This is NOT About Me Because I Am Not Mr. Zarathustra

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As I look at it today my treatise 

strikes me as quite impossible. 

It is poorly written, heavy handed, embarrassing. 

The imagery is both frantic and confused. 

In spots it is saccharine to the point of effeminacy; 

the tempo is erratic; it lacks logical nicety

and is so sure of its message that it dispenses

with any kind of proof.

Worse than that, it suspects

the very notion of proof

...

Friedrich Nietzsche

Preface to

THE BIRTH OF TRAGEDY

   ...

There is no criticism more valid than self-criticism.

But Birth of Tragedy should be required reading

for anyone with a pure and serious interest
in philosophy, art, and history:

A category of people that naturally

excludes this blogger. 
               
               

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Footnote
Two more quotes from Mr. Nietzsche are  here. 

He is the author of  Thus Spake Zarathustra: A Book for All and None.

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........................................Hail To The HIRO........................................

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⬆︎

Hiro's photographs

Hiro, the photographer

⬇︎

Another day,
Another  discovery for me!
Thanks to  Art Daily

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This is NOT About Us (Comic Relief #900)

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Carolita Johnson

PLUS

A Bonus cartoon from Ms. Johnson

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1973: Aunt Betty's Bronx Tale About His Three Graces

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Sam was 
the first man
she kissed.
 
Sam was
the last man
she kissed.

The first boy she kissed
was her second cousin.

On the neck called Throgs
where they built a bridge
in 1961.

It was Rogers Place
and her "kid sister"
told the story

in 1973.

Your grandmothers
were sisters

He was so young
so dashing
so exciting

We all wanted
to kiss Anthony
but my sister Jean
would never admit it

I called us “Kissing Cousins”

He called us his Three Graces
but he only enjoyed kissing Grace
in our home on Rogers Place

Jean and I were so jealous
when he played Chopin
with his eyes riveted
on your mother
...
...
...

On her 16th birthday,
your mother got a job at Macy’s

Ten-year-old Anthony bussed tables
at his grandparents’ midtown restaurant

On a blind date, she met Sam
and her eyes opened wider 

than Wyoming

We all wanted to kiss Sam
but my sister Jean
would never
admit it

Your mother met Sam
and Anthony met success
playing Chopin and
serving scallopini
to Manhattan’s
finest
 

2/6/45
Jack Dempsey's Restaurant

Your mother married Sam...
four years later,
you were named
after Anthony’s
grandfather
 
That would be my “Grand” Uncle Paul
but I also had a paternal Uncle Paul
plus a “Grand” Aunt Pauline.

 
In 1958,
I was in grade school
when my parents spent
a week at a ski lodge.

Uncle Paul and Aunt Pauline–
then retired from their restaurant–
were our baby sitters.

The only time in my entire life
I questioned the belief that
my two grandmothers
were the best Italian cooks
on planet earth was that week.

Linda told me
you wanted her
to tell your parents
to stay another week
in the Catskills.
 
I had no memory of that
but my sister Linda
confirmed it the
following week.

She also said I bragged about
being named after
a New York chef:
my Aunt Pauline.

I do not remember when
Anthony’s grandparents died
but I do remember a pallbearer
at his mother’s funeral.

We called Anthony "Babe"
but Rodney called him 
Vinnie Goombatz

Not to his face
but to his audience.
 

It was maybe 7PM
on a balmy February evening
in the Bronx when Betty mentioned
Vinnie Goombatz and then
she fell asleep but not 
before repeating:


He called us his Three Graces
but he only enjoyed kissing Grace
in our home on Rogers Place

In Parkchester Circle,
there was a 7:45 screening
of a new movie.

The Palace Theater
was premiering The Godfather.

I was only three blocks away
on White Plains Road
but more than 3003
memories were made
that night.

The following week
I made the first of three
laugh-free appearances
on the stage of
Dangerfield’s.

But Anthony did introduce me
to Rodney riveted his eyes on 
my mother's second cousin.

Contrary to Rodney's 
famous tag line,
I have nothing 
but respect for him
and Anthony.

For everyone else
in Aunt Betty's Bronx Tale,
I have nothing but 
the purest love. 
   
 
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Another Way Of Saying "We Need Help" (Comic Relief #898)

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Mort  Gerberg

CN = Conde  Nast

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"The TITANOSAURUS Is In The House!" proclaimed Mr. Bones

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A replica of one of the largest dinosaurs ever discovered
is unveiled at the American Museum of  Natural History
on January 14, 2016 in New York City.

The replica of the  "Titanosaur"  weighs about 70 tons,
is 17 feet tall and stretches to nearly 122 feet long.

The dinosaur belongs to the titanosaur family and was discovered
by Paleontologists in the Patagonian Desert of Argentina
in 2014 and lived about 100 to 95 million years ago.
The exhibit at the museum features bones, fossils
and a fiber glass replica of the creature.

Getty Images/AFP
Spencer Platt

ArtDaily.org

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Her Talent + Influence Is So God Damn Much More Than Musical

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The praying man

 got down on his knees

and said:

...Oh Lord...

Please give Hollywood

the intelligence and justice

to reward a woman with

talent and influence

that can only be measured

by an infinity stick

...Oh Oscar...

Please honor  Nina Simone

with the Academy Award for

BEST DOCUMENTARY FEATURE

...Oh God...
Just as Jesus was much more 
than a man
Nina was much more than
a jazz singer!

...Oh Reader...
...Please pique your curiosity...
Nina's first GoFather of Math page is  here. 

...Oh My...
Nina is the spiritual Godmother

of the girl who fascinated the world

in the 2016 Olympics.
  
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Morals And Food And Three Quotes

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1

The high moral road is paved with sour grapes.

Joe Forkan

2

Morals only make sense to a man

with a full stomach.

Mark Twain

3

He opened a food store

to make money,

not to make morals.

Spinachio Vertigo   

© 

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And Only 1% Of The Holocaust Can Be Documented Beyond Doubt

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Yesterday,
Chairwoman Ingeborg Berggreen-Merkel
addressed reporters...

BERLIN (AFP)

   A German task force investigating the provenance

of a spectacular Nazi-era art hoard of hundreds of works

said Thursday that only five had been proved

to be looted thus far, and defended its slow progress.

The government-appointed panel presented its report

on the 500 pieces of suspect origin among the more

than 1,200 artworks in the secret collection discovered

in Cornelius Gurlitt's cluttered Munich apartment

four years ago.

But the 14-member task force, which wrapped up

its investigation in late December, said that
only one percent could be shown without doubt
to have been stolen from Jewish families
under the Third Reich

or sold under duress.

The next Gurlitt page is
here. 

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February 7, 1984: Rest In Peace, Jimmy Ernst

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Jimmy Ernst, son of Max Ernst, one of the most influential Dada and Surrealist artists, and himself for many years a well-known painter in this country, died of a heart attack yesterday at a Manhattan radio station. 

He was 63 years old and lived in East Hampton, L.I.
 

Mr. Ernst went to radio station WMCA after helping to install an exhibition of his paintings opening this evening at the Armstrong Gallery (50 West 57th Street).
 

''He was waiting to go on the Barry Gray program, which starts at 12 o'clock, in order to promote his book and exhibition, and he just died,'' a spokesman for the radio station said.

A memoir by Mr. Ernst titled ''A Not-So-Still Life'' has just been published by St. Martin's Press.
 

Jimmy Ernst was born in Cologne, Germany, in 1920.

In 1922, after Max Ernst, then already famous as one of the founders of the Dada movement, separated from Louise Straus Ernst, the boy was raised by his mother.

Although he had always been surrounded by artists–''my mother told me that Paul Klee once changed my diapers,'' he said–painting did not interest him as a career until he saw Picasso's ''Guernica'' in Paris in 1938 and sensed what painting could be...

New York Times

(2/7/84)

Jimmy Ernst died 
less than one month
after publication
of his memoir. 

This is the fifth GoFather page
featuring Jimmy.

The first of theses pages is  here.

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Another Paul Eluard Poem (To Jimmy Ernst, He Was Uncle Paul)

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   HUNTED      

A few grains of dust more or less
On ancient shoulders
Locks of weakness on weary foreheads
This theatre of honey and faded roses
Where incalcuable flies
Reply to the black signs that misery makes to them
Despairing girders of a bridge
Thrown across space
Thrown across every street and every house
Heavy wandering madnesses
That we shall end by knowing by heart
Mechanical appetites and uncontrolled dances
That lead to the regret of hatred

Nostalgia of justice

Paul Eluard

(1895-1952)

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The British Woman Called Him "The Cheater Man"

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It was meant as a compliment:

She had remembered 
their conversation about 
this garment and was surprised
that a Bronx-born Italian boy
could speak British:

He knew that In England, 
it is known as a 
Wind Cheater.



Then he met a man from London and asked:
Do you know what a windbreaker is?

The man answered with a straight face:
A windbreaker is a fart.

Please do not sniff the image.
 

The image is from  here. 

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So This Traffic Stick Said To His Buddies...

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© Oliverio
So now it is 2016 and we have already
lost our sense of purpose.

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Therefore...Google Godel Or Bool The Leib (Comic Relief #889)

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S. Harris
Then find the flaw in this reasoning

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Photoverio © (#161): El Nino Was Here (LOL)

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© Oliverio

Pity the frightologists
telling us that "tonnage"
is how they will measure
the rainstorms tormenting
Southern California

But all we saw 
was one cute 
puddle



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