(give or take a few guesstimated millenniums) a vast empty nothing that didn’t exist nowhere gave an orgasmic twitch and ejaculated The Creator. Boom boom!


The Creator (okay, for brevity we’ll refer to It as Big G) was lonely and for whatever reason, despite Its (okay, we’ll give It a gender and henceforth He/She or It will be ‘He’) felt lonely. So He created (out of the same ultimate nothing) (didn’t I tell you He was clever?) a universal universe.

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Oh … WOW~!

Into this still warm but ever expanding (into what?) (don’t ask me—go ask a scientist or a priest, they make a living from answering dum questions)(and stop interrupting) He popped an Earth complete with non-existent dinosaurs and stuff, and a Man and Woman who were a copulation-free zone until another non-existent superpower entity (created by whom, and for what purposes?) (don’t ask …) invented Evil and scattered it about with mad rapturous abandonment and used it as a tool to belabour poor ol’ Big G about the ears with. Not good, but there ya goes …


digress, flash forward several aeons to—

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—this poor bugger, who looks (as someone suggested) like something from a Warner Bros cartoon.

And whilst there, contemplate the infinite mercies of BigG who in total* foreknowledge set everything up to mercifully end the poor skellington guy’s sufferings at short notice. The pic is the link (any philosophising you might be tempted into is Satan’s fault, not mine).

Big G, bigger


Ooooops …

“Yes, your Godliness? Whaddya want with me, I been good …”

“You’re casting stones upon seedy ground again—I’ve warned you before—”

“Can’t resist it, Sir—”

“… and stop confusing me with the Bad Guy. Folks are beginning to talk …”

“… bugger~”

“And stop using that mild English expletive. Americans think you’re referring to my priesthoods.”


and the beat goes onnnnnnn …

 * It means absolute (with no excuses or time off for good behaviour)



So here’s ya snippet—

Another Malien, Lassana Bathily, was given French citizenship in January 2015, shortly after saving lives during a terror attack on a Jewish grocery where he worked, hiding people in the freezer and then alerting police.

—snup from CLICK HERE

—my first thought was he should have hung a pork chop from the door knob. And then I saw that it was owned by another Abrahamic. What is it with damned Abrahamics that they have to run around killing every bugger, even fellow Abrahamics (from different franchises)?


the wee buggers can be modest a bit too, comme ca—

God “helped me,” too, he said. “Thank God I saved him.”

Yay! Credit where it’s really due, non? (‘Malien’ means from Mali.)

Satan-PNG-Transparent-Image copy

“He’s one of mine!”                      “Piss off, Hornface—one of mine! I saw him first!”


Dodo                      devil-29973__340




my greatest fascinations. It sobers me up, it intoxicates me—in brief, it blows my furry little brain. Screen Shot 2018-03-01 at 10.48.46

To contemplate time is to waste your life for no real answers.

Perhaps, maybe, Fitzgerald had it right all along in his varied interpretations of Khayyam’s ‘Rubaiyat’.

I may well get growled at for violating a

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copyright, but it’s all with the very best of intentions—here above is a young lady of modern dimensions; and here below

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… is a wee lassie who (even with the best of help from her numerous divinities) passed away several thousand years ago.

So? Ancient Egypt had attractive damsels too, so what? So let’s move deeper into the mire that is Time and see what happens when they meet—

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—and ask ourselves, what is the lady on the left saying? What might she say? But certainly to those with eyes to hear and ears to see she speaks loud and clear.

(“Reading you strength five, Ma’am!”)       

Here’s where I met them. If you go there have a healthy slug of rum first, shoo the cats off the keyboard and send the missus out to make the coffee or something—


—and perhaps she just may speak to you, too

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language? Duuuuh … devil-29973__340 copy

I hated ‘English’ lessons at school—always being corrected, put rite by the invercotion of obskewer rules Id’ never haerd off.


I was born too soon.

I should have been born about … … … now.

Today I’d never of bin korrectid or fawced to rerite nothing. So: wai do some old pharts try to regret the parsing of ‘grammatical correctness’? Huh? Go on, answer me that—isn’t languages constantly evolving, theres no hard and fast rule?

This below from my morning news—

When the person realised it was a scam and didn’t go through with the transaction, Facebook friends were then sent disturbing messages and the person themselves received threatening messages.

—witch you can enjoy for yoursells by going here finger down

for link to article: CLICK HERE 

but be warned, it ain’t pretty.

Pretty blooddy tipcal in, fact. (I shuold no, I did many detention).






by knaves, to make a trap for fools? No, not this time …

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The gods twisted the elements into a combination to challenge the credibility of the perceptive—but I assure you, this is an unfondled shot exactly as it was taken. Nothing twisted in the pursuance of falsehoods here~!

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The gods aren’t the only ones with power. But we mere mortals need twist cables to dispense the power and hope for no losses … (I’ve often pitied the lost volts, they have no ohms to go to) …


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Go on, admit it … you haven’t a clue what could possibly be twisted in this shot of a bending winding convoluted wee stream … possibly the course of those schloggs of foam on the surface …

… or the wind and water stripey patterns in the sands of Orepuki beach. This beach has many faces and much character—not for nothing is it called ‘Gemstone Beach’. It sometimes has large patches of black surface sands which contain gold. I know an old Maori guy who used to gather that sand and process it  at home, the final stages involving a blow-torch, mercury and a potato (don’t ask). He never got rich doing it but made back his expenses and some beer money.

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And speaking of Maoris, I shot this exhibit (below) at the Southland Museum in Invercargill. When it was still open, that is. It’s been declared ‘earthquake prone’ by the Council and closed tight, no access—although you can still view the tuataras if you squelch off round the sides to the back (not a salubrious trip, I tell ya) and peer in through the windows. Don’t try it when raining though, the slope of the pyramid roof funnels water from a vast gathering surface area down to your neck …

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… it’s a drill, in action boring a hole through a greenstone (nephrite jade) patu. Patu looks like a bonce-bopper but was more often used as a jabbing weapon (I didn’t know that either until I read the label).

Before you ask, flax fibres twisted into strings … sheesh!

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Time now to twist my course and bid you a temporary farewell




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a salt-and-pepper scraggy beard, a wise glance … and/or a Germanic accent.

Oh~! And yes … a propensity to rehash wisdoms from past ages. Ages past. Bugger, from back then … mix and match, now and Zen … (ouch). Do it rightly enough and you too can make a bundle.


I’m still peeved at missing the boat. The boat that one Eckhart Tolle didn’t miss. The boat that was there all those years just waiting for me to board and milk it. Fate? Act of God? Dumb dog?

Conscience? Shakespeare missed his mark, it wasn’t ‘cowards’ … conscience doth make paupers of us all. And vice versa.

Ye gods and little furry fishes, all I ever needed do was re-restate the bloody obvious!

This latest Germanic guru guy did just that and is quids in. Lucky ol’ him. Dammit.

BUT: you need the two essential (vital) items I lack—

(a) charisma, and

(b) a total lack of ethics (empathy, care, compassion, humanity, feeling) …

AND you need be in the right place at the right time. You know, bring all those missing qualities into a sharp and well-applied ‘guileless’ focus. BUT—

—if you still fancy your chances take a look at his spoutings, bone up on Zen and especially the Tao Te Ching; change ’em just enough to be convincing and run with it.

One and the same breeze

Passes over the trees on the mountain

And in the valley—

Why then, do they give different notes?


Now I’ll go back to gnawing my blasted tail … 




kismet 1 red


They come, they go

and new ones rise like phoenices from the many scattered ash piles of the old—the same semi-religious cra  stuff is recycled, sometimes even thinly dressed as novelty.


to make an absolute mint by milking the naive then find a new handle on the same old same old, spit it out with gentle certainty … and provided that (a) it is appealing (makes at least a modicum of sense), and (b) you don’t get caught out … you’ll make a bundle.



as to cast asparagus on any modern prophet (or provider of penetrating insights/answers) but sometimes I’m alerted in a new direction; I take this tired jaded cynical old mind back into the jungle to look at yet another semi-mystic peerless ‘prophet’.


there’s an established language and you must speak at least some of it; without a common base for understanding all stones fall upon seedy ground.


that I do go along with the Shakespearean observation that “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy”. Indeed, there are. Aand anyone who can come up with a new angle on this truth can make a bundle from it. Brrrrr.

Tonight I watched a u-toob wherein the principal offered as reference one Eckhart Tolle. The U-tuber guy often posts interesting stuff so I looked up his offering (he certainly seemed rapt*) …

… and found what appeared after the first few seconds to be just another incarnation of The Archetypal ‘Prophet’. Regurgitated ‘Tao Te Ching’ mixed with a few other Zen aphorisms and a bit of condescending solicitude. Yeuch …

I could be wrong.

But I doubt it.

They come, they go.

Sometimes they endure. A bit.

But if success can be measured by wealth and power some are extremely successful. So for now, my cherubs, throw out all those other false prophets and gather ye at the feet of the Great Argus—

Argus copy 4

—and any donations for the Holey Kennel Roof fund will be gratefully accepted. No, not for me, you poor little lost lambs—they will go to the underprivileged of God’s Earth. I am merely His implement, performing Her ineffable will—

“Mr Argus, Sir—?”

“Yes, Little Virginia, sweet child?”

“What’s ‘ineffable’?”

“… … don’t ask me, Kiddo, I don’t effing know—”

“Mr Argus!!”

“Sorry, Kid. Just couldn’t resist it …”


Now try this one finger down  and I await your “Oh! Wow!” (It had better be good, or I shall have lived in vain …)

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“Oh … WOW~!”



And the beat goes onnn, the beat goes onnnnnnn …

* New converts often do. (Sometimes they get over it when reality re-bites.)



or if it doesn’t, there’s one law for ‘them’ (boooo, hiss) and one for US (yay! Boom boom!).

Referring to the vastly over hyped and outdated and outmoded and anachronistic ‘Royal Wedding’ bunfight of yesterday—

(I give ’em a decade at most?)

Oops … where were we … oh, yes. To not digress: some years ago there was a strip in a newspaper somewhere that challenged readers to ‘spot the clue’. In one of them a bearded army officer gives the detective guy (hero! Yay!) a slip of paper with a vital misdirection written thereon.

Clever detective fellow isn’t taken in and ends up nabbing the bugger, so it was win-win for him. So?

So the clue was of course in the beard. At the time UK army officers didn’t have beards, only navy could do that …

So at yesterday’s delightful(?) circus the noble Prince Harry of England wore the ‘full frock-coat uniform of The Blues and Royals‘. I recall the Bs and Rs as being British Army … but do not recall the anti-fuzzface rules being rescinded. A bit of a puzzler, unless the UK army needs wants its Moslems to comply with Allah (first) and a chosen UK military career (second); and graciously permitted His Royal Nibs to retain the Royal ‘Skers.

(But despite being a declared atheist I still had to attend compulsory divine services …)

kismet 1 red



devil-29973__340me. Just ponder all possible meanings of the word “Duh!” and go to your Bible for answers …

Following the recent ‘recall to Heaven’  of the founder of a colony of Kiwi kooks we are told—

There’s a battle for control brewing in religious community Gloriavale following the death of founder Hopeful Christian.

Only one day after the 92-year-old’s death, two prominent shepherds are already going head-to-head for the top spot, Patrick Gower told The AM Show on Wednesday.

“Fervent Stedfast, the current second-in-charge, effectively runs Gloriavale. [He’s] quite an elderly man as well as one of the shepherds there. He’s the person that you deal with. He wants control.

“But he is in a battle with another shepherd, my sources tell me, Howard Temple. He is the overseeing shepherd designate. He is the person that everyone believes was meant to take over. He is the person Hopeful Christian said would take over.”


But it won’t slow anyone down at all. Even among divines Human Nature rules supreme, serene, and irreproachable. God is in His Heaven and all is well with Her Creation. No?

And to close—I sometimes resurrect ancient history and ponder whether Pope Wossisface actually was murdered that time, after just a month in office? (All with God’s approval, mind, and in His full knowledge …)

Big G, bigger

“Argus … do I hear you thinking of the movie  The Man Who Sued God ?”


kismet 1 red



asked ol’ Khayyam



—so how’s about these onions   finger down   hey? devil-29973__340 copy





Blend of infinite + universe


infiniverse (plural infiniverses)


(as sourced from Wikipedia) (which seems to dislike being copy-and-pasted from).

So ‘infiniverse’ obviously means universe … or at least, it means what universe once meant before the clever moderns got hold of it. So if I may in a scientific manner observate from Nature and project trends—

How long, how long, in infinite pursuit

Of a single word that means “Everything”,

as in every-bloody thing that exists~?**

By which I hope for a more permanent word than the once-was-perfect one or it’s redundant  wannabe substitutes. Ye gods … how the (oops, nearly said a naughty word there, bad dog) hell could ‘universe’ itself possibly be made redundant?

But we try …


* Actually, when you compare the many translations it seems that it was a very modest Fitzgerald who actually wrote what we know as the Rubaiyat, and gave ol’ Omar credit for his own genius … no?

**  If I have to spell it out, please insert where appropriate the word ‘anywhere’. (Keep it seemly …)