Thursday, October 8, 2015


Fragments, fished up from m
memory …

“… fighting a strong rearguard action ….
But on May 27, the King of the Penguins
asked the Germans   for an armistice …”

Awaking; awake;
I shake
my dream(dis/misre)membered
So it had seemed but --
I know that can’t be right!
The Penguins would never surrender !!

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Wir schaffen das

Angela Merkel persiste et signe :  “Wir schaffen das.”
Zwar;  aber welches  “das” ??
Offensichtlich:  Völkeraustausch  (“le grand remplacement”).
Wahrscheinlich versprach sie sich:  Wir schaffen das  ab.  

[Update 8 Oct 2015] A video about just how bad it's got -- censored, then restored by samizdat:
Dieses Interview wurde anschliessend bei N24 in der Mediathek wieder gelöscht. Vielleicht war es einfach zu ehrlich?

[Update 8 October 2015]
In Thüringens Landeshauptstadt erhalten die Mittwochskundgebungen der AfD immer mehr Zulauf. Der Ton ist scharf: Kanzlerin Merkel solle sich wegen ihrer Asylpolitik „ein anderes Volk suchen“, sagte ein prominenter AfD-Politiker.

Aber das macht sie schon doch!  

North Pole prepares for massive influx

As the masses of undocumented (or counterfeit-documented) immigrants  continue to roll over Europe, the strategy has been consistent:  we might dub it Delayed Dominoes.   In each case, the impacted state follows the following playbook:

(1) First, make a show of putting up some resistence, defending your borders.
(2)  Wheel around 180 degrees, let everyone in with no delay or identity-check, whoosh them onto free trains or buses heading north.   End of problem.

This strategy has been followed, to their own satisfaction, successively by Greece, Macedonia, Croatia, Hungary, and Austria.  Each waves the hordes onwards, till they pile up in Germany.


This morning brought some long-overdue news:  Bavaria, whose Munich Bahnhof was the central distribution point for teddy-bears by much-photographed smiling, even ecstatic Milchmädchens,  is slowly waking up to what it hath wrought.  Voices of concern have arisen even from the SPD, which normally inhabits an alternate universe;  but city mayors do not have that luxury, they see the crisis up close and personal ("hautnah miterlebt" is the German phrase for this).  And so Seehofer (CSU) has announced …. (drum-roll) … a state of


(Emergency Defense.)
So!  He’s going to actually close Bavaria’s foreign borders, is he?  (Bit of a reach, that, a Bundesland having its own foreign policy;  but since the Federal state itself has none apart from sheer surrender -- as Caesar used to say, Extremis malis  extrema remedia.)

Well, no;  he hasn’t actually got the backbone for that.  Instead, he is following strategy (2):  Let everyone in, but don’t let them stay, just shoot them all north and let other people deal with it.


Future development are predictable (as has been the storyline so far, given that no-one in Europe has a pair of balls).   Already we have seen refugees leaving generous but overcrowded German, of their own accord, plowing into Denmark and being waved on north, to Sweden.  Sweden, however, is already swamped;  remarkably, some immigrants have already fled the resulting mess and have been forcing their way into Finland:  where, however,  the citizenry (not the government) has been making a show of resistence.  For that, they get condemned by all the Gutmenschen of the world.   Clearly, there is just one solution:    Provide free transportation for everyone, yet onwards … to Ultima Thule … to the North Pole.
Which, by the way, is extremely underpopulated.


So far, the Polar Bears are taking this surprisingly well.
“We don’t anticipate any hitches,” said spokesbear Peter Polar in an interview with an admiring BBC.  “We’re a simple folk, living on fish.  We don’t eat pork, we don’t drink wine, we don’t listen to music, and our females don’t wear make-up or miniskirts -- all the things that would get you whipped or beheaded in a Salafist state.  We should be able to live peacefully forever, side by side.”
“But -- “ interjected a newsman from Realityland,  “your females go completely naked.”
Pause for reflection.  Reluctantly,  “Ye-es, that could present a problem.”

Bear of the Future  at the Pole


Monday, October 5, 2015

The iconic opening scene of “Blindspot”

In ads and trailers, prior to the series debut, NBC heavily marketed the opening scene, in which “Jane Doe” appears naked out of nowhere in the middle of Times Square;  and wisely so.  For it contains a veritable mythologem.

In literature, the best-known birth-from-a-handbag is that of the titular character of Wilde’s “The Importance of Being E(a)rnest”;  he was discovered therein, at a railway station, provenience unknown.
The next-most-famous Railway Station birth, is that of Paddington Bear.
For “Paddington Station”, the American update is “Times Square”.  (Note, by the way, the universal appropriateness of that name.)

Now, if Sigmund Freud and Otto Rank had put their heads together, they would doubtless have deemed this motif  a wish-fulfillment reworking  of the Birth Trauma.  The Newcomer appears suddenly in a bruising world of blooming-buzzing confusion (as each we must);  but as compensation, this rude Awakening is Immaculate, ex nihilo, with none of the dreadful ickiness of having been whelped by one’s parents, Mom and Dad, via some penis-and-vagina action too terrible to contemplate.

It is a satisfying fantasy;  thus Minerva, born from the brow of Zeus.


But now there is a twist;  and it deepens things.  Born from a bag, as though from empty space, she nonetheless comes “with baggage”, in the form of intricate enigmatic tatoos.  Like Leonard, alone in his hotel room, having his (latest) very-first moment of conscious self-awareness. Born with a mission.

He awakens each day  to a world new-made; he spots the writing  with the same surprise  that Crusoe spotted footprints in the sand.  He cannot really recognize it as his own: even those he wrote himself, he stippled into the skin – it won’t resemble his normal cursive – and others he left to the tatoo-artist.   The writing must therefore confront him like that at Belshazzar’s feast.  It is otherwordly.  He is wreathed in cryptic admonitions, some penned in a Gothic script like that of Scripture.  He might almost be forgiven for fancying himself a prophet.  And yet – for here the story is bleakly modern.  He pays no mind to the source of these writings, just takes them for granted.  He simply takes the next step forward, in his appointed task.  That Mene, Mene, Tekel Upharsin  has no resonance, divine or diabolocal.

Born with a mission.

The show so far is stupid;  but I am probably going to watch another episode, simply from the power of this underlying motif -- this motivating motif.   For it applies very broadly:  These amnesiacs, with their strange “Thou must” inscribed scrolls, are like each one of us, adrift in the randomness of this sublunary life, yet with a sense, that somehow, all of it somehow means something.

Weiteres zum Thema:

Saturday, October 3, 2015

The bears are back!

This time in Vienna.

Urninden grüßen Flüchtlinge !

Read all about it here:

[Update]  This just in!   ISIL is, in turn, offering free teddys to all who emigrate to join the Islamic Caliphate !!


Tuesday, September 29, 2015


[We continue with our analysis of the “Blindspot” pilot.]

An obstacle towards guys’ enjoying the show is the grating Twofer Boss.  Her role is to serve as the mallet in Whack-a-Mole -- the moles being the males.  As:

* Labcoated Science Guy quickly discovers what pharmaceutical is responsible for Jane Doe’s amnesia.  Briefing his boss and FBI Guy, he pronounces the long chemical name, and adds “commonly known as” (the acronym).   Impeccable. But she slaps him down:  It may be “common” in the hoity-toity circles you move in, “doctor”, but for the rest of us… Against all plausibility, the dramatic logic somehow has the male doctor wrong-footed.


FBI Guy tools off to the Statue of Liberty, which (as he has figured out) is about to be bombed by a terrorist.   In any approximation of reality, the Bureau along with the NYPD would deploy dozens of agents and officers for this op;  but the program sets it up so that FBI Guy is seemingly about to go in alone.  -- Now, that is the annoying scenario so frequently recycled by masscult so that the male hero can do some heroics heroically and not have to share the limelight with anyone;  it is the narcissistic/solipsistic Rambo motif, and it appeals to eight-year-old boys (and to the less intelligent among the nine-year-olds).  In recent years, the tired trope has been retooled with a sex-switch;  it is supposed to appeal to grown women.
But, interestingly, neither of these flavors of that motif are the goal here.

FBI Guy is not quite alone;  over his own objections, he brought along Jane Doe, at the insistence of his Twofer Boss.  Still, he tells Jane to wait back at the car (the patriarchal  beast!) while he singlehandedly Saves the Day(**); but again, Jane insists, and accompanies him into the Statue.   They meet up with the perp, and, in an extremely badly choreographed bit of sciamachy, the screenwriters maneuver FBI Guy, helpless and unarmed, into the grip of Perp, and only a head-shot by Jane saves his life and his bacon.

[**Footnote to laypersons and residents of Mars:  SWAT teams, Special Forces, and FBI on a takedown-attack  do not actually bring along tourists, bystanders, or embedded journalists along for the ride, regardless of the relative genders.]

Now, simply as an action sequence, that was incredibly inept, and likely to disappoint an average audience (let alone a more instructed one);  and yet a large well-funded team of producers and writers had plenty of time to craft the scene just-so, to help define the series in the pilot.  To make sense of it, we must proceed precisely as does a Freudian confronted with a Fehlhandlung:  as a symptom of something deeper, not as a random goof.
And the Trieb here finding expression is soon seen to be:  Feminine Revenge.  For:

* Back at headquarters, he reports to Twofer:  Jane saved his life, plus captured the perp.  Yet then, in an astoundingly implausible switch -- really, like a rift in the screenplay, as though someone had forgotten to delete his immediately previous remarks -- he shends his boss, saying Jane is our most valuable asset ever, and you almost wasted it by letting her go out into the field.   Why ever would he say that?  So as to set up the comeback: Twofer then acidly replies:  “She saved your life.”  As though Guy had been unaware of that, or had been churlishly ungrateful.
It reminds me of softball for the Pee-Wee League, where the kids are too young to hit a pitch.  You position the ball motionless atop a rubber pedestal, and let the kid take his time and swing.  Only, here the softball is FBI Guy’s head.

With this perspective, we revisit (1).  Here, it is beyond possibility to imagine this scene, the female boss’s putdown of the male boffin, with genders reversed, in modern Medialand.  (Just try to run such a scenario as an experiment in your head;  you will shrink back as from a hot stove.) Moreover, the putdown is truly gratuitous, and indeed off  (acronyms being in handy breezy use among laymen).  So what is the meaning of this exchange, absurd on the face of it?   An analyst refuses to accept things as merely, meaninglessly absurd. Again our Freudian:  It makes perfect sense on the underside of it.  It is revenge for an (imagined or remembered) scenario with genders reversed.
For exposition of a similar gender-squelch, cf. this:


The commercials chosen to accompany this show online, bear out the analysis.
In one, a demure, appealing, somewhat mousy carrot-top sits in a droning business meeting.  Suddenly, a cowgirl-clad mini-persona of herself leaps out of the laptop and starts vociferously twerking:  Eve Black to the original’s Eve White, in the classic fantasy “The Three Faces of Eve”.  Her twerking booty then knocks over a coffee-cup into … a guy’s lap (take that, you nasty phallus);  then she hits another guy in the eye (one of a twinned pair of sensitive round organs; to the reader we leave the rest) with her lasso.  Neither, of course, remonstrates or even reacts:  they are there to be abused by one of Eve’s daughters;  to take it, and like it.

There may have been adverse viewer comment on Twofer’s imperious personality, since by Episode Two the producers had popped in a new personality-module (into the P-drive that opens in the back of her head).  Now she is the wise, feeling counselor.  She tends to FBI Guy’s tormented soul.  At first, natch (typical for a guy), he doesn’t want to talk about it;  but under her gentle prodding, he opens up to, he emotes, and pours out childhood memories.  Pheromones are exchanged until the atmosphere becomes unbreathably estrogenic.
I first fast-forwarded over this glurge, but then was obliged to go back, as it quickly emerged that the traumatic memory in question is key to the whole plot.  He is traumatized with guilt at having inadvertently victimized a female playmate.  She was later kidnapped and has been presumed dead for a quarter of a century;  but naturally, to tie everything up into a neat bundle, she is hypothesized to be none other than … Jane Doe!

Sunday, September 27, 2015

Bonnet blanc, blanc bonnet

It is by now clear that, if the finalists were Trump and Fiorina, the voters have to choose between two confabulating narcissists.

Trump supporters are basically aware of these traits in their candidate, but excuse them, for reasons both well- and ill-advised.   Fiorina is less widely known (she didn’t even make the Grownups Table of the first debate), but is starkly limned here, fresh this morning:

The candor of that piece is noteworthy, given the source:  one might have expected the Post to offer qualified support for Fiorina, both as a woman and as the anti-Trump.

One footnote.
The article well details the fiasco of her Hewlett-Packard tenure, on which (paradoxically) she is principally running: her ace- is more like a deuce-in-the-hole.  She had only one notable role as a business executive prior to that, which the article barely touches on;  here, in full:

Fiorina had become one of [AT&T]'s most visible rock stars, spearheading the $3 billion spinoff of Lucent Technologies, then the biggest stock-market debut in U.S. history. The hyper-growth firm would crumple after her departure, but not before bolstering Fiorina’s reputation as an aggressive dealmaker with a golden touch. In 1998, Fortune trumpeted her tireless work ethic and sales tactics, and crowned her, at 44, “the most powerful woman in American business.”

Now, thus decontextualized, that “crumple after her departure” might be unfair:  perhaps that was just bad luck, or whatever.   So we checked the history in Wikipedia, and found something really sobering:

On the surface, Fiorina seemed to add 22,000 jobs & revenues grew from US$19 billion to US$38 billion. However, the real cause of Lucent spurring sales under Fiorina was by lending money to their own customers. According to Fortune magazine, "In a neat bit of accounting magic, money from the loans began to appear on Lucent’s income statement as new revenue while the dicey debt got stashed on its balance sheet as an allegedly solid asset". Lucent's stock price grew 10-fold.
At the start of 2000, Lucent's "private bubble burst", while other competitors like Nortel Networks and Alcatel were still going strong as it would be many months before the rest of the telecom industry bubble collapsed.

In other words, she wasn’t merely an inept business-leader, but a distinctly sketchy one.   That is the sort of scam that should interest the Securities and Exchange Commission, if not indeed the DoJ.

[Note:  The proverb that titles this post  means “Not a dime’s worth of difference between them”, as someone-or-other once said.]

[Update]   And now, a severe WaPo editorial re Fiorina's fact-challenged strategy of fuite en avant: