Curly-Wurly Dialectics

Impasse. aka Dialectic Cul-de-Sac. Or as the Spaniards would say, un diálogo de sordos, o de besugos, a dialogue of the deaf. Or between two idiots. In Spanish besugo, sea bream, is one of the many synonyms of idiot; don’t ask me why for as far as I know sea bream aren’t particularly dumb. Here’s a picture of one. I think it looks rather cute and perhaps a tad pissed off –owing to its deleterious reputation, no doubt.
But I digress. What I wanted to say is that 99.9% of the political so-called discourse, these days, seems to run along the lines of a dialogue between a couple of particularly deaf and obdurate sea bream. That’s all. Have a nice rest of the week and a spiffing weekend.
Have another young angry sea bream. Por mucho pan
NT. The “Garabatum” of the Cod Latin title stands for garabatos, doodles in Spanish.

Justice…Of Sorts

Picnic. As I never tire of saying, good news are few and far between. So when there is some, we get inordinately excited and happy and we feel like having a picnic. This week’s good news is that after nearly three years of faffing about, that infamous epitome of dribbling evil, that paradigm of rancid misogynistic “masculinity” wot calls itself La Manada are finally in prison. Also, the offence has been upgraded from “sexual assault” to what it really was, a rape of the most vicious, revolting and unthinking kind. The sentence, too, has been upped from a measly 9 years to a merely insufficient 15 years. Call themselves The Pack? Animals don’t do to their females what these … things did to that poor girl. May they rot in jail and may they get served by some Neanderthalish fellow inmate as they did to her. Certain things are not to be forgiven. In fact, to forgive them is almost akin to condoning them. And that goes for you too, Mr. Bolton, Mr. Bannon, Mr. Johnson. Plague take you all!

Light to Darkness

Moon Maiden. I appreciate that there aren’t all that many reasons for having a good Solstice. It’s coldish and miserable and it’ll probably rain later, when you’d like to have that seasonal Bonfire of the Inanities you’ve been planning for months. And any time now we’ll have a dangerous clown in 10 Downing St. And although the Strumpet is not stupid enough to want to start WWIII, some of the people behind his wretched back are cold-blooded psychopaths wot would like nothing better than a jolly old spring cleaning. Still. A Solstice is a Solstice, even this one which ushers in the declining of the light. Listen to the Moon Maiden, who makes the tides dance and the flowers grow. Resist. Bite. Stay as groovy as you can, for it annoys Mike Pompino and Barmy Bolton. And Henry Kissinger, of course.
Have some music, too:
Tom Lehre’s We’ll All Go Together When We Go
Tom Lehre’s So Long MoM
Martha Argerich. Chopin Four Nocturnes.
Brigitte Engerer Chopin – Nocturne Op. 9, No. 1 in B-flat minor

Extraordinary Creatures

Tardigrades Tittle-Tattle. I’ve been meaning to do something on these delightful ultimate survivors for a long time. Hitch scratched: here they are. As you can see this lot are philosophically inclined. At least the orangey one is. The green one is more the let’s-get-on-with-it type, bless it.

Further Travels in Hypereality

Another Golem. Yes, have another Golem. They’s good for you. This one and his small companion, who feels he’s becoming more insubstantial by the minute, seem to have lost their bearings, poor things, as we all do from time to time. But they have not lost heart, I think. We hope it’s only a temporary state and we wish them a safe & speedy return to the clear path. Rosa watches over them.
Totally unrelated, I dedicate this to the passing of Dr. John, the Night Tripper. Chika chika forever to you too, mate! Have a safe …trip.


 Farfallin. EU elections: The Results.
No so much no ‘comment needed’ as ‘don’t waste your breath’. Besides Kenneth Williams, the need to quote Ecclesiastes is greater than ever. Once more, the turkeys have voted for Christmas
For the benefit of those who don’t speak Catalan, here’s a translation of the caption:
With every wash a sheet is lost.
For the benefit of those who do, here’s the quotation in full:
D’altra banda, si matem el rei, n’entronitzaran de seguida un de pitjor. “A cada bugada es perd un llençol”, solia dir la mare, que al cel sia.
Salvador Espriu. Primera historia d’ Esther
And here be a detailed who-is-who list of the people that did so well in these end-days elections.
We’ll end up missing the Mayhem Queen, we will. Oh, I’ve got a touch of The Dooms the size of a Brexit double-decker! 🙂


Insect Queen 2.0 Here’s another of those ever so helpful All-Purpose Gripe Indicators. To be used on whichever bee is currently buzzing around your bonnet. It was delivered to us yesterday, free of charge, by the latest Insect Queen to join the cause. I asked her to what or whom the text of her rant was addressed and she said “Take your pick, girl.” And so can you. Climate apocalypse? The latest Irangate? Bogus chlorine attacks in Syria? EU elections? Mr Mike Pompino’s newest caper? Trade war with China? Systematic attempts at destabilizing Russia? The Assange saga? As usual, the choices are endless, worse luck. I include a few informative and/or entertaining links on the various subjects of our discontent. Now, I must be off to buy some Russian vodka, Iranian caviar to feed the local cats (I hate caviar, myself) and a nice Huawei tablet. Have a grand weekend.


Well Wishers

Wee Monsters. No comment needed, really, except a quick, brief-but-savage jeer at the endless hypocrisy of the soi-disant Free World, plague take them. As I said before, in imperial politics what’s good for the geese is seldom good for the gander. Gulf of Tonkin Incident, anyone?
Douce Mère de Bumba, priez pour nous…

Personal Gripes

Birthday Reds. Well, it makes a change from the old tiresome birthday blues, innit? So, 72 (tomorrow) and counting. I wonder when I’m going to get perfectly fed up with all this computing, computing… However, I’m still in good company and that counts for something. Look, even the Shub-Niggurath has joined the exquisite Li-Lo (another lot of distant relatives of the delightful Mi-Go) and other guest to the party. Judiciously she has brought with her, across the Mountains of Madness, her own little cloud of stroppy despondency, just in case things get too chirpy and fluffy, what with the fizzy finches, and the Li-Lo being congenital optimists, and the cat a born hedonist and the Musical Teddy far too fond of Conchita Piquer. That’s my girl!