from the same establishment (and was almost expelled for stealing cash from other boys).

I have since then been happily downwardly-mobile and now live in rural France, where there is no discernible class-system (except amongst the immigrant English).

My poor mother (a primary-schoolteacher) was quite frankly swindled out of her hard-earned money simply because she wanted me to get "a good education" - which was actually available for free at a very good 'Grammar School' a leafy cycle-ride away.

Wednesday 21 September 2016

Tuesday 20 September 2016

I keep hammering on about the futility of language.

Words are less than shit –
for at least fæces will reveal a person’s diet,
whereas words reveal
only attitude.

Monday 19 September 2016

The Inner Wilderness

Although there is
Food and Fast
for Thought
and Being
there is no
fast food for Thought
no lens or prism
or kaleidoscope
for Seeing.

Sunday 18 September 2016

A profound comment on religion

"All the time I pray to Buddha
I keep on killing mosquitoes."

- Kobayashi Issa, my favourite Haikist. 

Saturday 17 September 2016


is a word which men apply
only to women.  - Why ?
I'm a frigid and peculiar kind of queer
strangely relieved at last to be
so, past the age of seventy-three,
and still - incomprehensibly (at least to me)
- insanely content to be alive
at the age of seventy-five.

Friday 16 September 2016

Robinson Jeffers:

"In this changed world :-
write and be quiet."
"A handful of wildflowers
is nobler than the human race."

Thursday 15 September 2016

Norman MacCaig, poet,

interviewed on BBC Radio 4 in 1988
splendidly declared:
I don't approve of answers.

Wednesday 14 September 2016


often kick
when they should lick

and lick
when they should kick.

Tuesday 13 September 2016

You see a field

I see stone

You see vigour
I see rage

You see flesh
And I see bone

You see a person
I see the cage

Carl Jung observed that

"Sex is a playground
for lonely scientists."

Monday 12 September 2016

If you face the right way

in warm weather
and kiss the earth,
you will - for an instant -
find a soul

for the sun will plant
a loving kiss
in your arsehole.

Sunday 11 September 2016

Beauty and the Beast

Every human is terrible,
grotesqued by conformity.
Language is suppression
of the inexpressible.

Saturday 10 September 2016

Our world is only fashion:

we manufactured mannequins
pretend to be
but merely act,
acting out the fantasies
of other mannequins,
and call our stagecraft culture
and the show civilisation
in order to keep everything but
nature, grace and wholesomeness intact.

Friday 9 September 2016

To die quite soon

might be a boon,
the intervening years and days
of this poltroon
passed in a pleasant
alcoholic haze.

Thursday 8 September 2016


is not a function of 'soul',
but false regret at not having one.

Tuesday 6 September 2016

I'm in a love-affair with Malbec -

a grape which does not ripen well in France,
but, nevertheless, is an ingredient of Claret
from Bordeaux (accompaniment
to many a meaty English feast),
and the chief or only grape
in the dark wine of Cahors (farther to the east).
It grows better in southern Russia,
producing the black Cahorski wine
the Romanovs and Turgenev liked.
It grows better still in southern South America
and, at its best, yields up a deeply plummy-
raspberryish wine with erotic undertones
of sweaty perineum - just like the Mourvèdre
grape from farther south in France,
which grows better (as Monastrell) in Eastern Spain.
I have an intimate relationship with Malbec.
He fills me with profound delight
and eases my mere modicum of existential pain.

Monday 5 September 2016


to ashes,
dust to dust -
we all are victims
of uncontrolled lust.

And before we are ashes,
before we are slime,
we risk being doctored
way past our time.

Sunday 4 September 2016

Ultimate Victory

The best way
to conquer time
is to waste it
at your leisure
in many a harmless

Saturday 3 September 2016

Not quite 'synchronicity', but

choosing books to read at random
and judging entirely by the titles,
authors and/or front covers,
I find strange correlations.
The novel before last turned out to be
to be about the organisation of Auschwitz
from a German perspective,
while the last book turned out
overlappingly to be about
fearful Switzerland during WW2
and the sending back (from 1938)
of Jewish refugees to Austria and Germany.
It also featured a 'failed' child pianist-prodigy
which was a main theme in the book
before the book before the last -
and both these novels had middle-aged
male homosensuality at the end.
All through my life in this predestined way
books have succeeded books .

Martin Amis: The Zone of Interest
Rose Tremain: The Gustav Sonata

Natasha Solomons: The Song Collector

Friday 2 September 2016

After All

Sneering in hospitals
jeering at funerals
and all that fuss
because a single person
suffers, dies,
the true Outsider
loses all companionship
through all his shocking Whys.

Thursday 1 September 2016

It hadn't registered in my brain

that the Apple-Pie-and-Happy-Nuclear-Family propaganda magazine
Reader's Digest (found in waiting-rooms
and middle-class sitting-rooms all over the world)
no longer exists.
It occurred to me to look up the issue from the month I was born:

click to enlarge