caru's blog

Last night I read a book.

2010-01-10T13:58:00.000-08:00

I can't remember the title, but it was about the development of society and literature in Haiti, rather stressing the literary aspect. It contained lots of text samples, mostly poems, in English translation, but also large bits of an epic poem in Haitian Creole, strong on Voodoo mythology, by an author whose name was "Al4nvar Mouanga" or something like that. (Yes, there was a 4 in the middle of his name.)
Needless to say, neither does the book really exist, nor does any of the authors that are mentioned in it. I dreamt it all - though it didn't feel like a dream while it lasted! My subconscious made up a whole literature, and a language too - because the Creole of the dream book was not at all like real Haitian Creole. Minds do weird stuff while we sleep, don't they.

as promised long ago: the caterpillar in colour!

2009-09-04T06:23:00.001-07:00

(click to enlarge)

Fried Tongue

2009-07-05T09:15:00.000-07:00

In realgar, in arsenic green and white,
And boiling lead, for fitter fricassee,
Saltpetre, orpiment, quicklime unite
With soot and pitch, and tempered well with ley,
Made of a Jewess' urine let it be;
In water that has lazars' limbs made clean,
Wherein old boots and hosen steeped have been;
In aspics blood, in deadly drugs and tried,
In badgers', wolves' and foxes' gall and spleen,
Let all these sharp and poisonous tongues be fried.

In brain of cat, that water doth affright,
Black and so old that not a tooth hath he;
In foam and slaver from a mad dog's bite,
So old and rotten he can hardly see;
In froth of broken-winded mule, that ye
May cut up small with knives; in water green
With festering slime, wherein there may be seen
Serpents and rats that there have lived and died.
Lizards, toads, frogs and such like beasts obscene,
Let all these sharp and poisonous tongues be fried.

In sublimates, unsafe to touch and sight,
That in a live snake's navel mingled be;
In yellow pus, exuding day and night
From fistula or ulcer on the knee;
And in those vessels, foul to smell and see,
Where nurses children's dirty clouts make clean;
In blood that barbers dry in the sun's sheen;
In tubs where whores themselves have purified
(No apple-squire but knows the thing I mean),
Let all these sharp and poisonous tongues be fried.

Envoi:

Prince, all these dainties look you strain and screen
(If neither sieve nor bag you have) between
Old and foul hosen, with the feet uptied:
But first in excrement of swine unclean
Let all these sharp and poisonous tongues be fried.

(Recipe by Francois Villon; English translation by John Payne, 1878)

You're so flashmobbed, baby

2009-06-14T09:33:00.000-07:00

The Viennese Museumsquartier, MQ for short, is a largish area consisting of museums and small gallerys for the exhibition of Art with a capital A, and suchlike. Check the link - they have a rather good Cy Twombly-exhibition now. Oh, and some (new, pseudo-classy, not classical Viennese) cafés. Not too cheap ones.
Still, the main part of the MQ are its courtyards. Large ones. You can play boule there, and there are concerts and dances and stuff. But most of the time it's just a big free public space, made by the gods for simply hanging out.
Public space? Not exactly. Recently it has been infested with guys thet have SECURITY written on their shirts. They started by handing out little sheets in two languages, so that everyone could read what one must NOT do in the MQ. Such as: You can't sit there and consume a drink not bought at one of the cafés. You can't sit where you like, even when the official sitting-places are wet with rain, and the stone steps under the trees are nice and dry - sit in the wet or get away. You can't push your bike through those yards, let alone ride it, or slide by on rollerblades. You can't play music (we are talking ordinary guitars, not ghetto blasters). You can't this, and you mustn't that.

A protesting movement formed itself on the internet within days, resulting in a 2000-person-flashmob yesterday evening. The place was invaded to the strains of Cat Stevens' "If you wanna sing out, sing out". Most mobbers drank beer, and some had bikes. The museum's director has issued a statement, like "OK folks, just kidding".

You can do 'most anything with the Austrians. Tax them to the limit, arrest their neighbours for no good legal reason, they do nothing. BUT tell them they can't drink beer from the supermarket in a specified place, you have an uprising on your hands.

I really wonder what will happen to the MQ next - at the moment the protesters are enjoying a mass media hype, so I suppose it's a free country for the next few days.

news from the caterpillar

2009-05-18T22:20:00.000-07:00

click on any of them to view in full size :-)

this one appeared last year when all europe was playing football.

this is the most recent one... though historically it should be number one.

the caterpillar's understanding of truth values in art :-)

...and here, he is to be seen as a cunning strategist.
coming soon: raupi the caterpillar in COLOUR!

petals

2009-04-10T12:01:00.000-07:00

spring has come - just in time for Easter.

I don't even know what this tree's name is, but I found half a million of its petals in my hair and among my clothes today.

happy Easter, by the way!

forget the hogs... here's the rabbits!

2009-04-07T02:52:00.000-07:00

supremely fluffy, everlastingly cute, the rabbit rules.

Hogwatching

2009-01-27T13:06:00.000-08:00

It's good to see that people on the web have SOME decency left. At least they don't post videos of fuckin' hedgehogs. Or hedgehogs fuckin'. That would be the limit, wouldn't it?

Yeah. (Such cuties.)

Condemning the Gs

2009-01-22T13:33:00.000-08:00

As we (me and a very lovely girl) decided the other day, most stuff that begins with G either doesn't exist, or else is of no use or even downright bad. As examples I may quote Geese, God, the city of Graz, and Ghosts.
One of the very few exceptions, as my friend pointed out, is the G-spot.

birds can be rather stupid

2009-01-09T15:06:00.000-08:00

(click to enlarge)

only birds, of course.

The Good-Morrow

2008-12-22T12:00:00.000-08:00

I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
did, till we lov'd? Were we not wean'd till then,
but suck'd on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snored we in the seven sleepers den?
'T was so; but this, all pleasures fancies be.
If ever any beauty I did see,
which I desired and got, 't was but a dream of thee.

And now good morrow to our waking souls,
which watch not one another out of fear;
for love all love of other sights controls
and makes one little room an every-where.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,
let maps to other worlds on worlds have shown;
let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
and true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
where can we find two better hemispheres
without sharp North, without declining West?
What ever dies, was not mix'd equally;
if our two loves be one, or thou and I
love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.

John Donne

epithalamium

2008-12-21T15:32:00.000-08:00

though the wabe has its uses too,
who in their senses will not prefer
the graceful bumble-bee to the hive
and the honey, rich and preserving,
to the transient rose?

richer than bloom is the candled night,
when a girl outgrows quite decent prettiness
to don the goddess' garb:
vermilion to set off her rosier nails,
anklets and jingly toe-rings to faintly
accentuate her burrowing voice,
kajal less deeply black than her pupil
and silk to envy her hair.

let her walk with you on the sands
with the stable hand restraining the lion,
gracefully nodding her head in dimmed limelight,
while she hands you the swords to swallow
and fire to breathe -
every clap of each hand is hers
for reading your every thought.

paint your house pink

2008-11-18T14:24:00.000-08:00

it's a really crazy feeling when you walk through Vienna by night and see one of our most expensive cafés look like this:

unfortunately, the building is white by day. greyish-yellowish, really. it's just some fancy lighting.

and damn 'em, they've got a freaking x-mas tree standing near the front door. in the middle of november.

Bearded Bookworm

2008-11-10T12:23:00.000-08:00

he's always carrying two tiny books, in case he should get hungry. currently he is living on a shelf with his friend the hairy caterpillar and one sacred cow from india.

Barack

2008-11-06T13:39:00.000-08:00

Hungarian for "apricot" (German: Aprikose, Austrian: Marille).
Best liked in the shape of barackpálinka, apricot brandy, which is often offered as an aperitif if one is lucky enough to dine with Hungarians.
Also makes a nice jam, which is often found inside krapfen or sachertorte.
For further information, see under Zwetschgenfleck.

Jaws

2008-11-03T13:12:00.000-08:00

"Since when have you been chewing gum? I thought you didn't like it."

"I don't. But I want my jaws to become as muscular as Senator McCain's."

These last three weeks I've been chewing gum on purpose, just to trigger this dialogue. It's been a big laugh every time.

always used to be an opera fan...

2008-10-20T14:26:00.000-07:00

the caterpillar crosses the street

2008-10-16T14:46:00.001-07:00

(click to enlarge)

the caterpillar's self-encounter

2008-09-03T03:30:00.000-07:00

(click to enlarge)

Cartoon Character Competition

2008-08-22T14:02:00.000-07:00

sometimes they seem to be arguing who's the sneakiest.

choice bits of woody mountainside

2008-07-30T09:08:00.000-07:00

starting with one very funny mushroom.

Sorry, no time

2008-07-25T12:50:00.000-07:00

If present and future depend on the past, obviously present and future already exist in the past; again, if they do not, how can present and future exist at all, being dependent on it?
But if they establish themselves without being dependent, then the past does not exist for them; it follows that neither present nor future exists. The same is true of all other possible combinations; "first, last and middle" and the like should always be termed "identical" or something similar.
Time that does not stand cannot be grasped. Time that does stand does not exist in such a way as to be grasped. And time that is not grasped - how can one even have a concept of it?

(Nâgârjuna, ca. 100 CE)

2008-07-21T14:26:00.000-07:00

But this is a heart, not brick or stone! why would it not fill with pain?
We will cry a thousand times anyway; why would anyone torment us?

There is no temple here, no shrine, no door, nor a door-sill either;
we are sitting in the midst of the road, why would another make us stand up?

With her heart-inflaming beauty, with her face like the sun at noon,
if she melts hearts just by being herself, why would she then veil her face?

The dagger-like glance is a thief of life, the dart of allure not to be dodged –
the mirror-image of your own face, how could it stand in front of you?

The prison of life and the fetter of grief are essentially one and the same;
before his death, how could a man ever find release from grief?

Beauty, and beautiful thinking too – no shame to a lustful man;
being confident about herself, why would she put to test another?

On that side, pride in greatness and allure; on this, bashful self-respect –
how could we ever meet in the streets, why would she invite us to a feast?

Yeah, she is ungodly; I dare say she ist faithless!
Having one’s heart or faith at heart, why would one go up her street?

Unless Ghālib goes to pieces, what labour of love will end?
Why cry bitter, bitter tears? why send up sigh after sigh?

(Mirza Ghalib)

VIVA ESPANA!!! ESPANA CAMPEÓN!!!

2008-06-29T14:08:00.000-07:00

damn it, and i don't even like football.

my cute little alien

2008-06-29T03:49:00.001-07:00

this is where he's at home.

one very playful ace of spades :-)

2008-06-24T09:44:00.000-07:00

Watch this. takes a hell of a lot of time to load, but it's cute.

Ronja

2008-06-20T14:46:00.001-07:00

i have a new favourite movie :-)

Football Madness Seizes Austrian Bakers

2008-06-07T13:55:00.000-07:00

fact is, it's not such bad bread either.

and speaking of football:

2008-05-14T00:17:00.000-07:00

(click to enlarge)

austria is hosting the European Soccer Championship, and that's why the Bagger is featuring a special edition with "Spiel" (both "game" and "play" in german) as its topic. the caterpillar's got right into the game.

freezing for art's sake

2008-05-12T12:54:00.000-07:00

yesterday mr. tunick did one of his more largish photo sessions, tryin' to create artwork out of approximately 1840 naked human beings. me one of them. at last i know how a pointillist's blot of paint feels, or a pebble in a huge mosaic.
yeah, on that pic you see people in the sun. but that was not part of the artwork, that was a break. all the shots were taken in the freakin' shadow, with a chilly wind blowing, and we were naked for four hours or so. the press people were sitting in the sun, all the time! clothed, of course. AND they took pics of everyone when we came into the sunlight, voyeurs that they are.

incidentally, this was the first time in my life that i entered a soccer stadium. it's the one where they will play the finals of the European Championship 2008. we were strictly forbidden to step on the lawn - they closed the field off with ribbons and covered the ground around it with plastic mats (the blue stuff you see in the pic). evidently 3680 naked feet are bad for the lawn (while soccer players' shoes are acceptable).

My favourite sayings of Confucius

2008-04-04T11:23:00.000-07:00

The master said: "Who'd call Wei-sheng Kao an upright man? When someone asked him for vinegar, he went and asked his neighbours for some and then gave it to him." (V 23)

The master said: "Who can go out without using the door? Why then don't people do it that way?" (VI 15)

Tsai Wo asked: "A humane person, if you were to tell him that there's a man in the well - would he go in after him?"
The master said: "Now why should he do that? A noble man might go there, but he wouldn't jump in. You can cheat him, but you can't make a fool of him." (VI 24)

When the master was gravely ill, Tzu Lu asked whether they should pray for him. The master asked: "Is there such a thing?" Tzu Lu answered: "Yes, there is. In the Eulogies it is said: We have prayed for thee to the gods above and below." The master said: "My humble self has prayed for a long, long time." (VII 34)

A man from the community of Ta hsiang said: "What a great man is Master K'ung! He is knowledgeable in all kinds of subjects, but he doesn't put his learning to practice in order to make himself a name."
The master heard this and said to his pupils: "Now, what job should I take up? Should I take up chariot driving or arrow shooting? I think I'd rather take up chariot driving." (IX 2)

ok, the oyster...

2008-03-21T15:59:00.001-07:00

... can really wait till sunday.

a very beautiful friend of mine actually wished me a good new year today. (she's Parsi. also she's a sweeeeeeeeeeet woman.)

happy oyster, everyone!

2008-03-21T15:46:00.001-07:00

Gnosis is a Basis-I Song

2008-03-08T14:02:00.000-08:00

(Should you feel the text doesn't make very much sense, try and read it from right to left.)

Tao: benign erotomania in a motor engine boat.

Harry Belafonte on the Muppet Show

2008-03-08T12:57:00.000-08:00

This was actually the first time the Banana Boat Song was sung on TV:

Turn the World Around!

And now, who's a great percussionist?

i should have known...

2008-03-08T12:22:00.000-08:00

What Muppet are you?

You are Kermit the Frog.You are reliable, responsible and caring. And you have a habit of waving your arms about maniacally.FAVORITE EXPRESSIONS:"Hi ho!" "Yaaay!" and "Sheesh!" FAVORITE MOVIE:"How Green Was My Mother" LAST BOOK READ:"Surfin' the Webfoot: A Frog's Guide to the Internet" HOBBIES:Sitting in the swamp playing banjo. QUOTE:"Hmm, my banjo is wet."
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jabberwocky

2008-03-02T15:19:00.000-08:00

recited by... but see for yourself.

the cue of the cuckoo

2008-03-01T06:39:00.001-08:00

"the cuckoo's sweet cooing,
when his throat was inflamed by the taste of mango-shoots,
became a speech of the God of Remembrance,
apt to sweep away coy women's pride."

yesterday i was sitting in the library, reading this very stanza (written by Kâlidâsa in the 4th century)... and when i was halfway through writing down my translation, a beautiful girl came in who isn't talking to me, and at least said hello.
now if that isn't coincidence. hmmmmmmmmm.

half-birthday

2008-02-23T03:19:00.001-08:00

Fu Long ("Lucky Dragon"), Vienna's own black and white teddy, is exactly half a year old today. yeah! may the bamboo ever grow lusciously around you.

being the lion

2008-02-21T09:23:00.000-08:00

(click to enlarge)

the caterpillar is back!

2008-01-31T04:05:00.000-08:00

(click to enlarge)

quote of the day

2008-01-26T15:43:00.000-08:00

"Die Nachbildung des Stiles der Alten, in ihrer eigenen, an grammatischer Vollkommenheit die unsrige weit übertreffenden Sprache, ist das allerbeste Mittel, um sich zum gewandten und vollkommenen Ausdruck in seiner Muttersprache vorzubereiten. Um ein großer Schriftsteller zu werden, ist es sogar unerläßlich – eben, wie es für den angehenden Bildhauer oder Maler nothwendig ist, sich durch Nachahmung der Muster des Alterthums heranzubilden. Durch das Lateinschreiben allein lernt man die Diktion als ein Kunstwerk behandeln, man lernt Respekt haben vor der Sprache, so daß man nicht nach Willkür und Laune mit ihr umspringt, um sie umzumodeln.
Der Mensch, welcher kein Latein versteht, gleicht Einem, der sich in einer schönen Gegend bei nebligem Wetter befindet; nur das Nächste sieht er deutlich. Der Horizont des Lateiners hingegen geht sehr weit. Griechisch, oder gar noch Sanskrit, erweitern ihn noch um ein Beträchtliches. – Wer kein Latein versteht, gehört zum Volke, auch wenn er ein großer Virtuose auf der Elektrisirmaschine wäre und das Radikal der Flußspathsäure im Tiegel hätte."

Arthur Schopenhauer

Imitating the style of the ancients in their own language, whose grammar far exceeds our own in perfection, is the very best means of preparing oneself for perfect and skillful expression in the mother tongue. For becoming a great writer, it is even indispensable - just like a budding sculptor or painter must of needs develop his ability by imitating the patterns of antiquity. It is only by writing in Latin that one learns to treat verbal expression as a work of art, and to respect language, so that one does not approach it in a wanton and reckless way, trying to re-shape it.
A man who does not know Latin resembles one in the midst of a beautiful landscape in foggy weather; he can only see clearly what is nearest to him. The Latin scholar's horizon, on the other hand, is very wide; Greek, and of course Sanskrit, will stretch it considerably farther. - A person who does not know Latin is a plebeian, even though he might be a great virtuoso on the electrostatic generator, or keep the radical of fluoric acid in a pot.

comedy supreme

2008-01-04T13:18:00.000-08:00

after that very serious christmas poem, let's start the new year on something lighter.
let me introduce: my favourite comedian, josé!

(you will of course ignore the american guy, the woosel and the worm.)

the nine-fold peace

2007-12-23T02:24:00.000-08:00

peace, nine-fold.

peace to all on earth, especially those
who want to live on into the next year
(those who do not, in pain, hunger or strife,
desire their own peace so much they don’t need ours).

peace to all those who keep searching the sky
for a way to go beyond mars, venus or pluto;
forgetting the ungraspable black, may they find
calm, chastity and deathlessness on earth.

peace to those who sincerely believe their god
is ordering gold, myrrh and incense for breakfast;
let the coal softly ebb out of their censers.

peace to the shepherd who guards his sheep,
peace to him who helps where he can’t understand
and loves beyond reason; peace to the mother

who gave birth without knowing how, and peace
to the child left to make his way from the straw
chewn by the warm-breathed ox, and also to the donkey

peace.

the caterpillar...

2007-12-23T01:13:00.000-08:00

wishes to inform everyone that he's having a nice christmas. (click to enlarge)

Baby Discovered in Cowshed

2007-12-21T07:41:00.000-08:00

Underage mother detained pending investigation

Bethlehem. – Early this morning, social workers (following an anonymous telephone call) discovered a new-born baby in a cowshed just outside the city boundaries. The boy had been wrapped up in strips of cloth and placed in a manger – presumably by his fourteen year-old mother Mary (family name unknown), who also seems to have spent the night there.
When trying to convey mother and child to the local hospital facilities, the social workers met with considerable resistence from a middle-aged man called Joseph (family name unknown, allegedly a carpenter from the city of Nazareth), a group of local shepherds and three suspicious foreigners, who said they were magicians from a non-specified country in the East. All these people seemed to be in high spirits, though they had spent the night out in the cold.
The social workers preferred to call in the police, who presently ascertained that the three foreigners, besides being without passport, visa or other documents, were carrying a large amount of 24-carat gold as well as some other, very likely illegal substances. The strangers’ claim that God had ordered them to travel in secrecy, without reporting to the proper authorities, did nothing to allay suspicion.
Mary, when questioned, asserted that she was a virgin and the child was supernaturally begotten by a deity. She is at present undergoing physical and psychological examination at the Bethlehem District Hospital, under police supervision. Joseph, who emphatically denies being the father of the child, is facing prosecution for seduction of minors.
As to the shepherds’ assertion that a young man in a nightgown with golden wings had appeared to them – “He said we should go to that old deserted cowshed at once and congratulate the young woman on the birth of her first” – Police Commissioner Yehoshua comment: “As far as my experience goes, that’s just about the lamest excuse ever dreamed up by a bunch of stoned junkies.”

oh, listen. they're playing our song.

2007-12-20T03:02:00.000-08:00

don't come knockin'

2007-12-05T11:05:00.000-08:00

(news of grandma caru)

my daddy just phoned my granny (his mum), as he often does in the evening. she didn't answer the phone.
this had him quite worried, because she hardly ever goes out, and surely not without telling, and not on a winter evening long after dark. and bless her, she's 94 if she's a day. so he phoned her next door neighbour, a lady in her seventies, who kindly went and rang granny's doorbell. no answer. knocked a few times, no answer either.
and the neighbour seemed to remember she hadn't heard granny's TV going today (and usually it's on from morning to night, and very loud too, for her hearing isn't what it used to be).

daddy jumped into his car (his blood pressure at about 200, so was my mum's, and mine too, when she told me over the phone), drove to granny's, didn't bother to knock or ring - expecting to find her unconscious at the very least - but let himself in with the emergency key.

oh, granny was SO surprised. no, she hadn't heard anyone knocking or ringing. yes, she had heard the telephone, but couldn't find it because it was dark, and wasn't quick enough turning on the light, because, you see, the light switch is difficult to find in the dark, too. almost annoyed, she was. but in good health, thank you. yes, the TV was on as usual, maybe the neighbour's gettin' deaf.

it's my strong belief grandma caru will live to be 120, and then someone will wring her neck for ruining his nerves.

mausam-e gul

2007-11-24T07:44:00.000-08:00

classical Persian and Urdu poets have a habit of saying mausam-e gul, fazl-e gul ("season of roses, period of roses") when they mean to say "spring". (quite intelligible in Persia, where roses bloom in what to us is March or April, but quite surreal in India/Pakistan, where roses do not grow at all, except in glass-houses.)

i believe the real time of the roses is autumn, even early winter. is it not too easy to be a rose in spring?

halloween...

2007-10-31T03:39:00.001-07:00

...always reminds me of the fact that there were cartoons even before the caterpillar.

the caterpillar...

2007-10-14T14:05:00.001-07:00

...is at it again.

German for Weirdos 3: Zwetschgenfleck

2007-09-13T09:01:00.000-07:00

When you look up "Fleck" in your German-English dictionary, you find stuff like "spot, speck, patch, mark, stain". I bet you won't find "large square fruit cake".
But that's a very popular and tasty meaning of Fleck, at least in Austria. Mostly you get them with apricots ("Marillenfleck", in midsummer) and with plums ("Zwetschgenfleck", in early autumn). Presumably the word is used because the cake is rather thin and square, and Fleck would also mean a big square of cloth. I used to have a poncho-like coat as a child, which was more or less a square peace of rather coarse cloth, very warm and water-resistant; it was supposed to be a traditional countryman's garment, and they called it "Wetterfleck".
In Bavaria, the same kind of cake is termed "Zwetschgendatschi", "datschi" maybe onomatopoetically referring to the softness of the dough, or the slapping movement of spreading it on the baking tray. Cafés and pastryshops in Munich sell it by the square mile at this time of the year - whereas in Austria it is mostly a home-baked affair, and the high and mighty pastrycooks won't bother with anything so simple.
The deliciousness of it lies in the fact that juice seeps out of the plums during baking, and pervades the dough.

I've got one in the oven right now - as usual, a "healthy" variety, made of wholemeal flour, with little sugar, but seasoned with cinnamon and honey.

pegasus

2007-09-01T12:39:00.000-07:00

whatya staring at? never seen a horse with wings?

quote of another week

2007-08-21T12:55:00.000-07:00

"Ein Kobold sei zum Liebsten ihr beschert,
Der mag mit ihr auf einem Kreuzweg schäkern!
Ein alter Bock, vom Blocksberg heimgekehrt,
Mag im Galopp noch gute Nacht ihr meckern.
Ich will von keinem Gruße wissen,
Als ihr die Fenster eingeschmissen!"

Let her lover be a goblin wight
that shall caress her on the crossroads;
an ancient buck and husband of goats,
hopping home from the Sabbath, shall bleat her goodnight!
No greetings to her, I'll say it again,
unless it be stones through her window-pane.

(Goethe, Faust, Part 1)

quote of the week

2007-08-11T01:47:00.000-07:00

"Die Liebe ist eine Art Koloquinthe; wer davon ißt, bekommt Bauchgrimmen."

"Love is a kind of bitter-apple; he who tastes it will have a stomach ache."

(Karl May)

i had a banana for breakfast,

2007-08-06T00:32:00.000-07:00

(among other things), and all the while i was unaware of how many uses bananas have.

just watch these poor guys who have no bananas.

photoreceptor

2007-07-31T12:13:00.000-07:00

(this is one more "non-poem" that i composed in english and german at the same time. so it's really just half of it. it's completely realistic - none of the situations or feelings were invented for poetical purposes.)

1.

this would really make the day of my old friend
sherlock: i can see the letters of the climbing ivy,
the pizza guy’s yappy dog bustling after some rolling
ice cubes, as well as the little pakistani woman

hugging the latest harry potter volume. i can even
see things that are not there, such as garden raspberries
and lacquer footprints on my door-sill (at least
i do not see any, but can see that there are none there)

and the sweat, too, of those that drink too much beer, the books
not bought by the haughty frenchman, and my very
own tears evaporating in the morning mist. it will
be noticed that any wit that may ever have lain

between these lines, has simultaneously oozed away,
a fringe on the flowery carpet of yesterday’s hookah smoke.

2.

i greet as my sister that girl, all in brown,
with her head on her knees: what her locks are viewing
are the sap-green railings and wallings, differently brown,
of the city railway that cuts deep scars into our world.

your cord jacket is facing ninety degrees in the shadow,
and you won’t tell me whether you’re weeping or nodding; my dear,
in this spot of no man’s land between steel and anthills
your skin is from the balkans, and my heart from farther away.

those black centipedes and blinking caterpillars down there
do look rather cute, and hail to the city offering us
to leave it that way. but before that happens, i’ll stand
here till my heart be branded with your name through the soles

and the two of us have found a pub, for a cup of iced clarity
and one helping of sweetness; you and me, we can damn well use some.

and a quote, just by the way:

2007-07-31T11:59:00.001-07:00

"you can never go home."

it's true. you freakin' can't, really.

rabbit mail

2007-07-31T11:46:00.000-07:00

i would not, in the ordinary course of things, insert advertisements here.

but if you have a really important letter to deliver, send it by rabbit mail. they will deliver in any weather, anywhere, under all conditions, even on weekends.

last sunday was my beloved's birthday, which we were spending far, far out in the countryside. how could anyone get a birthday greeting card to her?
but in the morning, when she was still asleep, this little post-rabbit hopped up to the door with an envelope in his hand, which he handed to me to give to her - he was knowledgeable enough about human matters to trust me. of course i delivered the card, and the recipient, i'm glad to say, was very happy.

i took this little sketch of him sitting out on the lawn, since i believe very few people have ever actually seen, far less talked to, a post-rabbit. let's wish the little guys a lot of success, they really know their job.

Deathly Hallows

2007-07-23T10:03:00.000-07:00

yes, i've read the last Harry Potter book.

there are two things i have to say for mrs. J. K. Rowling. she managed to sneak out of quite a few of the impossible contradictions she got tangled up in while writing the first six volumes. still, there are matters she left as dead unclear as they ever were; but then, she might not be aware of these.

and she wrote one chapter that is really good. not just funny and quite entertaining, as some parts of the seven books. but really well written, beautiful, true and to the point.

she has also done her worst to discourage me from reading any books she might write in the future. she made one character of the story give tongue to MY OWN opinion about the plot.

and that person, i regret to say, was Lord Voldemort.

Beavers at their job again

2007-07-22T17:10:00.000-07:00

But where are they?

And since we mentioned dancing:

2007-06-09T12:41:00.001-07:00

(see more here)

Undisputable facts about Bollywood

2007-06-09T12:06:00.000-07:00

There is no doubt that the greatest actor Bollywood ever had, or is likely to have, is Mr. Amitabh Bachchan.

There is no doubt whatsoever that the coolest movie he ever made is Don (1978) - a very dramatic crime story full of blood and tears, that will have you rolling off the sopha with laughter.

No reasonable person can doubt that the coolest song in Don is Khaike paan Banaarasvala ("When you've eaten betel from Benares..."). Check the video. It rocks. It's a bloody ear-worm. It was originally meant for another film, but who cares? Don would not be half the fun without it, and it has really become its message. Sing this on any street in India, and you will have five hundred million people crowding around you, joining you in the chorus.

It may be a bit surprising that the person who dances best to this song's tune should be a blonde, blue-eyed girl from Central Europe. But about that, too, there is no shade of a doubt.

portrait

2007-06-02T13:02:00.000-07:00

evil tongues say i can't draw anything but rabbits. slander and calumny! i can draw any animal whatsoever, as long as he's small and furry, has long ears, a short fluffy tail and whiskers, sits upright supported by his hind legs and draws pictures. so there.
(more rabbit stuff to be found here, on a very deviant art website.)

vierzig persische pfirsiche

2007-05-27T01:27:00.000-07:00

now, everyone repeat after me:

"we see three freakin' peaches.
we see thirteen freakin' peaches,
we see thirty-three freakin' peaches.
we see fifty-three dirty persian peaches."

everyone who makes a mistake MUST eat one of the peaches.

moi non plus

2007-05-19T12:07:00.000-07:00

Je t'aime / oh, oui je t'aime! / moi non plus / oh, mon amour... / comme la vague irrésolue / je vais je vais et je viens / entre tes reins / et je / me retiens - je / t'aime je t'aime / oh, oui je t'aime ! / moi non plus / oh mon amour... / tu es la vague, moi l'île nue / tu vas et tu viens / entre mes reins / tu vas et tu viens / entre mes reins / et je / te rejoins- je t'aime je t'aime / moi non plus / oh, mon amour... / comme la vague irrésolue / je vais je vais et je viens / entre tes reins / et je / me retiens / tu vas et tu viens / entre mes reins / tu vas et tu viens / entre mes reins / et je / te rejoins - je t'aime je t'aime / oh, oui je t'aime ! / moi non plus / oh mon amour... / l'amour physique est sans issue / je vais et je viens / entre tes reins / je vais et je viens / et je me retiens / non ! maintenant / Viens !

(This lyric, as sung by Gainsbourg/Birkin, was put here for me to keep up an association.)

it's worse than i thought

2007-05-19T08:53:00.000-07:00

i read her favourite books.

i accidentally go for walks in her part of vienna, visiting places where she might have played as a child, or hung out when she went to school.

i go shopping in perfectly strange streets, trying to divine what she would buy there.

i get hungry and dream up a dinner to suit her, though i will eat it without her.

i come home, and it feels like entering a strange country.

girl, you've kinda moved in under my skin.

you're sweeter than any carrots, darling

2007-05-18T11:12:00.001-07:00

Water

2007-05-18T08:42:00.001-07:00

Next time it's cold and rainy outside, go and watch this movie. It manages to melt a banyan tree, a bamboo flute, a black baby dog, quotations from Sanskrit poetry and lots of white cotton saris into one big beautiful picture - while all the time it is really shockingly realistic. Being a widow in a traditional Hindu society is just as ugly as "Water" makes it appear. And M. K. Gandhi's political activity did chiefly consist of appearances of just the kind you see towards the end of the movie...
Some nutcases think this movie attacks Hinduism. It does not; it doesn't even make fun of Gandhi, though that is quite the vogue in India now. All it condemns is stupidity and inhuman behaviour. - And the little girl you can see in the picture is certainly a most stunning actress - she alone is worth the way to the cinema!
Water plays a great many roles in "Water". You can use it to wash fleas off a puppy. You wet someone's hair with water in order to shave their head. You can use fetching water from the river as an excuse to meet your beloved. Rain is water, and so are rainclouds - even when they occur in classical poems. You cross the water of the river for a number of purposes. Even when the male protagonist's brother, the "brown Englishman" who has embraced Western culture and whisky, mangles a German song at his piano, it is Ich hört' ein Bächlein rauschen wohl aus dem Felsengrund ("I heard a brook a-gushing amid the rocky grounds"). Dead bodies go into the water of the Ganges. So do living bodies, and sometimes they do not return.
And then there is the tear in the spectator's eye.

the caterpillar's back again

2007-05-02T12:09:00.000-07:00

(click to enlarge)

und für die, die deutsch verstehen: die zweite ausgabe vom bagger ist da!

mating season

2007-04-20T01:38:00.000-07:00

no, not rabbits this time.

there are only three or four days in the year when a panda girl wants sex. apparently, yesterday was the first of these. and the panda boy made proper use of it, four times running.
it wasn't such a success last year, but maybe this autumn Vienna's famous zoo will finally have its long desired baby panda.

moonwatching

2007-04-17T00:15:00.000-07:00

according to ancient indian tradition, the spots we see on the surface of the moon are not (as we europeans believe) a man in the moon, but a rabbit.
recent research tells us that she is a female rabbit.

the great rabbit puzzle

2007-04-12T03:18:00.000-07:00

how many rabbits do you see in this picture?

rabbit

2007-04-05T16:43:00.000-07:00

after all, this is easter. (i don't want to forget it myself, therefor i am posting rabbits. don't mind me.)

here's a problem for you

2007-04-05T16:16:00.000-07:00

you leave a small party very early in the morning, like 1 o' clock.
the girl you love leaves at the same time.

she refuses your offer to go with her half her way home (your way home is in the opposite direction, so it would mean walking about three times the party-home distance for you).
she hugs and kisses you - very closely (which she has but rarely done before).
the hug gets extremely close, till she says "i think you want to squeeze me to death". you let go of each other.

you explain to her that you don't really want to kill her in any way.
you hug once more, very intensely.

she says "you do want to squeeze me to death", and you part, very affectionately.

what's going on between the two of you?

this is...

2007-03-28T12:41:00.000-07:00

...one of a series of drawings i did two years ago. soft lead pencil on expensive paper ;-)

(click to enlarge)

the little alien

2007-03-23T13:28:00.000-07:00

i met him in the streets of vienna. isn't he a cutie?

Mirzâ Ghâlib

2007-03-18T05:02:00.000-07:00

Mirzâ Abdullâh Khân, poet's name Ghâlib, was born in 1797 (or maybe 1798) in Agra. His parents were Turkish aristocrats. From his 13th year he lived in Delhi, then the capital of the Mughal empire. He wrote a divân - a collection of a few hundred poems - in Urdu, a modern Indian language rich in Persian and Arabic vocabulary. Contemporary Urdu speakers agree that it's simply not fun being lovesick, unless you can read the poetry of Ghâlib.

Let hope, that passion bear fruit, not flee;
surrendering one’s life is no willow-tree.

No ancient king’s seal is a cup of wine;
from hand to hand passes its majesty.

Your splendour’s a means to show you are here;
no sand-grain escapes from the sunshine’s glee.

The Beloved’s secret must not be unveiled,
or else in parting no breach could be.

Fear lies in the changing colour of joy;
no grief in bereavement’s eternity.

They say that men live all by their hopes,
but no hope even of life have we.

(poem 95 from Ghâlib's divân, translated by caru)

we proudly introduce: the caterpillar

2007-03-14T10:21:00.000-07:00

(click to enlarge)

"mad as a march hare"

2007-03-10T11:56:00.000-08:00

not just hares... rabbits, too. we all go mad when march comes - and we hop after the cute fluffy rabbit girls like crazy. that's a warning!

(yes, i know that's not the march hare on the picture, it's the white rabbit. but he's a lot cuter, and not quite so mad.)

so romantic...

2007-03-05T12:16:00.000-08:00

Eike

2007-03-03T16:07:00.000-08:00

ist ein männer-, aber auch ein frauenname.

Eike, zum unterschied von Elke, Heike oder selbst Erika (letzteres ist ein lila blümchen und blüht auf der heide).

es gibt da eine Eike, die eine wirklich tolle frau ist.

kryptisch? ja. das ist absicht.

Moonshine

2007-02-07T14:41:00.000-08:00

A camphor-lamp shedding light on the sports
of thirty deer-eyed nymphs,

one huge sunshade, raised to celebrate
King Kâma's universal reign,

a fluffy fan, waving away fatigue
from lustful girls,

a cooling ointment for the musk-painted cheeks
of Love's young bride,

an island in the floods of the sky -
thus shines,

a pet goose in the city of the gods,
the moon with nectar rays.

(Jayadeva, around 1200)

translation by caru

who'd want to be a millionaire?

2007-01-27T07:38:00.000-08:00

you know, that quiz show. last summer, in the french edition of it (Qui veut gagner des millions?), showmaster Jean-Pierre Foucault asked a candidate:

"What revolves around Earth?

A: the moon
B: the sun
C: Mars
D: Venus"

the candidate (beyond middle age, not looking like he grew up in a pigshed) was clueless, which would be bad enough, but the real desaster followed when he asked the audience. check the video. where is this world, uh, revolving to?

challenge

2007-01-25T16:26:00.000-08:00

so you think you are more drunk than i am? seriously? raise your hand if you really think so. not two hands, just one. not two left hands, damn you!
anyone who raised their hands, i will have just one more tequila with you. just one last tequila.

*dropping into bed*

waitin' for the hurricane

2007-01-18T13:56:00.000-08:00

the weather guys have been promising us a hurricane for this night. his name, they say, is Kyrill, and he is supposed to be approaching central europe at 130 km/h or more.

he should have been there hours ago. people went home early from work, university classes have been canceled, something very close to mass hysteria very nearly broke out, so that everyone could get home before the storm. well, Kyrill hasn't come yet. so far he is just a lame excuse, more original than most. "why didn't you show up? we were having a date!" "oh, awfully sorry, i had to stay home because of the hurricane."

still, he isn't totally harmless. he has killed six people in germany. will he get here, or won't he? he's slowly killing me by means of suspense.

chain smoker

2007-01-11T15:07:00.000-08:00

i smoked a cigarette today, to prove that i am not a militant non-smoker.

having made my point, i will not smoke any more cigarettes for - probably - two years or so.

an intelligent girlfriend (who lived her life rather close to mine for more than two years) once told me i am a nicotine addict - i just don't need a big dose. yet.

guest comment by: the turtle

2007-01-08T11:52:00.000-08:00

I am a little turtle and I don't think I have a name. I have to run a race against a greek guy named Achilles, and I don't know why. I think it is some joke, made up by some philosoffers (I don't realy know what they are either). Some people in Vienna have made a magazine named Der Bagger, and they have put in a weird article about me. If you can understand German, and if you are good at math, you can read it. If you can't, and if you are not, you can still look at the cartoon. The guy whu drew it is rather nice, and i thin it is very like me.

yewberries

2007-01-03T12:53:00.000-08:00

just for the beauty of them. (did you know you can eat them? only the red part, not the kernels, they are damn poisonous. so is all the rest of the tree.)

just a few newspaper shreds...

2006-12-31T02:14:00.000-08:00

An execution is an instance of murder, maybe legitimized by the government, but still murder. Therefore anyone who feels committed to an enlightened system of values necessarily disapproves of capital punishment. There are two vital arguments. For one thing, the sentence, once applied, is irreversible, even if the convicted person is afterwards proved to be innocent. For another, human beings are not entitled to decide about life and death.
That being so, Article 3 of the UN Declaration of Human Rights states that everyone has a right to live. ... Therefore it is not feasible to disapprove of capital punishment on principle, but still to postulate, pronounce and apply it (so to speak à la carte) in the case of particularly grave transgressions.
Tages-Anzeiger, Zürich

[The sentence] was signed in December 2003 by G* B*, the president of the occupants, when immediately after the arrest he told the BBC that "only capital punishment" could be appropriate for this "fearful tyrant"...
In the end the Texan clan of B* has settled the account with the Sunnite clan of Takriti. And at last the son can present the enemy's head to his father as a gift.
La Repubblica, Roma

S* was not allowed to die in bed like Pinochet
Corriere della Sera, Milano

The loud noise of EU politicians, the Vatican and human right activists jumping into the breach for the mass murderer S* is an exaggeration. Iraq is only one of 68 nations that apply capital punishment. Where, o where was the world-wide outcry when Japan executed four capital sentences last week?
Morgenpost, Berlin

(english translations by caru)

SNOW!

2006-12-28T15:10:00.000-08:00

genuine flaky white stuff dropping from the sky, forming a white layer on the ground that goes crunch under the wanderer's weary feet and takes footprints exceptionally well. first time this winter.

thought i'd better note it down, 'cause the stuff is turning into rain even now and will be nothing but water by the time i get up tomorrow.

just by the way...

2006-12-23T00:43:00.000-08:00

merry xmas to everyone.

blacky

2006-12-22T06:14:00.000-08:00

remember the kastenwesen? bet you didnt know he's got a black cousin (presumably from southern india, where people are dark skinned).

blacky recently moved to his new home in jena (germany), to live with a friend of mine who saw the green kastenwesen and immediately said "i want a black one". he arrived there yesterday. her boyfriend is said to be jealous.

cure against cold

2006-12-22T01:04:00.000-08:00

so you have a rather bad cold that takes a lot of time going away? nose running, persistent coughing (especially when the immune system has succumbed to xmas stress)? this is what cures it.

take a bunch of crazy and funny people who all like to make fun of each other and sit with them in a smoky café from 8pm to 2am, talking about the dog who nearly got lost at last week's party, the difference it makes whether cannabis products come from holland or india or nepal, the fuckin' boyfriend who is maybe going to leave a perfectly nice girl for taking a job in belgium, poetry, a magazine that ain't printed yet, caterpillars, your friend the hindi teacher's wife and child, sexual tensions of all kinds and the general silliness of german indologists. it's important that you drink tea while most everyone is subsisting on beer (you are allowed to down a grappa now and then). incidentally, dance a few steps of techno bharatanatya and bend the teaspoon with your mind (if your friend straightens it, bend it again after a suitable interval).
when the bloody café closes, stand in the freezin' street with the other freaks for maybe half an hour, and then walk home.

will either kill or cure you. did the latter for me :-)

p.s.: we talked about a swiss pocket knife too.

cookie time! cookie time!

2006-12-20T06:42:00.000-08:00

let's have some artistic cookie arrangements.

Striped Zebra (song)

2006-12-14T13:53:00.000-08:00

I'm dreaming of a striped zebra
Just like the one I used to know
Of a bumble-bee bumbling
And La Rambla rumbling
Round a maid from the land of snow

I'm dreaming of a striped zebra
With every post she does not write
May the sands on the beach be always white
And one of your stripes black and one stripe bright

I'm dreaming of a striped zebra
With a smile and blue eyes that can smite
May your pics all be shot in perfect light
And always one stripe black and one stripe white

"E" for caru ;)

2006-12-01T07:54:00.000-08:00

Sinterklaas and his trusty helper, the zwarte piet, have come all the way from Holland to put a large white envelope into my postbox.
miracle of miracles! apart from kruidnoten and a little spicecake guy whose name seems to be Taaitaai, they put a big chocolate capital letter E into it - proof that they know what caru is called when he isn't called caru. AND they added a letter with a genuine Dutch poem from my friend Marlies. how do they know so much about me? Sinterklaas has his spys everywhere, it seems. thank you so much!

path towards the sun

2006-11-13T11:18:00.000-08:00

Autumnal Moribana or Take your Pumpkins for a Walk

2006-11-09T11:54:00.000-08:00

rabbitory

2006-11-02T07:45:00.000-08:00

(\__/)
(='.'=)
('.')_('.')

Fat rabbit.

(\_/)
(=',')
(")(")

Slim, or baby rabbit.

(\__/)
(='°'=)
('.')_('.')

Fat rabbit, looking up.

(\__/)
(>°.°<)
('.')_('.')

Stupid fat rabbit.

(\___/)
(>`x`<)
('.')__('.')

Very fat rabbit, by the name of Nijntje. (copyright by Marlies)

Make them flourish and multiply all over the world!