The Indian Serenade

I ARISE from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright.
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
Has led me - who knows how?
To thy chamber window, sweet.

The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream -
The champak odours fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
Oh, beloved as thou art!

Oh lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white alas!
My heart beats loud and fast
Oh, I press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

100 Hours of Astronmy

Lucky who has an observatory in his neighbourhood, especially these days.
Those who haven't can let their eyes travelling around the clock via Internet.

http://www.100hoursofastronomy.org/

And here's, for a beginning, 'a bit more' about the International Year of Astronomy.
Well, actually it's quite a lot to discover. :)

Check around and enjoy.

Eyes travelling 30 million light years

'Clear' sky. So our astrophysicist yesterday went on sightseeing-tour. Today he sent an email ("colours will follow").

Galaxy NGC 3628

Rich Poetry at The Poor Mouth's

Who would not feel a great desire
to celebrate McGonagall & McIntyre?
There's a poetry slam right over here,
it's great fun though without beer.

So hurry soon over to Jams, please.
The winner might win a ton of cheese,
or even unlike Gordon Brown
get a statue in Edinburgh Town.



Bertus, et tu? :)

For those few who still wouldn't know

The ominous bicycle has been found, and
Flann fooled you all.

The Taoiseach's New Clothes III

Once I don't do 'things' immediately, they would often vanish in the realm of oblivion.
That's why I am thankful to the very inner voice whispering: Carpe noctem.

Be it then: Some - do I need say?: very personal - thoughts before the chapter picture- respectively cowengate is going to get closed.

And some last words before diving in media res: I've been following with interest (and often chucking) what has been posted about this 'issue'. By the following, which I shall be writing 'without filtres', thus as the thoughts come, I do not intend to attack anybody.

*

What has happened?
A 'clever' chap (I promised to come back to this point) unasked nails some caricatures to some museum walls, and ...
... nothing happens.
So, after a while, the 'clever chap' - did anyone notice I did not call him 'artist'? - emails a newspaper.
[Comment: It would not make much sense to hit a nail into the wall of any museum's toilet, as long as noone takes notice, hm?]

Well, and what happens afterwards, meanwhile everybody (at least in the blogosphere) should / could know.

Thus, end of the beforegoing.

De gustibus not est disputandum.
Quite. Either you have it, or you have it not.

So, why would I publish caricatures of a naked Taoiseach?

Ladies, gentlemen, this is not about a "clever chap" trying to advertise his 'artwork'/name; this is about freedom of speech / music / arts / satire ...
... and - last not least - freedom from censorship!!

Yes, again, I am writing this 'without filtres', without caring about 'wrong' syntax, 'wrong' prepositions, 'wrong' idioms.

Satire is satire is satire.

Imagine all the flags burning if this were, f.e. about a naked Mohammed or any of the very genleman's afficionados.

Conclusion:
Ha, ...
... what a great fun to show a Taoiseach without clothes;
... what a fun to attack the 'fucking bastards' elected by a majority of most intelligent voters;
... what a fun we (bloggers) had while ...

... approximately 280,000 children died of starvation.

Oops. Did I spoil the fun? Sorry. Am I a fucking kill-joy? Forgive me.

After all, who cares, hm?

We - the great champions of the blogosphere had a splendid time, hadn't we?

Exactly the fun, Heinrich Heine once defined:

Der Knecht singt gerne Freiheitslieder
des Abends in der Schenke.

The peasant loves to sing songs of freedom (rebel-songs)
in the pub at night.

- - -

I am proud of myself ... as I knew before that I'd not be able to express my thoughts (in English).

So, please, forgive me and head on to read the very best post on this very topic.

The peace of the night.


The Taoiseach's New Clothes

The Taoiseach's New Clothes II

Brian, Borges & Bioy

Want a T(aoiseach)-Shirt?

Physiognomy of fine gentlemen

The Impossible Fact