The gnomic utterances of Chairman Rupert and his minions ...

Why is it that the word 'gnomic' looms large when reading chairman Rupert's tweets? (Never read one? Do yourself a favour here).

'Gnomic utterances' has a long and proud provenance. And while gnomic, the tweets have a certain haiku quality about them.

They call to mind some of the works of Basho:

Summer grass:

all that remains

of warriors' dreams ( a few more here showing how hard haiku is to translate).

Put it another way:

Summer tweets:

all that remains

of proprietor's dreams

Could chairman Rupert have been introduced to the art by Harold Stewart's fine book A Net of Fireflies?

Here's the pond's translation of another one:

Newspapers not so rich:

All struggling

Amazon hurting, etc.

Now we could argue about the use of 'etc' but it adds a certain poignancy. And then there's:

Crappy blogs available

Crappy newspapers unsaleable

Tweeters don't have to buy

You can see why the gnomic Murdoch has at last count some 220,549 followers, and counting. He's the Basho of our times:

Now then, let's go out

To enjoy the snow until

I slip and fall.

And speaking of thousands of crappy blogs, how nice of chairman Rupert to remind us that down under in the twilight glow, it is News Limited that dominates the field.

Where would we, the world, or News be without the crappy blogs provided by Tim Blair, Andrew 'the Bolter' Bolt, Miranda the Devine, Piers 'Akker Dakker' Akerman, or other exponents of the art of crappy blogging etc etc - including the crappiest blog of all, The Punch?

Yes there are thousands of crappy blogs available, and News Ltd provides, as a free community service, the crappiest, most feral, most mindless, most brainless and most offensive of all.

Which is why chairman Rupert's haiku is a sorbet of the spirit and the soul. Make of this one what you will:

HVA first graduation class

Entry by lottery

tragedy for majority losers.

Yes, chairman Rupert has discovered a conscience, and is deeply interested in the Harlem Village Academy.

Will this help get him off the hook next week, when he returns to the Leveson inquiry?

Who knows, but there's sure to be gnomic utterances in abundance as we contemplate Rupert Murdoch and sons: Leveson inquiry becomes a family affair.

Oh okay, it's Saturday, and the pond would do anything, well almost anything, to avoid reading a News Ltd blog. There's Tory Shepherd elevating the tone of the debate at The Punch by calling bullshit all around her - ICB: Freedom of religion vs. freedom from religion - as if the hard-hitting, fearless use of the word 'bullshit' was some kind of QED knockdown argument or proof. When actually all it captures is the tone of argument in a public bar in a Sydney pub ...

Still with my one remaining tooth I bite

My frozen writing-brush that will not write (Buson)

And then there's Miranda the Devine, frothing and foaming and raging away, as in Highway robbery:

What arrogance makes politicians think they have the right to close the busiest road in Sydney for a bike race?

Indeed. One of the most interesting things about schizophrenia is the way someone can rant on endlessly, for hour upon hour about the evils of bicycles, while worshipping at the feet of Tony Abbott, an enthusiastic cyclist. But back to slamming Barry O'Farrell for daring to allow triathetes to use the Harbour Bridge:

Anyway, “The bridge belongs to everybody, not just to motorists.”
New government. Same old war against cars.

Amazingly when a reader told her to get off her bike, that produced this rant:

Seriously what is it with leftards and lies?
Leftards and violence?
Leftards and groupthink?
Leftards and parasiting on others?
Leftards and poor personal hygiene?
Leftards and mind altering substances?
Whats wrong with being a normal clean tidy upright independant truth telling human being?
I believe Anne Coulter has it nailed when she says the demonic left are possesed by the same evil spirit, its all that fits.

You can see how weird it gets in the world of chairman Rupert's blogs, as they begin the campaign to keep Sydney's streets clear of pedestrians, prams, jay walkers, joggers, runners and everyone else engaged in the war against cars. The sort of war that brings New York to its knees for its completely useless marathon ...

Thousands of crappy blogs, carrying messages of stultifying stupidity by obsessives out of touch with any sense of community, angry, harping and bitter, warriors of the keyboard.

It's enough to drive you back to Basho. Here's Stewart's interpretation:

Over the warriors summer grasses wave:

The aftermath of dreams, however brave.

Put it another way:

Over the Devine's blog summer grasses wave:

The aftermath of delusions, however silly.

Oh enough already, we were going to end with an image of a classic lycra-clad lout, the sort that must infest the worst nightmares of Miranda the Devine's dreaming:

Eek, a warrior in the war against cars.

Enough of the nightmare world of crappy Murdoch blogs.

Let's end instead with a plug for Harold Stewart. It shows its age these days, but since it might well have helped give the world Chairman Rupert, champion tweeting haiku poet, it deserves its place in the setting sun.

Between the washing-bowls at birth and death,

All that I uttered: what a waste of breath! (Issa)