Omnium

The Ninth Day

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 21:36:00 +0000

Lips of one
sleeping the sleep of the innocent.

He does (probably) not know sorrow and joy, yet. Born 13 days after one of his grandmothers' death and eight days after the funeral, today he was introduced to his great-grandmother. They did not see eachother, though. ... :)

No Chinese painting

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 00:20:00 +0000

... just one view from Seanhenge.

Friday is Skyday

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 22:39:00 +0000

Laughing Lhursday

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 20:47:00 +0000

Just for those accidently stumbling upon Omnium:
Typo in the title?
Nah. It's just that I would not let a tiny T spoil an avantgardistic alliteration.

Back home.
After all.

When dancing is not enough ...

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 21:53:00 +0000

... make music.

Sustain me

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 01:56:00 +0000

Σ'αγαπώ

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 01:39:00 +0000

Six Days in 88 years

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 02:40:00 +0000

New Year's Day.

A man, his elbows leaning on kitchen's sill;
his head resting in his palms;
himself: lost in thought;
in many thoughts ...

Suddenly his eyes notice:
A woman in a wheel chair.

Pushed by a man.

Walking fast.

Escorted by a an Australian shephard.

Behind this trio:

A couple in their 30s.
She: pregnant in the 36th week, leading a 14 years old mongrel, somehow a mixture of a Romanian Mioritic Shepherd Dog and an Irish Wolfhound.

He: Leading another Australian shephard.

Both, respectively the four of them:

Walking fast, too.
Somehow too fast.

As if running away, trying to escape.

Trying to escape what?

Like a procession. Somehow surreal. Described by García Márques or Borges.

The man does not dare to move.
Hoping brother-in-law, niece and her husband will not look up and ...
think: bloody voyeur.

January 6th.:

The 62nd anniversary of the old woman's marriage.
Oh, how does she love him; him who died almost 12 years ago.
They will never understand.
A 16 year old girl in love with a 20 year old boy who soon will be forced to fight a war.
Flight/expulsion/displacement;
waiting for him: ten years lost!
Their youth!

She had loved her son's girl from the first moment.
Why?!

Why will she not be allowed to hold her grandchild in her arms?
Nine months.
Nine months ago it began.
Pain in the back.

She? She who four months ago has thought she'd not see her great-grandchild now, after she has got this pacemaker will – probably – not only have to follow the coffin of her daughter (-in-law), but about two weeks later hold her (the daughter's) grandchild in her arms.

'Life's not fair', the old woman says.

The man, his elbows leaning on the kitchen table,
his head resting in his palms,
does nod. Imperceptible. Almost.

'However, love, mother ...'
It is not exactly to understand what he murmurs.

Happy New Year

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 23:01:00 +0000

Let's try again :)

May 2012 bring you and those around you:

Health

love

peace

inspiration

success

leisure

contentment

and

- in case something does not immediately work -

lots of serene calmness and calm serenety.

And having got everything, or not,
let us never forget:

We need a little madness.

Let's dance!

Same Procedure as every Year

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 20:04:00 +0000

If counted well the Germans today can/could watch Dinner for one (The 90th Birthday) - history here - 16 times at different times on various TV-channels, and aside from the original in various German dialects inclusive a Swiss version.
Very strange folks, the Germans.
Well, judge for yourself.

Tiny tip-off: Be absolutely determined not to laugh.

The longer Omnium exists ...

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 01:53:00 +0000

the less worth it is.

The peace of the night.

Where there is a will ...

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 01:48:00 +0000

... there is no way.

No one will come to know why I laughed til I cried, yesterday night.

Neither there will anyone come to know why I (almost) desperately cried tonight.

[At least, not now.]

... ' cause I would not tell, which again would be another story.

Laughter and sadness: siblings they are.

Thus, to all who – despite I do find amazing that so many people in 2011 would still be conditioned to believe in what they have been told in their youth:

Don't start thinking (yourself). Just enjoy what you have been taught to think you believe: Merry whatever.

Cavalleria rusticana

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 22:14:00 +0000

Cavalleria rusticana

Nothing to share

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Sat, 17 Dec 2011 01:46:00 +0000

(Even when you are longing:)

Sadness can not be shared.

You may talk about to one person, to ten, to hundreds.

Even if being empathic: No one will feel the same. None will (be able to) share your sadness.

Same goes for love, for any of your feelings. They are unique.

You are unique.

I am unique.

Hoorah!

The peace of the night.

...

And what is when they grow 232 kg of sweet corn to produce one litre of ethanol?

Now, that's organised stupidity / crime.

I am not willing to share.

Kestrel, not in need of maize/ethanol.

Aetherophonesque aquarium

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 22:18:00 +0000

Theremin

And here – in case you wish to compare – with the original:

Camille Saint-Saëns

Friday is Skyday

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 22:17:00 +0000

Well, this Friday happened to be
a Sunday in August.

Bearable Lightness of Being

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 22:32:00 +0000

Rrrahh-rrrahh.
Here I come!

Natural Arts

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Sun, 04 Dec 2011 22:46:00 +0000

Pedro Potato and Olivia Onion watching*
green cabbage growing.

No half-moon

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 22:10:00 +0000

Vanillekipferl

No Vanillekipferl

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 22:09:00 +0000

Half-moon

Nebulosity

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 22:57:00 +0000


'The markets are getting nervous.' The markets are important? Ha ha ha ha ... up til ... infinity ...

The photo's being taken by the astrophysicist on his recent (private) session.

Cover Story 0004 - Ch.18_a

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 20:41:00 +0000

Life's Little Ironies

What we talk about when we talk about love
Dreams of dreams
Confusion of the feelings
First love, [last rites]
Days of joy
Erogenous zone
Nights of love and laughter
Kama Sutra
The orgy - an idyll
Little misunderstanding of no importance
Don Juan's temptation
The Siren
An occasion of sin
Suspicion
Now it rains slaps in the face
I want to know why
A touch of chill
Rituals
Sexus

Well, as you can easily see here, I decided to change the title. August 13th, 2010 this happened. Could not explain why, but I felt not comfortable with the idea, and thus cover story 0004 after 18 chapters* got covered with a dust layer.

Perhaps it will again, and you will not come to know the end of the story. That is why I think I should give you at least a glimpse of what you might miss:

* actually 17, as yours truly scatterbrain had jumped from Chapter 4 to Chapter 6 :)

The big black bird has come

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 17:44:00 +0000

Bye, bye, Wiggerl. Thanks for all, and: Werd' endlich glücklich!

Ludwig Hirsch, February 28th, 1946 - November 24th, 2011

Komm großer schwarzer Vogel, komm jetzt!
Schau, das Fenster ist weit offen,
schau, i hab Dir Zucker aufs Fensterbrett g'strat.
Komm großer schwarzer Vogel, komm zu mir!
Spann' Deine weiten, sanften Flügel aus
und leg s' auf meine Fieberaugen!
Bitte, hol mi weg von da!
Und dann fliegen wir auf,
mitten in'n Himmel,
in a neuche Zeit, in a neuche Welt,
und i werd' singen, i werd' lachen,
ich werd' "es gibt's net" schrei'n,
weil i werd' auf einmal kapier'n,
worum sich alles dreht.

Komm großer schwarzer Vogel, hilf mir doch!
Preß' Deinen feuchten, kalten Schnabel
auf meine wunde, auf meine heiße Stirn!
Komm großer schwarzer Vogel,
jetzt wär's grad günstig!
Die anderen da im Zimmer schlafen fest
aber ganz leise san,
dann hört uns die Schwester net!

Bitte, hol mich weg von da!
Und dann fliegen wir auf,
mitten in'n Himmel,
in a neuche Zeit, in a neuche Welt,
und i werd' singen, i werd' lachen,
und i werd' "das gibt's net" schrei'n,
weil i werd' auf einmal kapier'n,
worum sich alles alles dreht.

Ja? Großer schwarzer Vogel? Endlich!
I hab' Dich gar nicht einikommen g'hört,
wie lautlos Du fliegst,
mein Gott, wie schön Du bist!
Auf geht's, großer schwarzer Vogel, auf geht's!
Bye bye, meine Lieben daham!
Du, mein Mäderl, Mama, Papa!
Bitte, vergeßt's mi net!
Auf geht's, mitten in'n Himmel,
net traurig sein, mm mm!
's ist kein Grund zum Traurigsein!
Weil i werd' singen, i werd' lachen,
i werd' "es gibt's net" schrei'n,
i werd' endlich kapier'n,
i werd' glücklich sein!

Ja, I werd' singen, und i werd' lachen,
und i werd' "Es gibt's net!" schrei'n,
i werd' endlich kapier'n,
i werd' endlich glücklich sein!

And here's a both quick and humble first attempt to translate from the Austrian. Suggestions for improvement are welcome.
Well, you will understand, anyway.

Come, big black bird, come now!
Look, the window is wide open,
look, I've spread sugar on the sill for you.
Come, big black bird, come to me!
Span your wide gentle wings,
and put them on my fevereyes!

Please, get me away from here!
And then we fly up
right into the middle of heaven,
into a new time, into a new world,
and I'll sing, I'll laugh,
I'll scream "Es gibt's net!"*,
'cause all of a sudden I'll get
what all is about.

Come, big black bird, so help me, please!
Put your wet cold beak
on my sore, on my hot brow!
Come, big black bird,
now there's the opportunity!
The others in the room are sleeping deeply,
but let's be very quiet,
so that the nurse won't hear us.

Please, get me away from here!
And then we fly up
right into the middle of heaven,
into a new time, into a new world,
and I'll sing, I'll laugh,
and I'll scream "Es gibt's net"*,
'cause all of a sudden I'll get
what all is about.

Yes? Big black bird? At last!
I didn't hear you come in,
how soundless you fly –
my God, how beautiful you are!

C'mon, big black bird, c'mon!
Bye bye, my dear one's at home.
You, my girl, ... Mama ... Papa.
Please, don't forget me!

C'mon, into the middle of heaven.
[Ah] Don't be sad ... mm mm [no no no];
There's no reason for sadness,
'cause I'll sing, I'll laugh,
I'll scream "Es gibt's net!",
I shall at last understand,
I'll be happy.

Yes, I'll sing, and I'll laugh,
and I'll scream "Es gibt`s net",
At last I'll understand,
At last I'll ... be happy.

* I did not come to think of a proper translation for this idiom. It's meaning is somewhere between "I don't believe it" and "My arse!" :)

200 years later bowing with respect

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 22:55:00 +0000

“But paradise is locked and bolted...
We must make a journey around the world
to see if a door has perhaps been left open.”

Heinrich von Kleist (October 10th, 1777 – November 21st, 1811)

Doing what's to be done

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Jeating) — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 01:21:00 +0000

Caught cleaning a water butt
by a naughty astrophysicist. Obviously.