Desultory Turgescence

2010-03-23T07:37:00.000Z

selon Georges Frêche:

"Les partis politiques sont devenus comme des étoiles, ce sont des étoiles mortes. Ils continuent de briller, mais ils sont morts depuis longtemps", a-t-il ajouté.

Quel pays! Un jour,les regionales, le jour suivant, les grèves....

2010-03-16T02:51:00.004Z

En revanche, seuls 10 % des abstentionnistes choisissent la réponse "parce que je n'étais pas suffisamment informé sur les enjeux de ces élections", contre 24 % lors des Européennes de juin 2009.

les abstentionnistes sont de loin, avec 53,6 %, le premier "parti" de France.

flageolant, flageolante
adjectif
Qui tremble de fatigue, de peur, etc. ; chancelant : Avoir les jambes flageolantes.

********

tanks, canal blog

AND MY NEW favourite word:

hétéroclite: Qui est fait d'un mélange bizarre d'éléments disparates

******

2010-02-09T07:45:00.001Z

musiek

Győr Bird

I sleep strange times
and awake a stranger
days that roll
like cigarettes
and candy coat
excuses

I wake in
the winderlands of
almost nightmares
in between the
sleeping
in between the
sleeping

Hold my hand
or don't let go
for fear of falling
fear of falling
always deeper
in the dreams.
Always deeper
in the dreams.

*****

FIRESIDE CHATS

Fire side chats
and women painted ruby
get what you want
frozen in a memory

Fire side chats
belials in trilbys
stylish and coy
painted in the seminary

chorus

Masters of detection.
Symphony's reflection
always selling cheap
perfume on corners
of deception. (REPEAT)

Fire side chats
no one ever listens
comfort in the words
you hear are never spoken.

Fire side chats
fading in the distance
you say that you want
a little more persistence.

Masters of detection.
Symphony's reflection
always selling cheap
perfume on corners
of deception. (REPEAT)

*****

WHERE THE DEAD FLOWERS BLOW

Sullen leaves
dance on city streets
in October.

the couple inside
always hide
and watch from out their window.

Where the dead flowers blow
the years tick by
so gently.
Where the dead flowers blow
the world sweeps out
so swiftly.

a simple lyric or device,
they trip by with
or without malice.

Underneath the subtlety
a doubtful river rages
they spin and spin.

Where the dead flowers blow
the years tick by
so gently.
Where the dead flowers blow
the world sweeps out
so swiftly.

they save their months
like dollar bills
underneath the box springs.

And time pops out
jack in the box reality
and time figures, time figures.

Where the dead flowers blow
the years tick by
so gently.
Where the dead flowers blow
the world sweeps out
so swiftly.

******

THE PREDICTABLE CHAIN OF EVENTS

Careful in your nightmares
And in your whispering
Lest someone overhears
What it is you really mean

Holidays and anniversaries
Nursing alcohol and memories
Humanity
Has has always found a way
To break another heart.

Careful in your nightmares
And in your whispering
Lest someone overhears
What it is you really mean

Tragedy and disasters
Complicate the changing
traffic lights and avenues
Humanity
Has always found a way
To break another heart.

Careful in your nightmares
And in your whispering
Lest someone overhears
What it is you really mean

Comedy and fulfillment
Dilusional degrees of
Achievement when
All along humanity
Will find another way
To break another heart.

2010-02-02T18:19:00.002Z

"Anyone breaking ranks with the Iranian people will be considered a n agent of foreigners," said Bigadier General Hossein Hamedani, Tehran's Revolutionary guard commanders. "Any voice or colour other than the voice of the Islamic revolution will be pushed aside, and if a minority makes such an attempt it will be firmly confronted."

2010-02-01T08:00:00.002Z

But Suddenly a guitar playing lad
whose languid lean brings back the sunny south
strikes up a tune all gay & bright & glad
to keep the gall from biting in his mouth
Then drowsy as the rain
soft sad black feet
dance in this juice joint
on this city street

— Langston Hughes

2010-01-08T08:09:00.001Z

Some good films I've seen of late...

The Hurt Locker

****

STATEN ISLAND:

*****

UNDERGROUND

2009-12-27T02:30:00.001Z

Juárez’s main product now is the corpse. Last year, drug-related violence there claimed more than 1,600 lives, and the toll for the first nine months of this year soared beyond 1,800, and mounts daily. That makes Juárez, population 1.5 million, the most violent city in the world. Two lines of graffiti summed up a place where not only law and order but civilization itself has broken down: Mi ciudad pide clemencia en su dementia (“My city asks for mercy in its madness”), and Mi ciudad es un negro lamento un aullido infinito (“My city is a black lament, an eternal howl”). from The Fall of Mexico.

2009-12-19T17:01:00.001Z

Rembrandt's The Anatomy Lesson:

2009-12-15T06:44:00.001Z

La terre est bleue

La terre est bleue comme une orange
Jamais une erreur les mots ne mentent pas
Ils ne vous donnent plus à chanter
Au tour des baisers de s'entendre
Les fous et les amours
Elle sa bouche d'alliance
Tous les secrets tous les sourires
Et quels vêtements d'indulgence
À la croire toute nue.
Les guêpes fleurissent vert
L'aube se passe autour du cou
Un collier de fenêtres
Des ailes couvrent les feuilles
Tu as toutes les joies solaires
Tout le soleil sur la terre
Sur les chemins de ta beauté.

Paul Eluard

2009-11-15T09:05:00.001Z

Another Good Film recent

Fish Tank

2009-09-30T07:25:00.002Z

This past week's films:

4 months 3 weeks

*****

Entre Les Murs

*****

Le Silence De Lorna

*****

Three Monkeys

*****

District 9

2009-09-13T11:45:00.002Z

Deux œuvres de Georges Fourest
(1867-1945)

Le Cid

Va, je ne te hais point
Pierre Corneille

Le palais de Gormaz, comte et gobernador
est en deuil; pour jamais dort couché sous la pierre
l'hidalgo dont le sang a rougi la rapière
de Rodrigue appelé le Cid Campeador

Le soir tombe. Invoquant les deux saints Paul et Pierre
Chimène, en voile noirs, s'accoude au mirador
et ses yeux dont les pleurs ont brûlé la paupière
regardent, sans rien voir, mourir le soleil d'or ...

Mais un éclair, soudain, fulgure en sa prunelle :
sur la plaza Rodrigue est debout devant elle !
Impassible et hautain, drapé dans sa capa,

le héros meurtrier à pas lents se promène :
"Dieu !" soupire à part soi la plaintive Chimène,
"qu'il est joli garçon l'assassin de Papa !"

Un homme

Justum et tenacem propositi virum
Horace
Gémir, pleurer, prier est également lâche.
Alfred de Vigny

Quand le docteur lui dit : "Monsieur, c'est la vérole
indiscutablement !", quand il fut convaincu
sans pouvoir en douter qu'il était bien cocu
l'Homme n'articula pas la moindre parole.

Quand il réalisa que sa chemise ultime
et son pantalon bleu par un trou laissaient voir
sa fesse gauche et quand il sut que vingt centimes
(oh ! pas même cinq sous !) faisaient tout son avoir

il ne s'arracha point les cheveux, étant chauve,
il ne murmura point : "Que le bon Dieu me sauve !"
ne se poignarda pas comme eût fait un Romain,

sans pleurer, sans gémir, sans donner aucun signe
d'un veule désespoir, calme, simple, très-digne
il prononça le nom de l'excrément humain.

*****

Rimailleur masculin
Celui qui fait de mauvais vers.
Ce n’est qu’un rimailleur.
C’est un plat rimailleur. Il est familier.

*****

LES FEUILLES QUI TOMBENT

*****

carnet
nom masculin
(ancien provençal quern, du latin quaterni, groupe de quatre feuilles)
Petit registre de poche pour notes, comptes, etc. : Carnet d'adresses.
Assemblage de billets, de tickets, de timbres, etc., pouvant être détachés au moment de l'emploi.
Mines
Rigole creusée dans la sole d'une galerie pour l'écoulement de l'eau.
Presse
Rubrique payante d'un journal consacrée à l'état civil des personnes intéressées.

2009-08-26T05:08:00.000Z

Le Grain et le Mullet

Just got around to seeing this:

2009-07-26T07:38:00.002Z

Chat Lunatique

2009-07-23T04:56:00.004Z

à Alfred Tattet

Adversus Absynthium (A l'encontre de l'absinthe)

Absynthe, monstre né jadis pour notre perte
De l’Afrique à Paris traînant ta robe verte
Comment donc as-tu pu sous le soleil oser
Souiller ses lèvres d’or de ton âcre baiser
Vile prostituée en tes temples assise
Tu te vends à l’esprit ainsi qu'à la sottise
Et ne fais nul souci aux adieux, laurier
Qui couvre le Poëte ainsi que le guerrier
Hélas ! n’avait-il pas assez de l’amertume
A laquelle en vivant tout grand cœur s’accoutume
Aussi que l’eau du ciel ......
Qu’il ne reste plus rien de ton amer poison
O monstre sois maudit, je te jette à la face
Les imprécations de Tibulle et d’Horace
Et contre toi j’évoque en mon sein irrité
La langue que parlait la belle antiquité.

Fontainebleau, août 1847
Antoni Deschamps

****(et aussi)****

Five o’clock Absinthe1
By Raoul Ponchon
Quand le couchant étend son voile d'hyacinthe
Sur Rastaquapolis2.
C'est l'heure assurément de prendre son absinthe,
Qu'en penses-tu, mon fils?
C'est en été surtout, quand la soif vous terrasse
– Tels cent Dreyfous3 bavards –
Qu'il convient de chercher une fraîche terrasse4
Le long des boulevards.
Où l'on sait rencontrer l'absinthe la meilleure.
Celle du fils Pernod;
Fi des autres ! De même un dièze est un leurre
Quand il est de Gounod.
Je dis le long des boulevards, et non à Rome,
Ni chez les Bonivards5;
Carpour être absinthier on n'en est pas moins homme.
Et sur nos boulevards
On voit passer les plus suaves créatures
Aux plus gentes façons :
Tout en buvant, cela réveille vos natures,
C'est exquis... mais passons.
Vous avez votre absinthe, il s'agit de la faire;
Ça n'est pas, croyez-moi,
Comme pense un vain peuple, une petite affaire,
Banale et sans émoi.
Il ne faut pas avoir ailleurs l'âme occupée,
Pour le moment du moins.
L'absinthe veut d'abord de la belle eau frappée,
Les dieux m'en soient témoins !
D'eau tiède, il n'en faut pas : Jupiter la condamne.
Toi-même, qu'en dis-tu ?
Autant vaudrait, ma foi, boire du pissat d'âne
Ou du bouillon pointu6
Et n'allez pas comme un qui serait du Hanovre7,
Surtout me l'effrayer,
Avec votre carafe, elle croirait, la povre8 !
Que l'on la veut noyer.
Déridez-la toujours d'une première goutte...
Là... là... tout doucement.
Vous la verrez alors palpiter, vibrer toute,
Sourire ingénûment;
When sundown spreads its hyacinth veil
Over Rastaquapolis
It’s surely time for an absinthe
Don’t you think, my son?
It’s especially in summer, when thirst wears you down
- Like a hundred Dreyfus gossips -
That it’s fitting to seek a fresh terrace
Along the boulevards
Where one finds the best absinthe
That of the sons of Pernod
Forget the rest! They’re like a sharp by Gounod:
mere illusion.
I say along the boulevards, and not in Rome,
Nor at the home of the Bonivards;
To be an absinthier is not to be any less a man.
And on our boulevards
One sees pass the sweetest creatures
With the gentlest manners:
You’re drinking, they rouse your nature,
They are exquisite... but let it pass.
You have your absinthe, it’s all about preparation
This is not, believe me,
As the cynics think, a small matter
Banal and without emotion
The heart should not be elsewhere
For the moment at least.
Absinthe wants first, beautiful ice water
The gods are my witness!
Tepid water, none of that: Jupiter condemns it.
Yourself, what say you?
Might as well, my faith, drink donkey piss
Or enema broth
And don’t come on like a German,
And scare her,
With your carafe; she would think, poor dear!
That you want to drown her.
Always rouse her from the first drop …
Like so ... and so ... very gently
Then behold her quiver, all vibrant
With an innocent smile;

2009-07-18T08:40:00.002Z

Street Sweeper Social Club:

Mercedes Sosa

Hasta Siempre

2009-07-18T07:43:00.002Z

SPAIN: NOBODY HAS TO KNOW

Nobody has to know
Girl we've fallen so in love
It was just a year ago
And you've kept it to yourself

Nobody has to know
Nobody has to know

Nobody has to know
Girl our love has grown so strong
Close the shades unplug the phone
How can our love be so wrong

Nobody has to know
Nobody has to know

Nobody has to know
Girl we've fallen so in love
It was just a year ago
And you've kept it to yourself

Nobody has to know
Nobody has to know

2009-07-17T07:36:00.002Z

Time Will Break The World - The Silver Jews

The sun and the shutters and the sun shattered hair
The butler hesitates at the top of the stairs
A kitten from Great Britain sleeps behind the drapes
An old silver bowl filled with apples and grapes

It's so very cold in the mansion after sunset
The snow is blowing through the baseboard outlets
And I have no idea what drives you, mister
Tanning beds explode with rich women inside

All my poor, hungry children
All my poor, hungry children
All my poor, hungry children
Time will break the world
Time will break the world
Time will break the world

The snow falls down so beautiful and stupid
For the black silhoutte of Abraham Lincoln trees
The sky's low and grey like a Japanese table
And my horse's legs look like four brown shotguns

The icicles are dripping like the whole house is weeping
On an evil little car with gull-wing doors
And I have no idea what drives you, mister
But I've killed you in my mind so many times before

All my poor, hungry children
All my poor, hungry children
All my poor, hungry children
Time will break the world
Time will break the world
Time will break the world

2009-07-15T14:00:00.002Z

2009-07-15T13:51:00.001Z

2009-07-10T10:43:00.002Z

caloric restriction as the new longevity scheme

*****

re: Brasserie Wepler, place Clichy:

Du côté des écrivains, le spectacle mouvementé des passants, l'animation sensuelle qui règnent sur la place, fascinent. Dès 1928, Henry Miller en fait son repère préféré. « Je m'y suis assis à la terrasse et à l'intérieur, par tous les temps et à toutes les heures du jour et de la nuit. C'était pour moi un livre ouvert. Tous les visages des garçons, des gérants, des caissières, des putains, de la clientèle et même des dames de lavabos sont gravés dans ma mémoire comme les images d'un livre que j'aurais feuilletés tous les jours.» Jours tranquilles à Clichy.

******

And, recounting on Montmartre:

jusqu'on 17eme siecle, son utilisation pour construire les maisons a ete intensive, au point que le dicton en vogue etait Il y a plus de Montmartre dans Paris que de Paris dans Montmartre...

And sadly, no pictures to upload yet, but if it helps, my current location:

Agrandir le plan

2009-05-11T08:53:00.004Z

FILM

Curious to see what they'd have to say about Happy Go Lucky after watching this, Mike Leigh's new film.

This bird, laughing smiling, whole philosophy was about making people, making the world around her better. It was all very esoteric and boring, annoying even, the mindless giggling and chatter, I almost grew to hate this character until the freak driving instructor's massive outburst allowed her to reveal a human side which was more than one dimensional. Had other dimensions of the bird's character come out sooner, might not have had to have felt as though the first 45 minutes of the movie was an endurance contest.

anyway, here's what "they" say:

Poppy Cross is happy-go-lucky. At 30, she lives in Camden: cheeky, playful, frank while funny, and talkative to strangers. She's a conscientious and exuberant primary-school teacher, flatmates with Zoe, her long-time friend; she's close to one sister, and not so close to another. In this slice of life story, we watch her take driving lessons from Scott, a dour and tightly-wound instructor, take classes in flamenco dance from a fiery Spaniard, encounter a tramp in the night, and sort out a student's aggressive behavior with a social worker's help. Along the way, we wonder if her open attitude puts her at risk of misunderstanding or worse. What is the root of happiness?

Well, what is at the root of being one-dimensional?

In any event, here's the trailer, decide for yourself in 1 minute 47 seconds.

2009-05-10T10:02:00.005Z

VILNIUS POKER

from Ričardas Gavelis

What they say:

Ričardas Gavelis wrote to intimidate and attack, and his novel Vilnius Poker, seldom subtle in its language, demands attention. It is a masterwork of bitterness and sarcasm, one that descends into the self-destructive impulses of those who, though they physically survived the privations inherent to Soviet Russia, were nonetheless emotionally traumatized. Part national rant, part passage into madness, Vilnius Poker is more than a product of the Cold War. It is a condemnation of everything Gavelis thought was wrong with Lithuania, and this first English translation, published twenty years after Poker was originally written, feels fresh.

Vilnius Poker is disorienting, as right from the start Gavelis offers Vytautas Vargalys, an extravagant, energetic narrator whose thoughts shift between the lucid and the figurative. The speaker for the first two-thirds of the book, Vargalys is a survivor of a Russian prison camp where he was physically beaten and emotionally destroyed. His once-brilliant future was ruined by the camps, and he now obsesses and rants about the failures of Lithuania; in fact, so thorough was his transformation that his survival of the camps seems almost futile. As with much of Vilnius Poker, Gavelis never says precisely how Vargalys survived; instead, the inhumanity of the camp haunts Vargalys as he suffers from post traumatic stress—induced flashbacks.

What HE says:

(page 31)

..."I began on The Way against my will. I had already settled down and forgotten all the quests for meaning. Even chest pains no longer upset me - it was just the first ones that were frightening. I no longer tormented myself if I didn't feel the slightest desire when I saw an ideally sexy woman. I was forty-three years old..."

(Page 43):

"Only those who have lost their spirit fear the monsters of the interior. Only those who have lost their balance pretend their insides are pure and refined. You can only become truly great by joining your heaven with your hell. All of the good in people is the same but the kingdom of evil is different in everyone."

(Page 54):

"That he could even have those kinds of feeling surprised me, but I quickly figured it out. He was afraid to be left forgotten and alone, to fail to attract others' attention for even a second. Every person who still has a thing or two left inside is able to be alone with himself. There was nothing inside this lumbering figure that could be relied on. He no longer had himself, so a secret fear constantly gnawed at him..."

(Page 77):

"It is the Vilnius Basilisk's gaze, piercing me every morning, a morning that begins with the overcrowded trollybus, the crush of figures, the jounrey from non-existence into none-existence: from the drabness of dreamless sleep to the unthinking work machine. It's only by Their will that the tired figures with puffy eyes cram into iron boxes with fly-covered windows and slowly creak towards their daily bondage. The day begins with smells: the stink of rancid sweat and cheap soap, the stench of last night's drinking, and a whiff of nightmares...."

And after that, just try and imagine what it was like all those years, winter, summer, good weather, shite weather, always under the gaze of communism, all lives for generations lived under that shadow. No matter what you're doing now, that was their reality then. Imagine that. Miserable yet still trying to live life, still trying to fart out a few joys...

2009-05-04T07:16:00.002Z

FOR THAT COLD AND RAINY FUTURE DAY:

2009-05-03T07:03:00.001Z

2009-05-01T17:37:00.002Z

The Three Acts I saw in Győr Last Weekend

Artem Chepkonakov

Omar Sosa Afreecanos Trio

Astillero

2009-04-23T06:56:00.002Z

Fat People Will Pay More

The chieftains at Ryan Air could show the government a thing or two about raising revenues.

Look at this, democracy in action, letting people VOTE how to charge fat people more money to fly:

The Ryanair proposals are:

* Charge per kg over 130kg/20 stone (male) and 100kg/15 stone (females);

* Charge per inch for every waist inch over 45 inch (male) and 40 inch (female);

* Charge for every point in excess of 40 points on the Body Mass Index (+30 points is obese);

* Charge for a second seat if passengers’ waist touches both armrests simultaneously.

Ryanair spokesman Stephen McNamara said: “With passengers voting overwhelmingly for a ‘fat tax’ we are now asking them to suggest which format the charge should take.

So why didn't Alistair Darling unveil in his Idiot's Guide To Losing Money Budget a new tax on fat people too? I mean look around you in England, people. There's positively billions that could be had making fat people pay more for existing.

Why stop at the rich and the pub crawlers and the fat people for that matter?

How about a poor tax?

It's a great idea. The way it works is that children borne to a mother with no job and on benefits or a family already unable to sustain itself, are sold, by the government, to the highest child labour bidder. Just think about it - with the birth rate among people on benefits being what it is Poor Kids And Cheap Labour could become England's new and fastest growing export industry.

"There is nothing worst than the person sitting next to you on the plane taking half your seat as well. It is only fair that these people pay for a double seat."
stan white, leeds, u/k, comments in the article about the Ryan Air fat tax.

Only fair? Why let them fly at all? Why not ground them for life? Should fat people be allowed to fly? It defies gravity. Not to mention the added risk to a plane flying with fat people on board.

I don't think there should be a new surcharge on fat people for flying Ryan Air.

Ryan Air should just be bold and make it a company policy: Hey Fat People, Fuck Off. We Don't Want Your Business.

*****

Here's the funny bit about the alleged bold fuck you to rich people entailed in Darling's new budget:

Firstly, he's going to raise the planned new top rate of tax on incomes over £150,000 from 45% to 50%.

Then, people with incomes over £150,000 will also see their pension tax relief restricted from 2011, while personal allowances will be scrapped for those on incomes over £100,000 from next April.

Bravo.

Or not.

The Institute for Fiscal Studies has warned the hike would produce far less revenue than the Treasury hoped unless more stringent measures were brought in to crack down on tax avoidance.

Michael Wistow, head of tax at law firm Berwin Leighton Paisner, said: "History shows that increasing tax rates rarely achieves the objective of increasing the tax take, individuals will now look to find other ways of earning money or reducing tax liabilities."

Greed. You gotta love it.

2009-04-19T12:17:00.003Z

Dominic Lawson has more than a few realistic pokes at new Labour in Beware green jobs, the new sub-prime:

That remarkable prime ministerial pledge predated the recession; its motive was to demonstrate that Britain was “leading the world in the battle against climate change”. We aren’t, as a matter of fact; but under new Labour we have certainly led the world at claiming to do so. Mandelson expressed this almost satirically last week when he declared that “Britain has taken a world lead in setting ambitious targets for carbon reduction”.

As ever, new Labour confuses announcements and newspaper headlines with real action. Whenever it becomes obvious even to ministers that Britain will not meet its current carbon reduction target, they replace it with a yet tougher target, only with an extended deadline.

Listen to Uranus Bruyant:

...an overvitaminated version of a funk brass band, directly connected to James BROWN, Maceo PARKER, Georges CLINTON, an others such as DIRTY DOZEN Brass Band. The eight musicians spread an amazing groovy feeling throughout their original tracks, mixing jazz and funk, with powerful brass instruments and crazy beats.

A banjo, a tuba, a bass drum and a snare : the rhythm section turns you into dancing, you can't help it !

Two saxophones, a trumpet, a trombone : a line of blowers with various backgounds, who can put an audience on fire with their wild soli !

2009-04-13T06:20:00.004Z

Hugging the curves of the River Avon, nestled among the West Country hills, allow Bath's Georgian and Gothic architecture, cobblestone streets lined with exquisite cathedrals, tasteful manor homes, and quaint shops that speak to another time, empower you and reveal life's slower pace.

Atop a grand hill discover the Royal Crescent, an architectural treasure with sweeping vistas of the townscape below. Thirty elegant townhouses of honey-colored stone in the Georgian tradition designed by John Wood in 1767, is today one of the most popular and opulent hotels in Bath, the Royal Crescent Hotel.

The springs and sacred Roman Baths date back 7,000 years when the Celtics worshipped the goddess Sulis. When the Roman legions occupied the city, the citizenry gathered around the 'watering hole,' to drink the natural elixir, socialize and soak in the calming mineral waters of the Great Roman Baths. On your walk through history, the steamy waters reflect statuary, pillars and ancient artifacts but leave your bathing suit at home. Bring with you a desire for tranquillity and inner peace. For a glorious ritual of fire and water that will renew your soul, join an escorted torchlit tour of the baths on any August evening. In the Pump Rooms be sure to grab a glass of spring mineral water; the town's people swear to its rejuvenating properties. On second thought, you might want to stash a case in your luggage for the trip home.

Bath Abbey, begun in 1499 and completed in 1606, built in the Perpendicular (late-Gothic) style, can be seen from the terrace of the Roman Baths. Carved in stone, angels ascending ladders decorate the front of the Abby. In the interior, read the inscriptions on the tombs of the romantic poets, bards, and kings etched in stone walls and floor.

2009-04-05T05:29:00.003Z

Now THAT is what you might call a good show.

Especially if you took the bass player from Butcher, the front man/guitar from Howlin Lord and the drummer from The Hateful, mixed it all up.

*****

Europe's Last Man

Is it true that Western Europeans, after half a century of peace and prosperity, suffer from the kind of moral malaise that Nietzsche warned about, and that Fukuyama and Kagan diagnosed? One way to answer this question is to listen, not to American pundits, but to Europeans themselves—in particular, to their novelists. In the nineteenth century, a reader of Dostoevsky and Flaubert could have gained insights into the state of Europe that a reader of newspapers would have missed. In the twenty-first, it is at least possible that the most significant European novelists can give us similar insights. Precisely because novels are not, and should not be, political documents, they offer a less guarded, more intuitive report on the inner life of a society. And when novelists from different European countries, writing in different languages and very different styles, all seem to corroborate one another’s intuitions, it is at least fair to wonder whether a real cultural shift is under way.

The three novels I wish to consider are not, of course, anything like a representative sample of the fiction being written in Europe over the last two decades. But W. G. Sebald’s The Rings of Saturn, Michel Houellebecq’s The Elementary Particles, and Ian McEwan’s Saturday are as distinguished and emblematic a selection as might be made. All of these writers were born in the 1940s and 1950s, and emerged as major novelists in the 1990s. In other words, they are members of the post–World War II generation, and did or are doing their most important work in the post–Cold War period. They belong to, and write about, a cosmopolitan, peaceful, unified Western Europe: McEwan (b. 1948) is English; Sebald (1944–2001), a German, spent most of his adult life in England; and Houellebecq (b. 1958), who is French, has lived in Ireland and Spain.

*****

so this drunk man with one arm and three legs walks into a bar and says come to Slovakia. Really.

*****

And in just a few words, Hanif Kureishi, in Something to Tell You has managed to summarise England:

"The typical figures on the streets were a young man in a green bomber jacket, jeans and polished boots, followed by an under-dressed teenager with her hair scraped back -the 'Croydon face-lift' - pushing a pram. Other girls in micro-minis, drift sullenly about, boys on bicycles circling them, drinking sweet vodka mashes from the bottle and tossing them into gardens. And among these binge-mingers, debtors and doggers hurried Muslim women with their heads covered, pulling their children."

Yes, it's only one thumbnail of England, but summarises so clearly the miserable hopelessness, the pointless push forward to the next day.

Wouldn't it be funny if people from America or Europe came to England in packs of one to two dozen for the sole intention of getting wasted, puking on England's streets, smashing England's shop windows, and shouting down the English public?

2009-03-31T04:04:00.004Z

MORE ST MALO

L'Azur

De l'éternel azur la sereine ironie
Accable, belle indolemment comme les fleurs,
Le poëte impuissant qui maudit son génie
À travers un désert stérile de Douleurs.

Fuyant, les yeux fermés, je le sens qui regarde
Avec l'intensité d'un remords atterrant,
Mon âme vide. Où fuir? Et quelle nuit hagarde
Jeter, lambeaux, jeter sur ce mépris navrant?

Brouillards, montez! Versez vos cendres monotones
Avec de longs haillons de brume dans les cieux
Qui noiera le marais livide des automnes
Et bâtissez un grand plafond silencieux!

Et toi, sors des étangs léthéens et ramasse
En t'en venant la vase et les pâles roseaux,
Cher Ennui, pour boucher d'une main jamais lasse
Les grands trous bleus que font méchamment les oiseaux.

Encor! que sans répit les tristes cheminées
Fument, et que de suie une errante prison
Éteigne dans l'horreur de ses noires traînées
Le soleil se mourant jaunâtre à l'horizon!

- Le Ciel est mort. - Vers toi, j'accours! donne, ô matière,
L'oubli de l'Idéal cruel et du Péché
À ce martyr qui vient partager la litière
Où le bétail heureux des hommes est couché,

Car j'y veux, puisque enfin ma cervelle, vidée
Comme le pot de fard gisant au pied d'un mur,
N'a plus l'art d'attifer la sanglotante idée,
Lugubrement bâiller vers un trépas obscur...

En vain! l'Azur triomphe, et je l'entends qui chante
Dans les cloches. Mon âme, il se fait voix pour plus
Nous faire peur avec sa victoire méchante,
Et du métal vivant sort en bleus angelus!

Il roule par la brume, ancien et traverse
Ta native agonie ainsi qu'un glaive sûr;
Où fuir dans la révolte inutile et perverse?
Je suis hanté. L'Azur! l'Azur! l'Azur! l'Azur!

Stéphane Mallarmé

2009-03-31T03:56:00.004Z

St Malo I

Le guignon

Au-dessus du bétail ahuri des humains
Bondissaient en clarté les sauvages crinières
Des mendiants d'azur le pied dans nos chemins.

Un noir vent sur leur marche éployé pour bannières
La flagellait de froid tel jusque dans la chair,
Qu'il y creusait aussi d'irritables ornières.

Toujours avec l'espoir de rencontrer la mer,
Ils voyageaient sans pain, sans bâtons et sans urnes,
Mordant au citron d'or de l'idéal amer.

La plupart râla dans les défilés nocturnes,
S'enivrant du bonheur de voir couler son sang,
O Mort le seul baiser aux bouches taciturnes!

Leur défaite, c'est par un ange très puissant
Debout à l'horizon dans le nu de son glaive:
Une pourpre se caille au sein reconnaissant.

Ils tettent la douleur comme ils tétaient le rêve
Et quand ils vont rythmant de pleurs voluptueux
Le peuple s'agenouille et leur mère se lève.

Ceux-là sont consolés, sûrs et majestueux;
Mais traînent à leurs pas cent frères qu'on bafoue,
Dérisoires martyrs de hasards tortueux.

Le sel pareil des pleurs ronge leur douce joue,
Ils mangent de la cendre avec le même amour,
Mais vulgaire ou bouffon le destin qui les roue.

Ils pouvaient exciter aussi comme un tambour
La servile pitié des races à voix terne,
Égaux de Prométhée à qui manque un vautour!

Non, vils et fréquentant les déserts sans citerne,
Ils courent sous le fouet d'un monarque rageur,
Le Guignon, dont le rire inouï les prosterne.

Amants, il saute en croupe à trois, le partageur!
Puis le torrent franchi, vous plonge en une mare
Et laisse un bloc boueux du blanc couple nageur.

Grâce à lui, si l'un souffle à son buccin bizarre,
Des enfants nous tordront en un rire obstiné
Qui, le poing à leur cul, singeront sa fanfare.

Grâce à lui, si l'une orne à point un sein fané
Par une rose qui nubile le rallume,
De la bave luira sur son bouquet damné.

Et ce squelette nain, coiffé d'un feutre à plume
Et botté, dont l'aisselle a pour poils vrais des vers,
Est pour eux l'infini de la vaste amertume.

Vexés ne vont-ils pas provoquer le pervers,
Leur rapière grinçant suit le rayon de lune
Qui neige en sa carcasse et qui passe au travers.

Désolés sans l'orgueil qui sacre l'infortune,
Et tristes de venger leurs os de coups de bec,
Ils convoitent la haine, au lieu de la rancune.

Ils sont l'amusement des racleurs de rebec,
Des marmots, des putains et de la vieille engeance
Des loqueteux dansant quand le broc est à sec.

Les poëtes bons pour l'aumône ou la vengeance,
Ne connaissent le mal de ces dieux effacés,
Les disent ennuyeux et sans intelligence.

« Ils peuvent fuir ayant de chaque exploit assez,
» Comme un vierge cheval écume de tempête
» Plutôt que de partir en galops cuirassés.

» Nous soûlerons d'encens le vainqueur de la fête:
» Mais eux, pourquoi n'endosser pas, ces baladins,
» D'écarlate haillon hurlant que l'on s'arrête! »

Quand en face tous leur ont craché les dédains,
Nuls et la barbe à mots bas priant le tonnerre,
Ces héros excédés de malaises badins

Vont ridiculement se pendre au réverbère.

Stéphane Mallarmé

2009-03-22T07:12:00.005Z

SUNDAY ROUNDABOUT

Teetotaller's Anonymous...

They, too, will have to confess their helplessness, their shame at the night they got home at 10.30 and didn't piss in the sock drawer. Their sadly unexciting, considerate treatment of their partner. The fact that they have no anecdotes about being off their face, wasted, wrecked, and out of it. The lack of red wine stains on their lips, and the absence of liquid excuses for their behaviour.

*****

Gay Jokes and Illegal ComedY

Rod Liddle, the Funny Man of the Op-Ed Pages, gets snarky about legislation to make homophobic jokes illegal in So a gay, blind suicide bomber walks into a bar...

For years I found racist jokes extremely boring – but they became funny when it was apparent that the act of telling them could (a) lose you your job and (b) bring the Old Bill down on you with a charge of inciting racial hatred. Now, as a consequence, I find almost all racist jokes hilarious, especially ones about Muslims and particularly if they are cartoons which feature Allah or Muhammad or fat ladies in burqas saying to one another: “Does my bomb look big in this?”

However, I don’t find them quite as funny as I find jokes about physical or mental disabilities – they are the real howlers these days. And that’s because the disability lobby has become so preternaturally sensitive, so disposed towards pouncing on anything which might be construed as disablist. Consequently, these days, all you have to do is say “and guess what . . . he only had one arm!” and I fall about laughing.

*****The Vigilante Bus?*****

AIG protesters took a bus tour of the homes of AIG executives yesterday but without significant incident.

"It's very hard to see people who've made such a contribution to our community singled out," a resident who is married to an obviously well-paid executive said. "Why don't they single out people who took out mortgages they couldn't afford?"

Contribution to the community? She must be on about the Community of Selfish Fucks.

******

Death Jazz

2009-03-20T05:25:00.002Z

The Seedier Side of Life

Hobo Stripper:

I live in a van. Yeah, down by the river. And I dance nekkid for money. Weird, I know, but it's my path, and it's full of beauty and bliss. I hope my writings will inspire you to look inward to your own bliss. If you want to live in a van or be a stripper, then wow, I've got some tips for you.

*****

2009-03-18T23:14:00.004Z

Shoe Cannons and "Complete Phonies"

I don't which bit is funnier on the absurdity scale:

Dubya Bush, offering to help President Obama by saying that "the president deserves my silence, and if he wants my help he can pick up the phone and call me."

Or the fact that at the building Bush was in

Up to 400 demonstrators chanted and threw shoes outside the venue – though police disabled a makeshift cannon rigged to fire shoes into the street.

Footwear has been collected and a cannon has been constructed to toss shoes at an effigy of the much-maligned leader in homage to the Iraqi reporter who chucked his loafers at Mr. Bush last December and was sentenced last week to three years in prison.

A shoe cannon?
Advise from Bush?

You do the maths.

note how engaged and energised Brown's cabinet members appear...hey Jacqui Smith, how about another Qualude?

And then, over on the other side of the pond, Tory leader David Cameron showed his mastery of the economic crisis and political theory generally by stating:

"I'm glad you are back to reading out quotations. We now know how long a pledge from you lasts. Yesterday you said in the Guardian, 'I personally have always said that modern politics, with its focus on who said what, when and how, is far too divisive to meet the problems of the country'. What a complete phoney!"

Glad to see the deep intellectual debate as the country goes down the pisser.

2009-03-17T05:58:00.004Z

First Scotland raised the minimum on cheap drinks to combat the thirst of their own countrymen, then England started sniffing around the notion. After all, somewhere in there can be found more revenue for an insatiable Gordon Brown whose Labour Party's limits for stealth taxes and cash penalties knows no bounds.

However, as it is pointed out in Concussing yourself with cheap cider does not veto your right to fairness. Not sure when "fairness" has ever entered into the equation but the author makes a few good, if not tongue-in-cheek points:

I think we have to consign to the dustbin of dur the fact that it takes publicly funded research to establish that young people and alcoholics prefer drinks that don't cost very much, and move on.

What? And take away the rights of publically funded researchers to collect salaries pointing out the criminally obvious?!

Oh right, the country is bankrupt, the world economy is in the pisser and hmmm, it must be time to release a study on the drinking habits of The Young and The Poor and poke around the idea of making it more expensive for them to drink.

The writer also appears to rightly have it in for Sir Liam Donaldson:

Perhaps he is one of those who simply despise people he considers weak. What do you call them again? Oh yeah, Tories. His proposals are that alcohol be priced at a minimum of 50p a unit, and he defended all this with the rather emotive statement that the "quality of life of families and in cities and towns up and down the country is being eroded by the effects of excessive drinking. Cheap alcohol is killing us as never before." (I cannot stand it, by the way, when one's status and respectability are elevated by this airy reference to "families". Are we all in a family, or do you have to physically live with the buggers? Do we all deserve our quality of life to be considered, or just those with children and/or parents?)

Well of course, rallying around the empty slogan of children and families is the new vanguard of moral cowardice, innit?

It's a tactic the psychopathic morality of the Republican Party in America has used with great success for years.

Meanwhile, is it the fault of cheap alcohol that the UK is to lose 1 million more jobs?

Diversion. Don't look here, look over there. Those cheap drunks and corrupted youth.

*****

See any drunks among these faces?

This extraordinary painting depicting 103 figures from world history in striking detail has become the latest internet hit.

Message boards have erupted with contests to identify all those featured, who range from instantly recognisable figures like Gandhi to some more obscure figures such as Liu Xiang, the Chinese hurdler who limped out of the Beijing Olympics in the summer.

2009-03-16T07:46:00.003Z

Random Bits

"I often perceive my native language as alien. Not until I found
myself abroad did I notice that my fellow countrymen communicate in a
kind of half-language, half-swallowing their words and uttering
semi-sounds. I experience my native language as an attempt by a
linguistic invalid to vonvey even the simplest though through
gestures, grimaces and intonations. Conversations among my
compatriots seem long, exhausting and devoid of content. Instead of
talking, they seem to be stroking each other with words, spreading a
soothing, sonorous saliva over one another...."

and then a little later, speaking about a colleague from Zagreb: "He
had a Zagreb way of talking that gone my nerves - the la-di-da stress
on the last syllable, the constant use of reflexives, verbal forms
referring to the self, that made him sound intimately related to
everything other on earth..."

both from: The Ministry of Pain by Dubravka Ugrešić

*****

pensée: a thought expressed in literary form. A pensée can be short and in a specific form, such as an aphorism or epigram, or it can be as long as a paragraph or a page. The term originated with French mathematician and philosopher Blaise Pascal, whose Pensées (1670) was a collection of some 800 to 1,000 notes and manuscript fragments expressing his religious beliefs. The form was particularly popular in French literature, as in Denis Diderot’s Pensées philosophiques (1746).

*****

Bay of Fundy:

The Bay of Fundy is known for its high tidal range and the bay is contested as having the highest vertical tidal range in the world with Ungava Bay in northern Quebec and The Severn Estuary in the UK

The river becomes the Severn Estuary after the Second Severn Crossing between Severn Beach, South Gloucestershire and Sudbrook, Monmouthshire. The river then discharges into the Bristol Channel which in turn discharges into the Celtic Sea and the wider Atlantic Ocean. The Severn's drainage basin area is 11,420 square kilometres (4,409 sq mi), excluding the River Wye and Bristol Avon which flow into the Bristol Channel.

2009-03-14T08:38:00.001Z

Nosso estranho amor

(Marina Lima)

Não quero sugar todo o seu leite
Nem quero você enfeite do meu ser
Apenas te peço que respeite
O meu louco querer

Não importa com quem você se deite
Que você se deleite seja com quem for
Apenas te peço que aceite
O meu estranho amor
Ah! Mãinha
Deixa o ciúme chegar
Deixa o ciúme passar
E sigamos juntos
Ah! Neguinha
Deixa eu gostar de você
Pra lá do meu coração
Não me diga nunca não
Teu corpo combina com meu jeito
Nós dois fomos feitos muito pra nós dois
Não valham dramáticos defeitos
Mas o que está depois
Não vamos fuçar nossos defeitos
Cravar sobre o peito as unhas do rancor
Lutemos, mas só pelo direito
Ao nosso estranho amor
Ah! Mãinha
Deixa o ciúme chegar
Deixa o ciúme passar
E sigamos juntos
Ah! Neguinha
Deixa eu gostar de você
Pra lá do meu coração
Não me diga nunca não
Ah! Mãinha
Deixa o ciúme chegar
Deixa o ciúme passar
E sigamos juntos
Ah! Neguinha
Deixa eu gostar de você
Pra lá do meu coração
Não me diga nunca não.

2009-03-14T06:07:00.004Z

By all means, the new "must read" piece of lit comes from The Conqueror by Jan Kjaerstad which pulls you in from the first words and drags you immediately into another world. I read the first few pages excerpted on Amazon and when the excerpt ended, ordered the book. I can't wait to read the rest of it.

A proper analysis can be found at Three Percent. Tysend tak.

*****gotan project*****

*****Queen of Funk: Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings****
(merci, chez lubacov

*****

Hey how about another fat dollop of worthless government intrusive blundering cleverly masked in concerns for terrorism? Haven't had enough yet? Still hungry? Good, because it is now alleged that all travel plans and personal details will be traced by the Government.

In most cases the information will be expected to be provided 24 hours ahead of travel and will then be stored on a Government database for around ten years. The changes are being brought in as the Government tries to tighten border controls and increase protection against the threat of "international terrorism".

International terrorism indeed.

Like all those terrorists putting the wrong rubbish in their bins covered under the 2000 Terrorism Act?

Or all those Icelandic terrorists out there?

Could it be they are merely trying to track Satan?

The marks were similar to those in the original Devil's Footprints which have been shrouded in mystery for over 150 years when it was believed Devon was visited by the devil himself.

Legend has it that on February 8, 1855, a trail of hoof-like marks following straight lines appeared in the snow for more than 100 miles across South Devon.

2009-03-13T07:30:00.001Z

NeoCapitalism?

The FT unleashes another in a series of considered essays on the future of capitalism:

What, then, is capitalism’s future? Our current, damaged system is not, despite Marx’s hopes, to be replaced by a totally egalitarian, communist society (such arrangements might be there in life after death). Our future political economy will probably not be one in which Smith or his present-day disciples could find much comfort: there will be a higher-than-welcome degree of government interference in “the market”, somewhat larger taxes and heavy public disapprobation of the profit principle in general. Schumpeter and Keynes, one suspects, will feel rather more at home with our new post-excess neocapitalist political economy. It will be a system where the animal spirits of the market will be closely watched (and tamed) by a variety of national and international zookeepers – a taming of which the great bulk of the spectators will heartily approve – but there will be no ritual murder of the free-enterprise principle, even if we have to plunge further into depression for the next years. Homus Economicus will take a horrible beating. But capitalism, in modified form, will not disappear. Like democracy, it has serious flaws – but, just as one find faults with democracy, the critics of capitalism will discover that all other systems are worse. Political economy tells us so.

2009-03-11T05:25:00.005Z

It would be nice to have a few more details as to the restrictions and dictats that are alleged causing banks in America to return their bailout money handouts.

It would appear that other than unfounded allegations of "social engineering" the cuts in executive pay packages and other potential government "demands" don't sit well with bankers who are accustomed to being the ones ramming it to people rather than the other way around.

One of the biggest concerns of the banks is that the program lets Congress and the administration pile on new conditions at any time.

The demands to modify mortgages or forestall evictions are especially onerous, some bank executives and experts say, because they could prompt some institutions to take steps that could lead to greater losses.

Hmmm, piling on new conditions at any time? Putting those receiving funds to take steps that could lead to greater losses? Sounds a little like the way banks treated customers for years and years and years.

Well and truly one must be comforted by the mantra that if bankers don't like it or are against it, it must be good.

Since when are they to be believed and further, given they've already ground the economy into dust with their insatiable greed, what credibility to bankers really have anyway? They're going to lose money? Well, they did a brilliant job of that on their own so the claim rings a little hollow at this point.

Of course, if you're interested in detailed analysis of what the IMF believes is the appropriate fiscal policy for the financial crisis, and you have time to sift through 38 pages of bureaucratic economo-speak, it's there for the reading.

On the other hand, to the delight of reductionists everywhere, the policies and ideas are neatly summarised by the FT as:

temporary spending and tax cuts aimed at high-spending groups will be more effective and less risky than broad tax cuts.

In other words, "sustaining demand", the ironic way that this all works is give MORE money to those who already HAVE more. Think we've heard that one before, haven't we?

*****

Come to think of it, no point in worrying about economies collapsing or not having any money. We should be saving up for scuba equipment because we're all going to be underwater in a matter of months anyway

Sounds like a good reductionist terror lead for GMTV or BBC Breakfast, both of whom are desperate (perhaps GMTV moreso because their funding isn't predicated on the extortion of UK tax payers).

Sea levels are predicted to rise twice as fast as was forecast by the United Nations only two years ago, threatening hundreds of millions of people with catastrophe, scientists said yesterday in a dramatic new warning about climate change. Rapidly melting ice sheets in Greenland and Antarctica are likely to push up sea levels by a metre or more by 2100, swamping coastal cities and obliterating the living space of 600 million people who live in deltas, low-lying areas and small island states.

Low-lying countries with increasing populations, such as Bangladesh, Burma and Egypt, could see large parts of their surface areas vanish. Experts in Bangladesh estimate that a one-metre rise in sea levels would swamp 17 per cent of the country's land mass. Pacific islands such as Tuvalu, where 12,000 people live just a few feet above sea level, and the Maldives, would face complete obliteration.

Oh, I dunno. The hysteria just doesn't seem "real" enough unless it's got a failed and gutless American politician making a film about it.

If you're feeling hopeless, you could always watch Sizzle, a mocumentary about global warming.

*****

PSST, have I got a conspiracy for YOU!

What if it were the same gunman (or gunmen) here and here?

Samson contractor Greg McCullough said he was pumping petrol at the station when the gunman opened fire, killing a woman coming out of the service station and wounding McCullough in the shoulder and arm with bullet fragments that struck his truck and the pump.

``I first thought it was somebody playing,'' he said

Somebody playing? They sure play hard in Alabama.

And maybe even in Northern Ireland

Northern Irish politics is, as a rule, boring. Think about the material you have to work with. Between Martin McGuinness’ lachrymose banalities and Peter Robinson’s rigid bigotry (there is a great deal of both in Stormont), there is little room to be inspiring. The only occasional frisson is when one of the demented crackpots of the hard right says something unspeakably ignorant and stupid. Sammy Wilson, the environment minister, denies that there is such a thing as man-made global warming, and that ensures that his smug, dopy-eyed, reddened face gets on the news for a week. (Sammy is also, you may care to know, an Ulster Jobs for Ulster Workers guy). Likewise, when Iris Robinson MP, spouse to First Minister Peter, describes homosexuality as being “viler” than child abuse, there follows a brief uproar before the the usual run of anti-gay violence is resumed with vengeance. (Not that Nothern Ireland has a problem with exaggerated machismo - anyone who says it does will receive a boot in the ballicks.) Though I have not visited NI for years, and don’t feel much connection to it, it is hard not to be embarrassed by the kinds of people who get elected in that neck of the woods. They are so obviously unfit for the job. They should be spreading mulch and spouting misanthropy out in the suburbs and farming communities.

2009-03-10T06:18:00.004Z

BRISTOL MORN WALKS III

2009-03-10T06:10:00.005Z

BRISTOL MORN WALKS, II

Back by popular demand, a further in the series of early morning/dawn walks around the city of Bristol, UK.

2009-03-10T06:00:00.004Z

BRISTOL MORNS

For a little home-style touch, these are some photos taken around Bristol over the last week on early morning walks:

2009-03-08T15:45:00.004Z

Frankie Boyle

part 1

part 2

part 3

2009-03-08T04:12:00.005Z

Sunday Reads And Listens, etc.

“When a place gets boring, even the rich people leave.”

somewhat fascinating study on how the crash will reshape America and some of the observations therein:

The historian Scott Reynolds Nelson has noted that in some respects, today’s crisis most closely resembles the “Long Depression,” which stretched, by one definition, from 1873 to 1896. It began as a banking crisis brought on by insolvent mortgages and complex financial instruments, and quickly spread to the real economy, leading to mass unemployment that reached 25 percent in New York.

During that crisis, rising industries like railroads, petroleum, and steel were consolidated, old ones failed, and the way was paved for a period of remarkable innovation and industrial growth. In 1870, New England mill towns like Lowell, Lawrence, Manchester, and Springfield were among the country’s most productive industrial cities, and America’s population overwhelmingly lived in the countryside. By 1900, the economic geography had been transformed from a patchwork of farm plots and small mercantile towns to a landscape increasingly dominated by giant factory cities like Chicago, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Detroit, and Buffalo.

And, discussing the future, mobility and home ownership versus renting, flexibility and transience:

If anything, our government policies should encourage renting, not buying. Homeownership occupies a central place in the American Dream primarily because decades of policy have put it there. A recent study by Grace Wong, an economist at the Wharton School of Business, shows that, controlling for income and demographics, homeowners are no happier than renters, nor do they report lower levels of stress or higher levels of self-esteem.

And while homeownership has some social benefits—a higher level of civic engagement is one—it is costly to the economy. The economist Andrew Oswald has demonstrated that in both the United States and Europe, those places with higher homeownership rates also suffer from higher unemployment. Homeownership, Oswald found, is a more important predictor of unemployment than rates of unionization or the generosity of welfare benefits. Too often, it ties people to declining or blighted locations, and forces them into work—if they can find it—that is a poor match for their interests and abilities.

As homeownership rates have risen, our society has become less nimble: in the 1950s and 1960s, Americans were nearly twice as likely to move in a given year as they are today. Last year fewer Americans moved, as a percentage of the population, than in any year since the Census Bureau started tracking address changes, in the late 1940s. This sort of creeping rigidity in the labor market is a bad sign for the economy, particularly in a time when businesses, industries, and regions are rising and falling quickly.

*****
Iva Bittova & Vladimir Vaclavek: "Sto let"

*****

My Top 4 Favourite Tee-Shirts From Tee-Shirt Hell:

For the Welsh?

For those who've had enough?

just so...wrong

honesty?

To where pretty much anywhere

******

More on ~~British~~ Scottish Drinking Habits

Maybe not. Whereas the French sip, Scotland, like the rest of Britain, gulps. A survey by Sweden’s National Institute of Public Health asked how often drinking sessions turned into binges (defined as one person drinking a whole bottle of wine or more). French men reported bingeing 9% of the time, Italians 13% and Germans 14%. For British men, 40% of drinking sessions turned into binges. Women were similarly ahead of their continental counterparts.

Bingeing is not unique to Britain: Nordic countries are almost as raucous, with Swedish men bingeing 33% of the time. But they don’t drink as much in total: annual consumption is less than six litres in Sweden. Britain’s special curse is to combine northern European drinking habits with southern European volumes.

2009-03-07T05:34:00.006Z

Alma Apretada
Pablo Neruda

Hemos perdido incluso este crepúsculo. Nadie sierra nosotros esta
tarde tomados de la mano mientras que la noche azul cayó en el mundo.

He visto de mi ventana que la fiesta de la puesta del sol en la
montaña distante remata.

Un pedazo del sol se quemó a veces como una moneda en mi mano.

Le recordé con mi alma apretado en esa tristeza el míos que usted
sabe.

¿Dónde entonces estaba usted? ¿Quién estaba allí? ¿Decir qué?
¿Por qué el conjunto de amor vendrá en mí repentinamente cuando soy
triste y sentirle está ausente lejano?

El libro cayó eso cerrado siempre en el crepúsculo y mi suéter azul
rodados como un perro lastimado en mis pies.

Siempre, usted retrocede siempre con las tardes hacia el crepúsculo
que borra las estatuas.

*****

Tennessee's 'Little Houdini':

Mr. Gay's much-publicized prison-break in 2007 to reach his dying mama's side failed, but only after he led authorities on a five-state, five-day chase that ended with him being arrested driving the country singer Crystal Gayle's stolen tour bus in Florida. Now police around the flyspeck burgs of northern Tennessee are back on full alert after another audacious escape by Gay in Kennesaw, Ga., on Tuesday.

*****

Kids For Cash, is a particularly egregious story about judges accepting kickbacks from some detention centre owner to lock up juvees for profit:

Last month the judge involved, Mark Ciavarella, and the presiding judge of the juvenile court, Michael Conahan, pleaded guilty to having accepted $2.6m (£1.8m) from the co-owner and builder of a private detention centre where children aged from 10 to 17 were locked up.

The cases of up to 2,000 children put into custody by Ciavarella over the past seven years - including that of Transue - are now being reviewed in a billowing scandal dubbed "kids for cash". The alleged racket has raised questions about the cosy ties between the courts and private contractors, and about the harsh treatment meted out to adolescents.

Alerted by Laurene Transue, the Juvenile Law Centre in Wilkes-Barre began to uncover scores of cases in which teenagers had been summarily sent to custody by Ciavarella, dating as far back as 1999. One child was detained for stealing a $4 jar of nutmeg, another for throwing a sandal at her mother, a third aged 14 was held for six months for slapping a friend at school.

Half of all the children who came before Ciavarella had no legal representation, despite it being a right under state law. The Juvenile Law Centre has issued a class action against the two judges and other implicated parties in which it seeks compensation for more than 80 children who it claims were victims of injustice.

*****

Have to say, Todd Snider is one of the more interesting guitarists/singers/songwriters/storyteller I've heard in awhile:

2009-03-04T05:55:00.004Z

POOL SPRAY, new word of the day....

King of the Witless Buffoons

Looks like Sir Chubalard is not going to get centre stage at the auld White House as hoped.

Downing Street officials discovered last night that Prime Minister would not, as had been widely reported, hold a joint press conference with President Obama after their talks at the White House today.

Instead, the White House press office announced what it called a "pool spray" - a few shouted questions from selected agency reporters as the two men sat down for talks and photographers clicked away.

*****

For those of you who have been following the big Pirate Bay Trial may find it more than a bit ironic that Fredrik Neij, one of the PirateBay admins currently on trial in Stockholm, admitted that he rebooted one of the serves right there in the courtroom during closing arguments.

In some sense you might construe this as the biggest ethical trial in recent memory...

Commentary from the Aftonbladet can be found here

”Den som håller i en rock medan någon annan misshandlar en person är delaktig i brottet”, sa åklagare Hans Roswall i sin slutplädering i Pirate Bay-målet i måndags.
Piraterna har medverkat till geschäftliknande kopiering, och för det bör de straffas.
Försvaret menar att verksamheten, tekniskt sett, är lovlig. Att medverkansansvaret måste se annorlunda ut på internet, som bygger på länkar och hänvisningssystem. Ansvaret mellan de åtalade måste individualiseras.
Det kan låta komplicerat, men det duger med ringa kunskaper i upphovsrätt för att förstå vad rättegången egentligen handlar om: etik.

Not a bad movie for a rainy Saturday afternoon:

movie trailer should be self-explanatory but briefly, it's about a town dealing with grief, a university dealing with adversity and a football team needing well, players and coaches.

*****

COOL TOOL

Panoramic photography knocks out 360 cities, one for every degree, I suppose. Well interesting.

2009-03-03T05:01:00.003Z

America's Republic Party Run By A Radio Ignoramus

Run Captain Pigface, Run!

If you ever needed proof of who runs the Republican Party, here it is.

"What is so strange about being honest and saying I want Barack Obama to fail if his mission is to restructure and re-form this country so that capitalism and individual liberty are not its foundation?" said the Pig Faced Limbaugh.

President Pig Face Wanna Be?

Oh, I dunno, what's so strange about a guy who calls himself a patriot yet at the same time hopes his president fails?

As always, Limbaugh has proven he's a self-serving Machiavellian who wants the Republicans, or his brand of Republicanism to maintain power at all costs. Even if it means his own country fails.

The spineless absence of direction of the Republican Party, who have now confirmed their party chairman is a glorified Uncle Tom, justifies again, as if 8 years of chaos and destruction wasn't sufficient evidence already, that America may have saved itself from irrevocable harm by not proving how ignorant and stupid the population's majority is yet again and voting another Republican in.

Sorry to spew vitriol but any time Rosh Limbaugh has a voice in America, it's an American that is always worse off. Limbaugh is everything that is wrong with American ignorance.

Drink Me Up, Scotty

According to the statistics, every person over 16 drinks an average of 23 units of alcohol every week. That is the equivalent of 570 pints of beer, or 125 bottles of wine, or 42 bottles of vodka a year. More than 1,500 Scots die from alcohol related problems every year.

570 pints of beer a year? How is that alot? That's less than two pints a day. Why the Austrians piss more pints out than that a day

Only drinkers in the Czech Republic consume more beer on average than those in Austria, according to the Austrian Brewers Association.

Association head Markus Liebl said today (Mon) Austrians had consumed 8.6 million hectolitres of beer in 2008, two per cent more than in 2007.

*****I'm Not Hungary, I'm Bloody Starving!

Ferenc Gyurcsany lost big in the Hat-In-Hand-Eurothon this weekend, despite rumours that the crisis had been resolved.

Resultantly, the time to unload your Central European currencies has probably passed.

The forint sank to 306.6 per euro by 1539 GMT, down 2.3 percent from Friday's closing level. It was still off its all-time low of 310 but negative pressure built when agency Fitch cut Hungary's ratings outlook to negative.

.

Now consider the went through all of this already LAST March and you begin to wonder if this isn't Hungary's new Annual Rite of Spring, the Devaluation of the Forint, the Influx of Eager Tourists, etc.

And if you think Hungary's got it bad off, think about the Ukraine going belly up and running out of hryvnias to pay off the Russian Gas Gods with. Better hope global warming hits Kiev soon.

*****

2009-03-02T01:47:00.002Z

David Foster Wallace, a slice of Wiggle Room:

Then another one, then a plummeting inside of him as the wall clock showed that what he’d thought was another hour had not been. Not even close. May 17, 1985. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a poor sinner. Cross-checking W-2s for the return’s line 8 off the place in the Martinsburg printout where the perforation, if you wanted to separate the thing’s sheets, went right through the data and you had to hold it up against the light and almost sometimes guess, which his chalk leader said was a chronic bug with Systems but the wiggler was still accountable. The joke this week was: How was an I.R.S. rote examiner like a mushroom? Both kept in the dark and fed horseshit. He didn’t know how mushrooms even worked, if it was true that you scooped waste on them. Sheri’s cooking wasn’t what you would call at the level of adding mushrooms. Then another return. The rule was, the more you looked at the clock the slower the time went. None of the wigglers wore a watch, except he saw that some kept them in their pockets for breaks. Clocks on Tingles were not allowed, nor coffee or pop. Try as he might, he could not this last week help envisioning the inward lives of the older men to either side of him, doing this day after day. Getting up on a Monday and chewing their toast and putting their hats and coats on knowing what they were going out the door to come back to for eight hours. This was boredom beyond any boredom he’d ever felt. This made the routing desk at UPS look like a day at Six Flags. It was May 17th, early morning, or early midmorning you could maybe almost call it now

*****

What the Fuck Is the World Coming To?

Apparently, there's now a no cussing club, started by a 14 year old. Wanna hang with us?

No fucking way.

2009-03-01T05:52:00.004Z

happy march!

Hey, anyone interested in some cathartic reading?

Assuming it is out of the question to hang, draw and quarter Sir Fred Goodwin, pluck out his intestines while they are still warm and wriggling, stuff them into his greedy mouth and then display his severed head on a spike at the Tower of London, could we settle for shooting him instead? Yes, I know, I'm going soft.

The sacrificial goat?

The funny thing is the naivité of anyone believing greed recedes once it is in the blood. These bankers are like junkies, albeit more of a threat to society. They are used to calling the shots, they are used to raking in obscene sums of cash and they are not willing to go off the smack even when faced with the abject failure of their system, their philosophy and their greed.

Step down quietly, gracefully, without pockets so stuffed with cash they can barely walk away? Fuggetaboutit.

On the other hand, the public pillaging of Goodwin could just be a smoke screen to cover up the government's own criminal incompetence

And quickly hidden, too, by the Goodwin pension kerfuffle was the testimony of Lord Turner, chairman of the Financial Services Agency, to the Treasury Select Committee last week. He said of Gordon Brown's watch at the Treasury: "All the pressure on the FSA was not to say: why aren't you looking at these business models, but why are you being so heavy and intrusive? Can't you make regulation a bit more light touch? We were supervising people like HBOS within a particular philosophy of the way you do regulation which I think, in retrospect, was wrong."

His views, which no one in Government has had the brass neck to contest, vindicate Paul Moore, the HBOS whistleblower, and support the thesis that history will probably conclude that the trail of easy credit and light-touch regulation responsible for the present crisis leads to Gordon Brown's front door.

And as the Independent and the Guardian take sides, the Times splits it right down the middle in Is the government being tough enough, or is it using them as a diversion?

It does appear in any event that the Banker Pigs got the opportunities they did through via the government, who either turned a blind eye to the concept of regulation or actively encouraged turning regulation into a running joke in order to continue to take credit for economic growth based on an ever-increasingly fragile house of cards.

And do you think Sir Fred is really quaking in his boots about the government taking his pension from him? In addition to their traditional incompetence, they are virtually powerless, at a legal stand still. And guess who negotiated this pension agreement with Sir Fred to begin with? Hmmm, you bet. Same idiots.

So yeah, Sir Fred should do the decent thing and cough up the pension but now that he's been mainlining cash into his veins all these years, he ent giving up the junk.

Irrespective of whose fault it is ultimately, pity the government isn't listen to Fat John Prescott who says that RBS should unilaterally withhold Goodwin’s pension - “and let him sue us”.

*****

Ok, to hell with economics - cheap travel, that's where it's at.

Here are four rail trips which won't bust you completely.

*****

Consecutive weekends have resulted in consecutive rubbish movies taken in. Don't ask why, maybe because they're free, I dunno.

Last night was Australia which was not only predictable, stupid and boring but crikey! it went on and on and on. After like, 30 minutes I was wondering is this over yet and found out there were another TWO HOURS to go! Anyway, this trailer does no justice to how ridiculous this movie is, believe it or not, merely scratches the surface:

And the weekend before, was Clint Eastwood's latest offering, the incredibly gawdawful Grand Torino. You can't really be sure it isn't a parody all along of a pensioner trying to reclaiming his "tough guy" reputation by spewing forth a bunch of racist prattle whilst simultaneously and gradually revealing his hip, sincere and touching heart. A joke. A joke all the way through, HIGH COMEDY, folks, until the bitter end when he compounds the horrific experiece by SINGING. And let there be no doubt, tortured frogs, if they were to be captured on audio tape, would sound like bloody Ceclia Bartoli by comparison.

Nonetheless, if you're intrigued, you can find the trailer here.

2009-02-28T14:21:00.007Z

According to a recent study, Obese teenagers carry same risk as smoking 10 cigarettes a day.

Now this is the kind of reductionist hysteria that simple warms the heart.

So "clinically obese" teen are just as prone to ~~social darwinism~~ premature death as 10 fag-a-day habit teens. Naturally one wonders what it takes to be considered clinically obese...

Overweight is defined as having a body mass index – a measure of body fat based on height and weight – of between 25 and 30, whereas being obese is defined as having a BMI of more than 30. Being overweight at 18 increased the risk of an early death by just more than a third, while being obese more than doubled the risk. The risk of premature death also increased with the number of cigarettes smoked, with heavy smokers at more than double the risk of dying relatively early in life compared to non-smokers.

On the other hand, whilst teens smoking 10 fags a day are likely to be considered hipsters by the underachieving antisocial, slacker element bound to populate most teenage hangouts, somehow it's far less likely some fatty is going to end up considered cool rather than the butt of every one else's jokes so, well, you do the maths:

*****

With another pair fallen, the English maintained their worldwide lead in drunk fucks who get killed in drink-related accidents whilst on holiday.

For a few colourful examples, check here.

While normal visitors are busy doing boring things like scuba diving and “eating breakfast”, the British are showing us what the fun holiday activities really are: vomiting in the street, stumbling from balconies, getting horribly maimed, and (most fun of all) dying of alcohol poisoning.

*****

White Stripes

There's No Home For You Here

There's no home for you here girl, go away
There's no home for you here

I'd like to think that all of this constant interaction
Is just the kind of make you drive yourself away
Each simple gesture done by me is counteracted
And leaves me standing here with nothing else to say

Completely baffled by a backward indication
That an inspired word will come across your tongue
Hands moving upward to propel the situation
Have simply halted
And now the conversation's done

There's no home for you here girl, go away
There's no home for you here

I'm only waiting for the proper time to tell you
That it's impossible to get along with you
It's hard to look you in the face when we are talking
So it helps to have a mirror in the room

I've not been really looking forward to the performance
But there's my cue and there's a question on your face
Fortunately I have come across an answer
Which is go away
And do not leave a trace

There's no home for you here girl, go away
There's no home for you here

Waking up for breakfast
Burning matches
Talking quickly
Breaking baubles
Throwing garbage
Drinking soda
Looking happy
Taking pictures
So completely stupid
Just go away

There's no home for you here girl, go away
There's no home for you here

*****

Punk'd:

One day this month, 30 years ago, John Simon Ritchie, otherwise known as Sid Vicious, woke up dead. He had spent the previous evening shooting heroin in celebration of his release from Riker's Island after an assault charge. Sometime during the night, his heart stopped. He was 21 years old.

2009-02-25T04:16:00.004Z

I Dunno Why, This Just Cracks Me Up

thanks, passive aggressive notes

*****

Especially in light of this cowardly decision.

Liberal Democrat MP Sir Menzies Campbell said: "This is a Government which, when introducing measures to limit personal freedom, says that those that have nothing to hide should have nothing to fear.

"If the process of reaching the decision to embark upon an illegal war against Iraq is still supported by the Government, why haven't they the courage to let us see the minutes of the Cabinet?"

Fucking hypocrites. Cowards? Maybe that's why. Oh no, I'm sure there's a much more dignified and moral rationale behind it than meets the idea. Something only the Cabinet would be aware of and simply can't share with the unwashed masses who are clearly to stupid and gullible to deserve the unvarnished truth.

*****

Whilst the news isn't earth-shattering, probably something more appropriately relegated to some gossip rag or hair salon magazine pile, a Swedish Princess is going to marry her personal trainer...

Apparently there is some sort of kink the Scandanavian Royals have with mixing with and marrying the riff raff:

In Norway, Crown Prince Haakon married Mette-Marit Tjessem Høiby, a single mother and waitress, who was the daughter of an unemployed alcoholic. Crown Prince Frederik of Denmark met his wife Mary Donaldson in a bar in Sydney and introduced himself by saying: “Hi, I’m Fred from Denmark.”

I dunno, does it matter? No, it's just an alternative to hyperventilating into a paper bag after reading that other bit about the Iraq War minutes.

via quirkyjessi

2009-02-24T04:55:00.004Z

For those struggling with the drink, or struggling against it, however the case may be, take heart in this piece on writers and drinking. Nice little ditty about Hunter S Thompson setting himself alight. (I read that piece by Hamill quite some time ago and still recall the incomprehensible bouts with gin that F Scott Fitzgerald went through.) You wonder sometimes if it is genius in spite of the drinking or because of it. Funny world, perspective.

****

Speaking of drinking, why not a Guide to best New Orleans bars for Mardi Gras?

*****

From the Cocaine?! I Thought I Was Smuggling Diamonds!, Department of Dumb Excuses:

"The problem is the boss paid for me to be transferred and now I am in his debt," he says. "If he puts a gun in my hand and tells me to shoot someone I will have to do it. If he says I have to let him sleep with Laura, there will be nothing I can do.”

It is quite a little tale about a British guy with a dodgy history taking his kids and ex-missus on a trip to Venezuela alleged just to smuggle diamonds but as it turned out, they ended up busted for attempting to smuggle cocaine.

I do feel a little sorry for the woman who may very well have been duped but when you think about it, what was she doing running off with her ex and her kids to Venezuela when she had a boyfriend already? Lure of the sunshine thousands of miles away too strong?

Perhaps should feel good for the kids, getting out of the clutches of such colossal idiots which no cannot but have a harmful effect on their upbringing.

But really, the guy? Are we really supposed to feel sorry for him? Jackal.

*****

And yes, today IS Pancake Day in England, aka Shrove Tuesday, the day before the onset of Lent. For those of you who don't know any better yet still somehow manage to care, read this for a little background.

Just realise that whilst people in Ingerland are stuffing their gobs with pancakes, in New Orleans they're having "real" fun getting all liquored up at Mardi Gras.

Anyway, in theory, today is the day you are supposed to confess all your terrible sins and seek absolution for them.

So start confessin', kids.

*****

And whilst it's no pancake, how about a Dashimaki fried egg, Japanese-style, like?

2009-02-23T03:48:00.004Z

Shedding The Ego

What the Curlew Said, Nostos Continued, by John Moriarty, via Dublin Review of Books on "old evil":

As in Nostos, he refers to Captain Ahab’s obsessive hunting down of the whale in Melville’s Moby Dick. This he sees as a powerful, expressive image of the mindset that’s wrong with Western culture, through which nature is treated merely as something to be harnessed and exploited for practical benefit. A related problem is the old one of evil, which troubles him. “If things are ontologically so right how come they are so often so morally wrong?” He well recognises that nature itself is harsh and indifferent to human and animal suffering. He finds it “unfigurable” that the curlew in whose call he hears “gospels” is also a predator of worms. At the same time, central to his view is the recognition that we still carry within us today something from our entire human and animal past. A part of this has been the struggle to survive in an often hostile environment. Fear and apprehension have deep roots. But so too does wonder, along with dreams and aspirations. Moriarty sees us as still having the capacity to reawaken in ourselves the early stupendous wonder our distant ancestors must have felt on becoming aware of being in the world, a wonder which found expression in naturalist religious beliefs and practices.

*****

Musical interlude: Hermeto Pascoal, live at Montreaux 1979, zows! (particularly the solo about 6 minutes in...)

2009-02-22T07:14:00.003Z

The Many Languages of Death

Il cadavere di un uomo è stato trovato dentro una valigia in un appartamento di via Urbano II al quartiere Aurelio a Roma.

Een 23-jarige vrouw uit Wageningen is zaterdagavond om het leven gekomen nadat zij met haar auto op een bestelbusje en daarna op een boom was gebotst. Het ongeluk gebeurde op de kruising Nijenoord Allee en de Churchillweg in Wageningen, zo heeft de politie laten weten.

Un policier a été tué de deux balles dans la tête ce samedi soir à la Courneuve (Seine-Saint-Denis). Le policier - un homme d'une trentaine d'années - était en civil au moment des faits. Les circonstances de cette mort restent pour l'heure indéterminées.

Los perros desplegados por la Guardia Civil para la búsqueda de Carmelo M.D., de 38 años de edad y cónyuge de la mujer fallecida violentamente en Rociana del Condado (Huelva), han propiciado el descubrimiento del cadáver del sujeto en el interior de un pozo ubicado a unos 500 metros del casco urbano de dicho municipio, según ha informado un portavoz del Instituto Armado.

Socks, die Katze im Weißen Haus während der Präsidentschaft von Bill Clinton, ist im reifen Alter von 18 Jahren gestorben. Die Clinton-Stiftung gab zu dem traurigen Ereignis eigens eine Pressemitteilung heraus. Allerdings wohnte die Katze zum Schluss gar nicht mehr bei der einstigen Präsidentenfamilie.

Minst 13 mennesker har mistet livet og 20 er skadd i en kollisjon mellom et tog og en turistbuss i Slovakia. Redningstjenestene frykter at dødstallet kan komme til å stige.

The recent deaths of two Massachusetts teenagers - 17-year-old Taylor Meyer last October in Norfolk and 16-year-old Elizabeth Mun last weekend in Andover, who each wandered away from unsupervised parties and died in cold, shallow bodies of water - have shocked parents and teenagers alike.

2009-02-22T05:33:00.003Z

Sunday Morning Music

Just a few videos to get the morning started, before the weekly reading of the papers, the heavy English breakfast, the long walks...

Bojan Z, pianist...

Vlatko Stefanovski and Miroslav Tadic, guitars...

Martha Galarraga, Hamilton de Holanda y Marcos Souzano au Triton

Omar Sosa Quartet

2009-02-20T05:30:00.004Z

Adelard of Bath

Allegedly, the first English scientist. Here, a little time line of his life beginning around 1080. Although he travelled quite alot, when he returned eventually back home, he turned his eye to his countrymen to discover

...that its chief men are violent, its magistrates wine-lovers, its judges mercenary, its patrons fickle, private men sycophants, those who make promises deceitful, friends full of jealousy, and almost all men self-seekers`

Times never change, do they?

The cause of this brief spasm of research was the book review of The House of Wisdom

Speaking of which, All Arabic numbers we use today are ideograms created by Abu Ja'far Muhammad ibn Musa al-Khwarizmi (c.778 - c.850).
Al-Khwarizmi was born in Central Asia, where today is placed the Uzbekistan, and then he moved to Baghdad, where he worked as a mathematician during the first golden age of Islamic Science, at the "House of Wisdom".

*****

In more current times, it appears the Britain's national debt will now (if it hasn't already) realistically leap-frog to 150% of national income. Of course it all depends on whose calculator you're using but nonetheless, one keeps getting tiny peaks into the window of this nearly unfathomable financial disaster which, owed to bank bailouts, house market crash and general global economic meltdown appears to be growing daily.

Martin Wolf at FT considers the UK Monetary Policy:

The resulting analysis risks missing the underlying processes at work and so risks being, in the words of John Maynard Keynes, precisely wrong rather than roughly right.

I would stress one lesson of the past and one challenge for the future.

The lesson of the past is that inflation targeting failed. This does not mean that it is impossible to target inflation successfully. The evidence is that it has worked, so far. But stabilising inflation has not, in practice, stabilised the economy. On the contrary, success with inflation helped destabilise inflation itself, as we now see, by boosting a credit explosion, foolish risk-taking and ultimately a financial meltdown.

Within its two-year policy horizon, the monetary policy committee had to ignore the risks of such long-term feedback effects, via credit, money and asset prices. They were unsustainable processes. But when they would break was unpredictable. Yet, in hindsight, policy should have taken them more into account. This could have been done by adjusting interest rates or by regulatory means.

This lesson of the past also relates to the challenges ahead. Again, will it be possible to manage the powerful destabilising processes we see? The economy, the public finances and indebted homebuyers have suffered large negative shocks. Deflation is the immediate fear. But one must also ask what role inflation might play in redistributing these losses in future.

This is not a true reflection of taxpayers’ likely future liabilities from banking losses, which Goldman Sachs estimates at 8 per cent of national income – or £120bn – and internal International Monetary Fund estimates, put at 13 per cent of national income – or £200bn. Together the IMF estimate and the latest forecasts for public borrowing put underlying public sector debt at about 80 per cent of national income by 2011, twice the former “sustainable investment rule”.

*****

But it's all a happy place. If you aren't bankrupt yet and can still afford a pint, if you quaff it in your local, you're likely to have the privilege of having Big Brother Efficient Government watching you while you do.

The Met of course, pooh-pooh the idea. They explained that they did not "impose" CCTV, but merely put it forward as a "recommendation" to the relevant Licensing body. We also asked why they had mentioned a requirement for all licenseholders to make images available "on request" – which would be a serious extension of police powers.

It's a joke really, coming from the same government which appears to believe if something can't be taxed it should be banned and if it can't be surveilled it mustn't exist.

The Daily Mail has a typically rational response in its headline http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1148244/Pubs-ordered-install-Big-Brother-CCTV-cameras--risk-losing-licences.html

How do you a police a society of thieving, rabid, drunken, violent dogs? Perhaps they should let the FSA regulate them. After all, look what a brilliant job they've done regulating financial services.

2009-02-19T05:15:00.004Z

COFFEE V BEER

le Café - Oldelaf (english subtitles)
Uploaded by Boebis

Is it "true" madness? (ps - grazie, trutv

Substitute Un café for une bière, deux bières....et voila! You've got anti social behaviour:

*****

Although it wasn't the winner of the 2008 World Press photo this certainly gets my vote:

BRENT STIRTON/Getty

*****

Ok, one's a mountain gorilla, one's a chimp, but to keep the imagery running in a tokenly similar vein, have you had a gander at the latest cartoon of controversy with thinly veiled undertones of racist commentary? If one could surmise that the comparison of Obama with a rabid chimp is being made here (and wow, I'd like to hear the explanation of Delonas or the New York Post explaining how it isn't) one wonders at the notion that so long as one is lampooning between the lines, the killing of the President in lieu of a cartoon depicting Muhammad, cartoonists can pretty much do get away with whatever they want. Whilst recognising the "Arab Street" isn't going to get involved in the outrage of this particular cartoon, which street is it on the protest map?

*****

2009-02-18T06:46:00.004Z

zeklova tree prone to Dutch elm disease although it is not an elm, only a substitute for one. Made in Japan.

although this looks like a Belgian landscape in a sense...well, a certain Flemish road leading into the Oostende or someplace I was thinking of, unclear and I've no photos to show for it so this will have to suffice more than memory:

And since we're on the subject of trees for some odd reason, here's on of my favs in Brizzle:

2009-02-16T20:03:00.005Z

Walkers

It isn't often that I'd stoop to referring to a crisps promotion or better still, referring to a newspaper article about crisps promotion but I have to admit to having wondered myself whilst wandering the aisles of ASDA, counting pound bargains and benefits-slurping pikeys, seeing these allegedly bold new flavours sitting out there like tantalising new whores on an red light district street block. Brooker's summary of the oddest of the new flavours, Cajun Squirrel, is all you need to know:

"Self-consciously "wacky" and attention-grabbing entry. Walkers are keen to point out that "no squirrels were harmed in the making of this crisp", which is a pity because I had chucklesome visions of thousands of live, screaming squirrels being bulldozered into an immense bubbling cauldron in front of a party of horrified schoolchildren. The flavour itself is truly vile: if they'd called it Squirrel's Blood, everyone would've believed them. They taste precisely like a tiny cat piping hot farts through a pot-pourri pouch into your mouth."

*****

Good luck, lads. You're gonna need it

Taking on the Hollywood entertainment industry is no small feat, even for the four standing accused of piracy.

“This trial is about ideology and politics and you can draw parallels about this case to the past. When the printing press was invented in the 16th century the French establishment wanted it banned because they feared they wouldn’t be able to control the masses, but they couldn’t stop it. When libraries were launched in the UK the 19th century the establishment claimed that no more books would ever be written as a result because authors would never be able to survive if people read books for free. Clearly this is not the case,” said Rick Falkvinge, the leader of the ‘Pirate Party’, a Swedish political party formed as a result of the growing concern amongst the file sharing community that their civil liberties were being clamped down on as a result of the entertainment industry’s powerful lobby.

apparently, the trial can be watched live here (or, in the past, depending on when you watch it...

I don't give a fart about the bloated pigs running Hollywood and what they might stand to lose. The frightening thing perhaps, if you've ever encountered any of these pirate sites, is that the quality of most of the movies which are being pirated are just shit. Try and find a good foreign film, artistic direction or a good low budget film that won't ever have a chance in hell of being shown in one of those massive, mind-numbing cineplex shit factories on one of these sites. It ent easy. The big blockbusters, the rubbish bins of the film industry, are the usual lot available. It's sad that what's allegedly being stolen is money when really all they're doing is making rubbish movies free, which is about what the product is worth to begin with.

2009-02-14T05:19:00.007Z

Why Not Just Light Up A Fag?

this article is an interesting take on the growing human incapacity for spending time alone and more importantly, for using technology in public places as a means of repressing the uncomfortable feeling of being a loser simply because one isn't surrounded by mates.

"But my unease sprang from my inability to convey that to the strangers around me. Honest, I'm not a loner. I had to learn to deal with the discomfort. Sometimes, it would force me to strike up conversations with strangers or be receptive when they engaged me. Other times, I would just sit alone and read or think. The discomfort never went away entirely, but it sure receded with practice."

It struck me that lighting up a fag in such instances often alleviates the discomfort he's on about. The Fag as a Friend theory speaks to not being alone, feeling cool, indifferent or simply distracted when alone in public places.

Ironically of course whilst its ok to fuck with a blackberry or mobile phone in public places, unless that public place happens to be outdoors, you're rather screwed for a place to smoke but that's another rant for another day.

Suffice it to say I've observed how pathetic it is to watch your average idiot suffer with finding something to do when sitting or standing alone somewhere and how quickly that fucking mobile phone or blackberry comes out. Check messages, read auld ones, ANYTHING to avoid coming off as Billy No Mates in public.

But it's a sham. They aren't receiving any calls or excitedly having new messages revealed, just underscoring either that they're a loser with no friends or a loser with friends who is so inept that a few moments alone seems incredibly embarassing.

Stand outside and fire up a fag. Read a book. Whatever, but if you can't feel indifferent or comfortable alone in public places even the fag or the book isn't likely to help and more likely than not you ARE the loser you are so desperately attempting to avoid appearing like.

******

The Tetchy-Feely Poor and Indifferent Rich

Are these social skills going to become more valuable during the growing tide of economic downturn?

"Kraus and Keltner’s study, published in last month’s issue of Psychological Science, shows that individuals who are low on traditional measures of socioeconomic status (SES) (their family earns less than the state’s median income) demonstrate more “engagement cues” in conversations than do their wealthier peers. The authors hypothesized this effect based on the following evolutionary theory:

In nonhuman species, the ability to assess resource displays accurately leads to preferred mating opportunities and the avoidance of costly, aggressive encounters in negotiations of status. In humans, nonverbal displays of the capacity to provide resources are likely to be important in mate selection, as well as in group members’ attempts to identify individuals suitable for positions of leadership.

In other words, the rich can afford to be relatively aloof in their conversational exchanges. However, those of us whose net worth is in negative equity tend to be more attentive communicative partners, since we have more to gain by being liked. With resources aplenty, powerful people are less dependent on others, and this translates to their being more disengaged in everyday social interactions."

Or maybe the rich are just a little more selective about social interaction for fear of being seen with less desirable people. What have the poor got to lose? New contacts could lead to new horizons, an uplift in social status. The non-poor, on the other hand, have appearances to uphold. What banker wants to be delayed on a street corner exchanging niceties with social pariah and risk being swept up into the loser net?

******

Gorky Aguila, Cuban Punk

2009-02-10T18:01:00.004Z

Honesty For a Change?

Four senior bankers were grilled by the Treasury select committee revealing their incompetence and lack of qualifications.

One wonders how they were ever in the positions they were in to begin with...

Sir Tom McKillop, the former chairman of the Royal Bank of Scotland and Sir Fred Goodwin, RBS's former chief executive, and Andy Hornby and Lord Stevenson, respectively the former chief executive and chairman of HBOS admitted:

•They did not have any formal banking qualifications.

• Hornby was still being paid £60,000 a month to work as a consultant for HBOS.

• McKillop did not fully understand some of the complex financial instruments his bank was using.

Shouldn't this hearing/meeting have come in front of the gallows or guillotine?

Profound and unqualified apologies.

Big fucking deal. How about handing back all that ill-gotten gain and a dozen pints of blood to go with it?

The funny thing is all this rubbish about bonuses and absurdist salaries being required to attract qualified staff and yet all those bonuses and absurdist salaries attracted scum. Well paid, unqualified scum. So should anyone bother listening to anything they are saying?

*****

Part of the series: Down the Yangtze River
Picture: KEVIN LEE

*****

And, given the snow and images in the UK over the last week or so, how about a little snowman and a Highland cow?

Picture: PA

2009-02-05T07:59:00.005Z

Where In The World

Was just wondering this morning what ever happened to Manuel Noriega, the CIA asset, dictator, stooge who was the target of a 24,000 troop US invasion of Panama back in GW Daddy's Days.

As you may recall, Manny was given a show trial and dumped in prison for the foreseeable future.

Oddly, it appears that although Noriega completed his original prison sentence in September 2007, he still isn't a free man...

Noriega was convicted in 1992. After the trial, he was declared a POW by Judge William Hoeveler, which set the stage for the current legal morass.

Noriega was scheduled to be released about 16 months ago. He has been in prison for just over 19 years.

At the end of all legal proceedings, the courts will make a recommendation to the U.S. secretary of state, who can accept or reject the court's ruling.

The case will probably eventually go to the U.S. Supreme Court and the incoming Obama administration, specifically his secretary of state, will ultimately decide whether to follow the final court ruling.

So, ultimately, the decision could be Hillary Clinton's.

Either way, he isn't likely to be free any time soon. Both France and Panama want him for money laundering and murder, respectfully.

Quite a life, that Manuel Noriega. Survived prison, prostate cancer and a stroke. And Dick Cheney remains a free man.

*****

Sax

Just because, a shout out to Adolf Sax

Adolphe Sax is born in Belgium, at Dinant, in the street where, since 1896, has his name. he has live in the small house, destroyed in 1914, which now there is an big commercial center. In the front of this , there is an inscription cut out of stone :" Here born Adolphe Sax. 1814-1894".
He was the son of Charles-Joseph Sax (born in 1791 et dead in 1865) and of Marie-Joseph Masson (born in 17 ? ? and dead in 1861). Adolphe was the olddest child on eleven children, six boys and five girls. Only 3 out of sisters and brothers will survive. The others were all dead between 18 and 25.

The conditions of the construction of the first saxophone are not known, Adolf just used a conic copper tube and a mouthpiece with a wood reed .
THe first saxophone was born. It was a C bass saxophone the 20th Mars 1846 and Adolf Sax was just 20.

*****

Lastly, another SNOW fall last night lends this photo from out my flat window pre and post dawn...

2009-02-03T07:05:00.003Z

Don't Look Now, But What's This? A Sensible Conclusion To The World Crisis?

Imagine this: you've maxed out three or four credit cards, you've got a mortgage for a house which you purchased waaaay above your means, an outstanding loan on a £100,000 auto and suddenly, you lose your job. You've got no way to pay any of the debt back.

You're fucked, right? Not if you're a bank, of course. If you're a bank you just ask your fellow taxpayers pay for you. Give me a BIGGER loan to cover all the bad loans I can no longer afford and THAT will solve the problem.

Right, good luck with that one.

Now comes a sensible approach from historian Niall Ferguson:

"The aim must be not to increase debt but to reduce it. Two things must happen. First, banks that are de facto insolvent need to be restructured – a word that is preferable to the old-fashioned “nationalisation”. Existing shareholders will have to face that they have lost their money. Too bad; they should have kept a more vigilant eye on the people running their banks. Government will take control in return for a substantial recapitalisation after losses have meaningfully been written down. Bond holders may have to accept either a debt-for-equity swap or a 20 per cent “haircut” (a reduction in the value of their bonds) – a disappointment, no doubt, but nothing compared with the losses when Lehman went under."

*****

From last night's debacle...the morning after:

2009-02-02T21:30:00.003Z

Finally, a bit of Snow

Don't see this very often...Photograph: Anthony Devlin/PA

We didn't get it like this in Bristol. Most of the day was reasonably dry until shortly after 4 pm when it started snowing with a vengeance. Not enough to cancel work/school/life...like those wimps in London...

Anyway, that was supposed to be the heaviest snowfall for 18 years. Not much...

****

2009-02-01T02:02:00.003Z

go ahead, click it. it's fucking mad.

mad cow animation

2009-01-28T02:24:00.003Z

Best Hostels Money Can Buy

The best hostels guide is out and the top two are in Lisboa. One guess where this Spring's next travel destination is going to be.

*****

Why Hungarians tell the best jokes

“Istvan, please stand up and tell us what Marxist criticism and self-criticism means,” she instructs.

The little boy stands up. “Comrade teacher, Marxist criticism is how we must view my parents, who joined the reactionary counter-revolutionary forces who sought to destroy our heroic workers’ and peasants’ state, and then fled to the imperialist, capitalist west, to continue their intrigues against the Socialist regime.”

“Excellent, Istvan. And what is your Marxist self-criticism?”

“I didn’t go with them.”

The second is set on May Day in Budapest, as the Hungarian armed forces parade past the communist leaders. There is an impressive array of tanks, missiles, armoured cars, and soldiers marching in their best uniforms.

The communist leaders stand impassively as the soldiers and their vehicles pass by. Then, right at the end comes a battered old open truck, sputtering exhaust as it carries three fat middle-aged men in badly fitting grey suits. An apparatchik turns to the defence minister and asks, “Who are they?”

“That’s our

secret weapon,” says the minister. “Economists from the Ministry of Planning.”

*****

The Caviar Left and the Caustic Cynic

Houellebecq replies by acknowledging his “misanthropic apathy”, and noting that his “desire to antagonize conceals an insane desire to please”, to be loved warts, and all: “I don’t wish to be loved in spite of what is worst in me, but because of what is worst in me”. Houellebecq also contrasts his own bleak outlook with Lévy’s humanitarian concern for victims: “In a case of war I would be among those who will have fought very little, and badly . . . those who are indifferent to the fate of democracy, the Free French, Chechnya or the Basque country . . . . I am among the legions of people who endure History, and are basically only interested in what concerns them or their loved ones directly. I find it extremely unpleasant to think that the selfish and cowardly course I stick to should make me more likeable in the eyes of my contemporaries than you, who are advocating heroism”. The clash between the philosopher’s worthy, wordy prose and the novelist’s wry, world-weary style is well brought out in this exchange.

*****

Too Early for Beer So Have a Heineken

from the Facebook group I bet i can find 1,000,000 people who dislike Heineken

De drie directeurs van Maes, Heineken en Jupiler nemen elke ochtend om 10 over 7 de trein naar het werk. Op een zekere ochtend is er een vertraging en ze besluiten samen iets te gaan drinken. Ze stappen een café binnen waar ze meer dan 120 verschillende bieren hebben. De directeur van Maes roept : "Patron, drie Maeskes alstublieft." Nadat hun glas leeg is, roept de directeur van Heineken: "Hallo, barman, kan jij ons nog effe drie Heinekens serveren alsjeblief." Nadat deze uit zijn, is het de beurt aan de directeur van Jupiler: "Patron, drie Heineken alstublieft!" De directeurs van Maes en Heineken schrikken op en kijken elkaar verwonderd aan. Plots zegt die van Heineken: "Man, hoe kan dat nu ? Je bent directeur van Jupiler en je bestelt drie Heineken ? "Wel, ja," zegt de directeur van Jupiler, op zijn uurwerk kijkend, "'t Is nog wat vroeg om bier te drinken !"

2009-01-25T13:44:00.003Z

Happy 250th, Mr Burns

*****

Rant of the Day

One, Gordon d'Andilly, writes: "Oh for crying out loud! Can all these outraged sensitive souls just drop it now. Yes, we get the message you don't like Jonathan Ross, we understand you think the licence fee is too high, pointless, an outrage etc etc etc ...

"I am so bored by this false moral outrage by the same bunch of half-baked, slightly loony fruitcakes that crawl out of the woodwork every time something someone may find funny/offensive is aired ... there was very little wrong in September, there is nothing wrong now. Go away! Go back to reading the Daily Mail and the Watchtower and leave normal people alone."

*****

Suicide Invoice by Hot Snakes

^^^^^

Photograph: Patrick Bernard/AFP/Getty Images

*****

50 reasons to make it to France

If I hear another word about the plunge of the pound against the euro, I shall start shooting. I know all about it, thank you.
I live in France, am paid mainly in sterling and so now rely on squirrel traps for the Sunday lunch.
But, despite this new and frisky relationship with the food chain, I shall not be leaving. The landscape – sea, mountains, rivers, forests and lakes – assembles the best of Europe in one country. That costs nothing. Nor does the politeness and general decorum. It’s still possible to take a midnight stroll in a city centre without being vomited upon.

2009-01-25T09:27:00.003Z

The Beat Goes On

***

Versus

*****

Good Ole Slavoj

while retaining an inner distance and indifference toward the mad dance of accelerated process

"""""

2009-01-20T06:03:00.003Z

The Growing Concern These Twats Don't Know Wot They're Doing

Alistair Darling today insisted he was right to use hundreds of billions of taxpayers' money in a fresh bail-out of the banking sector, saying the recession would be much worse if he did not act.

And that's because Alistair Darling doesn't have a clue about what he's doing. The answer is throw more money into it, like a gambler trying to overcome massive losses by continuing to gamble more and more until there is nothing left to gamble with.

Gordon Brown told a Downing Street press conference that the loss showed the consequences of "irresponsible lending"

Consequences to whom? The bank fat cats on multi-million dollar bonuses they will never have to give back?

Brown, demonstrating yet again a propensity for being wrongwrongwrong, claims that his first priority is "hard-working families who are worried about whether they can afford or get a mortgage and businesses who work hard every day to employ people. They need credit and lending to be made. They need the banks to do their job that the banks say they are there to do. What we want to see is for businesses to get the money they need to create jobs and secure the future..."

Brilliant.

So why not give THEM the fucking money instead of the banks who have already demonstrated a clear me-first penchant for irresponsible lending to crony millionaires, most of whom aren't even doing business in the country and continue to fuck over the very people Brown and his Monkey Brigade allege they want to help?

Why throw more money at the banks when £32 billion didn't convince the banks to free up credit?

Just because the only answer Gordon Brown knows is throw money to the banks? Feed the addiction?

Wby doesn't the government tell the banks to fuck off and use these absurd bail-out sum to guarantee savings and create a massive fund for small businesses and hard-working families to borrow from?

Ok, the government are inefficient, corrupt and well, in the pocket of the banks, that's for sure, but logically, instead of giving the money away, dropping it into a black bit bank bailout, why not just admit the banks are fucked and use the money to help people directly?

Ah yes, public anger grows at "irresponsible banks" blablabla - so why are we giving these irresponsible institutions MORE money? And why aren't the thieves and idiots who ran these banks into the ground fighting legal charges to save their lives and having every penny they own sucked back into the government funds?

Frank Dobson, a former Health Minister, said these "severe constraints" should encompass the pay and bonuses of bank bosses, adding that the measures unveiled by Alistair Darling would be acceptable to the public only if they were accompanied by "strict national and international regulation" to prevent further economic catastrophes.

Fuck that. Fuck severe constraints in the future. Make these fuckers pay NOW. They aren't bankrupt, just the banks they ran into the ground. Make THEM pay everything they have, leave THEM penniless, not the rest of us.

Ok, ok. Rant is over.

Nearly.

*****

On to more pleasant things, better news: Obama's inauguration, a Day for Hope.

President-elect Barack Obama and others participated in a "Day of Service" to help commemorate the birthday of slain civil rights leader Martin Luther King.

*****

Oh yeah, and if you live in Arizona or Pittsburgh, for the next two weeks you're probably going to be happy because YOU'RE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL

And if you live in Manchester and support Man City you're probably going to be pretty unfucking happy because Kaka ent coming to town.

2009-01-18T08:53:00.004Z

Eastern European Unrest

Does the misery ever end for these poor bastids? After years of singing in the shadows of the Soviet Union, standing in bread queues and suffering bitter cold they get a little freedom, a little breathing space and now all hell's gonna break out on the Eastern front.

"Eastern Europe is heading for a violent "spring of discontent", according to experts in the region who fear that the global economic downturn is generating a dangerous popular backlash on the streets."

Breakdown in public order, the theme song of 2009.

Layoffs followed by reduction in tax revenue followed by cut backs in state budgets, discontent, anger, riots. It's a pattern of cause and effect spreading like an air borne virus.

"These are often fragile economies ... with brittle political structures, political parties that are not very well formed and weak institutions. They are ill-prepared for what has hit them," Eyal said. "Last year it was the core western European countries which were shaky; now it is the weaker periphery that are getting the full blast of the crisis."

*****

Balkan Hardcore, Pop Culture and Paramilitarism...

"The combination of "porno-nationalism," media overload and constant propaganda across music, television and print could be characterised as a type of "kineto-catastrophism" using speed, immersion and overload as terrorising, mobilizatory forces, bringing to mind Ulrike Meinhof's critique of what she termed konsumteror: the deliberate and violent instillment of a compulsion to consume."

*****

Meanwhile in France, they are turning to hardcore feminism;

"Baise-moi (translation: Fuck Me) lit the touchpaper for a new movement of French extremism in cinema and literature. The movie, which starred two former porn actresses, proved so shocking that it became the first film in France to be banned for 28 years and was only released after an outcry from anti-censorship campaigners.

With its depictions of graphic sex and nihilistic violence, the film has become the visual mascot of a new wave of hardcore feminism in France that seeks to subvert traditionally male boundaries with a savage and frequently uncomfortable honesty."

*****

Speaking of Fuck Me, hold on to your seats, kiddies but it looks like there's a fresh banking crisis set to undo the British economy and send it all reeling into bankruptcy

"Unless we act quickly, decisively and cleverly, the difficulties of our banks could overwhelm us, triggering an enormous run on the pound. Britain, in short, risks bankruptcy."

Yes, as we innocently spend our weekend on relaxtion and keeping out of the pelting rain and gale-force winds, the Brown Boys are sequesetered hammering out another "emergency package" to save the British government. It reminds one of the patient that won't die, the Generalisimo Francisco Franco of the world economy. Just die already. Let's get on with the future and stop bailing out the fat cats, some say from the peanut gallery.

*****

Whilst we have nearly unfettered misery all round, the world is preparing itself for Obama's coming out party which will hopefully lighten the mood for a minute or two before we plunge back into the rollercoaster misery of fear and doom we've been riding on for the last six months.

Even the auld 9:30 club in DC is getting into the act with a "America Feels Kinda Cool Again Inaugural Gala" will feature the Beastie Boys, Sheryl Crow and Citizen Cope

*****

Last night's movies: one heavily depressive (although I sense it was meant to be uplifting trust me, it isn't...) Seven Pounds, yet another Will Smith is the nicest human being alive vehicle...it does holds one interest for awhile whilst you try and figure out what the fuck he's up to in the early stages.

and on the other end of the scale, uproariously funny and just too goddamned truthful for its own good and oddly, virtually unavailable on youtube for some strange, heavy-handed reason, Chris Rock's Kill the Messenger.

You will laugh, guaranteed. At some point.

And finally, Mr Madonna's heavily panned Rockandrolla which proves yet again you can take a horse to the same fucking watering hole over and over but eventually, there won't be any water left...

2009-01-16T02:26:00.002Z

Dick Clarke And The Dickless Lightbulbs

"that ain't no dress,
that's a rag!"

10. I'll Want Complete Control (this is solely an act. the real agenda is
you can turn dogs into cats. No one knows why. No one takes credit.
Not even God.)

9. One Saturday, I Spent The Entire Afternoon Caluclating Litres Into Gallons,
Pounds into powder, the exchange rate to the money-less.

8. She played guitar because socially, she was disfunctional.

7. If You Like The Dream, Fuck It and Return It To The Manufacturers
and ask for birth control.

6. They will love each other in georgeous moments
and indifference in every other hour.

5. Somehow the praying will create a television
and with it, somnambulism.

4. She loves me, she loves me not.

3. I will cry because it's in the script.
If it were up to me, I'll take a granite face
on Mount Rushmore.

2. How fucking vain can one man be,

1. Here we find ourselves, intertwined.
Let's hope we can unravel ourselves.

2009-01-13T08:19:00.003Z

Did you ever indulge yourself in something you knew was simply never going to amount to anything positive of productive?

Aye, here I am, two mornings running, working out in the gym with this MTV show on the telly transfixing me called Life of Ryan.

Now don't get me wrong, it's an utterly rubbish, phony and predictable show in the same vein as all other rubbish, phony, predictable pseudo-reality shows produced by MTV.

I couldn't care less about the content but in these last miserable days in Merry Ole with it being dark, windy, wet and cold, what captured my eye were the shots of San Clemente and the beautiful beaches which, if you live in England, you might simple stumble over drooling over.

England versus San Clemente (cheers to View from Above for the hideous overview of Leeds which helps prove my point...

And naturally thinking about San Clemente got me thinking about Nixon, which naturally led to Frost/Nixon, which I've liked but have fallen asleep two nights running trying to finish wathching....

2009-01-11T17:02:00.004Z

Ominous Leaflets

Gaza Intensifying

"The Israel Defense Forces will intensify shortly its directed operation against tunnels, weapon storehouses and members of terrorist groups all over Gaza. For your safety and that of your family you are asked to stay away from terrorist elements and from places where terrorist operations occur. Please continue abiding by our orders.”

Probably easier said than done. Question is, where to go when the borders are closed?

*****

Good, albeit somewhat depressing film last night, frequently acclaimed of late = the story of a man wrestling with his own mortality, his failings and failures as well as his passion

Soundtrack by Springsteen, an added bonus...

Also watched a somewhat quirky Vicky Cristina Barcelona, directed by Woody Allen - you get the feeling at times that a bunch of fit birds are simply reciting Allen dialogue so transparent as it becomes at time. And whilst Scarlett Johansson is a real pleasure to watch from all angles, it's nothing to do with her acting, which is beautifully dull and uninspired. Rarily does so little elicit so much attention.

*****

Although the overhyped and uinspirational bands at Mother's Ruin (VILE IMBECILES and LOADED MOMENT)were a disappointment, Friday night was saved by the performance of The Ten Pound Suit Band at Tantric Jazz.

2009-01-08T06:09:00.004Z

Putin's Plot To Freeze Europe Into Compliance Might Backfire

It is hard to see Vladimir Putin’s gas war paying off. Yesterday, in ordering Gazprom to turn off the tap to the European pipelines running through Ukraine, he made it into a challenge to the EU, not just to the perpetually collapsing Government in Kiev. The Russian Prime Minister makes no secret of his determination to use the state gas monopoly as a weapon. Any pretence that this is a commercial row between a gas supplier and a customer is ridiculous.

Putin says "Ukraine has stolen gas not from Russia, but from consumers who have bought the product and paid for it,"

via ice age now

Not that it matters much, arguing semantics when Britain's cold snap has seen temperatures drop so drastically that the sea off the south coast froze over.

and yes of course whilst the ~~thieves~~ energy suppliers in the UK are gradually easing their own stranglehold over the public, this crisis could jack the prices right back up. Oh conspiracies!

this fucking war reports

Several EU countries have introduced emergency restrictions on natural-gas use. On Wednesday Ukraine, which has built up large reserves, also said it may need to curb usage for domestic consumers. Russian imports account for about a quarter of the EU's total natural-gas consumption, and 80% of those Russian imports come via Ukraine.

Alternatively, a little piss-taking on the matter via Fuck France; commentary is golden.

*****
MUSIC
Lonah: is a young French rock band. Music available on Jamendo

(not brill copy but an example nonetheless)

*****

FINAL WORD

Everyone on board the Atheist Bus

There's Probably No God, Stop Worrying:

2009-01-06T05:59:00.002Z

newsworthy of note today, so far.

Hidden amid the usual blahblahblahs about the current Big Chill of 09 is the startling insinuation that While the icy weather is predicted to last until the weekend, scientists at the Met Office in London and the University of East Anglia said this year's average global temperature would be more than 0.4C above the long-term average, which would make 2009 one of the five hottest years on record.

Imagine that whilst you can always get warmer from the cold, ie throwing on more layers, more logs in the fire, turn the heat up, stay at work longer, whatever, staying cool in a steaming hot country with little airco is the stuff of a very unpleasant summer. Let's hope they're off the mark as usual. Bring on the dreary British summer!

*****

hints for weekends the rest of the year - basically something to do every weekend although not all of it is either practical or, particularly interesting. Best of the early bunch?

MAY 29-31 Ashburton Blues Festival The problem with Glastonbury and Reading and all those other festivals is that you can’t hear the words. And it’s not music, it’s noise; so disgruntled dads should head instead to the equally ancient Dartmoor town of Ashburton, for three days of proper music that you can tap your feet to. Headlining on the Saturday are Nine Below Zero, while Sunday sees 1960s favourites the Animals rocking out. Tickets for the weekend cost £70 (www.ashburtonbluesfestival.com ); doubles at Gages Mill Country Guest House (01364 652391, www.gagesmill.co.uk ) cost £74 per night.

*****

nothing much on this photo, just amused me - basically related to an article about the dimming of the diamond market in Antwerpen. Per the article, Antwerpen remains one of the world’s few centers of spoken Yiddish. Besides the great beer (Antwerpen pub guide found here, the architecture, art, etc, yet another reason I'm making Antwerpen my City to Visit this Spring.

2009-01-04T12:21:00.002Z

Back after a year and a half's absence, wow. Let's hope it lasts.

So here are some of the most recent things to link to:

films:

První ceská filmová reality show Ceský sen

*****

Paris je t'aime.

granted, both of these are not recent films just films I've recently seen which I consider to be the same thing :)

Now, as for activities, there's the FA CUP match on TERRESTRIAL telly, magod, sports on (reasonably free) tv! featuring Aston Villa against Gillingham. Billed as a "dogfight" which is an odd term for two football teams competing in an historic national cup.

or, if travel is in the cards, how about a steam-driven real Ale train

Free gig at Louisiana today/night featuring, among others, Weston Super Mare's own This Summer Sunrise.

others on the calendar check out Bristol Bands which sadly, The Bad Pandas have yet to appear on.

Interesting read, particularly here in Brizzle:

the Seagull Menace (great name for a local band if it were...) - in any event, the Rise of the Urban Seagull; let the culling begin....

2007-07-11T06:17:00.000Z

What The Hell Have I Gotten Myself Into?

Well, no one is admitting anyone was wrong. Staaaaay the course there, little fella. The house of cards is tumblin'

*****

More Signs The End Is Neigh Upon Us

Snowfall In Argentina

For the first time since 1918!

*****

Bull Gore Better Than Gore's Bull?

Spain's largest fighting bulls lived up to their fearsome reputation, goring two and crushing at least seven people as thousands of daredevils sprinted down narrow streets Sunday in Pamplona's annual running of the bulls.

On the other hand, Live Earth may have been little more than a cynical largest in-kind political contribution in the history of humanity....

2007-06-04T06:19:00.000Z

De oudste foto van Nederland

Portret van Henri Vriesendorp, gedateerd op 26 juli 1842

Fotografiespecialist Saskia Asser heeft de vermoedelijk oudste foto van Nederland ontdekt. Het gaat om een portret uit juli 1842, van de Dordtse suikerbakker Henri Vriesendorp.

*****

An Italian scientific study has found particles of cocaine in Rome's air, Italy's national research council (CNR) said Thursday.

2007-05-23T06:06:00.000Z

Saying No To Burger Imperialism

There aren't many anti-burger bastions left on this planet but Kreuzberg is fighting to remain a McDonald's Free Zone.

"Macht Kaputt was euch kaputt macht"

Radios laufen, Platten laufen,
Filme laufen, TV's laufen,
Reisen kaufen, Autos kaufen,
Häuser kaufen, Möbel kaufen.
Wofür?

Refrain:
Macht kaputt, was euch kaputt macht!
Macht kaputt, was euch kaputt macht!

Züge rollen, Dollars rollen,
Maschinen laufen, Menschen schuften,
Fabriken bauen, Maschinen bauen,
Motoren bauen, Kanonen bauen.
Für wen?

Refrain:

Bomber fliegen, Panzer rollen,
Polizisten schlagen, Soldaten fallen,
Die Chefs schützen, Die Aktien schützen,
Das Recht schützen, Den Staat schützen.
Vor uns!

*****

Bring back the Big Kahuna...

2007-05-16T06:24:00.000Z

Hell Has A New Tenant

We can all breath a little easier now. The Hate-Selling Hypocritical Pig Is Dead.

In celebration, have a glance at Top Ten Jerry Falwell Pet Peeves About TV.

And yes, we must all remember how evil the teletubbies were...

Hrmbubmel! Yeah, Jerry Falwell, dead!

One down, one to go

*****

2007-05-13T10:03:00.000Z

Och, too long neglected...

Bear Kills Moose

clearly not a headline describing an NBA playoff match...

Hamas TV Pulls Terrorist Mickey Mouse

A program using a Mickey Mouse-like character to urge Palestinian children to fight Israel and the West and work for world Islamic domination has been pulled off Hamas's television station for "review," Palestinian Information Minister Mustafa Barghouti said Wednesday.

Barghouti said the use of the cartoon character in such a role represented a "mistaken approach" to the Palestinian struggle against Israeli occupation.

*****

Rufus Wainwright, Going To A Town:

****

"Nevertheless, the Sicilian only truly came into its own with the explosion of interest in sharp counter-attacking systems created by the dynamic Soviet School of the 1940s and 1950s." from Mafia Connections

2007-02-14T02:04:00.000Z

Heart Shaped Box

She eyes me like a pisces when I am weak
Ive been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks
Ive been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap
I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn back (alt: ... when you turn black)

Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Hey! wait! (alt: hate! haight!)
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Your advice

Meat-eating orchids forgive no one just yet
Cut myself on angels hair and babys breath
Broken hymen of your highness Im left black
Throw down your umbilical noose so I can climb right back

Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Your advice

She eyes me like a pisces when I am weak
Ive been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks
Ive been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap
I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn back (alt: ... when you turn black)

Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice

Your advice (x3)

*****

******

and just because tis valentine's holiday, two more:

******

2007-01-26T07:01:00.000Z

les amusements de ce matin

Over in Wijk aan Zee, Topalov increases his lead and other stories.

*****

"Hurra, Wir Kapitulieren" - Henryk M. Broder on the ugly little secrets of the West and Islam.

*****

Neil DeGrasse's Death by Black Hole, an initiation into the universe.

*****

Amusements from the The State of the Union Word Scorecard charting how many words a chimp can intone and how often he intones them. You are getting veeeeeery sleeeeepy.

*****

Blauwe stilte

Zoals het vliegen druppelt van gebroken vleugels
valt blauwe stilte op steen.
Mijn binnenkant is voortaan de enige plek waar ik reis.
Ik ben de rijstvelden vergeten, de dadelpalmen,
de gewonde zwanen door witte mist omgeven.
Op het paard van mijn portemonnee kwam ik hier aan.
Mijn hart is mijn bankpasje,
de zon, de maan en haar ogen mijn pincode.

En nu ben ik hier, in het koninkrijk
van vallende wateren en opstijgende ambtenaren
als een kwartiertje vertraging in regen.

Mijn vertrek is mijn enige bestaan.

Ik moet gaan,
naar het Zuiden als deze stilte het Noorden,
naar het Noorden als deze stilte het Zuiden is.

Al Galidi

Al Galidi (1971) werd geboren in Irak. Zijn laatste bundel De herfst van Zorro is genomineerd voor de VSB-poëzieprijs 2007

*****

Hasta Siempre Comandante Che Guevara

Aprendimos a quererte
Desde la historica altura
Donde el sol de tu bravura
Le puso cerco a la muerte

Estribillo:

Aqui se queda la clara
La entraniable transparencia
De tu querida presencia
Comandante Che Gevara

Vienes quemando la brisa
Con soles de primavera
Para plantar la bandera
Con la luz de tu sonrisa

Estribillo

Tu mano gloriosa y fuerte
Sobre la historia dispara
Cuando todo Santa Clara
Se despierta para verte

Estribillo

Seguiremos adelante
Como junto a ti seguimos
Y con Cuba te decimos
Hasta Siempre, Comandante

Estribillo

Or the Disco version....

And, as background, The Gotan Project...

*****

2007-01-17T05:29:00.000Z

LA ENAMORADA
-- Alejandra Pizarnik

esta lúgubre manía de vivir
esta recóndita humorada de vivir
te arrastra alejandra no lo niegues.

hoy te miraste en el espejo
y te fue triste estabas sola
la luz rugía el aire cantaba
pero tu amado no volvió

enviarás mensajes sonreirás
tremolarás tus manos así volverá
tu amado tan amado

oyes la demente sirena que lo robó
el barco con barbas de espuma
donde murieron las risas
recuerdas el último abrazo
oh nada de angustias
ríe en el pañuelo llora a carcajadas
pero cierra las puertas de tu rostro
para que no digan luego
que aquella mujer enamorada fuiste tú

te remuerden los días
te culpan las noches
te duele la vida tanto tanto
desesperada ¿adónde vas?
desesperada ¡nada más!

más de Alejandra Pizarnik

*****

The Sun In Capricorn

-- Joyce Mansour

Three days of rest
Why not the grave
I suffocate without your mouth
Waiting drains the stillborn sunrise
And the long hours on the stairway
Smell of gas
Flat on my face I wait for tomorrow
I see your skin glisten
In the black breach of the night
The slow surge of moonlight
On the inner sea of my sex
Dust on dust
Hammer on mattress
Sun on leaden drum
Still smiling your hand beats indifference
Cruelly clothed bend towards emptiness
You say no and the smallest object a woman’s body can shelter
Bows down
Artificial Nice
Synthetic perfume one hour on the couch
For what pale giraffes
Have I left Byzantium
Solitude stinks
A moonstone in an oval frame
Yet another stiff-jointed bout of insomnia
Once more a dagger throbs in rain
Diamonds and delirum tomorrow’s desiderata
Sweat of taffeta beaches without shelter
Lunacy of my lost faith.

more about Joyce Mansour

*****

2006-12-31T08:21:00.000Z

Listen

Listen,
if stars are lit
it means - there is someone who needs it.
It means - someone wants them to be,
that someone deems those specks of spit
magnificent.

And overwrought,
in the swirls of afternoon dust,
he bursts in on God,
afraid he might be already late.
In tears,
he kisses God's sinewy hand
and begs him to guarantee
that there will definitely be a star.
He swears
he won't be able to stand
that starless ordeal.

Later,
He wanders around, worried,
but outwardly calm.
And to everyone else, he says:
'Now,
it's all right.
You are no longer afraid,
are you?'

Listen,
if stars are lit,
it means - there is someone who needs it.
It means it is essential
that every evening
at least one star should ascend
over the crest of the building.

1914

Vladimir Mayakovsky

2006-12-15T06:56:00.000Z

Miscellania

The tenor, Roberto Alagna, stormed off the La Scala stage on Sunday night after singing Celeste Aida. He has produced what a critic called "a rather laboured B flat", and the gallery has erupted in boos.

to hear how it's sung without the laboured B flat: listen here.

*****

Prostitutes in Ipswich are being given money by police and drug workers to stop them risking their lives by touting for business on the streets.

Why not just turn the police stations into brothels and let the Council earn a few extreee to offset increased council taxes?

*****

White Vase
Felix Dennis

Two figures on a sofa, side by side,
The stench of bitter almonds, smoke and sweat;
A man who ate no meat lies with his bride.

Fresh tulips and narcissi cast aside,
A white vase tipped; a chiffon dress splashed wet.
Two figures on a sofa, side by side.

The room is hushed, its spell defies the tide
Of history no servants enter yet.
A man who could not paint lies with his bride,

Her spittle flecked with glass and cyanide,
Her buckskin pumps beneath the blue banquette.
Two figures on a sofa, side by side.

The brimstone face grown slack and glassy-eyed,
Its shattered skull concealed in silhouette.
A man who blamed the world lies with his bride.

Outside, the spring has come while worlds collide.
Here, blood and water drip in grim duet.
Two figures on a sofa, side by side:
A man who ate no meat lies with his bride.

(The first Millionaire Poet?)

*****

2006-12-07T05:14:00.000Z

6e Festival International du Film de Marrakech

"What a Wonderful world" est le deuxième long métrage de Bensaidi après "Mille Mois" qui lui a valu plusieurs prix internationaux. Le film sera présenté à Marrakech en avant-première marocaine après une participation au dernier Festival de Venise et le Festival du Film Francophone de Namur. La sortie du film est prévue pour le mi-décembre au Maroc et en France.

http://www.maghrebarts.ma/cinema/images/wakeup_morocco.jpg

Wake-Up Morocco est également le deuxième long métrage de son auteur, Narjisse Nejjar, déjà titulaire d'un prix du meilleur scénario de la 3éme édition du festival de Marrakech pour son oeuvre "Les Yeux Secs".

*****

THE SHELF LIFE OF EXPATRIATE SOULS

This is the artist, then, life's hungry man, the glutton of eternity, beauty's miser, glory's slave.
-- Thomas Wolfe

I waited years for the sequel.
We left off with a man
armed with desire, that slinking word
that means anything is inexcusable.
That man was also armed
with the innate sense of not knowing
what there wasn't to know.
So what could we have told him?
Watch out for the future
lest time at the moment
be stolen?

Slavishly I selfishly
filled those years of hours in between
with words and photographs of memories
no dictionary could house,
no pub crawl could summon,
no thinking man's game whose
rules could be broken without consequence
like a shattered mirror
could be played
until the grooves wore out
and the teteh, teteh, teteh
of the needle stuck in submission
rambled on like a litany of rules
in a bureaucrat's laundry list
of don'ts, conveniently leaving off
the do's and blues to follow.

Here the sacred heart unbeknownst
to the screedish hue of night owl
drinkers and hopelessly in love
with semi coherence beneath
a blanket of liquor and worn out
fingerprints of dying
leaving a semisonic clatter
of gysum-coloured tablets to ponder.

*****

When I tore the bandages away
I expected the new and improved
sequel; the dying breed of brooding
could horde themselves elsewhere.
This was my night off.

I hadn't contemplated hospital lighting
being not one for hospitals
or morbid gazing listening to the soft
sneaker soles of nurses consoling.

I'm not dying, it's him.

That is how I shall comfort myself.

*****

Where else could we be but
this unmistakably blurry misery,
these half-shrung dreams hung
like tattered underwear
on a clothes line strung
from the middle of nowhere
to eternity?

When I bust out of this death palace
it'll be through the double-bolted doors,
a mad dash into the recess playground
to play with matches, put dirty objects
into my mouth, drink to success,
toast the years spent bending the shape
of this body that they say is but a
shell of the soul to be cast away
like dreams because in essence
it is the dreams that are dying
not the man himself.

*****

The business of writing the sequel
is that of a fry cook - toss together
yesterday's specials and add a little
coriander and garlic to taste,
don't waste a minute concocting new
spaces that will get filled with
someone else's blanket advertising:
This is no one else's world
once the lights are dimmed
and we begin to fear the loss
of electricity.

This moment is a magnet attracting
every sense of the world. We will go
hand in hand into a sea of indistinction
until we emerge, wet and delicious
with the taste of selfishness
in our mouths.

Our lines will always be the same:
She says, he says, or vice versa.
Our lives will always be the same:
they will always end in dying.

So what to make of ourselves
so made up to look like others?

This one says he can fly, another
stands mute so the others can speak.
Well, I've got news kid, the others
can speak regardless
and they will speak without regard
for you standing mute
and they won't stop
whether or not you're here to hear them.

******

My sequel will begin with a fade in:
a man holding an unbroken chain of men
some of whom are blessed,
some of whom are merely heathens.

The voice over that you are hearing
is that of a man who is dead,
long gone, affixed in the head
by years of recording lines such as these.

I live. You live. He/she/it lives.
We live. You plural live. They live.

Happily ever after is impossible
unless the ever after is going to happen
happily and sooner than you think
because very few came for the first showing
and even less to the sequel.
This life's reel spinning again and again
in the empty movie house
showing no one what nothing is.

2006-12-02T16:53:00.000Z

via steven kasher gallery

2006-11-14T06:49:00.000Z

A Woman Young And Old

If I make the lashes dark
And the eyes more bright
And the lips more scarlet,
Or ask if all be right
From mirror after mirror,
No vanity's displayed:
I'm looking for the face I had
Before the world was made.
What if I look upon a man
As though upon my beloved,
And my blood be cold the while
And my heart unmoved?
Why should he think me cruel
Or that he is betrayed?
I'd have him love the thing that was
Before the world was made.

--WB Yeats

2006-11-08T09:57:00.000Z

There will be no cage over the Thames, as it turns out.

This is the last of my series this evening, the emptying of the bottles into the gullet ritual.

I will tell you one thing I've been keeping secret to myself now that I've run out of tricks.

I suppose some of you might remember my recounting of a girl and my being in love with her and her being selfish enough to fall off a balcony and dying. Frankly, even to this day, it's the source of all my cynical life but practically it's no excuse and I recognise that.

In any event, two weeks ago, I dreamt about her for the first time in ten years maybe. I dreamt about her so deeply that when I woke up she was there. Not there nor here of course, but in my fucking head, the same one I'd emptied specifically not to have such dreams or thoughts again.

So on a whim, I thought I'd google her. They didn't even have such a verb when she died.

Her name is not a common name. Why I googled her name anyway, knowing she is dead I dunno. The fucking dream was in my head and frankly, it's one of those repressed things that if one little bit comes out, the lid blows off. So I googled her name.

And I found a match.

Now I'm a rational man. I believe someone is dead, someone is dead and that's it, you can't even really google them back into existence.

But I did find a match and it was in the appropriate country and it is an uncommon name.

So what the FUCK do I think?

I know it's not possible. I know it of course, like any rational person.

Maybe it's that belief.

So google search finds the name which can't be and naturally what I have to do is find a number to connect it to. (Believe me, I tried the simple way, find an email, didn't exist, how easy to ask such question via email but no, there was none and so I searched)

I found a telephone number.

And imagine me, I'm a pretty stoic muthafuckah, really. Not much breaks my walls but man, when I saw there was a telephone number of this person with a name that isn't usual, all sorts of crazy shit I imagined. And that crazy shit was hope beyond reason, belief with no reason.

I really WANTED to believe.

And man, on the tail of that dream I'd had, I thought fuck anything's possible, isn't it? Dead people being alive, why not. It isn't the most incredible story I've ever read.

And so I rang the number the first night and got ringing and nothing more. Feckin ell, imagine the impatience!

Following night I rang again.

An auld woman answered and I knew it wasn't her but I thought maybe it was her mother and so I asked, ridiculously, is _____ there?

I am her, she said.

And she was. Another human with the same name in the same country.

And I was fucking gutted. Fucking gutted.

(and here is where I imagine myself almost being human in that I didn't just hang up, I carried on)

I talked to her, about her life. She's a neurological doctore, helpijng children with neurological handicaps. She was married, husband dead, three grandchildren, one daughter. Every word bled me. Reality, not reality. I told her about the person I'd been seeking, she made appropriate sympathies and I hung up after we'd had our spontaneous and unexpected chat, this woman with the same name of the woman I once loved who died.

And when I put down the phone, that was it. My last chance. I'd had one more thought of hope and it was beautifully beaten down but it was my last chance and there are no more after this not even if I dream of her again I won't be fooled.

But I was magically fooled by that need to believe just that once.

And I wish I could say I'm unshackled by it in a way I thought I was unshackled by it when she first died but I'm not. It will continue to haunt me over and over and I will have to recognise that for all my alleged intelligence, she will never live again, I will be happy in small moments and walk mostly in valleys and that will be the underlying current of my existence.

2006-11-01T06:40:00.000Z

Best Little Whorehouse in Pompeii

The frescoes are like a list of offerings -- with a sexual position to satisfy everyone's preferences. Now, after a year-long restoration, the brothel in the ancient city of Pompeii is once again open for visitors.

2006-10-31T05:36:00.000Z

Herr Weber

woord van de dag:

It was this edulcorated transatlantic version that was re-imported into the fledgling Federal Republic as a ‘good’ German, tainted neither by Nazi collaboration nor Marxist sympathies.

from New Left Review Peter Thomas on Being Max Weber

Verb 1. edulcorate - make sweeter in taste
dulcify, dulcorate, sweeten
honey - sweeten with honey
saccharify, sugar - sweeten with sugar; "sugar your tea"
candy, sugarcoat, glaze - coat with something sweet, such as a hard sugar glaze
mull - heat with sugar and spices to make a hot drink; "mulled cider"
change taste - alter the flavor of

*****

2006-10-30T06:24:00.000Z

Drunkenness At Work

from a book I've been reading called Birmingham: The First Manufacturing Town In the World by Eric Hopkins, quoting Matthew Boulton, Brummy Big Wig in the 18th century:

"...our workmen in the plated way have very few of them been at work this week past having been drunkall thewhile, and it was not in our power to persuade them to set to work again while they had any money left, a vexatious circumstance we are frequently subjected to when we have the greatest need of their dilligence."

A week later, Boulton had to confess to a customer that he had been unable to fulfil orders

"owing to the insolence and drunkenness of our workmen".

Cheers to the working class of the 18th century who no doubt grew tired at times of exploitation, low wages and crap work environments.

*****The New Working Class*****

"The poor of today watch television for half the day. These days, television producers even refer to what they call "Underclass TV." The new proletariat eats a lot of fatty foods and he enjoys smoking and drinking -- a lot. About 8 percent of Germans consume 40 percent of all the alcohol sold in the country. While he may be a family man, his families are often broken. And on Election Day, he casts a protest vote for the extreme left or right wing party, sometimes switching quickly from one to the other.

But the main thing that sets the modern poor apart from the industrial age pauper is a sheer lack of interest in education. Today's proletariat has little education and no interest in obtaining more. Back in the early days of industrialization, the poor joined worker associations that often doubled as educational associations. The modern member of the underclass, by contrast, has completely shunned personal betterment."

from Der Spiegel: WHITE TRASH, FAST FOOD - How Globalization Is Creating a New European Underclass

2006-10-28T02:54:00.000Z

Halloween

I'm feline tonight.

My back is gonna arch,
I'm gonna be black
and crossing paths.

when I'm on the phone
with my two heterosexual parents
I will ask them
who will die first
you or me?

when a gang of kids
loitering at the corner
intimidate the auld fuck
dottering to conclusion
I will not interject social consciousness.

I will throw a bottle
in the other direction
and the noise from afar
will cause them to scatter.

I will be Hitler tonight.
Not to kill Jews
or to apologise
but to incite idiots
to shave their heads
and have orgasms
beating people to death
for not being them.

My eyes are going to open
because even in total darkness
I can't walk with my eyes closed.

I will be Jesus tonight
and feed people with
bread and wine and
they'll believe anything.

Tonight will be the night
anything will happen.
On the pavement,
my head will rest, split open
and all the little thoughts
I might have had
will go unspoken.

2006-10-26T05:22:00.000Z

Livre du Jour

Letter Written by R.D. Yelverton in Support of George Edalji

"I observe that in the cases of injuries since the conviction of Mr Edlaji, every injury is said by the Police to be accidental and attributable to barbed wire or some concealed danger. It is, I repeat, grossly unjust that evidence as above was not given the previous occasion, involving such grave consequences that a gentleman was sent to seven years penal servitude."

And the fictionalised version of the George Edalji case can be found via Arthur and George, written by Julian Barnes

*****

Samurai Song

When I had no roof I made
Audacity my roof. When I had
No supper my eyes dined.

When I had no eyes I listened.
When I had no ears I thought.
When I had no thought I waited.

When I had no father I made
Care my father. When I had
No mother I embraced order.

When I had no friend I made
Quiet my friend. When I had no
Enemy I opposed my body.

When I had no temple I made
My voice my temple. I have
No priest, my tongue is my choir.

When I have no means fortune
Is my means. When I have
Nothing, death will be my fortune.

Need is my tactic, detachment
Is my strategy. When I had
No lover I courted my sleep.

*****

Bread

America, 2004:

People with bachelor's degrees earned an average of $51,554 in 2004, while those with high school diplomas earned $28,645, according to the U.S. Census Bureau figures released on Thursday.

Those with postgraduate degrees fared best, earning on average $78,093, according to the census statistics.

The Price of Bread: Poverty, Purchasing Power, and The Victorian Laborer's Standard of Living

By 1865 the purchasing power of even a skilled town laborer working his trade had fallen to a level of less than twice that of the Speenhamland allowance, putting the great bulk of independent town laborers barely above subsistence. Booth estimated that around the turn of the century 31 percent of the population of London was living in poverty. This estimate was confirmed by the studies of Rowntree in the City of York, where he found the proportion of the inhabitants in poverty (that is, below subsistence) was 28 percent

*****

An old man

At the back of the noisy café
bent over a table sits an old man;
a newspaper in front of him, without company.

And in the scorn of his miserable old age
he ponders how little he enjoyed the years
when he had strength, and the power of the word, and good looks.

He knows he has aged much; he feels it, he sees it.
And yet the time he was young seems
like yesterday. How short a time, how short a time.

And he ponders how Prudence deceived him;
and how he always trusted her -- what a folly! --
that liar who said: "Tomorrow. There is ample time."

He remembers the impulses he curbed; and how much
joy he sacrificed. Every lost chance
now mocks his senseless wisdom.

...But from so much thinking and remembering
the old man gets dizzy. And falls asleep
bent over the café table.

Constantine P. Cavafy (1897)

*****

Het woord van der dag

demesne:

In English Common Law the term ancient demesne, sometimes shortened to demesne, referred to those lands that were held by the crown at the time of the Domesday Book. The term demesne also referred to the demesne of the crown, or royal demesne, which consisted of those lands reserved for the crown at the time of the original distribution of landed property. The royal demesne could be increased, for example, as a result of forfeiture. Demesne lands were managed by stewards of the crown and were not given out in fief. During the reign of George III, Parliament appropriated the royal demesne, in exchange for a fixed annual sum, called the Civil List.

2006-10-24T00:23:00.000Z

The Dying Words Of My Last Friend

Here it is, liberation!

He's got tubes coming out
of every orafice
and he can't talk
because he's too busy gasping.

And I think, here it is, death -
my chance to witness

And his soul doesn't come out.
He just lies there, dead.

Man, I beat his chest.
Where is that fucking soul?

I scream man where is that fucking soul
so fucking loud the nurses come in
and take hold of me
and caress my head
and I'm like man, why are you caressing me?
I'm not dead.

The windows are sealed.
His soul could not have escaped.

And I break away from the nurses
and beat his chest again
WHERE is your fucking soul?

Because I know this man was someone
not the man I sat with
in cafés drinking absinthe with,
nor cigarette after cigarette,
shared dying with.

And slowly I clock it.

No more conversations
about nothing, no more
drinking without purpose,
no more talking about women
and dying
no more no more
no fucking more.

And then I don't beat his chest
anymore asking for his soul,
I touch his dead skin, clammy.
And I'm sick because it's the skin
of a dead man.

What is this shit in front of me?
Where is my brother, where
is my friend?

I can't howl like a primative
because it was friend,
he was my friend
dead, he is my friend
still,
he is dead
he was my friend
and his last words
were the last I will ever hear from him.

2006-10-07T06:50:00.000Z

No Audience

Underneath it all, under the covers, under the cover of sky, under the influence, undercover, underman, under the sun.

It's a room full of people feeling nothing.

Veins, dried up like canyon roads in the hills, handicapped they cripple around in small circles circulating with very tight parametres sipping cocktails with parasols swaying words they never heard of.

A roomful of human errors. Flubbed fly balls, booted grounders in a society sandlot sinking. They profess no mistakes, admit no errors. These kids are flawless. Their eyes don't blink.

And when they all go home sleeping together, their post coital figures fade, sun light returns, no one can find their sunglasses and nobody can be cool.

I flip a coin.

Not randomly. I want this one to count.

I flip a coin and just as it's about to land in my palm someone laughs and pushes someone in front of them forward which happened to be my back and then I slipped, disc and all, the coin fell to the hardwood floor, bounced back up a time or two and then slept, heads up.

Everyone stopped moving, everyone stopped talking. You could hear the neighbour's tv. A dog was barking three blocks north.

I picked up the coin because the coin was worth something. A broken tooth, a jar of marmite, cross eyes, everyone wondering about this coin and the hand that collected it and the body connected to it that stood up, straightened out and made moves to leave.

Thank you, I said. I'll be doing this again tomorrow night.

2006-09-16T02:57:00.000Z

Raising The Ghost Of Flowers

As your petals fell, one by one,
disenchanted
tumbling off on their own as though to prove
fear that feeds must feed upon itself and feed alone,
you thought your glory moment
should be preserved,
blossoming for all the world to see,
while all the world, you see,
was busy blossoming on its own.

Not even your misfortune,
calibrated by the seasons,
could be said to have sprouted
from deeds undone alone
or weeds that sprung from fallow desire -
and the trust misplaced in renewing memories
was yet another of disappointment's dormant species:

This cycle turns inexhaustibly,
time wears down in an ineffable accumulation
affording little of destiny's promised light.

You watch the distance as though it will return,
unlected by memory's selectiveness
that plucks its heroes from the anonymity of soil,
passing off as dust even those that served
the layer that was next in line below
as though it would never rise above.

Yet again and again
with the same prospects of eventual vacancy,
drained of purpose, the inability for progress
rendering time's account meaningless,
You rose
above the dread of empty living,
knowing that such suffered cycles
cannot be lived again without the hope
of many springs to feed belief's unsteady blaze.

Evnetually there comes a penance due,
peeling back the layers
to reveal the blossom of the fool,
for your impatient ticking, thinking
you could mourn yourself alone,
a self-inflated black and blue.
Beneath an autumn vault of heaven stained
with tongues of fire,
you screamed for generations
as words pollinated in the runway of the mouth,
disapproved, never airborne, leaving no debris,
the passenger of sentences
who died without knowing
they were never uttered.

Yes, innocence paid for this empty now.

Better to have never arched for sunlight's promissory beacon
or bent yourself in vain to flourish
in the earth of sorrow's gardens.
Fruition is not the only measure,
but an indication of how much time is left.

Mitigate your loss without efflorescence -
rebel from misery impatiently
so that your seedlings are not in vain;
perspectives you adopt in fits of generosity;
nutrients to fortify the loam
you seek to build upon.

And if the sun you crave
in dashing blindly off to dream
provides no cheery elegiac,
perhaps the eyes require a change of scenery -

wherein the foliage returns,
caught forever fossilised
in its most self-relevatory moment.