Friday, January 30, 2009

Mozart's homage to Erdoğan

As an homage to Taqiyya .... err ... Tayyip Erdoğan, the greatest hero Turkey would ever get, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart ("I write as a sow pisses") about 226 years ago composed the Turkish March.

Voilà, Omnium proudly presents a jazzy version with the fantastic Fazil Say.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Lord of the Flies

Coincidence? One would find impertinent idiots [in the classic sense, mind you] not only in Germany, but everywhere else, f.e. in England.

Beginning with the Netherlands, though.

You might have heard of that peroxide blonde gentleman who, as my friend Tetrapilotomos recently murmured, is looking like a sunlamp-tanned songster-queen and would obviously do all to attract attention and endear himself to certain folks of another wilde faculty.
Thus he let produce a lousy little film called 'Fitna', and called it a 'documentation'.


Now would some folks not like this lousy film (no matter if they've been wasting their precious time with watching it, or not); moreover, it became a political issue, and unlike the cleric cretin who recently talked as if he was an admirer of the 'great scientist' Fred Leuchter who once stated he had gone to Ausschwitz to prove the holocaust but after about 40 years just could not find any gas and 'Eureka! no gas, no holocaust'. (Mr. Leuchter, by the way, enjoyed close business connection with several US-states who use lethal injection machine designed by him. Official sides prefered to deny this, but Tetrapilotomos still has
an interesting video in his cupboard, and would certainly be delighted to jog the memory of anybody who kindly asked. You could, of course, also just have a look at the small medal on the machine whilst you are executing the next death penalty. It reads: Fred Leuchter, Boston, Massachusetts), and still earned a 'welcome back within the pales of the Catholic Church', (which is why the Central Council of the Jews in Germany ... guess! ... right: ... publicly announced they will not speak with the Pope for a while) our blonde philanthropistic would-be saviour of the western word earned severe critics. Political correct politicians behaved as if they were disgusted, and as valiant defenders of democracy and free speech demanded to censor the lousy film.

End of the beforegoing.

Now, while the plebs, i.e. the ordinary stupid voti
ng-cattle (German: Stimmvieh) ought not to be allowed to decide themselves to watch this lousy film or not, those who consider themselves a bit more equal than others, 'of course' are not only allowed to watch the lousy film, it's even their duty, one should think, hm?

I mean, unlike those privileged people who'd not need to watch a lousy film or a mediocre book, 'spontaneously' and with burning enthusiasm to support the flags-producing industry, politicians should at least watch respectively read it.
After all, they might come to the wise conclusion that censoring a lousy film or a mediocre book does not solve any problem.

And herewith we jump across the Channel, reach London and enter the House of Lords.

Now don't you need to know each Lord and Baroness, but you should know Lord Ahmed. So let me introduce His Extraordinary Magnificence to those amongst you who up til now had the great pleasure to never ever come across his name
.

With thanks to 'His Grace'
where I pinched this pic.

For the beginning it's enough that you know the Lord loves to send text messages while driving.

Alright? Fine then. Here we go:

Lord Ahmed, the Muslim Peer, has admitted dangerous driving after sending text messages while driving on a motorway just before a crash in which a father-of-two died. Full article here.
Well, and what would do who wantonly negligent killed another person?
He'd at least feel miserable and hide himself in a mouse-hole, if only he could, you say?

Right.

And what did 'our good Lord' do, when a lordly collegue invited the producer of said lousy film in order to together with him and her esteemed colleagues watch and afterwards discuss it?

According to what I learned at Cranmer's, the Lord by grace of a certain Tony Blair reportedly 'threatened to mobilise 10,000 Muslims to prevent Mr Wilders [that's the blondie that let produce said lousy film; sj] from entering the house and threatened to take the colleague who was organising the event to court'.

And what did the honourable Lordships do?

Giving Mr Ahmed a democracy-lesson, you guess?

Nah! Showing him the white feather.

And the Lord announced via BBC, Daily Telegraph, Guardian, Times etc ... err ... via Associated Press of Pakistan "a victory for the Muslim community".


And here the words almost fail me.
Imagine, next time the Lord of the Flies cometh and demands: 'Eat shit, Mylords! 100 trillion flies can't err.'

Apropos 'Lord of the (F)lies': Is it possible that Lord Ahmed on this very day sent one text message to Fethullah Gülen and four to the most intellectual mastermind's - Ha ha ha ha ... - intelligently designed mouthpieces?

Oops. Never ever heard such names in Merry Old England?
Now, that's surprising, hm?

Perhaps, after having read this and followed the links some English(wo)man feels fancy of investigating a bit on Lord Ahmed's connection with this self-styled elite and their common purpose?

Well, good luck, enjoy and let me know the results of your research.

* Title of a book written by William Golding. What did you think? :)

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Jedem das Seine or: A bloody conflict

On the 64th anniversary of the liberation of the Auschwitz death camp today,
Germany has remembered the victims of National Socialism with a variety of events. But the country's Jewish leaders chose to skip the main government ceremony on Tuesday in protest for what they say is lack of respect.
Full article here.
And here another one on Spiegel online.
As one grand dame of the German Social Democracy who for decades was involved with the Gesellschaft für christlich-jüdische Zusammenarbeit / Society for Christian-Jewish Cooperation once stated: "As long as - even when there is an obvious reason - a German must not call a Jew idiot, and vice versa, as long there do not exist normal relations between Germans and Jews."
Well, and that's why I wouldn't call said ladies and gentlemen what they are.

However,
noone - I repeat: noone - and if she or he happened to worship the head of a dead sardine - will ever tell me what I am allowed to express in my or any other language. Not even an idiot.

Perhaps I should not have written 'noone will ever, 'cause one should not underestimate the mighty mightiness of the
Central Council of Jews in Germany.

Tiny example:

German Coffee roaster Tchibo and oil company Esso have abandoned a nationwide advertising campaign for coffee following criticism from the Jewish community that it had been using a slogan similar* to a phrase used by the Nazis.
Full article here.
* emphazise mine

Oh dear! After Auschwitz there can't be any language / poetry etc. etc., hm?

Ah, I wonder why none of the absolute altruistic and uncorrupt ladies and gentlemen sewed George Tabori, who postulated "There are taboos that need to be destroyed" and thus in a way was the obstetrician to a serious reflection of the holocaust and other atrocities 'made in Germany', and of whom none of his plays impressed me more than this 'joke' (German: Witz):
"Wie lautet der kürzeste deutsche Witz? - Auschwitz."
"What's the shortest German Witz? - Auschwitz."

As said: Jedem das Seine. To each his own. Or, as Cato the Elder reportedly put it: Suum cuique.

Having written this, I do feel much better now.:)

Thus, with thanks to Bock and Jams, here two postings that moved me deeply:

Auschwitz,

Forgiving Mengele

Please read it!

The peace of the night!

I feel I shall have a lovely dream: Some members of the Central Council of Jews in Germany wake up and henceforth speak a very rare Hindu-dialect.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Dafydd ap Gwilym VIII

Unhappy the man who is in love except in the summer, fruitless his prayers and great his desires. After the one night I had with the girl, all that is left me of that love-affair is my recollection of it, and the winter, I swear, is angry, black and bare after Christmas: and the snow, sure sign of the cold, and the frost and numerous icicles.
Coming drunk from the tavern, disgruntled and in a wretched humour, I went to look for her, terrified lest I find her making love to some other handsome man. Through the wood in the valley I went, feeling no love at all, till I arrived at the stone wall inside which the beauty lives.
There was a dismal sound of dripping from the eaves like an overflowing cheesepot; but when I arrived there I felt a kind of relief because of the danger close at band beyond the wall. Thick under the edge of the cold roof were the frosty icicles, freezing cold, and cleverly the drops contrived to fall into my mouth as I stood at the mercy of the frost and the whistling rime of the ice. The frost bit me like a rake, and the cold went through me like the tender teeth of a harrow. As I stood in the porch the drops fell angrily on me from Jealousy's fine candles of ice, like freezing tears, and the snow drove every recollection out of me but that of black frost.


While my head endured the pangs of the drips from these cold spindles and the dismal sounds, I knocked on the window with my band, hearing within the sounds of those in their first sleep, the man louder than the woman. Suspicious he nudged the pretty creature with his cold elbow, easily persuaded that someone was looking diligently for his money. Then the withered oaf rose out of his bed like a draught of foul air, enraged and terrified and calling "Villain" after me. And this was a dangerous journey for me, for he set a scoundrelly pack on me consisting of the whole town; and he, promising a candle to Mary at every sight of my footprints, bellowed after me with a hundred voices, "After him there! he's barefoot!"

So I fled with painful haste along the black back of the frost, till I came to the pleasant birch-wood which used to hide me in summer, thinking it to be, as I remembered it, a house of leaves under a fine roof, where the birds loved me and I saw the girl in May. But this was no trysting-place now, but a place of grief, even in the grove of the wood. No sign of love nor anything else did I see, nor any person nor any leaf, for the barren winter had winnowed the green warp of the leaves to the ground. And so I am begging May for a thaw before I freeze to death: I am a man imprisoned in winter; good luck to the summer and may it not be long coming!

Monday, January 19, 2009

Murderous

Today 200 years ago, Edgar Allan Poe was born.

A short story he wrote: The Murders of Rue Morgue.

Two novels he did not write:

The murder in Istiklal Caddesi

Today two years ago, Hrant Dink was murdered.
The mills of justice are still grinding. Or not.



The murder in 8 Lesnaya Ulitsa


104 days before Hrant Dink got murdered,
on October 7th, 2006 Vladimir Putin celebrated his birthday,
and perhaps some gentlemen intended to surprise (?)
their beloved President with a very very special present,
Anna Politkovskaya was assassinated.


Well, and I'd not be surprised when in 365 days the 'patriotic gentleman' who today killed Staneslav Markelov and Anastasiya Baburova , will also be not behind bars.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Thinking of Hope man and Peace man

Life must go on in Sderot and Gaza.

The name of a blog.

A blog of two friends.

The latest post dates from last Sunday.

Since I am longing for the next.

Thinking of Hope man and Peace man.

The peace of the night
.


Update:
Good morning.
Hope fulfilled: This morning Peace man posted.



Other sites I found / find interesting reading these weeks:

Gaza Today

Lisa Goldman

Arab Writers Group