Physiognomy of fine gentlemen

Following what some Irish would call picturegate, this afternoon a thought crossed my mind: This could become Usmanov-esque dimensions*.

Could have something to do with physiognomy.

Judge yourself.

Alisher Usmanov

Brian Cowen

Amazing, hm?


* And here's Omnium about the Usmanov saga (in chronological order):

Audiatur et altera pars

The Impossible Fact

Not about Mr. Usmanov

Above Mr. Usmanov's dignity

A diamond of altruism


Omnium about Picturegate:

The Taoiseach's New Clothes

The Taoiseach's New Clothes II

Brian, Borges & Bioy

Want a T(aoiseach)-Shirt?

A diamond of altruism

Third time not always is a charm.

I hardly can believe following headline, especially as I found it by exploring crime news: Arsenal tycoon Alisher Usmanov in diamond 'fraud' row.

Very puzzled by reading all these confusing news I asked my clostest friend for his opinion.

And thus spake Tetrapilotomos: Soon you will learn that the altruistic Mr Usmanov whose parents allegedly could not bring up a gangster and racketeer did all he did . . . just for common purpose.

Above Mr Usmanov's dignity

People who happen to be of my generation may remember this song: This world today is a mess.

What would Donna Hightower sing today?

Mr Usmanov who has only recently been quoted saying "It is beneath my dignity to respond to all the allegations. People like my parents could not bring up a gangster and racketeer", reportedly has ordered unstated lawyers "to issue Indymedia UK with a takedown notice [10th of September & 21st of September]. The notice served to Indymedia charged Indymedia with publishing allegedly libellous accusations about Usmanov, one of the richest men in Russia, recently linked to a possible hostile takeover of Arsenal FC."

Read here.

Not about Mister Usmanov

Didn’t I say Alisher Usmanov seems to be a jolly good fellow?

This post is not primarily about Mr Usmanov, though, but about a happy few who would enjoy his generosity.

It’s a post about journalism.

To get prepared for the following I do - with compliments to Bloggerheads, Chicken Yoghurt, Matt Wardman and all those who are doing a great job on this very issue - ask you to read this first.

. . .

Back? And? Water on the mills of your opinion/prejudices?

Well, so let’s go on.

I think it was Robert Edwards, the “father” of Louise Brown, the first test-tube baby, who somewhen in the 90th of the past milennium basically said, though in another context: Ethic has to adapt to the progress of science.

Following this kind of logic, journalist’s have to adapt to the progress of corruption.

Too harsh?

Let me try to explain.

In these times journalists who would courteously insist on paying for even their cup of tea when being (jovially) invited by their interview partner, are being regarded as antediluvian fossils.

Are these fossils pedantic?

Is pedantic who declares a journalist should not be member of any party; in these times when very frequently the membership book in many countries would “decide” who climbs the ladder, and who not?

Once I have been "taught": Journalist’s are whores.

Are they? No. Not “they”. But: Yes, many are.

Others are disillusioned; partly, because they “accepted” what - beginning about 20 years ago - they are being told: Your articles are nothing but “garnishing the ads”; partly because they were "taught" how to use the scissors in their head.

So, why not choose the easy way? Taking the released statement by firm X or ministry Y, and that's it. Or, in case some tiny little scruples managed to survive, changing a subject here, and a predicate there.

And the loveliest are those whose autobiography could start with following sentence: Three months ago I shouldn't know how to write "shornalist", and today I do already happen to be one.

[Those feeling insulted, are those who are meant]

So, what is to say about the journalists who followed the invitation of Mr Usmanov; and what about their newspapers, their TV-station?

PS: And as for Financial Times: You paid all bills? Congratulations. Reading the article, even the last reader could learn: You know how to burn money.

The Impossible Fact

Tonight my closest friend out of the blue declaimed following poem.

To me it sounds like a variation of a poem by Christian Morgenstern,

But Tetrapilotomos claims it is by "a certain" McSeanagall.


The Impossible Fact

Usmanoff, rich, an aimful rover,
walking in the wrong direction
at a busy intersection
is run over.

"How," he says, his mood restoring
but without his wrath ignoring,
"can an accident like this
ever happen? What's amiss?

"Did the world's administration
fail in free speech's deprivation?
Did police ignore the need
for reducing bloggers' speed?

"Isn't there a prohibition,
barring internet transmission
of a mighty to a wight?
Were the nasty bloggers right?"

Tightly swathed in dampened tissues
he explores the legal issues,
and his shillings soon make clear:
Free speech not permitted here!

And he comes to the conclusion:
His mishap was an illusion,
for, he reasons pointedly,
that which must not, can not be.
[McSeanagall]


The (English version of) the Original (?)

The Impossible Fact

Palmstroem, old, an aimless rover,
walking in the wrong direction
at a busy intersection
is run over.

"How," he says, his life restoring
and with pluck his death ignoring,
"can an accident like this
ever happen? What's amiss?

"Did the state administration
fail in motor transportation?
Did police ignore the need
for reducing driving speed?

"Isn't there a prohibition,
barring motorized transmission
of the living to the dead?
Was the driver right who sped ... ?"

Tightly swathed in dampened tissues
he explores the legal issues,
and it soon is clear as air:
Cars were not permitted there!

And he comes to the conclusion:
His mishap was an illusion,
for, he reasons pointedly,
that which must not, can not be.

Audiatur et altera pars

Yesterday night I had an interesting conversation with my closest friend which I want to share with you.
Confess, I am still a little puzzled. Here we go.

Tetrapilotomos?

Hm.

Busy with pre Aztecan philately?

No. Translating Post Eastern Bloc fairy tales into Latin.

Interesting. Your latest five words, so far?

. . . Cloaca Maxima. Pecunia non olet .

Never?

Try these paltry shillings.

Hm, indeed. Can’t smell anything.

Quod erat demonstrandum.

What is your current fairy tale’s title, and what is the tale about?

The poor prisoner who became a billionaire and . . . or well, to cut it short: It’s about organized crime, its increasing threat and influence on people's daily life, and about that the majority of common people - rather than caring about their freedom - are interested in panem et circenses.

Interesting coincidence. Did you read this?

Yes, and most links; and the links to the links.

And? Alarming, isn’t it?

Yes, according to my informant, her source assures the story is stinking to heaven.

Any details? What would your informant's source tell?

For the beginning, some rhetoric questions. Would Mr Putin closely associate with Mr. Usmanov, if he were not a true democrat?

Hm.

Doesn't speak for his virtues when a humble, innocent ex-prisoner being released, before you could spell bandit becomes a billionaire?

Hm.

Can an art lover be wicked?

Hm.

Would the owner of newspapers promote censorship?

Hm.

Didn't Mr Usmanov become President of the European Fencing Confederation, last not least because in his programm he proposed 'improvement and democratization'?

Hm. To be honest, I did not ask myself any of these questions before.

I thought so. According to my informant, his source moreover assures Mr Usmanov is a lover of the poor.

Of course, otherwise he would not be a billionaire.

No irony, please. And he loves Arse . . .

Bandits would not be his friends?

Not as far as according to my informant her source would tell.

Her source, his source, her source! Is your informant a he or a she?

No comment. Informant protection. Forgotten the good old codex?

Hm. Sorry for interrupting.

You are welcome.

May I humbly add one question?

This is still a free country.

Why would Mr Usmanov wash, eh ... spend his pocket money in England. Why would'nt he try to win the Champion's League with a Club like Gazprom Tashkent?

Interesting question. I shall forward it to my informant who will forward it to her source who ...

. . . will personally ask Mr Usmanov? After all, he seems to be a jolly good fellow who would do no harm to anybody.

Hm.

Tetrapilotomos! What's the matter? Where have your thoughts been?

I was thinking about Mr Usmanov's wife and rhythmic gymnastics, and suddenly . . . or well: And the creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig again, but already . . . and then: Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

There would not be many people being able to follow the wondrous paths of your thoughts, Tetrapilotomos. Apropos "diet": Has your informant's source ever met Mr. Usmanov?

According to my informant's information, yes.

Her or his source is absolutely trustworthy, and would never tell a lie?

According to my informant's information: Yes.

What did he or she say about Mr. Usmanov's outside appearance?

A true asketic. Compared to him Twiggy was Miss Piggy.

And I came to the conclusion:
All I read was an illusion,
for to reason pointedly:
what must not, that can not be.