Martyn Rhisiart Jones
Madrid, Friday 16th January 2026
Ah, Americans of Welsh origin. They were the quiet revolutionaries and the sneaky Founding Fathers. These are the guys and gals who basically built half the USA. Then, they vanished into the wallpaper like they owed money!
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Martyn Rhisiart Jones
Madrid, Wednesday 14th January 2026
The Universal Compass: Why Morality Transcends the Partisan Divide (With a Touch of Martyn Jones’s Slow-Burn Scepticism and a Proper Welsh Understated Grin)
Look, I’m not saying I’ve cracked the code to world peace or anything daft like that. However, morality, ethics, values, and principles don’t belong just to one side of the political spectrum. They’re not strictly red or blue. They’re like that jumper your mam keeps in the drawer ”just in case.” It’s full of holes and a bit faded. It smells faintly of mothballs. But it still does the job whoever’s wearing it. And if it doesn’t quite fit, well, there’s always room to stretch it a bit.
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Madrid, Sunday 11 January 2026
Introduction to the Collected Reviews of Martyn Jones
In an age awash with earnest manifestos, sanctimonious tech tomes, and the relentless hum of corporate orthodoxy, Martyn Jones arrives. He comes like a gleeful heretic at the cathedral door. He is armed with profanity and philosophical bite. He also has an irrepressible instinct for the absurd.
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Martyn Rhisiart Jones
Madrid, Friday 9th January 2026
Nine isn’t “lucky” in Welsh Celtic thought; it’s structural. It’s the number that describes how reality is layered, crossed, ripened, and completed.
Let’s unpack it.
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Martyn Rhisiart Jones
Madrid, Saturday 10th January 2026
What do Richard Burton and Anthony Hopkins have to tell us about the magical Celtic number ten?
To capture the essence of these two titans, we must look at the number ten through two different lenses. One lens is the thunderous, poetic gravity of Richard Burton. The other is the quiet, rhythmic precision of Sir Anthony Hopkins.
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Martyn Rhisiart Jones
Madrid, Saturday 3rd January 2026
Nine things that really, really shouldn’t be use cases for AI. Delivered by slowly dismantling a bad idea like it’s a poorly constructed IKEA wardrobe. Rant about bourgeois nonsense with surreal fury. Explain why the whole thing is politically ridiculous. Just stare at the absurdity until it cracks. This is like Marnie Listicle Barr on crack.
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Martyn Rhisiart Jones
Location, 22nd December 2025
Weaving the Dragon’s Data: A Welsh-Inspired Tale for Enterprise Architects in the New Year – 2026/01/01
The calendar turns to a fresh page in this crisp January of 2026. We, enterprise data and information architects, stand at a new threshold. Another year welcomes us, brimming with digital transformations. Data lakes swell like the River Taff after a storm. Information architectures evolve like the ancient mountain tops of Snowdonia. But amidst the algorithms and schemas, let’s pause for a moment of whimsy. What if we drew inspiration from the misty realms of Welsh myths and legends? Wales, that land of dragons and bards, offers a tapestry of stories. These stories mirror our quests: taming chaotic data into structured wisdom. They are about preserving cultural legacies in vast repositories. They ignite innovation from the sparks of history. In this Happy New Year ode, we’ll begin a narrative journey through Welsh lore. It is infused with the spirits of its iconic figures. Dylan Thomas, Dannie Abse, Richard Burton, Shirley Bassey, Paul Robeson, and Gwynfor Evans are part of this infusion. These spirits illuminate the art of data stewardship.
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Oza-Cesuras, Europa, 17 de decembro de 2025
Os soldados nunca se decataron dela.
Sentouse onde sempre se sentaran as mulleres. Estaba xunto á fiestra e á estrada. Estaba preto das vetas de ferro da vía férrea. Tiña as mans ocupadas, o seu ollar suave. O amor estaba nos seus ollos. A música lenta das agullas repiqueteaba coma a choiva sobre a lousa de Bethesda. En Gales, chamaríanlle cynefin, o consolo do coñecido. En Galicia, as cousas sempre se fixeron así. Máxica, misteriosa e consciente.
(more…)Oza-Cesuras, Europa 17. Dezember 2025
Die Soldaten beachteten sie nicht.
Sie saß dort, wo Frauen seit jeher saßen. Am Fenster, an der Straße. Nahe den Eisenadern der Eisenbahnlinie. Ihre Hände waren beschäftigt, ihr Blick sanft. Liebe lag in ihren Augen. Das leise Klicken und Klappern der Nadeln klang wie Regen auf dem Schiefer von Bethesda. In Wales hätte man es Cynefin genannt, die Geborgenheit des Vertrauten. In Galicien, wie es seit jeher üblich ist. Magisch, geheimnisvoll und achtsam.
(more…)Oza-Cesuras, Europe 18 décembre 2025
Les soldats ne la remarquèrent même pas.
Elle était assise là où les femmes s’étaient toujours assises. Près de la fenêtre et au bord de la route. Non loin des rails de la voie ferrée. Ses mains étaient affairées, son regard doux. L’amour brillait dans ses yeux. Le doux cliquetis des aiguilles résonnait comme la pluie sur l’ardoise de Bethesda. Au Pays de Galles, on aurait appelé cela du « cynefin », le réconfort du connu. En Galice, c’était la tradition. Magique, mystérieux et empreint de sérénité.
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