Saturday, 11 October 2014

Mysteries of AA-Dimensionality

You are at an Alcoholics Anonymous Meeting and...
...you do service as the Greeter. Only Liam and Steve are in the room when you arrive, 45 minutes early. You make a cup of coffee and go to the only entrance.to greet everybody as they arrive. One minute before the meeting starts you go back to the room. 
There will be twice as many people in the room as passed you at the entrance.

...you volunteer to do the washing up after the meeting.

There will be twice as many cups to wash up as there were people at the meeting.

Illustration: projection of the Calibai-Yau Manifuld. A mere ten or eleven dimensions and so small that we can never see it. Feh.


Friday, 19 September 2014

That's Nearly Half

Why don't you just fuck off anyway?

You Could Still Fuck Off If You Wanted To

45% is good enough.

Scots Fail to Fuck Off

How come you can't even fuck off?

Sunday, 15 June 2014

The Song of Mehitabel

this is the song of mehitabel
of mehitabel the alley cat
as i wrote you before boss
mehitabel is a believer
in the pythagorean
theory of the transmigration
of the soul and she claims
that formerly her spirit
was incarnated in the body
of cleopatra
that was a long time ago
and one must not be
surprised if mehitabel
has forgotten some of her
more regal manners

i have had my ups and downs
but wotthehell wotthehell
yesterday sceptres and crowns
fried oysters and velvet gowns
and today i herd with bums
but wotthehell wotthehell
i wake the world from sleep
as i caper and sing and leap
when i sing my wild free tune
wotthehell wotthehell
under the blear eyed moon
i am pelted with cast off shoon
but wotthehell wotthehell

do you think that i would change
my present freedom to range
for a castle or moated grange
wotthehell wotthehell
cage me and i d go frantic
my life is so romantic
capricious and corybantic
and i m toujours gai toujours gai

i know that i am bound
for a journey down the sound
in the midst of a refuse mound
but wotthehell wotthehell
oh i should worry and fret
death and i will coquette
there s a dance in the old dame yet
toujours gai toujours gai

i once was an innocent kit
wotthehell wotthehell
with a ribbon my neck to fit
and bells tied onto it
o wotthehell wotthehell
but a maltese cat came by
with a come hither look in his eye
and a song that soared to the sky
and wotthehell wotthehell
and i followed adown the street
the pad of his rhythmical feet
o permit me again to repeat
wotthehell wotthehell

my youth i shall never forget
but there s nothing i really regret
wotthehell wotthehell
there s a dance in the old dame yet
toujours gai toujours gai

the things that i had not ought to
i do because i ve gotto
wotthehell wotthehell
and i end with my favorite motto
toujours gai toujours gai

boss sometimes i think
that our friend mehitabel
is a trifle too gay


Don Marquis
(archy was a cockroach who typed by throwing himself at Don Marquis' typewriter keys one by one, hence the lack of Shift for capitals).

The Lie


















Go, Soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless arrant!
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall be thy warrant:
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.

Say to the court it glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Say to the church it shows
What's good, and doth no good:
If court and church reply,
Then give them both the lie.

Tell potentates they live
Acting by others' action,
Not loved unless they give,
Not strong but by a faction.
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.

Tell men of high condition
That manage the estate,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate:
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who, in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending:
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell zeal it wants devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it is but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust:
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.

Tell age it daily wasteth;
Tell honor how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
Tell favor how she falters:
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.

Tell wit how much it wrangles
In tickle points of niceness;
Tell wisdom she entangles
Herself in over-wiseness:
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.

Tell physic of her boldness;
Tell skill it is pretension;
Tell charity of coldness;
Tell law it is contention:
And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.

Tell fortune of her blindness;
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness;
Tell justice of delay:
And if they will reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming;
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming:
If arts and school reply,
Give arts and school the lie.

Tell faith it fled the city;
Tell how the country erreth;
Tell manhood shakes off pity;
Tell virtue least preferreth:
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.

So when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing,--
Although to give the lie
Deserves no less than stabbing,--
Stab at thee, he that will,
No stab the soul can kill.

Sunday, 18 May 2014

Institution


These are pictures of what is, apparently, a compound in North Korea for a bunch of Japanese hijackers who have been kept under lock and key there since 1970 (story and link via Blood and Treasure).

The outdoor pictures show exactly the same shade of blue paint applied to the gazebo(?) above and to railings, window frames, steps...

Nothing says more plainly that, however pleasant the arrangements, they are part of a prison, a madhouse, an institution. They do not belong to the inmates or to the landscape, but to the authorities.

They remind me of the Soviet-era playgrounds I have seen in the grounds of  housing estates and parks. Some broken and rotting, others well-maintained and freshly painted, all relentlessly and uniformly jaunty. You have to do a spot of Googling to find any pictures that include children actually playing in them.

Thursday, 15 May 2014

Which...

...talking of beauty, set me thinking of this fillum of Ulysses.

"I don't want my country to fall into the hands of the Jews. I'm afraid that's our national problem just now."

Oh, Mr. Bloom.


Somebody In Britain Just Said Something

Sheee-ut.

Mean ter say.

Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
ut.

Somebody thar in that ole Enger-land jus' sayed a Word.

And he wuz a member of them ole Parliay-munts an' all.

He sayed a Word.

Wednesday, 14 May 2014

Do Not Go Gentle

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


And so on. What an arsehole.

Night: good. Must be near closing time in Cardiff or Swansea or somewhere in Wales with the prospect of a lock-in.

Burn and rave: Oh sweetie, get over th'hangover.

Close of day: like a cricket match, what what?

It gets worse. A lot of worse.

Gobby Welsh drunk. Died or was born ~1000 years ago. Kthxbai.

Disobliging? Yes. And with good reason.