Neighbour introducing new movee Mr. Handslip into neighbourhood:

“On your other side is Mrs. Egremont, a widow. A very nice lady, Philippa is marvellous, the children are OK, most of them.” with a quickening.
“How many got ?” startled.
“Four. Paul’s the oldest, he’s going in the Army when older. Not the sort of life I’d choose, but it’s a good thing we’re not all alike, isn’t it ? two girls, Ysobelle and Nancy, and… the youngest, James.” A stilted note modulated his enthusiasm, unnoted by the questioner.
“Any of them noisy ?”
“They won’t be any trouble at all.” Eagerly, “The girls are very pretty, and although they could be boisterous and cause difficulties, they don’t. The oldest lad is square strong affable, very decent young man.”
“And the younger ?”

“As I said Paul’s going into the Army, which I think such a waste.” Mr. Pigg was by way of being a pacifist, which the two boys had always respected with the great tolerance of which they were both very proud. “He really could do anything, very brilliant mind indeed.” respectfully, “And unassuming with it. You always feel he’s working out formulæ with a part of his mind while talking easily to one…”
“And the other ?” Handslip enquired bluntly. Mr. Pigg nearly cringed.
“Um, Jamie. Well, he’s different.”
“You mean, er, mentally disturbed ?” with a faint shyness intruding into the brusqueness of the bald enquiry.
“Good God no ! And you’d better not ever hint of such a thing. I doubt if he’d care a rush,” bitterly, “but any of the others, let alone his dear mama, would be very offended if anyone considered such a thing. No, he’s normal enough, and bright enough, even if he doesn’t shine at school from all I hear.”
He sighed, Philippa had confided at length enough times to weary him with the subject; but having done badly himself when young he was sufficently sceptical to wonder if schooling was as important as it was cracked up to be. Conversely he respected brilliance, and was anxious to get back to Paul’s mental prowess. In fact he had long decided never to initiate comment upon, or prolong discussion upon, James Egremont.

“Well, what’s wrong with him ?” bluntly
Pigg looked around.
“Jamie,” picking his words, “is not someone to annoy; or complain about; or piss off. Do not criticise any of the family where he can hear you. He has a strong family feeling. I said the others are no trouble: one reason is that they… continue, upon the lines he lays down. If any person confronts his feelings, or does something he construes as unpleasant, things sometimes happen.” Delicately.
“You mean he’s one of these violent youths ? Some kind of yob ?” wondering what sort of brute was going to appear.
Pigg was shocked and amused. “He’s only 11 or 12 ! I forget which; and weak with it. He’s as pretty as the girls in fact. I guess he’s bullied at school: but that’s there: in his patch, it’s different. As say, an old-fashioned squire visiting London might be vulnerable in the great world, but master of his own domain; which was one reason they usually preferred to cultivate their own gardens. With experience he may be able to grow and handle parts of the great world. I hope not. Very courteous. They all are: but him the most. He’s the hidden patriarch of a patriarchal clan. They do what he directs with only half knowing the fact.”

“You know we have an excellent Guy Fawkes Night and they all used to come. At least when it was the parents and the two older kids. Then the year before Mr. Egremont died that kid, he was very small, took against it — wasn’t scared by the bangs; some bloody nonsense about not liking the Guy being burnt: he knew it was just a, a lay-figure, not real: but he still hated the idea. Now you or I would have left him at home with a baby-sitter, but they’ve never come since.

I can’t imagine how anyone would listen to a bloody toddler, Philippa, well sometimes I reckoned she was weak-minded or something: I mean, yes well now, if he was my child, I’d probably do precisely what he said; life would be simpler that way, and he’s the sort of kid who would be right most of the time: but back then… he was so small. We thought well, she’s just lost a husband, that’s why not: but the next year they wouldn’t come. Asked her why not: ‘Jamie says it’s wrong to pretend to burn people, and you know, I think he’s right.’ Look, he… he wasn’t dominant back then, even in that weird family; he is now: back then he’d just argued at them. I’d have told him to take a running jump; some fucking small kid talking back at me. Pity that because Christian and Philippa were always generous about joining in village stuff.”

“So does one have to show him one’s friendly ?” uneasily.
“What’s to prove ? Just be nice to him and don’t say anything to make his mother unhappy.”
“About him ?”
“No.” He laughed at the mistake. “Not about him: about anything. What I meant was try never to do aught that doesn’t conduce to Philippa’s happiness in life. Mrs. Hutchinson, who is separated from her own husband, had a nervous breakdown and moved away a year ago. She’d been sniping at Philippa in the Mother’s Union. Apparently someone posted her phone number as emergency counsellor for marital breakdowns; a 24 Hour Plumbing consultant; and Police Liaison Officer for the local Police Authority, specialising in all reports from concerned victims for Follow-Up Action. I remember that,” he continued reflectively, “since it never stopped after she denied the post in the local rag, and the police, confused themselves since half the time they’ve no idea what further idiocy the Home Office has shoved at them, not only didn’t deny anything, they even referred a few people to her. That was actually the least annoying thing that happened to her. Both boys have an unpleasant sense of humour. Unlike Paul he acts on it.”

More below

“As I said they’re all polite; each will hold a conversation nicely if you stop them and talk. The boys chat about guns a bit too much — the mechanics,” hastily, “no fascination with actually using them at all — but then most lads think about that sort of thing. I did, expect you did. Paul will grow out of it and join the army. James won’t grow out of it, but I daresay he won’t ever bother to shoot a gun.
“Neither ever cracked even the hint of a smile at my name or modulated their intonation in any way; and believe me, when your name is Pigg, you certainly get even a hint if people do. You look out for it.”
“Paul’s reckless: he’ll always add the exact amount of yeast. The other, well, he’s cautious: he’d put in a bit too much. Jamie’s idea of a hint is a car-bomb. Paul has pointed out he has no idea of minimum force. In attack too much rather than just right. Double or treble strength in building work. Won’t fall down in five hundred years, but wasteful. He told me there were no definite maxims in war, a fluid business.”

“OK, the boy’s a terror, but how come people stand that sort of thing ?”
Mr. Pigg looked at him pityingly. Most of the time no proof, plus he is winning enough when you do things right. ‘Right‘ being how he assesses you should behave.
“How do you know it’s him then ?” naturally wondering if it was just rumour, possibly started by the boy himself to gain a reputation. He expressed this diffidently
Pigg breathed deeply: “You don’t want that sort of reputation. Not a roisterous cavalier but the quiet kind of kingsman who would suddenly hang half a dozen villagers then torch their homesteads because their favorite mare was stolen probably drinking up deep quietly the while. Anyway you wouldn’t consider it rumour if you found eight dead rats hidden about your home.”
Handslip looked surprised and confessed this had never entered his household oeconomy.

Pigg explained: “Gutherington, someone who was quite a friend of the family. Discovered a small but vibrant colony of rats were camping out in the back alley, on a piece of land which, to be truthful, is not claimed by anyone, just a few yards square, anyway it’s a tip. So he got an airgun and a couple of friends with airguns, and spent a few hours acting out a massacre of red injuns. The little blighter didn’t react in any way when they were told, Nancy most upset and screaming, but he seemed uninterested. Not even mentioning that he had been feeding the fucking pests and adopted them as friends. Three weeks later, after some extremely interesting smells had manifested in the Gutherington domain, they began the painful discovery of a deceased rat; and then another; and the smell not diminishing each day, another, until finally after paying sanitation people to inspect the house, the grand total of eight had been found: all tucked away in the most unlikely places. It being another week before the last came to light, I understand that one was really not at all nice. It was quite a warm May.”
“If he’d kept the existence of the rat family secret for their own safety, he’s quite prepared to lie about his system of revenge, so it’s no use tackling him at all. But simple logic eliminates most neighbours; and the other youth around here would not go into someone’s house to revenge rodents.”

Handslip had sniggered a bit
“Not that amusing,” coldly, “yes the boy is a holy terror, but also never forget he’s also nuts.”
“How so ?” composing himself.
“Well… he’s not hot on respect for elders: I don’t mean he’s not very polite, but he doesn’t revere us anymore than others: he tries,” — an aggrieved note at the condescension murmured through — “quite obviously at times” moodily “to be extremely polite to everyone. I tackled him once about this and explained that the older an adult was the more one should respect them.”
The little bugger looked at me like a great-grandfather and — politely — explained that respect was not due to anyone as an individual, even if earned, but had to be paid to all things as created beings. It was something given not to be demanded. Then he got weird and explained that age although a reality was an illusion — how he combined the two, I mean this wasn’t religious or philosophical, he really is not clever, I don’t know, just silliness really — but the totality of a person was that they existed in all their ages at once, since the person at 80 was an extension of the same person at 8 and vice versa. And in Eternity.

“Well, don’t people complain to his mother ? Or does that count as ‘bothering her’ ?” asked the sceptical Handslip.
Pigg looked thoughtful: “A moot point; but I reckon it’s not that because he’s a fair little sod. He’d be quite willing to argue the matter out with her. OK, she doesn’t spoil him at all, though she adores him: pity she doesn’t, he might be a lot more bearable. If she’d stop pushing him so hard about school particularly, he can’t help not being able: puts all his energies in establishing his presence. No, the main reason is that he doesn’t leave evidence behind. Those sort are cunning if not clever. When he plans things — I’m not saying he puts a lot of thinking into that, just roughs out a plan, tests it then expects to deal with matters on the fly only if something really unforeseen occurs — he makes sure he’s covered the bases.”
Handslip: “Boys’ cleverness is the most devious and annoying ingenuity in the world. Explains why they’re best at creative art when older;” he put up a hand, “yes, I know this chap’s not of a high mental standard: but I mean in that cleverness wherein they direct their energies.”
“He does that all right.” moodily. Somehow he felt better at having spoken so freely about the bête noire, so contrary to his usual practice

“Doubbel, the retired butcher. There was an old abandoned mannequin — male, half falling down, left on a skip at the dress-shop last May. Heaven knows why they had a male one left over; discussing it with the non-committal Paul later, he told me his dear brother had suggested the old bird who ran the shop had brought it in to make the female models feel wanted. That’s what I mean, a deeply unkind mind. Mind you,” reluctantly, “thinking about Mrs. Toye, now I can well imagine it might have been true: she was a dizzy old bird. Anyway, it disappeared. No-one thought anything about it, nor would have, until Doubbel came down for breakfast one morning and found the fucking thing seated in the lounge on his own chair. In a cloak. With horns added and the usual appurtenances of the Devil.”
“Beard made from wool and a couple of rams’ horns found somewhere. What sort of bloody mind is that ? Nearly gave him a seizure. Swapped homes half a year later. Explained he could never feel the same way about the house after that. More importantly: how do you prove something like that ? We know who we suspect, but there wasn’t even a particle of evidence, and whoever it was came in through the window. Not that locks bother him. Family firm all connected with damned locks. Probably unlatched the door to bring it in, then locked up from the inside and went out back the window. Little bastard.”
“Breaking and entering ? That’s illegal.”
“He never breaks and enters. Read up law. He might trespass for five minutes, but that’s about all you could complain of. And no-one has ever gone to the police. They’re bloody useless half the time. I reckon half of them around here are students building up a bit of good pay in temporary work: no dedication. Anyway he’s not a thief, nothing has ever gone missing. Just mischief.”

“Well, there was once someone went to the police, but that was for insurance: the Whittakers at 34. Had run over The Runyons’ dog, poodle. OK, freezing weather and probably skidded, but weren’t concerned. Week later somebody had emerged in the wee small hours, connected to the outside tap, and hosed the outside walls patiently for quite a while. Who’s going to see that at three in the morning ? Wore rags around the boots, no pattern in the snow; no trail leading down the lane. They found it was like staring through three of those old-fashioned circled sweet-shop windows at once the ice was so thick. And because it seemed a little chilly inside they put up the heating full blast. Cracked half the windows. A not unintended bonus for the perpetrator no doubt.”
“They didn’t suspect James. He’d never spoken to them or they to he. We didn’t suggest it,” Seeing Handslip’s surprise, he shrugged, “Well, they weren’t that nice as people anyway. But we guessed.”
“D’don’t, you think… you might be ascribing to him all the things others do, sometimes ?”
“The day before I heard him playing Tosca very loudly. That was a good enough clue for me.”

Budgie was a Welsh band of the 1970s ( Amazon ) and here there are pictures of them then and now. The music’s fine enough…

More recently, here I made a post a few years back reffing Robert Browning with a postcard — complete with camel in those innocent days — of pre-Great War Venice Beach. The almost imperceptible joke being that Venice Beach is rather different now and whilst still worldly enough to satisfy Browning’s magnificent judgemental gloom, has not the qualities to satisfy the exacting standards of the Haute Ton. Still, I daresay one can find cameltoes there if one looks sufficiently hard…

Although none of the comments can quite match mj88′s perfect critique of California in a City Data Forums’ thread

‘I’ve never been to CA but they both sound like great and lovely areas (NOCAL or SOCAL). I always seem to hear positive things about CA such as the weather, friendly people, and beaches. The one and only drawback I have heard is that it occasionally gets congested on that one freeway in LA – can’t remember its name at the moment.’

which carries subtlety to a new level, Yelp has a list of comments on Venice Beach which engagingly shows why it has an especial place in the hearts of it’s countrymen:

The best way to describe Venice Beach is as a psychiatric hospital on a beach. Depending on how you feel about that, you can easily be entertained…or lose faith in humanity. Classic examples include guy collecting funds to rebuild Death Star and recruiting to kill off Jedi, guy in alien mask reading book in corner, and kids telling me how marijuana is the cure all drug (i.e. stub your toe…smoke a joint). In a one mile stretch, there were no less than 25 of these kids passing out cards. The numerous stands and booths all get horribly repetitive. Essentially, the boardwalk plays like one of those old time cartoons where the artists just recycled the background over and over. Food options are limited to mainly pizza places with a few burger places sprinkled in…and the occasional fruit cart.

Incense wafted everywhere like a light, perfumed fog it coiled about and hung over the Strand to mask or enhance the transitory and brief wisps of burning sage, scented candles, marijuana and body odor. Furry freaks danced with bespeckled nerds while tattooed rastafarian wanna-bes pulled stunned, pale and overweight tourists into impromptu reels as drums pounded incessantly to the accompaniment of piano, flute and electric guitar. Bleached blond surfers, salt-licked from a morning go-out passed by ancient hippies still peddling peace signs while cops turned their heads like they never saw the kid with the fat joint.

I especially thought the bums with a “Parents killed by ninja monkey. Help me pay for karate lessons” sign and a “I’m not going to lie, I want weed” sign were special.

If you don’t like Venice Beach, you don’t belong in California…
No, seriously get the hell out! This place is awesome! I love the atmosphere! Everyone’s so chill. My only advice is be picky about the crazy people who perform their stunts, some of them aren’t worth it, lol and I think they just spend the money on crack

2. I always see that guy who sells tongue whistles. I think the price is 5 different whistles for a dollar. I can’t think of anything in this world that I would want less to spend a dollar on.

The creativity of the beggars is also notable. Just today I saw signs stating “Need fuel for my learjet”, “Will fuck for weed” and “the happy wino”.

I guess you have to love it or hate it. More on yelp love this place, but I have to disagree yet again with the yelpers. This place is nasty. Nasty in a dirty, homeless, shady, don;t bring your kids, way. My baby dropped her hat, (just purchased) and in 2 minutes it was gone. Someone stole a hat for a BABY that said Princess on it!!!! What real and I do mean real losers would do that? Even the homeless cannot possibly wear it.

What you get when you arrive, regardless of your reason for being there, is a dismal, despressing wasteland, and if you’re from Nebraska or somewhere else decidedly non-Californian, much of what you’ll see here you’ve already seen on your State Fair’s sad midway. Decrepit and depressing tattoo parlor after tattoo parlor, sad and dejected t-shirt shops, and grimly appointed pizza stands make up the bulk of the boardwalk. The same astonishingly depressing people from your State Fair midway are here, too.

Sadly, Mr. Mozena has not yet become mayor of LA, and worse will not become write-in governor of CA, although there is no possibility that he could do worse than the laughable Arnold or either unholy front-runner in the present race between rich retards. However, on the credit side, Venice Beach has inspired many, many artists.

If this school had not in its favor the imperious instinct of Progress, and aspiration after a better, it would not hold its ground. But it satisfies that craving, and thus deludes many minds into acquiescence. The poetical and enthusiastic disposition most readily acquiesces : preferring to overlook what man is, in its delight of contemplating what the poet makes him. To such a mind all conceptions of Man must have a halo round them, — half mist, half sunshine; the hero must be a Demigod, in whom no valet de chambre can find a failing ; the villain must be a Demon, for whom no charity can find an excuse.

Not to extend this to a dissertation, let me at once say that Goethe belonged to the objective class.”‘Everywhere in Goethe,”said Franz Horn, “you are on firm land or island ; nowhere the infinite sea.’ A better characterization was never written in one sentence. In every page of his works may be read a strong feeling for the real, the concrete, the living; and a repugnance as strong for the vague, the abstract, or the supersensuous. His constant striving was to study Nature, so as to see her directly, and not through the mists of fancy, or through the distortions of prejudice, — to look at men, and into them, — to apprehend things as they were. In his conception of the universe he could not separate God from it, placing Him above it, beyond it, as the philosophers did who represented God whirling the universe round His finger, “seeing it go.” Such a conception revolted him. He animated the universe with God ; he animated fact with divine life ; he saw in Reality the incarnation of the Ideal; he saw in Morality the high and harmonious action of all human tendencies ; he saw in Art the highest representation of Life.

George Henry Lewes : The Life & Works of Goethe

Title from Third Rock From The Sun.

With His Peculiar Look And Emphasis

As an extra… Lewes in a footnote adds a personal note of the old loon Carlyle:

‘I remember once, as we were walking along Piccadilly, talking about the infamous Büchlein von Goethe, Carlyle stopped suddenly, and with his peculiar look and emphasis, said, “Yes, it is the wild cry of amazement on the part of all spooneys that the Titan was not a spooney too ! Here is a god-like intellect, and yet you see he is not an idiot ! Not in the least a spooney !”

 
Readers not current in early 19th century England may note that ‘Spooney‘ means soppy, soft, wet: sissies, but not necessarily including the present-day connotation of sexual maladaption.

“We have received the turning tools, the quadrant, the cylinder, and the wooden clock. We greatly thank you for the trouble you have taken. One thing, however, you forgot: you did not mention how much more you expended, for the money I sent [ One guilder ] could not have been enough. For the present, we have got all we need, except you could send us some new machinery, which will turn by itself when Wolfgang is lazy or sleepy. The clock suits me perfectly, especially for showing the time to my drunken Saxons, who look more to the bottle than the hour, caring but little whether the sun, or the clock, or its hands show wrong.”

Wolfgang had been for some years in Luther’s service, and remained with him throughout his life. He was a worthy, honest fellow, devotedly attached to his master, and possessed but one failing, a frequent propensity to go to sleep over his work. This unconquerable drowsiness was often the subject of Luther’s mock complaint. The master, with his own immense capacity for work without much interval for rest, was amused by the dull, heavy somnolence of his honest famulus. On one occasion, Wolfgang built a floor, and upon it fixed a contrivance for catching birds. Luther, whose nature was loving and feeling as that of a child, did not approve of this plan to entrap the feathered songsters, and drew out a Bird’s Indictment against their foe. The birds besought Luther’s protection against Wolfgang, whose sleepiness, they said, maliciously, everybody knew, as he never left his bed until eight o’clock in the morning; they required that every evening he should spread grain for their morning meal, as they rose up hours before him; and that his attention throughout the day should be devoted to catching frogs, snails, daws, mice and other pests, whereby he would be enabled to gratify his destructive instincts, without endeavouring to ensnare the poor birds, whose songs fully paid for the little grain they consumed. The Bird’s Petition, brimful of soft pleadings on behalf of one of the Creator’s sweetest gifts to charm the ears of that lordly creature, Man, concluded with a threat that if Wolfgang, their enemy, did not mend his ways, they ( the birds ) would pray to God to cause fleas and other insects to crawl about him at night, and torment him beyond endurance.

Luther took great delight in the simple happiness to be gained in his garden, cultivating the flowers, listening to the plashing of the waters of the fountain he had himself erected, to the singing of the birds, and to the gambols of the fish in a small pond. These small matters often took from his mind much of the trouble and anxiety inseparable from his position, and broke the hard intensity of intellectual and spiritual care.

…on the 3rd of April [ 1530 ], the Elector, unarmed and accompanied by one hundred and sixty horsemen, set out from Torgau on his way to meet the Emperor at Augsburg. Luther, Melanchthon, Jonas, Agricola, and Spalatin were with him. When they reached Coburg, the Elector directed Luther to remain there. The ban of the Empire prevented his appearance at the Diet. Without hesitation Luther obeyed the command of his prince. He proceeded to the fortress of Coburg, where he remained during the time of the proceedings at Augsburg. The elector with his followers reached Augsburg on the 2nd of May, and there awaited the arrival of the Emperor, which did not take place until the 15th of June. Luther, from the castle, wrote constantly to the Elector, to Spalatin, and to Melanchthon. The solitude and inaction to which he was constrained to submit were irksome and distressing. Writing to Melanchthon on the 22nd April he says: “I have arrived at my Sinai; but of this Sinai I will make a Sion: I will raise thereon three Tabernacles, one to the Psalmist, another to the Prophets, and lastly, one to Æsop…” He was at this time engaged in the translation of these fables.

On the 9th of May he wrote to Spalatin an amusing account of the rooks and jackdaws, the denizens of the wood beneath the elevated part of the castle in which he lived.

“I am here in the midst of another diet, in the presence of the magnanimous sovereigns, dukes, grandees, and nobles of a kind different to those at Augsburg. Mine confer together upon State affairs with all the gravity of demeanour; they fill the air with unceasing voice, promulgating their decrees and their preachings. They do not seat themselves shut up in those royal caverns, you call palaces, but they hold their councils in the light of the sun, having the heavens for a canopy, and, for a carpet, the rich and varied verdure of the trees, on which they are congregated in liberty; the only limits to their domains being the boundaries of the earth. The stupid display of silk and gold inspires them with horror. They are all alike, in colour as in countenance — black. Nor is their note different one from the other; the only dissonance being the agreeable contrast between the voices of the young and the deeper tones of their parents. In no instance have I ever heard them speak of an Emperor; they disdain with sovereign contempt the horse which is so indispensible to our cavaliers; they have a far better means of mocking the fury of cannon. In so far as I have been able to comprehend their decrees, they have determined to wage an incessant war during the present year against barley, corn, and grain of all sorts; in short, against all that is most enticing and agreeable amongst the fruits and products of the earth. It is much to be feared that they may become conquerors wherever they direct their efforts; for they are a race of combatants, wily and adroit; equally successful in their attempts to plunder, by force or by surprise. As for me, I am an idle spectator, assisting willingly, and with much satisfaction at their consultations. But enough of jesting ! Jesting which is, however, sometimes necessary to dispel the gloomy thoughts which overwhelm me.”

The clamour of the rooks and crows, by which, as in another letter he wrote, “they charitably intend to bring sleep gently to my eyelids,” was not altogether successful in diverting his attention from the grave business of the diet.

John Rae : Martin Luther — Student, Monk, Reformer

 
*
Note that the More tag no longer works on this particular blog – it destroys the lay-out: for which lack we apologise…
 

The gods give everything, the infinite ones,
To their beloved, completely,
Every pleasure, the infinite ones,
Every suffering, the infinite ones, completely.

Johann Wolfgang v. Goethe
[tr. Stephen Spender]
 

“Alles gaben Götter die unendlichen
Ihren Lieblingen ganz
Alle Freuden die unendlichen
Alle Schmerzen die unendlichen ganz”.

Even the terrible Bismarck, whose great stature made Wickham Hoffman of the U.S. Legation think of Agamemnon, positively glowed with goodwill. Beauties of Paris society surrounded him. admired his dazzling White Cuirassier unform and the enormous spread eagle upon his shining helmet, and attempted to provoke him; but in vain. In conversation with Louis-Napoleon, he dismissed last year’s Austro-Prussian war as belonging to another epoch, and added amiably ‘Thanks to you no permanent cause of rivalry exists between us and the Court at Vienna’. The festive atmosphere temporarily obscured the full menace of this remark.

On April 12th, the Emperor attended the première of one of the great entertainments to be produced in honour of his Royal guests: Offenbach’s La Grande Duchesse de Gérolstein…

…Now here was this new triumph about the amorous Grand Duchess of a joke German principality, embarking on a pointless war because its Chancellor, Baron Puck, needed a diversion. Its forces were led by a joke German general called Boum, as incapable as he was fearless, who invigorated himself with the smell of gunpowder by periodically firing off his pistol into the air. The farce, tallying so closely with Europe’s private view of the ridiculous Teutons, was too obvious to be missed. When the Tsar came to see it, his box was said to have rung with unroyal laughter. Between gusts of mirth, members of the French court peeped over at Bismarck’s expression, half in malice, half in apprehension, wondering if perhaps King Wilhelm’s lack of tact about his previous visit to Paris had not been revenged to excess. But nobody appeared to be showing more obvious and unrestrained pleasure than the Iron Chancellor himself; one might almost have suspected that the pleasure was enhanced by the enjoyment of some secret joke of his own.

Alistair Horne : The Fall of Paris

That took years to formulate, but the comforting part is that very few of the mass will ever believe it.

Anyway, it can be tied into a Russian fable quoted later. In the mean time, the instability of server ‘Amp’ appears to have perhaps stopped, and Serene Falcon is back to it’s previous quiet efficiency: however the sloth of page-opening is also part of that normal state, so sooner or later it will be moved to the fastest servers in the west, Teksapiens, whom I found on the faintest of hints from this source.

Still, however unlikely, the Internal Security Division of Serene Falcon had to look for any evidence of hacking; which was not found: to the easily awestruck ‘hacking’ appears like some rough magic by which the threatening deliver some arcane spell at a site like a videogame wizard easily manipulating all though a mysterious and unnameable exploit which vanishes when suspected. In prosaic real life traces are always left, and for php even the powerful c99madshell needs to have been uploaded via FTP or through allowed uploads for the attacker to work; simply doing a date search for the most recent files will show if any of those was compromised… Should one find evidence in WordPress, there are the options of looking for backdoors and eliminating them or cleaning the install.

To some others, including alas, state authorities, hacking is childsplay. Literally.

A new survey has revealed that while 78 percent of them agree that it is wrong, a quarter of the kids asked admitted that hacking really is child’s play.
The survey of more than 1000 children discovered that the boy hacker stereotype no longer holds true, with 47 percent of those who put their hands up to hacking activity being girls.
The most common scene of the crime would appear to be the relatively safe haven of the bedroom with 27 percent saying this was where they hacked from, while 22 percent were hacking in an Internet Cafe, 21 percent using the ICT suite at school and 19 percent a mate’s machine.
…
Cumbria Constabulary’s Deputy Chief Constable Stuart Hyde ACPO lead on E-Crime Prevention and President of the Society for the Policing of Cyberspace (POLCYB) says “what this survey starkly highlights is that hacking into personal online accounts whether email or Facebook can be child’s play if users do not protect their own passwords. It illustrates the importance of keeping your passwords strong, secure and changing them regularly to help protect your accounts from unscrupulous people of all ages. We live in a world where social networking, email and the internet are embedded into our every day lives from a far younger age so early education is essential to ensure young people know the devastating consequences this activity can have….”

Whilst offering some reluctant admiration for whoever came up with ‘Policing of Cyberspace’, and much less admiration for the feeble attempt to emphasize the tenuous reach for supposed feminist equality in the hackosphere, it is unnerving to realise that police consider breaking into a friend’s Facebook account by guessing their password as expert hacking or cracking.

Over in Africa they are a little more sophisticated — which is not something said very often, considering that in South Africa setting people on fire is a pastime and up in Somalia they drive a truckload of stones into a stadium to punish a 13-yr-old girl for reporting her rape ( a few of the 1000 strong spectators protested ): a touch of modernity was provided by having nurses discover whether she was dead yet, and finding this not so, reburying her for the next volley of stones. A touch of multiculturalism makes the whole world kin — and if this is what may be expected from there, still more ingenious efforts will be forthcoming from Russia and China as they and we spiral downwards.

Imagine a network of virus-driven computers so infectious that it could bring down the world’s top 10 leading economies with just a few strokes. It would require about 100 million computers working together as one, a “botnet” — the cybersecurity world’s version of a WMD. But unlike its conventional weapons equivalent, this threat is the subject of no geopolitical row or diplomatic initiative. That’s because no one sees it coming — straight out of Africa.
Cybercrime is growing at a faster rate in Africa than on any other continent in the world, according to statistics presented at a conference on the matter in Cote D’Ivoire in 2008. Cybersecurity experts estimate that 80 percent of PCs on the African continent are already infected with viruses and other malicious software. And while that may not have been too worrisome for the international economy a few years ago (just like the continuing war in the Democratic Republic of the Congo does not affect our daily lives), the arrival of broadband service to Africa means that is about to change. The new undersea broadband Internet cables being installed today will make Africa no further away from New York than, say, Boston, in the virtual world.
Broadband Internet access will allow Africa’s virus and malware problems to go global. With more users able to access the Internet (and faster), larger amounts of data can be transferred both out and inward. More spam messages in your inbox from Africa’s email fraudsters will be only the beginning.

Franz-Stefan Gady NPR

At least the admirable Dancho Danchev’s Blog – Mind Streams of Information Security Knowledge helps maintain some record of current threats. But apart from the superstrikes of the future being far more intense, there are still more pressing dangers than common criminals or the purely spiteful.

 
From Dark Reading, Mr. Gadi Evron reports:

Today I’d like to introduce you to one of the main thinkers on information warfare, who most of you never heard of. S.P. Rastorguev (Расторгуев C.П.). He is a Russian strategist who unfortunately, as far as I can find, hasn’t been translated.
He wrote several books, but the one I will be speaking of is called literally Information Warfare ( Informatsionnaya voina — Информационная война ). In it, he discusses the human animal and how viruses of the mind can work just as well as viruses in computer systems, exploring many models of exploitation.
While he covers many concepts, the one I was introduced to originally is the story of the fox and the turtle.
Here is a slightly altered, and shortened, version ( full and accurate version below ):

A turtle walks through the forest, enjoying the view. She runs into a fox, who says: “Turtle, turtle, get out of your shell and you can fly.”
The turtle stares skeptically at the fox, and keeps on walking.
Eventually, traveling through the forest the turtle comes across a television set. She watches as hundreds of turtles get out of their shells, and fly.
She gets out of her shell, and she flies.

I’m gonna say I found this as clear as crystal, as I suspect really did the writer, who goes on,

When I first heard this story, I was confused. What was the moral of the story ? Deception ? Perhaps strategy ?
A friend of mine explained it as Sergei Rastorguev did at the end of the story: “The turtle didn’t know and never will, that information warfare — it is the purposeful training of an enemy on how to remove its own shell.”

…

The following translation of the fox and turtle story was done by Ilya Konstantinov, as a favor to me. As to why the fox is female, you better ask a Russian literary expert, as that’s just how it is in Russian fables.

There used to be an ordinary turtle who constantly carried a heavy shell on its back. The shell pressed her to the ground and every step she took was hard effort for her. That’s why her life, measured by the number of those uneasy steps, was also hard.

On the other hand, when a hungry fox came running from a nearby forest, the turtle hid her head inside the shell and patiently awaited until the danger was over. The fox kept hopping around, trying to bite at the shell, trying to turn her upside down; all in all, trying all the steps typical of an aggressor, and yet the turtle prevailed.

Once upon a time, the fox got a big wallet, brought in a lawyer and, sitting across the turtle, proposed a buyout offer for the shell. The turtle considered it throughly, but due to her limited imagination, she had to refuse. And yet again, the fox left with nothing.

Time passed, the world changed, new means of telecommunication have entered the forest. One day, coming out of her house, the turtle saw a TV screen hanging off a tree, showing films of flying turtles, shell-less. Breathless with excitement, the woodpecker-announcer spoke of their flight: “Such a lightness ! What a speed ! How beautiful ! Such an elegance !”. The turtle watched the show that day, and the next day, and the day after…
And then a thought arose in her little mind, about how stupid she is to carry around that weight – the shell. Wouldn’t she be better getting it off? Life would be much easier. Scarier ? Yeah, a bit scarier, but the news anchor-owl announced that the fox has turned to the Krishnas and became vegetarian.

The world is changing. The forest is also completely different; there are less and less trees and distinctive animals, and more and more indistinguishable stray dogs and jackals.
“And really, why shouldn’t I fly ? The skies — they’re so big and wonderful!”
“If only I gave up the shell, and — right away – - life would be easier !” — thought the turtle
“If only she gave up the shell, and — right away — she’d be easier to eat” — thought the fox, signing on the bill for yet another advertisement of flying turtles
And one beautiful morning, when the skies seemed larger than ever, the turtle has made her first and last step towards freedom of her protection system.

The turtle didn’t know and never will, that information warfare — it is the purposeful training of an enemy on how to remove its own shell.

 
Thanks to the useful idiots of liberalism — which includes every ideology since the 17th century, the Decline of the West is assured.

Carola Oman : Elizabeth of Bohemia.
 

And just to drive home a point with icy charm…
 

James’s eventual dismissal of Frederick’s suit was well calculated to crush a nervous youth. “Son, when I come into Germany I will promise you not to importune you for any of your prisoners“”.

Of the right dressing of trees

William Lawson — A New Orchard And Garden : Or, The best way for planting, grafting, and to make any ground good, for a Rich Orchard: Particularly in the North and generally for the whole kingdome of England, as in nature, reason, situation, and all probabilitie, may and doth appeare. 1631

A. Al these squares must bee set with trees, the Gardens and other ornaments must stand in spaces betwixt the trees, & in the borders & fences.

B. Trees 20. yards asunder.

C. Garden Knots.

D. Kitchen garden.

E. Bridge.

F. Conduit.

G. Staires.

H. Walkes set with great wood thicke.

I. Walkes set with great wood round about your Orchard.

K. The out fence.

L. The out fence set with stone-fruite.

M. Mount. To force earth for a mount, or such like set it round with quicke, and lay boughes of trees strangely intermingled tops inward, with the earth in the midle.

N. Still-house.

O. Good standing for Bees, if you haue an house.

P. If the riuer run by your doore, & vnder your mount, it will be pleasant.