Werewolf? Wehr-wolf? Werwolf?

Taking, then, the actual existence of werwolves to be an established fact, it is, of course, just as impossible to state their origin as it is to state the origin of any other extraordinary form of creation. Every religious creed, every Occult sect, advances its own respective views—and has a perfect right to do so, as long as it advances them as views and not dogmatisms.

I, for my part, bearing in mind that everything appertaining to the creation of man and the universe is a profound mystery, cannot see the object on the part of religionists and scientists in being arbitrary with regard to a subject which any child of ten will apprehend to be one whereon it is futile to do other than theorize. My own theory, or rather one of my own theories, is that the property of transmutation, i.e., the power of assuming any animal guise, was one of the many properties—including second sight, the property of becoming invisible at will, of divining the presence of water, metals, the advent of death, and of projecting the etherical body—which were bestowed on man at the time of his creation; and that although mankind in general is no longer possessed of them, a few of these properties are still, in a lesser degree, to be found among those of us who are termed psychic.

From Werwolves by Elliott O’Donnell (1912).

Barbara Tozier also produced the fictional Wagner, the Wehr-Wolf by George W. M. Reynolds.

Trees and the Nieuwe Meer

Yesterday I walked around the Nieuwe Meer, the body of water that used to connect the Schinkel river which flows through the west of Amsterdam towards the IJ with the Haarlemmermeer, a large inland lake that has been turned into a polder with mainly farms and a large airport.

You could tell the days are getting shorter quickly. I left my house at 1430, and soon I was taking only blurry photos because almost all of the light had gone.

Trees casting shadows on the Sandberg Institute (the neighbour of the Rietveld Academie):


The shore of the Nieuwe Meer:


Walking through the Amsterdamse Bos in a direction opposite from the one I usually take, I came across these shiny stems:


Zie de maan schijnt door de bomen / Makkers staakt uw wild geraas

(Traditional song sung by children the weeks before Sinterklaas visits their homes and brings them presents. If you look closely you see black dots in the branches: jackdaws.)


Ik ben NIET een BMW-dealer

The headline says in Dutch: “I am NOT a BMW dealer.”

“But Branko!” you will cry surprised, “you are the essential Universal Man, if you would want to sell Beemers, I am sure you could!” Ah, I am not so sure if I could, but that’s beside the point. I don’t want to sell BMWs in Amsterdam, and I do not sell BMWs in Amsterdam, so how come, if you search Google for “BMW Amsterdam,” does it show me and my initials at the top of the page?

As a result I have been getting a lot of phone calls lately from people wanting to buy BMWs off me. Sorry, BMW-buying people! Follow the other links.

The lesson I’ve learned today is that being the top search result in Google helps (if you want to be the top search result, that is).