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Location: UFOUpDatesList.Com > 1999 > Apr > Apr 13

Blather: Foolishness and Codology

From: Blather - Daev Walsh <daev@blather.net>
Date: Tue, 13 Apr 1999 01:12:00 +0100
Fwd Date: Tue, 13 Apr 1999 05:05:40 -0400
Subject: Blather: Foolishness and Codology

B  L  A  T  H  E  R

p a r a n o r m a l   p r o v o c a t e u r i s m

By Dave (daev) Walsh daev@blather.net
Web: http://www.blather.net
March 31st 1999, Dublin, Ireland   Vol 2. No. 40

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Foolishness and Codology

'A country without village idiots is not worth living in.
Without them there is no way of knowing who are sane.' - Oliver
St. Gogarty, *As I Was Going Down Sackville St.*

[The 2nd Festival of Fools took place in Dublin recently, along
with some other unsynchronised idiocy in New York and Belfast.
We now join our hominid on the scene, The Mostly Revered Count
Hellshaw Zorro O'Blather I, by live telegram link-up -
transcending time, space and several by-laws to the scene of the

'Sounds like the most serious, intrepid and desperate act in
Dublin since the Holy Order of the Lemon filled the River Liffey
with lemons a few years ago...' Robert Anton Wilson on The
Festival of Fools 1999

T'was a warm and pleasant spring afternoon - 5pm on Tuesday,
March 29th 1999, when the Count O'Blather, resplendent in his
motoring leathers, clerical collar and wide-brimmed hat, loped
up Dublin's South William St. towards The Castle Lounge, more
commonly known as Grogan's. On nearing the lounge doorway, he
caught site of the handsomely aquiline features and lengthy gait
of Smolian rounding the corner. The two exchanged greetings,
threats and irrelevant unpleasantries before ducking inside the

Inside was an cheery chaotic morass - amidst the ancient wood
panelling adorned with contemporary art, were all manner of
craythur, some bedecked in absurd finery, others content in
laundered mufti. It wasn't often that Grogan's - arguably the
last bastion of licensed sanity amidst the bourgeois hoi polloi
and theme-pub culture of the turbulent city - was so tumescent
with imbibers so early on a Tuesday... most of those present
however, had an inkling of the reason for this borderline
paranormal phenomenon.

On the street outside, the Bishop of Fools and the Abbot of
Unreason cavorted for bemused press photographers, whilst those
exemplary mummers, Ridiculusmus, noosed themselves together,
taped up their gobs, and silently abused passers-by. Things were
coming to a head.

The head of St. Flann that is. The mottled crew had assembled to
spark off the annual celebration known *The Festival of Fools*
(*F=E9ile Na nAmaidi*) - 'An arts and entertainment festival for
the King of Unrule'. The First King and Patron Saint of the
Festival of Fools is the long deceased but since transcended
Dublin writer, wit and drinker, Flann O'Brien/Myles na
gCopaleen/Brian O'Nolan - referred to herein as Flann. Flann,
who died on, significantly, April 1st 1966, also has the dubious
honour of influencing this writer when choosing a moniker for
this irregular diatribe of paranormal rambles.

'The Festival of Fools (FoF) came to life, during a
conflagration between the Abbot and the Bishop, one soaking wet
September evening in 1997. Initially, they sought to host a
festival that would honour Flann O'Brien for whom there was as
yet no public commemoration. They wanted to have a Foolsday that
would rival Joyce's Bloomsday. But the fool wanted more.' - FoF

As matters haphazardly got underway, a strange ritualistic train
of presentations took place *behind* the bar of Grogan's. Eilish
Rafferty of the Dublin Writers' Museum presented the Head of the
first King and Patron Saint of the Festival, Myles na Gopaleen,
to Tommy Smith - proprietor of Grogan's Bar & Gallery. He
presented the Head to the sculptor of the Head, Victor
McCaughan, who then presented the Head to the Abbot of Unreason
and the Bishop of Fools, a questionable act which launched the
Festival of Fools 1999. There have been reports implicating a
transvestite Oinseach in the chain of presentation, but these
heinious claims are, whilst true, probably unfounded.

Taking a brief sojourn from the Guinness fumes of Grogan's, many
fools plied themselves with drink in the evening sunshine, many
accosting yet more innocent passers-by, while others engaged in
cogno-intellectual discussions with a fine-looking canine named
Pepper, only occasionally interrupted by the horn-blowing of the
Jester, a curmudgeonly specimen with an exquisite pair of ears,
the likes of which are rarely seen outside the works of Arthur
Rackham or Gene Roddenberry.

Sometime in the region of 6:30pm, a noisy procession of
gobshites, made up of the Bishop of Fools, the Abbot of
Unreason, the Oinseach, The Whirling Dervish, the Chief Rabbi,
Anubis and other notable Amad=E1ns stumbled across the road to the
Dublin Civic Museum, whereupon all were ritually frisked and
harassed by the voluntarily mute Ridiculusmus, with many a pert
buttock being grasped firmly by warm hands. At this stage,
several passers-by of the touristic persuasion were manhandled
through the door and subjected to strip-searches and mandatory
consumption of Jameson's Whiskey, including an acquaintance of
the Reverend Count, Princess Z of Spain. Candidates then
ascended the ornate staircase, pausing on the first landing
where they were made to prostrate themselves before the
aforementioned effigy of Saint #1. Inside the grand-big room
inside, the geeks paid homage (out of the corner of their pineal
glands) to the battered head of Horatio Nelson, a vital
component of the failed Irish space project of 1966.

All fools in attendance managed to reach a plateau of
gobdawness, and were subjected to several renowned l=FAdram=E1ns on
the subjects of foolosophy, foolore and idiotology. Peter
Costello (occasional Fortean Times contributor, lake monster
research, historian and author) ranted out some of Myles the
Jester's work translations of the rants of Mad Sweeny - King of
Dal Araidhe, cursed by Saint Ronan:

My curse is on Sweeny!
His guilt against me is immense,
he pierced with his long javelin
my holy bell.

The holy bell that thou hast outraged
will banish thee to branches
it will put thee on a par with fowls-
the saint-bell of saints of sainty-saints

Just as it went prestissimo
the spear-shaft skywards,
you too Sweeny, go madly go-gone

Eorann of Conn tried to hold him
by a hold of his smock
and though I bless her therefore
my curse is on Sweeny

When the Sweeny rants were done with, and the massive fire that
had broken out at the back of the hall - 'Tine!', the Jester
weakly yodeled - Costello was finally relieved by the formidable
Patrick Healy - a man who has the frightening distinction of
having recorded a spoken-word version of Joyce's *Finnegans

There was no stopping our man Healy - the sheer brilliance of
unrepeatable performance, as he plucked ripe ideas and colourful
metaphors from the orgone-laden ether, will surely be retained
in oral tradition for posterity. We would not dare sully his
fine speech with a mere commission to print. It was all about
the finery of foolishness, and let's leave it at that.

A gentleman, the name of whom presently escapes us, then took
took the stand, and gave forth, in a most endearing fashion, on
the tradition of the Tarot Fool - an archetype with which far
more folk should pay attention to (or pretend to ignore). With
this, an unholy thirst came upon the army of idiots. Having
signed the roll-book - enabling acquisitions of postal degrees
in (we think) Foolosophy, Eekonomicks and Arkiteckture from the
Polyversity of Foolosophy and Codology all repaired to Grogan's
holding aloft their newly printed (it was still wet) Filthy
Lucre - official currency of the FoF. More pints of Ardilaun
were disposed of, while pigmeat and cheese-toasted effigies of
the snack invented by the Earl of Sandwich (which he consumed
during marathon card-playing sessions) were munched.

Despite the transatlantic banana wars raging in the real world,
the decadent fools shared out bananas, and other fruits, whilst
hard-boiled hen's eggs were secreted in fob pockets for later

Outside, the clatter of tiny hooves on cobblestones signalled
the arrival of Messrs. O'Hog=E1in and Breathnach to speak about
more traditional foolishness... a flock of Spanish students were
kidnapped and forced inside the Civic Museum, whilst various
inebriated regulars ran riot round the rotunda of the lecture
hall, resulting in a ritual beating doled out by the normally
peaceable jester...

In a state of exhausted buffoonery, the fools eventually lurched

On April 1st, the Count O'Blather was suspiciously absent from
proceedings, due to some surgical shenanigans, but we are lead
to believe that a parade rolled downhill from the The Garden of
Remembrance, Parnell Square, along O'Connell St., through
College Green, and up Grafton St., finally coming to a creaking
halt at Harry St.

'Foolsday itself blasts off with an extreme sporting event - the
Carnival of Amad=E1ns. Finn Rowley, the King of Unrule, will lead
a gang of fools, songsters, jugglers, jokers, stiltwalkers,
fireaters, and daft participants in a jocund, rollicking dance
through Dublin. Fools through the ages and from many cultures
will represent their own particular brand of idiocy and engage
the public in an awesome free-for-all'. (FoF website)

Here the proceedings declined into a 'Seismic Slam', where, as
the website proposed: 'All those who durst claim to be poets,
you are deemed so only if you can survive an explosive
afternoon, in the traditions of nonsense, humour and
improvisation that should leave you proud to be called a fool.'

We are pleased to announce that the Mostly Rev. Comte struggled
free of his manacles, eluded his keepers, and threw off his
pyjamas in time to catch the 'Election and Sacrifice' at 9:00pm
on April Fool's Day, when the King had her head lopped off to a
standing ovation (no-one had the foresight of bringing
deck-chairs) from the waving and beering populace, and a New
King of Unrule was levered into office. We are not so pleased,
however, by the gargantuan cleaning bills received at *this*
office, due to the impressive bloodstains acquired by the Count
while performing his journalistic endeavours.

Praise Flann


Codology - the practice of codding, fooling

Cod - hoax, joke, lie, humbug

- usage - 'Are you codding me or what?'

Oinseach - (Own-shock) a fool, usually referring to a foolish
woman, but can be applied to the male of the species

Craythur - 'creature' - a person, often used as a term of
affection or pity

Tine - (t-na) gaelic for fire

Grogan's Pub

The Festival of Fools

Flann O'Brien - The No-Bicycle Page

How Blather got its name

Robert Anton Wilson

The Holy Order of the Lemon

Dyoublong: Joyce and Bloomsday


Following our recent reportage on a couple of Irish UFO
sightings, a few theories have come to light. With regard to the
the fireball seen by Edel Chadwick, a rather nameless
representative of the *European Gravitational Scientific
Research Systems* was in touch, to posit the theory that what
had been witnessed was in fact a reflection from an Iridium

The correspondant was evidently unaware that we had covered the
possibility of Iridum flares, in light of a different matter, in
an earlier issue (*Big Lights Out West*, February 12th 1999). We
say this as they recommended checking out the same website that
we referenced in that earlier issue, the *German Space
Operations Center*. The correspondant said that they were
surprised that 'Astronomy Ireland didn`t mention to you that it
could have been an Iridium Flare'. Well, considering one of the
witnesses was David Moore, a well-known astronomer and editor of
*Astronomy & Space* magazine, we trust he was able to decide on
the nature of his sighting.

In addition - and we're happily open to correction on this
matter - the time of the sightings by Edel Chadwick and David
Moore were reported at 23:30 and 22:50, respectively, on March
6th. Going by our reasonably regular monitoring of Iridium
forecasts, it would seem that satellites are only visible in
Ireland from between around 0500 until 0800 GMT and later on
from 1700 until 2000 GMT, apparently ruling out any possibility
of sightings later in the night. *We may be wrong*.

If any of the readership haven't a foggiest about what an
Iridium satellite is, check out the aforementioned earlier
Blather at http://www.blather.net/archives2/issue2no37.html

As for the second reported UFO, preceding the Dublin fireworks
show on March 13th, Andrew Shiel offers a theory with which we
would be happy align ourselves - a runway children's helium
balloon, reflecting light from below, and drifting in the wind.
Those that were on sale were apparently silver in colour...

Astronomy Ireland

German Space Operations Centre Satellite Predictions

With the very recent re-launch of hellshaw.com (a.k.a the site
formerly known as *The Rev. Hellshaw's Pearly Gates*), a site
incorporating the *Flann O'Brien No-Bicycle Page*, *The Holy
Order of the Lemon* and some of the work of the late Tarot
scholar James Reeducks, we are proud to inform the readership of
the online publication of an excerpt from Barry Kavanagh's *The
Babalon Working*, a play based on the rituals performed by Jack
Parsons and L. Ron Hubbard in 1946.


This subject was touched on briefly in an earlier Blather, *Hellfire
and Harlots*:

Dave (daev) Walsh
April 13th 1999

Dave (daev) Walsh
31st March 1999

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