/i keep forgetting that, whenever i slip-tongue some deutsch... it's not because i had some germanophilia... after all, Northern english, Scot and Welsh in terms of dialect, and other grammatical "unicorns" is not unique to tue British Isles... although,  as islanders, a tinge of solipsism and a uniqueness-complex tends to hold sway... unless the ***** tourism in Mallorca... then of course: let the cattle in... no... the kuriousrushenzunge is more or less correlated to the dialect of Silesians, and Kashubians... but that's just one thought: i can't imagine a poet, who ever didn't want to mature into a chicken-scratching scribbler... well... there is the persistent novelty of making expressions terse... since, however great a book will be... there are volumenbindung moments in, "serious" literature, which appear, as a sort of writer's phobia is writer's-block... somehow a space needs to be filled, no minor details being omitted... volume-binding... and you know that Faust was german... but primarily a chemist... when a German writes a word, or compounds, the late saxon has to hyphenate the compound... too much of a headache to read words compounded so... but look at any chemical name... you'll still find the sleeping saxon,  in the anglosphere... e. g.? PCTFE: polychlorotrifluoroethylene... now... a dreaming saxon wrote that, given less technical words are congested like that in common german... less shrapnel,  and certainly no hyphenation exclusiveness... so much for studying chemistry, when the study of diacritic came as a natural consequence of returning to the humanities... syllable premeditation: remnants of German in English... are still lodged in chemistry.

to be honest, i had my hopes set too high...
the only reason i read H. Sienkiewicz's
Ogniem i Mieczem (with fire and sword)
was because of the goosebumps
i was injected with
     upon listening to a track from
the soundtrack - husaria ginie
(the hussars die) - by Krzesimir Dębksi...
the book read itself, while i was
spreading butter onto a
kaiserbrötchen...
             or perhaps that part of history
interested me more,
than what i was about to embark on...
also by H. Sienkiewicz,
   krzyżacy (knights of the teutonic
order)... i can't say that it's a boring book,
or a tedius book...
    albeit so far into volume one...
not that many teutonic knights...
but primarily the protagonist,
a hot-headed eighteen year old of minor
nobility... and... too much character building,
that gets wasted on the vigour
of youth, and no real Dostoyevskian
depth...
              but the occasion  calls for it,
plus i've been dying to see the wonder of
the teutonic order for some time...
odd, but it would appear,
that simple stubbornness,
and an inability to leave a book
partially unead can't be measured by...
a persistent, "neurotic" or
        "o.c.d." compulsions,
since, no one would know, except me...
and cheating the book
by watching the Aleksandr Ford
   adaptation... would be a minor bypass...
rarely has a book actually forced
me to go somewhere,
in relation to its content...
      St. Petersburg would have resonated
if i visited it during autumn...
   yet can you do...
      if a visit, to see the teutonic capital
at Marienburg is what i'll have to do,
to read the book without inviting
in the remotest a tedium,
    a reader's lethargy...
               then a trip to Marienburg
has to happen...
                       two birds with one stone...
remotely, as if through a dream,
     visiting Danzing as a szkrab
   (schkrab / kleinkind)...
                apparently you can't do
one without the other.