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December 6th; Friday. While we discuss US politics back in the 1990s, Dr D. is momentarily unable to recall the name of Monica Lewinsky. "You know who I mean," he says, snapping his fingers as he tries to remember, "You know --- you know --- the fat girl." Not how most English-speakers remember Bill Clinton's impeachment scandal, but: Continental values. On the topic of politics, this chart claims to show the network of extremists on the Labour far left. Supposedly put together by some "retired spooks".
December 5th; Thursday. A cheerful talk about why cooking for yourself matters.
December 4th; Wednesday. Thought-provoking talks by Alan Watts, the inspiringly lucid Anglican/Buddhist active in the 1950s and 60s, some with low-key bits of instrumental music in the background.
Mystery of Time /
The Veil That Conceals Reality /
The Joker /
Outwitting the Devil /
Spectrum of Love.
December 3rd; Tuesday. Got to the end of 'The Devil Rides Out' by Dennis Wheatley (an interesting interview with him here). A mid-1930s novel which marked Wheatley's first foray (he had already successfully published 3 or 4 other thrillers) into the supernatural. Greeted by critics at the time as "the best thing of its kind since Dracula", it was adapted for film, along with later novels of his like 'To The Devil a Daughter'. Although big handsome motor cars with style and horsepower are a feature of the tale, there is something also of the 1880s Holmes stories: chilly, foggy outdoor scenes contrast with stuffy interiors. The indoor scenes are cosily padded out with comfortable old furniture, cigars, cheroots, deferential servants, and some totally routine heavy drinking. Even young vigorous characters, for example, find it quite a testing ordeal to stay inside a pentacle for 12 hours without their usual refills of wine and brandy. An unspoken dread in the background of the novel is that there should be another great war in Europe. Published in 1934, the threat that the magical beastliness unleashed by the chief villain might bring forth again the horsemen of the apocalypse, is explicitly part of the plot. Both the love-interest characters are East European totty - the young almost-English wife of one of the thoroughly decent eggs is in fact a beautiful girl "brought out of Russia", while the other exotic lass "mixed up in" the dark arts is a Hungarian girl named after a moon goddess. She must be rescued in all senses of the word by Rex, the bluff good-hearted American chum of "The Duke", chief warrior against the forces of evil. Main message of the tale is Don't Look Into His Eyes!
December 2nd; Monday. Lunch with Tim. Snowy streets. Apparently coral makes a sound, and is encouraged if you play that sound back to it.
December 1st; Sunday. One of those articles claiming hot baths are as good as exercise. Looking forward to professional athletes abandoning training for hot baths. Could this be any link to zero gravity killing cancer cells?
November 30th; Saturday. Historian suggests the origins of Islam were different than we believe. Late in the evening, finish 'Meetings With Remarkable Men' by Gurdjeff, which I've been meaning to read since school. That was after enjoying Colin Wilson's account of him (I think called 'The War Against Sleep') from the public library. There are many warnings about this book, claiming it's an invented autobiography filled with fairy stories, and so on, but it's loosely plausible. For one thing, none of the men are really that remarkable. There are signs that this is a storyteller spinning yarns (the account of crossing the Gobi Desert during a sandstorm on stilts is sweet), but also that Gurdjeff wasn't really a writer. I got more the impression of a gifted talker and raconteur fairly randomly writing down some of his more successful tales. The spell in a monastery somewhere in Central Asia run by the "World Brotherhood" is left hanging oddly, as if it cannot be resolved because the prewar cult leader's own project (codenamed 'The Work') needs to be seen to follow from it. One of Gurdjeff's followers in his growing private sect at this time was P.J. Travers, creator of Mary Poppins. 'The Work' involved a quasi-religious fusion of dance & movement therapy. In the closing pages, this is casually prefigured at that mysterious monastery's "dancing priestess" training, as if to make the guru's own 1920s venture at Fontainebleau a live epilogue to this vague, open-ended book. Towards the end, started wondering how much Paulo Coelho was trying for something similar.
November 29th; Friday. Interesting article about luxury viewpoints. The idea is that political opinions are often a form of status display.
November 28th; Thursday. List of folk songs written by pre-WW1 'Wobblies' union organiser Joe Hill.
November 27th; Wednesday. An intriguing pair of articles one and two about the little-discussed White Helmets group, and now-dead MP Jo Cox's involvement with them.
November 26th; Tuesday. Electric cars will create a battery-waste problem? Seems there were near-crashes in the new Boeing's simulator. Some cheering work on a virus to kill cancer tumours. Curious study says queens were more warlike than kings. Adorable little animation showing cuts to make triangles into squares, squares into hexagons, and hexagons into triangles.
November 25th; Monday. Finish 'Supernormal' by Dean Radin, more thought-provoking stuff about his experiments with quantum-anomalies and what he calls "micro-telekinesis".
November 24th; Sunday. Robin and I stroll around after dark and drop into a Protestant church built in 1913, and chat with the organ master. Afterwards, we have a night-time coffee on the stretch of Andrassy street near his flat, and we see the eerie sight of a small van moving from lamp-post to lamp-post mounting strings of white Christmas lights and switching them on, one set at a time. I suddenly recall one of Travers' Mary Poppins stories about a man in suburban London with a ladder into the sky whose secret job it was to put the stars up into the firmament each night.
November 23rd; Saturday. A 'Fresnel-Prism' lens seen in Labour leader Mr Corbyn's spectacles suggest he might in recent months have suffered a minor stroke.
November 22nd; Friday. In the quiet flat, when I sleep on the floor I can feel, not hear, a very faint distinct throbbing coming from the floor into my head - around two beats a second. I think it must be a pump a few floors down in the building's heating system moving water or oil through all its radiators. In other news, there's a horse so lazy it plays dead when someone wants to ride it.
November 21st; Thursday. Provocative set of short films alleges that Sumerians knew of the planets Uranus, Neptune, & Pluto only discovered by modern Europeans after the 1780s. Enjoyably, the film has lots of attractive close-up images of cuneiform-script tablets.
November 20th; Wednesday. Finish the third of three astrology books borrowed from Esoteric Veronica: 'Aspect Pattern Astrology' by Bruno Huber, Louise Huber, & Michael Huber. This is all about trines, squares, and all the other traditional geometrical relations between houses and planets in birth charts.
November 19th; Tuesday. Steady yourselves, citizens: Terence McKenna's darling yet also alarming "DMT elves" want the elite to kill us all?
November 18th; Monday. Late evening, at the all-night shop on Kiraly street, a group of two males and three brunettes, all speaking Russian, are roaming the shelves of the crowded store buying potato crisps and drinks on the way to some party. All three girls wear skin-tight glossy black leggings showing pert bottoms in perfect detail, and all three are pretty with doe-like eyes, but they're not sisters. Earlier, in the late afternoon at the hairdresser I was telling a couple of Russian-girl anecdotes, and a Hungarian male colleague of my barber Istvan lounging exhausted in a nearby chair (while Istvan snips away at my locks), remarks that Russian lasses reliably have lovely legs and beautiful eyes. Perhaps this was the conversation that conjured the group at midnight. Meanwhile, things seem to be kicking off
November 17th; Sunday. Russian professor who routinely dresses as Napoleon found in river with severed limbs of ex-girlfriend in his knapsack.
November 16th; Saturday. Albanian drug gang in Italy has hidden cocaine stash snaffled by wild, furry, forest boars. Oink!
November 15th; Friday. Swedish bombings in 2019 pass 100 explosions. Apparently gang wars between, er -- recent arrivals in the Scandinavian nation.
November 14th; Thursday. Poignant glimpse of 1967 futurists talking about now. What is genuinely refreshing is that they seem quite clever, serious people who mostly emphasise we can choose what kinds of futures we create.
November 13th; Wednesday. At the cafe Art Dealer Tony introduced me to, the outdoor stretch of tables with the fat, arsey pigeons somehow a fortnight back became shorter. A single line of tables along the pavement extends between a large potted shrub and a cylindrical poster stand, and for a few seconds I couldn't work out what had changed. Then I realised the shrub had been moved to bring 6 or 7 tables down to just 4. Smoothly adapting to the cooler weather.
November 12th; Tuesday. Finish a book Esoteric Veronica lent me: 'The Planets' by Bruno and Louise Huber: good overview of the effects astrologers conventionally say nearby planets (a term that includes sun & moon) have on birth charts.
November 11th; Monday. Exciting test of my logistical skills. I catch the early bus from Tiszainoka (there are 3 or 4 a day only) to the next village, meet Seamstress Aranka who has done her stitching just as well but faster this time, get into the "centre" of Tiszakurt and follow directions from two affable locals to get a bus to Kecskemet, from where I get a train to Budapest's West Bahnhof, right by Dr D.'s office at the Supreme Court for our 11.30 lesson. Using the train loo to change into the government-office-compatible trousers that Aranka had mended felt vaguely bank-heist caper-ish in a low-budget sort of way.
November 10th; Sunday. Gloomy, rainy day at Robin's in countryside. Is the EU a menace to freedom?
November 9th; Saturday. Journey out to the Great Plain by train. Spend three hours consuming cider, coffee, and slices of Margharita in the pizzeria at Lakitelek station until darkness falls. After some explanation of what has gone wrong, the curvy barmaid's boyfriend Christopher kindly drives me across the plains where it mainly rains (at least tonight) to Robin's house at one end of Tiszainoka.
November 8th; Friday. Discomfortingly effective Moscow-based study makes progress in using computers to see into minds.
November 7th; Thursday. Policemen packing heat seal off Andrassy street for a visit by Turkey's Mr Erdogan (once described by Boris Johnson as the "wankerer from Ankara"). They try to stop me entering a building where I temporarily have a key to an apartment. I persuade them I'm actually sleeping there.
November 6th; Wednesday. Article about hybristophilia (sexual attraction to violent people) tiptoes around discussing whether women are more prone to this.
November 5th; Tuesday. Turns out that degree-educated pensioners are more gullible and easily defrauded than the rest. Suggests standards for access into higher education fell at least fifty years ago, roughly dated by the creation of that swathe of new universities like Essex, Sussex, Warwick, Southamption, Exeter etc.
November 4th; Monday. Meet Marion for major natter while she's stuck indoors waiting for electric-meter men. Weather chillier now. You ask: what might superhappiness be?
November 3rd; Sunday. Meet Andras. We drive around after dark looking for the Vietnamese soup he likes. Then we find an Indochinese place close to Keleti railway station with an extraordinary bottled drink tasting of roses. Apparently he just spent three days in a Benedictine monastery.
November 2nd; Saturday. Interesting piece about how the 2nd attempt to impeach El Trumpo goes down in some US swing states.
November 1st; Friday. At the EU shell campaign to reverse the referendum result by doing it again & again & again until we get it right: trouble brews.
Recent weblog entries
Who can translate the next 300 words into
us and there will be revelry.
Languages dying out each week
- who cares?
We do - otherlanguages.org is gradually building a reference resource for over five thousand linguistic minorities and stateless languages worldwide.
Thousands of unique language communities are becoming extinct. Out of the world's five to six thousand languages, we hardly know what we're losing, what literatures, philosophies, ways of thinking, are disappearing right now.
We may soon regret the extinction of thousands of entire linguistic cultures even more than we regret the needless extinction of many animals and plants.
The planet is increasingly dominated by a handful of major-language monocultures like Mandarin
Chinese, Hindi, Arabic, Indonesian, Urdu, Spanish, Portuguese,
English, Swahili, Russian, Cantonese Chinese, Japanese, Bengali - all
beautiful and fascinating languages.
But so are the 5,000 others.
These are groups of people?
Linguistic minorities are communities of ordinary people whose native tongue is not their country's main official language. Swedish speakers in Finland, French speakers in Canada, Hungarian speakers in Slovakia - and hundreds more - are linguistic minorities.
And totally stateless languages are the native languages of some of the world's most intriguing, little-known, cultures. Like the Lapps inside the Arctic Circle, the Sards in Sardinia, Ainus in Japan. Cherokee in the US, Scots
Gaelic in Britain, Friesian in the Netherlands, Zulu in South Africa.
There are only a couple of hundred recognised sovereign states and territories, so 5,000 languages - more depending on how you count - are the native tongues of linguistically stateless people.
How could I help?
You don't need to learn an endangered
language - any more than go to live in the rainforest to help slow its destruction.
A good start is to just tell friends
about websites like this.
Broader public interest makes it easier
for linguists to raise funds and organise people to learn these languages while there's time.
That's right. There are people who love languages and are happy to learn them on behalf of the rest of us, but they need support, just like zoologists, botanists, or historians.
Fewer languages still sounds good to me
Depends what you think languages are for. They're not just a tool for business. We never said you should learn three or four thousand rare languages - or even one. And which ones we make children learn in school, or whether we should force children to learn languages at all, is another question.
Typical scene in a European city;
Chances are, folk here speak some sort of foreign
A century ago - before we understood ecology, and when we cared less about wilderness, most educated people would have laughed at the idea of worrying about plants or animals going extinct. Now we understand how important species diversity is for our own futures, we are more humble, and more worried.
In the same way, linguistic triumphalism by English-speakers who hated studying foreign grammar at school is dangerously ignorant as well as arrogant. Few of us know what we are losing, week by week.
How many people realise these languages have scientific value?
You can think of these languages across the planet as beautiful cathedrals or precious archeological sites we are watching being destroyed. That should be motive enough.
But these five thousand languages may also hold clues to the structure of the human mind. Subtle differences and similarities
between languages are helping archeologists and anthropologists to understand what happened in the hundreds of centuries of human history before written history. And that is one of our best chances of understanding how human brains developed over the thousands of centuries leading up to that.
Wireless radio can be a great comfort to those unable
to leave the textbooks in which they live *6
Study of the mind and study of language go hand in hand these days. The world's most marginal languages are actually precious jigsaw pieces from an overall picture of who we are and how our species thinks and evolves. Every tiny language adds another brightly-coloured clue to this academic detective story.
Yet researchers have hardly started sifting through this
tantalising evidence, and language extinction is washing it away right in
front of us.
And worst of all, most people have no idea that there is this
fantastic profusion of cultures across our world, let alone that
they are in danger of extinction. Even just more people learning that
there are still five thousand living languages in the world today (most
of us would answer five hundred or fifty) is already a huge help.
We English-speakers hardly notice English - it's like air for us.
But every other language is also an atmosphere for an entire cultural world,
and each of these worlds has people whose home it is. Each language encapsulates a unique way of talking and thinking about life. Just try some time in a foreign prison, being forced to cope in another language, and you'll realise how much your own language is your identity. That's true for everyone.
Minority languages are a
One of the most basic.
Dozens of millions of people worldwide suffer persecution from national governments for speaking their mother tongue - in their own motherland.
Many 'ethnic' feuds puzzling to
outsiders had as their basis an attempt to destroy a linguistic community.
Would the Northern Ireland dispute be quite so bitter if we
English had not so nearly stamped out the Irish Gaelic language, for
example? Almost nowhere in the world does a language community as
small as the few thousand Rheto-Romanic speakers - the fourth
official language of Switzerland - get the protection of a national
government. Next time you see some Swiss Francs, check both sides of the
But outside exceptional countries like
Switzerland or the Netherlands, speakers of non-official
languages have a much less protected experience.
Speakers of minority languages are often seen as a threat by both the governments and the other residents of the countries where they were born, grew up, and try to live ordinary lives.
They experience discrimination in the job and education markets of their homelands, often having no choice but to pursue education in the major language of the host state: a deliberate government policy usually aimed at gradually absorbing them into the majority culture of that country.
Mighty oaks from tiny acorns grow, of course *7
Most governments are privately gleeful each time another small
separate culture within their borders is snuffed out by a dwindling
population or a deliberately centralising education system.
The United Nations is no help. It is an association of a couple of hundred sovereign states based on exclusive control of territory, almost all of them anxious to smother any distinct group or tradition that in any way might blur or smudge the hard-won borders around those pieces of territory.
The usual approach by sovereign states is to deny their linguistic minorities even exist.
Mark Griffith, site administrator /
*1 image from , with thanks
back up to top of page
*2 "Al-Araby" in written
*3 "What?" in American Sign
Language; image from , with thanks
*4 "Big" in written
(read more); image from , with
*5 image from , with
*6 image from , with
*7 image from
'B?ume', with thanks to
Bruno P. Kramer,
and Franckh-Kosmos Verlag
October 31st; Thursday. Since it's the night before the day of the dead, the time when souls can pass more freely across the divide, here's a tribute to late great Saudi statesman Osama bin Laden.
Wednesday. Paris biologists unveil La Blob, a kind of slime with 720 sexes. An organism for our times!
Tuesday. Travel back to Budapest in the morning, and in our early-afternoon lesson Esoteric Veronica gives me a sleek new sports bag she is junking, plus a handsome flagon of schnapps she doesn't want. Men with clipboards say that space is made of zillions of tiny universes. Well obviously.
Monday. I catch a bus to, and walk back from, Aranka's village. Her four children are playing in the dusty drive of their house, and a disappointed boy of about 9 asks why I didn't bring The Dog With No Leash. Aranka takes custody of my blue sports bag, so I shall have to manage for a week with supermarket carrier bags.
Sunday. Bela almost cuts his hand off with a hatchet while chopping wood. Zeno & his friend Judit take him to hospital to get the gash stitched up. Still oddly warm, with yellow sunshine out of the shadows. Last night Bela talked me through all the various Fives games.
Saturday. A misunderstanding about the motorbike means I fail to get to the next village during Seamstress Aranka's opening hours. Wistful autumn sunshine is surprisingly warm. My lips burn from eating ripe figs off the bush next to Robin's studio. Seems they contain some kind of natural acid or antiseptic. Sullen wasps on the bush grumble as I turn up to compete. Some figs are fermenting on the branch and taste of alcohol.
Friday. Go with Robin to his rural fastness in Tiszainoka by train as darkness falls. We are driven to the house by Levente, a friend of Gyuri. We find Zeno the Alchemist and Bela both in high spirits. There is much hilarity. Teaching rats to drive toy cars apparently calms them down.
Thursday. Finish book borrowed from Esoteric Veronica about the astrological houses: 'Reflections & Meditations on the Signs of the Zodiac' by Louise Huber. This goes through the 12 houses, interpreting them as psychological states superimposed on the night sky. First of three similar books she lent me. This week went out one night with Programmer Andras, and on the topic of argumentative Budapest apartment-building residents' meetings, he mentions how one friend said he had attended a residents' meeting in his building and now believes in the existence of Satan.
Wednesday. Slightly oddly cited on physics-dot-org, thought-provoking study suggests married white women identify more with men than other married women.
Tuesday. A manifesto stylishly titled Dare to be Grey, which has the fingerprints of the EU all over it, both in its sly insinuation that being completely against something (such as against the EU, to choose a totally random example) is necessarily extremist - and also in the muddled, stuffy thinking and writing.
Monday. Johnson sent three letters to the EU, as compelled by the Brussels-craven Commons, one asking for an extension but unsigned, another as a cover letter to that saying he was forced but doesn't agree with it, and a third saying he does not want an extension. Intriging move, perhaps plotted by the clearly sharp-minded Dominic Cummings?
October 20th; Sunday. The vaguely simian Rory Stewart, another Etonian, makes a bid to be London Mayor. A superficially smooth & articulate pitch from a man who weeks ago was talking of setting up a "parallel Parliament" to stop Brexit. He now - it seems - regrets having been a Tory, and The Guardian laps this up of course. The obvious question unasked - if there is no power anywhere in modern Britain, why stand for the post of mayor?
October 19th; Saturday. Much excitement at Westminster where the first Saturday Commons sitting since the Falklands War should debate Boris Johnson's non-deal with the EU. Instead a motion by always-cuddly Oliver Letwin takes up the day.
October 18th; Friday. Software to scan faces at festivals.
October 17th; Thursday. White women more likely to vote for conservative parties?
October 16th; Wednesday. Painting zebra stripes on cows reduces insect biting.
October 15th; Tuesday. Recently I've discovered a very restful cafe/bar near Esoteric Veronica's office, where I can arrive early for her lesson and sit quietly with a range of elderly men. In general three are playing cards, with bartender as fourth man, over at one end of the room. A couple of tables are decorated with vinyl records under the sheet of glass, but only a couple, as if the idea ran out of material. Their WiFi password refers to the founding of Budapest's 9th district football club in 1899. After about three visits where I consume one coffee or two coffees and a water, the bartender seems to have decided I'm not such a bad person.
October 14th; Monday. "Anti-solar cell" generates electricity "from darkness".
October 13th; Sunday. Over a coffee & a water outside the Ice Buffet place, read a short book lent to me by Robin, called 'Great Is God's Zoo' by Iris Masters Zwack. It would be unfair to give away the ending, but an extraordinary range of odd personal stories about meeting odd people is tied together in the final pages. The initial story conceit is that Zwack is practising her budding writing skills by befriending eccentric characters in her corner of New England: a weird taxi driver, a retarded girl who stacks fruit at the grocery, a New Age fitness trainer - they each get a chapter.
October 12th; Saturday. Testimony from 2017: senior Irish Republic customs officials giving evidence to the Irish Republic parliament saw no need for any physical border infrastructure on the frontier with Northern Ireland in the event of Britain leaving the EU. Rather letting the "backstop" out of the bag.
October 11th; Friday. Texan slideshow alleges removal of very hot year 1921 from US climate data to make the overall 20th-century trend upwards. Delicious BBC article on climate-change anxiety (the editorial art is specially special): a doctor writes. UCL researchers claim Britain is about to have a record cold winter.
October 10th; Thursday. Concerns continue that Britain's military were transferred to Euroblob control by Mayer the Betrayer. Even plans for an EU army were dismissed as a "Leaver lie" by 2016 pro-EU campaigners, in classic projection.
October 9th; Wednesday. Guided by Michael A.'s friend Art Dealer Tony, I have started dropping in on the refreshingly cheap, vaguely communist-era Ice Buffet bar where coffee, water, and scones are still affordable. At their outside tables along the sunniest part of Petofi Sandor street, fat aggressive pigeons gang up on any person who tries to eat and drink alone. Often their beaks are smeared with the whipped cream of an abandoned pudding. The dove-shaped slatterns hop onto a table or chair but cleverly stay just inches out of any angry patron's arm swing. I'm going to have to buy a small water pistol and fill it with sharp-scented disinfectant.
October 8th; Tuesday. The slightly sinister-sounding group Extinction Rebellion are criticised for defacing Wiltshire's White Horse monument with their runic, black-metal-occultist-style logo.
October 7th; Monday. After visiting several textile shops across Hungary in the last month or two, must admit to being slightly downcast by the sheer vileness of the fabric patterns. Anything so straightoforward as (say) white polka dots on a solid colour, or blue and white stripes is completely absent. While I've long drawn comfort from the fact these retail outlets still exist in the quantities they used to in England, that there are still Hungarian women, old and young, making their own clothes, quite disheartening to find just now naff most - no all - of it is. If it's white, it's covered in frills and fussy detailing. If it's patterned, the pattern aspires to irregularity - five different widths of stripe in one fabric, for example. If there is a repeating motif, it's twee, cluttered, and too pale or too dark. Colours are selected from a rich palette of sickly yellows, anaemic browns, blood-piss reds, and those nasty blues and greens they use to make dangerous drug capsules look worrying. With relentless success, every pattern hits that magical sour spot of optimal ugliness.
October 6th; Sunday. A court decision in the EU makes it likely that Facebook can be ordered to retract its posts worldwide. EU censorship developments continue.
October 5th; Saturday. Wall Street Journal article yesterday: growing numbers of girls attending college discover shortage of suitable men. Male author wonderfully tactful about women's focus on marrying "up".
October 4th; Friday. Still a bit giddy after finishing the tedious translation about gold investing on Wednesday. Hanging over me for weeks. Don't go in! To his web of sin!
October 3rd; Thursday. Devon farmer prepares for Brexit with Nazi-engineered giant cows. + interesting piece on craze for professional walking back in 1815.
October 2nd; Wednesday. Two pieces about the legal side of Britain's attempts to leave the Euroblob. One from Lawyers for Britain about Article 50, and another (a .pdf) from a respected jurist at Oxford, says last week's Supreme Court judgment on prorogation broke the 1688 Bill of Rights.
October 1st; Tuesday. Military bod warns EU taking over Britain's armed forces.
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