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19/F
Somewhere between life and death
17/M/Somewhere, Mind
Im an unusual poet. I think. People i know around me say im good. Ive written a small book of poetry. I honestly dont know …
I need a life.
Poems
Graydon Archer Oct 2012
Erwin Stumplerump
Graydon Archer
Oct 2012
Once a long, long time ago, in a land so far away.
There was a tiny, little man, ten pounds was all he’d weigh.
And this is the story, the one I wish to tell,
about his adventures, and the land in which he dwell.
His name was Erwin Stumplerump. He stood at two foot, three.
Around him hung a mystic cloak, that draped below his knees.
He was of Elfin heritage, with a grand and noble past.
His parents were the monarchs, of a kingdom great, and vast.
Erwin’s home was magical! It spread both far and wide,
and Erwin knew it inside out. He’d walked it side to side.
Top to bottom, here and there. And all that lie between.
There wasn’t any piece of ground, that Erwin hadn’t seen.
There was one spot that Erwin loved, far better than the rest.
And that spot was the ocean’s beach, that lies off to the west.
Erwin loved to comb the beach. What treasures could be found?
Perhaps a chest of golden coins, from a ship that ran aground!
Walking on the beach one day, a glitter caught his eye.
Could it be a treasure? Perchance was Captain Bligh’s!
He ran to investigate. What treasure could it be?
A chest of royal trinkets? The thought filled him with glee.
But alas it was not treasure. But something just as well!
It was the shimmer of the sun. Reflecting off a bell.
“What kind of bell have I found?” asked Erwin to himself.
It wasn’t just a normal bell, but one made by an Elf.
Erwin pulled the bell he’d found from it’s resting place.
And upon it’s golden body, was an etching of a face.
When it was in Erwin’s grasp, he gave the bell a shake.
He wanted to hear the sound this golden bell would make.
As soon as Erwin rand the bell, a misty cloud appeared.
Erwin quickly dropped it down, as something to be feared.
At once, within the misty cloud, a form began to shape.
Twas of a Elfin princess, with a jewel- encrusted cape.
Erwin’s eyes opened wide, he marveled at the sight.
"Who are you?" Erwin asked, "You gave me such a fright!'
The princess spoke out softly, with a voice so smooth and clear.
"You need not be frigtened, it was your fate that brought you here.
You do not have to fear me, you've freed me from the bell!
I've been trapped in it's grasp for as long as I can tell.
I am the Princess Lyria, and I owe you a great deal
Gaze upon this ring I wear, it is my father's seal.
I come from far across the sea, from the land of Emerald green,
A land of such great beauty, it's as if it were a dream.
There is a wicked wizard there. He trapped me in this bell.
By using his black magic, he cast an evil spell.
But you have broke that evil curse, by ringing of the bell,
And now I can go home again, and you can come as well! "
Erwin told the Princess, " I'm glad that you are free,
but I must stay were I belong, and here is were I'll be."
So the Princess thanked him, and went on her way.
And Erwin still walks the beach, and thinks of her each day.
There was a tiny, little man, ten pounds was all he’d weigh.
And this is the story, the one I wish to tell,
about his adventures, and the land in which he dwell.
His name was Erwin Stumplerump. He stood at two foot, three.
Around him hung a mystic cloak, that draped below his knees.
He was of Elfin heritage, with a grand and noble past.
His parents were the monarchs, of a kingdom great, and vast.
Erwin’s home was magical! It spread both far and wide,
and Erwin knew it inside out. He’d walked it side to side.
Top to bottom, here and there. And all that lie between.
There wasn’t any piece of ground, that Erwin hadn’t seen.
There was one spot that Erwin loved, far better than the rest.
And that spot was the ocean’s beach, that lies off to the west.
Erwin loved to comb the beach. What treasures could be found?
Perhaps a chest of golden coins, from a ship that ran aground!
Walking on the beach one day, a glitter caught his eye.
Could it be a treasure? Perchance was Captain Bligh’s!
He ran to investigate. What treasure could it be?
A chest of royal trinkets? The thought filled him with glee.
But alas it was not treasure. But something just as well!
It was the shimmer of the sun. Reflecting off a bell.
“What kind of bell have I found?” asked Erwin to himself.
It wasn’t just a normal bell, but one made by an Elf.
Erwin pulled the bell he’d found from it’s resting place.
And upon it’s golden body, was an etching of a face.
When it was in Erwin’s grasp, he gave the bell a shake.
He wanted to hear the sound this golden bell would make.
As soon as Erwin rand the bell, a misty cloud appeared.
Erwin quickly dropped it down, as something to be feared.
At once, within the misty cloud, a form began to shape.
Twas of a Elfin princess, with a jewel- encrusted cape.
Erwin’s eyes opened wide, he marveled at the sight.
"Who are you?" Erwin asked, "You gave me such a fright!'
The princess spoke out softly, with a voice so smooth and clear.
"You need not be frigtened, it was your fate that brought you here.
You do not have to fear me, you've freed me from the bell!
I've been trapped in it's grasp for as long as I can tell.
I am the Princess Lyria, and I owe you a great deal
Gaze upon this ring I wear, it is my father's seal.
I come from far across the sea, from the land of Emerald green,
A land of such great beauty, it's as if it were a dream.
There is a wicked wizard there. He trapped me in this bell.
By using his black magic, he cast an evil spell.
But you have broke that evil curse, by ringing of the bell,
And now I can go home again, and you can come as well! "
Erwin told the Princess, " I'm glad that you are free,
but I must stay were I belong, and here is were I'll be."
So the Princess thanked him, and went on her way.
And Erwin still walks the beach, and thinks of her each day.
Agent Provocateur4
Oct 2017
saw:
the adoration of the daddy,
as his red haired babes
leaned into
either side of him,
courtiers to a king
on the way to school this AM,
transfusing his magical super~fatherly,
by inhaling his special powers through
their nostrils, direct from his
broad and powerful brave-heart chest,
for use later in the wild jungle
of second grade
•••
an elderly gent whose walker rattled
with every lift and kerplunk on
the street~steppes of a dangerous city
for the brittle of bone and the easily dentable,
and the crowd that gathered round walking
at precisely the same pace he required
to make it across the widest boulevard
which was thirty seconds more than the
Dept. of Transportation's asinine calculations
and a miracle from Lourdes occurred -
not one horn honked in ire as the court
escorted their Long Live the King
safely across the street, as if
idiocy was like rain, against the law,
until after sunset as in Camelot
•••
an elegant germanic man,
in homburg and velvet collared overcoat,
taking care of sales and distribution of
newspapers and candy at the corner paper "stand"
while the elderly owner, whose partner~wife of
fifty years had recently passed, now had no one
but someone's pop whose was out
walking our cocker spaniel,
to tend the place while said candyman
obeyed nature's callings
and all his fans and friends who passed
on their way to the adjacent subway station,
exclaimed Erwin, Erwin what are you doing?
his twinkled crinkled eyes replied,
enjoying their puzzlement, laughingly saying
"making spare change"
•••
where I lived these little miracles occurred so frequently,
was told a story that the ministering angels
could not keep up with their duties,
complaining to the On High, who resoundingly loudly
commanded their silence! by reminding them that
all these, his creatures, were his own precious,
the reason for creation and why they were needed,
and the sum of all these small acts gave them their own
existential purpose, now angry at himself for loss of temper,
soft spoke as a parent and told them better,
hush my children, we have much to do!
•••
so now you impatiently need to know
why this scripture
came to be known as
$$$$$
for I was witness to all of this,
all on that day,
that was twenty fours hours long
across many hard hearted Hiroshima decades,
that made me
temporarily
the richest man in the world
the adoration of the daddy,
as his red haired babes
leaned into
either side of him,
courtiers to a king
on the way to school this AM,
transfusing his magical super~fatherly,
by inhaling his special powers through
their nostrils, direct from his
broad and powerful brave-heart chest,
for use later in the wild jungle
of second grade
•••
an elderly gent whose walker rattled
with every lift and kerplunk on
the street~steppes of a dangerous city
for the brittle of bone and the easily dentable,
and the crowd that gathered round walking
at precisely the same pace he required
to make it across the widest boulevard
which was thirty seconds more than the
Dept. of Transportation's asinine calculations
and a miracle from Lourdes occurred -
not one horn honked in ire as the court
escorted their Long Live the King
safely across the street, as if
idiocy was like rain, against the law,
until after sunset as in Camelot
•••
an elegant germanic man,
in homburg and velvet collared overcoat,
taking care of sales and distribution of
newspapers and candy at the corner paper "stand"
while the elderly owner, whose partner~wife of
fifty years had recently passed, now had no one
but someone's pop whose was out
walking our cocker spaniel,
to tend the place while said candyman
obeyed nature's callings
and all his fans and friends who passed
on their way to the adjacent subway station,
exclaimed Erwin, Erwin what are you doing?
his twinkled crinkled eyes replied,
enjoying their puzzlement, laughingly saying
"making spare change"
•••
where I lived these little miracles occurred so frequently,
was told a story that the ministering angels
could not keep up with their duties,
complaining to the On High, who resoundingly loudly
commanded their silence! by reminding them that
all these, his creatures, were his own precious,
the reason for creation and why they were needed,
and the sum of all these small acts gave them their own
existential purpose, now angry at himself for loss of temper,
soft spoke as a parent and told them better,
hush my children, we have much to do!
•••
so now you impatiently need to know
why this scripture
came to be known as
$$$$$
for I was witness to all of this,
all on that day,
that was twenty fours hours long
across many hard hearted Hiroshima decades,
that made me
temporarily
the richest man in the world
a proud member of the collective of the false.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
an "ode" to rudolf höss
Mateuš Conrad
Apr 2019
before i begin, a pre-scriptum...
in my hand, this minute?
what a rare delight...
the Beauties of Sterne:
with some account of his life...
printed for J. Walker,
published by J. Walker, Paternoster Row &
J. Harris, St. Paul's Church Yard...
London... 1811!
and being a big "fan boy" of the fiction
that a bibliophile might have an adventure:
Roman Polanski's the Ninth Gate...
now, for a book that's... 208 years old?!
it's not in bad shape... sure...
the hardcover is missing by a half...
but all the text is intact...
obviously colouring of the pages...
but hey... i'm not a museum...
the book is still fiddled with...
ha ha, the opening page with a picture
reads as follows:
there are worse occupations in this world,
than feeling a woman's pulse...
perhaps a quote about... insensibility?
it reads as follows:
it is the fate of mankind, too often,
to insensible of what they may enjoy at
the easiest rate (sermon XLII)...
besides, lucky for me youtube continues
to glitch from time to time...
now looking more in line with channels
than individual artists...
notably? Harakiri Diat (channel)...
eh... :wumpscut, the soft machine,
demdike stare, vomito *****, feindflug
weren't enough...
turns out... there's more...
beyond penta, matutero and GloOMy
PhAntOM... well, please, allow me:
filmmaker - the love market,
la ***** bianca - demian...
hell... if you want to venture into the past?
i know one band that freaked out
my ex-girlfriend... gong - flying teapot...
or that song by greenskeepers, lotion...
i thought i'd never see someone
become freaked out about music...
curios and also highly curious, yes...
but freaked out?
primitive knot - puritan...
demolition group - you better...
1986 Yugoslav minimal electro...
Bruce Roach - Gut...
and as it turns out...
i look from this corner of the internet and find
absolutely no need to delve into
the dark web... install Tor...
if you really want to...
you'll find all you need... but you need
to sift through a bibliography of a book prior
to... it's all here... this sort of material
has an inbuilt filter... it filters out
mainstream consumers of content...
i should know...
3 websites that banned me,
1 suspended me...
i crossed the threshold...
normie poetic: outcast *****...
yet i still sometimes happened to chance
upon a will...
lao che - soundtrack (the whole album
is decent) -
.i once heard it was based upon the following maxims: bogatemu wszystko wolno (the rich are allowed anything), siła razy gwałt (force multiplied by ****)... well... over the years, that much was true... but then i conjured a reply: nie wszystko wolno bogatemu (not everything is given an allowance to be expressed by the rich) and wola odiąć gwałt (will, having substracted ****): otherwise it's still wola razy gwałt (will, multiplied by ****).
****, i only just "woke" up from
this game,
you know that game...
oh i'm pretty sure you know it...
it's called
pass the jew along...
rudolf höss
cited, among the list:
ibrahim ibn yaqub,
radhanites (there's a surd
H in there, rad-'anites)
casimir III...
esp. the latter...
so.. give the current h'americans,
we're still playing the globalist
nomad game of: juggling the jews,
yes, no, maybe?
so my mother tended to
two old jewish women,
because, just "because"
their sons were active in
the "economics" of passing law
and techno-literacy?
oh... right... i "see"...
i... "see"...
in defence, of the "neglected" ones...
makes perfect sense,
de facto 51,
area 51 was always
a propaganda convert term
for Israel, rather than some area
bound to Nevada, wansn't it?
wasn't it?
ask me again
one year from now,
did we live peacefully among the jews?
they'll tell you the joke...
didn't the jews shoot,
with riffles,
with bent barrels / sights
aiming at themselves rather
than the nazis?
no, no soap jokes when
it comes to yews...
the yids...
everyone in poland just
wondered: why so pacified?
so blatant in walking into
an inferno?
you know...
it took Poland longer to surrender,
while being attacked by both
the Germans and the Russians,
than it took for the Fwench
to be attacked by the sole effort
of the Germans?
funny... that...
i truly admire
some nazis, for their ingenuity...
notably? erwin rommel...
lothar von arnauld de la periè(re)...
(subtle, i give you that one,
per-y'eh...
'old 'ack 'old 'ck
h-b-h-b,
rein in...
otherwise perié... ergo without
the -re)...
michael wittmann...
and i'm a ******...
**** me...
they didn't bomb paris,
might as well state:
they also didn't bomb
marienburg or most of danzig...
Warsaw? taken down,
levelled, brick by brick,
until no brick stood on brick...
what?!
i thought the western capitalist-ico
communist insurgents
wanted target practice?
i thought these people
wanted nazis, no?
i'll admit... tiki torches?
you must have never looked
at european football hooligans...
tiki torches?!
you having a bbq?
never heard of flares?
- mind you...
you know what's worse beside
beind ridiculed?
having your intelligence
insulted...
i.e. do i look like someone
who managed to ****
your mother with a *******
harmonica,
or, am i, bound to the responsibility,
of your parents playing
the irresponsibility card,
attempting to convey a child
into existence aged circa 50
circa 45,
and what comes out is
an autistic cucumber?!
**** me...
try giving ****** lessons
to circa 50 year olds;
and now the paradox...
"i'm" the "schizophrenic"...
cool cool, coolio...
i'll just hide in that "harem's"
worth of a brothel with
the prostitutes who tell
me they get s.t.d. checks on
a regular basis, o.k.?
_____
what am i to add to this?
not much, is there...
was the great gatsby by f. scott fitzgerald
ever great?!
how satisfying it is to be unable
to please the crowd....
words, after all, are not bread...
how one wishes
for an anathema rather than
a martyr's embrace...
one begins to imagine...
then one loses interest...
then...
peering through
the eye of a needle
watching a camel walk through...
one spots something outside
the realm of the metaphorical miracle...
do i have to?
what if i remain to this side
of the eye of the needle?
what riches do i have that i cling to...
books & music...
does that make me rich?
what are the sort of riches where either
people plunder readily (music),
or do not engage with to begin
with?
who are ready to read...
i can claim to be a book thief...
i stole two books from my high school
library... the quran and the scarlet &
the black by stendhal...
"stole"... i extended their
licance of being borrowed...
how am i rich: if my riches are the riches
no one would want to steal?!
i am rich... though...
but i am rich in a both
materialistic / non-materialistic paradox
frame...
what i own no one wants to
steal! why steal a first cheap edition
of a dickens' novel if you're not going
to read it!
**** **** ****.... if they were such
philistines... when blitzing London,
why did st. paul's remain intact?
"coinicidence"? i don't think so...
and why did they steal all those
art-works? again, "coincidence"?
they were people:
i find it uncomfortable to suit them up
in transcendence,
to be: epitome evil...
to be the übermensch...
they loved art as much
as they loved being the antithesis
of the golden horde: gucci, dolce & gabbana
zz top: well dressed men...
nazis loved art and fashion,
by far the best dressed army in the world
and history...
ol' herman and otto came back
from the eastern front to a scared wife and mother...
people! they weren't mythical creatures...
the nazis can hardly become
chimeras as they become in the minds
of pseudo-communists of the western lands...
they are hardly the epitome of evil,
i know the 21st century narrative
deems them: "the perfect example"...
come on... they're not evil embodied
with not subsequent examples to be given
to... historical capitalism of evil:
there's always someone waiting,
some group of people to stage
a competition libra... and they will...
overcome the nazis...
it's only a question of ingenuity /
imagination...
gas chambers was only industrial...
it will become personal in the years to come...
methodologically trained cultured
barbarians woken from a slumber...
the nazis were not: philistines...
in no defence: didn't they speed up the creation
of the state of israel?
didn't they? **** uncle:
lavrentiy pavlovich Beria is going to state
the matters differently?
like hell he is...
my family also suffered in that war...
sure, not in a concentration camp:
but on the front...
there's even a joke that my
grandfather remembers:
the jews were shooting with bent nozzles
of riffles...
as he also remembers two ss-men
who he asked for sweets,
and they would give them to him,
he'd as them: herr! bitte bon-bon!
sweets so sweet that he would have
to rinse his hands under water
to unglue them from the sickly in-between...
how all the insurgent soviet soldiers
were teenagers and preferred to
sleep in pigstys and among the goats
in the hay...
how did the nazis become mythological
i will never understand,
at uni i had a **** history teacher,
canadian, she really liked my essay
on napoleon... how he was a great
strategist...
akin to?
erwin rommel wasn't a ****...
erwin rommel was, erwin rommel...
a great strategist...
am i supposed to thrive in this
current year of polarized *******?
it's the current topic,
i can't escape it,
sure, i'd love to have a Wordsworth
moment, lurking in me,
or an anna akhmatova breakthough...
instead?! i'm given this sort of *******
on a platter,
and all that's missing are the wedges
of lemon and the eager oysters to
be gulped down... lucky me!
no, i don't like how the nazis are misrepresented
as both the übermenschen:
these mythological epitomes of evil
(no greater evil is to come? really?!)
and at the same time
as philistines: they stole art,
they ensured that critically cultural
documents of architecture were left
undisturbed... st. paul's cathedral...
it's not like some otto or moritz
didn't come back home to a wife
and children... no...
he came back to the shadow cult
of the ******* hanging over him...
you know what the most haunting experience
i have ever experienced was?
Ypres... world war I site...
visiting a german cemetary...
compared to the allies cemetary?
**** me, what a meagre sight!
the allies were burried with marked
graves, each man to his own cross...
the german burial ground?!
mass graves....
eh: one marker: 200 bodies in one pit...
and here's the 21st century with
games about shooting: zee nat'zees...
just visit the world war I cemetaries...
the ally cemetaries? square miles...
each man with his white cross...
german cemetaries? as mass graves go...
one marker per 200+ troops...
so... not that much space required...
less: bombast!
pride & prejudice /
pomp & circumstance...
which the english speaking world is...
of the latter convenience to suit the narrative.
to reiterate...
as a ******... the whole german fetish
isn't my kind of gig...
what with my grandmother being born
on the front... given opiates at an early
age so she would not cry and allow
the soldiers to locate her and my gread-grandparents...
but...
they were the best dressed army in
the history of warfare...
they were not philistines and they certainly
weren't the mongolian golden horde...
i.e. they stole art, notably jewish artwork...
and if a luftwaffe squadron were to drop
a bomb on st. paul's? they'd probably
be shot...
after all... Posen wasn't destroyed,
Breslau wasn't destroyed...
Danzig wasn't destroyed...
Cracow wasn't destroyed...
o.k., half of Warsaw was,
but we know why that happened
(or at least i do... idealist students who
thought they could fight the enemy
with slingshots and air-pistols)...
why? the Germans were simply thinking:
oh... we'll just be moving back...
i once explained it to myself...
they weren't exactly some mythological
grand evil template...
so i started thinking about them as:
Hans von Seeckt...
or Otto Hertz...
or some other german random
soldier...
well... you should travel to Ypres,
Belgium... and visit a German cemetary
from war world I... then visit
the allies graveyard...
each soldier, individually buried...
with his pwetty pwetty weißkreuz -
mostly named...
now visit a german cemetary...
mass.... graves...
they just dumped them,
heaped them...
to me they were people...
you can't exactly reason with a mythological
evil - an archeological evil,
an archetypical evil...
for an archetypical evil?
try the nuclear family...
******... that sort of thing...
child abuse... too many actors
were involved in this story,
too many mistakes, too many naive blunders...
evil on this scale is easily diluted...
which is why it's taught as history,
in schools...
no one will teach children about...
oh... say... the Wiener Blut scenario...
Josef Fritzl...
i'm pretty sure this will not be
taught in a history class...
or... the H. H. Holmes Hotel story...
but it might become a jack the ripper
tourist-fetish... might it not? well, it already is.
in my hand, this minute?
what a rare delight...
the Beauties of Sterne:
with some account of his life...
printed for J. Walker,
published by J. Walker, Paternoster Row &
J. Harris, St. Paul's Church Yard...
London... 1811!
and being a big "fan boy" of the fiction
that a bibliophile might have an adventure:
Roman Polanski's the Ninth Gate...
now, for a book that's... 208 years old?!
it's not in bad shape... sure...
the hardcover is missing by a half...
but all the text is intact...
obviously colouring of the pages...
but hey... i'm not a museum...
the book is still fiddled with...
ha ha, the opening page with a picture
reads as follows:
there are worse occupations in this world,
than feeling a woman's pulse...
perhaps a quote about... insensibility?
it reads as follows:
it is the fate of mankind, too often,
to insensible of what they may enjoy at
the easiest rate (sermon XLII)...
besides, lucky for me youtube continues
to glitch from time to time...
now looking more in line with channels
than individual artists...
notably? Harakiri Diat (channel)...
eh... :wumpscut, the soft machine,
demdike stare, vomito *****, feindflug
weren't enough...
turns out... there's more...
beyond penta, matutero and GloOMy
PhAntOM... well, please, allow me:
filmmaker - the love market,
la ***** bianca - demian...
hell... if you want to venture into the past?
i know one band that freaked out
my ex-girlfriend... gong - flying teapot...
or that song by greenskeepers, lotion...
i thought i'd never see someone
become freaked out about music...
curios and also highly curious, yes...
but freaked out?
primitive knot - puritan...
demolition group - you better...
1986 Yugoslav minimal electro...
Bruce Roach - Gut...
and as it turns out...
i look from this corner of the internet and find
absolutely no need to delve into
the dark web... install Tor...
if you really want to...
you'll find all you need... but you need
to sift through a bibliography of a book prior
to... it's all here... this sort of material
has an inbuilt filter... it filters out
mainstream consumers of content...
i should know...
3 websites that banned me,
1 suspended me...
i crossed the threshold...
normie poetic: outcast *****...
yet i still sometimes happened to chance
upon a will...
lao che - soundtrack (the whole album
is decent) -
.i once heard it was based upon the following maxims: bogatemu wszystko wolno (the rich are allowed anything), siła razy gwałt (force multiplied by ****)... well... over the years, that much was true... but then i conjured a reply: nie wszystko wolno bogatemu (not everything is given an allowance to be expressed by the rich) and wola odiąć gwałt (will, having substracted ****): otherwise it's still wola razy gwałt (will, multiplied by ****).
****, i only just "woke" up from
this game,
you know that game...
oh i'm pretty sure you know it...
it's called
pass the jew along...
rudolf höss
cited, among the list:
ibrahim ibn yaqub,
radhanites (there's a surd
H in there, rad-'anites)
casimir III...
esp. the latter...
so.. give the current h'americans,
we're still playing the globalist
nomad game of: juggling the jews,
yes, no, maybe?
so my mother tended to
two old jewish women,
because, just "because"
their sons were active in
the "economics" of passing law
and techno-literacy?
oh... right... i "see"...
i... "see"...
in defence, of the "neglected" ones...
makes perfect sense,
de facto 51,
area 51 was always
a propaganda convert term
for Israel, rather than some area
bound to Nevada, wansn't it?
wasn't it?
ask me again
one year from now,
did we live peacefully among the jews?
they'll tell you the joke...
didn't the jews shoot,
with riffles,
with bent barrels / sights
aiming at themselves rather
than the nazis?
no, no soap jokes when
it comes to yews...
the yids...
everyone in poland just
wondered: why so pacified?
so blatant in walking into
an inferno?
you know...
it took Poland longer to surrender,
while being attacked by both
the Germans and the Russians,
than it took for the Fwench
to be attacked by the sole effort
of the Germans?
funny... that...
i truly admire
some nazis, for their ingenuity...
notably? erwin rommel...
lothar von arnauld de la periè(re)...
(subtle, i give you that one,
per-y'eh...
'old 'ack 'old 'ck
h-b-h-b,
rein in...
otherwise perié... ergo without
the -re)...
michael wittmann...
and i'm a ******...
**** me...
they didn't bomb paris,
might as well state:
they also didn't bomb
marienburg or most of danzig...
Warsaw? taken down,
levelled, brick by brick,
until no brick stood on brick...
what?!
i thought the western capitalist-ico
communist insurgents
wanted target practice?
i thought these people
wanted nazis, no?
i'll admit... tiki torches?
you must have never looked
at european football hooligans...
tiki torches?!
you having a bbq?
never heard of flares?
- mind you...
you know what's worse beside
beind ridiculed?
having your intelligence
insulted...
i.e. do i look like someone
who managed to ****
your mother with a *******
harmonica,
or, am i, bound to the responsibility,
of your parents playing
the irresponsibility card,
attempting to convey a child
into existence aged circa 50
circa 45,
and what comes out is
an autistic cucumber?!
**** me...
try giving ****** lessons
to circa 50 year olds;
and now the paradox...
"i'm" the "schizophrenic"...
cool cool, coolio...
i'll just hide in that "harem's"
worth of a brothel with
the prostitutes who tell
me they get s.t.d. checks on
a regular basis, o.k.?
_____
what am i to add to this?
not much, is there...
was the great gatsby by f. scott fitzgerald
ever great?!
how satisfying it is to be unable
to please the crowd....
words, after all, are not bread...
how one wishes
for an anathema rather than
a martyr's embrace...
one begins to imagine...
then one loses interest...
then...
peering through
the eye of a needle
watching a camel walk through...
one spots something outside
the realm of the metaphorical miracle...
do i have to?
what if i remain to this side
of the eye of the needle?
what riches do i have that i cling to...
books & music...
does that make me rich?
what are the sort of riches where either
people plunder readily (music),
or do not engage with to begin
with?
who are ready to read...
i can claim to be a book thief...
i stole two books from my high school
library... the quran and the scarlet &
the black by stendhal...
"stole"... i extended their
licance of being borrowed...
how am i rich: if my riches are the riches
no one would want to steal?!
i am rich... though...
but i am rich in a both
materialistic / non-materialistic paradox
frame...
what i own no one wants to
steal! why steal a first cheap edition
of a dickens' novel if you're not going
to read it!
**** **** ****.... if they were such
philistines... when blitzing London,
why did st. paul's remain intact?
"coinicidence"? i don't think so...
and why did they steal all those
art-works? again, "coincidence"?
they were people:
i find it uncomfortable to suit them up
in transcendence,
to be: epitome evil...
to be the übermensch...
they loved art as much
as they loved being the antithesis
of the golden horde: gucci, dolce & gabbana
zz top: well dressed men...
nazis loved art and fashion,
by far the best dressed army in the world
and history...
ol' herman and otto came back
from the eastern front to a scared wife and mother...
people! they weren't mythical creatures...
the nazis can hardly become
chimeras as they become in the minds
of pseudo-communists of the western lands...
they are hardly the epitome of evil,
i know the 21st century narrative
deems them: "the perfect example"...
come on... they're not evil embodied
with not subsequent examples to be given
to... historical capitalism of evil:
there's always someone waiting,
some group of people to stage
a competition libra... and they will...
overcome the nazis...
it's only a question of ingenuity /
imagination...
gas chambers was only industrial...
it will become personal in the years to come...
methodologically trained cultured
barbarians woken from a slumber...
the nazis were not: philistines...
in no defence: didn't they speed up the creation
of the state of israel?
didn't they? **** uncle:
lavrentiy pavlovich Beria is going to state
the matters differently?
like hell he is...
my family also suffered in that war...
sure, not in a concentration camp:
but on the front...
there's even a joke that my
grandfather remembers:
the jews were shooting with bent nozzles
of riffles...
as he also remembers two ss-men
who he asked for sweets,
and they would give them to him,
he'd as them: herr! bitte bon-bon!
sweets so sweet that he would have
to rinse his hands under water
to unglue them from the sickly in-between...
how all the insurgent soviet soldiers
were teenagers and preferred to
sleep in pigstys and among the goats
in the hay...
how did the nazis become mythological
i will never understand,
at uni i had a **** history teacher,
canadian, she really liked my essay
on napoleon... how he was a great
strategist...
akin to?
erwin rommel wasn't a ****...
erwin rommel was, erwin rommel...
a great strategist...
am i supposed to thrive in this
current year of polarized *******?
it's the current topic,
i can't escape it,
sure, i'd love to have a Wordsworth
moment, lurking in me,
or an anna akhmatova breakthough...
instead?! i'm given this sort of *******
on a platter,
and all that's missing are the wedges
of lemon and the eager oysters to
be gulped down... lucky me!
no, i don't like how the nazis are misrepresented
as both the übermenschen:
these mythological epitomes of evil
(no greater evil is to come? really?!)
and at the same time
as philistines: they stole art,
they ensured that critically cultural
documents of architecture were left
undisturbed... st. paul's cathedral...
it's not like some otto or moritz
didn't come back home to a wife
and children... no...
he came back to the shadow cult
of the ******* hanging over him...
you know what the most haunting experience
i have ever experienced was?
Ypres... world war I site...
visiting a german cemetary...
compared to the allies cemetary?
**** me, what a meagre sight!
the allies were burried with marked
graves, each man to his own cross...
the german burial ground?!
mass graves....
eh: one marker: 200 bodies in one pit...
and here's the 21st century with
games about shooting: zee nat'zees...
just visit the world war I cemetaries...
the ally cemetaries? square miles...
each man with his white cross...
german cemetaries? as mass graves go...
one marker per 200+ troops...
so... not that much space required...
less: bombast!
pride & prejudice /
pomp & circumstance...
which the english speaking world is...
of the latter convenience to suit the narrative.
to reiterate...
as a ******... the whole german fetish
isn't my kind of gig...
what with my grandmother being born
on the front... given opiates at an early
age so she would not cry and allow
the soldiers to locate her and my gread-grandparents...
but...
they were the best dressed army in
the history of warfare...
they were not philistines and they certainly
weren't the mongolian golden horde...
i.e. they stole art, notably jewish artwork...
and if a luftwaffe squadron were to drop
a bomb on st. paul's? they'd probably
be shot...
after all... Posen wasn't destroyed,
Breslau wasn't destroyed...
Danzig wasn't destroyed...
Cracow wasn't destroyed...
o.k., half of Warsaw was,
but we know why that happened
(or at least i do... idealist students who
thought they could fight the enemy
with slingshots and air-pistols)...
why? the Germans were simply thinking:
oh... we'll just be moving back...
i once explained it to myself...
they weren't exactly some mythological
grand evil template...
so i started thinking about them as:
Hans von Seeckt...
or Otto Hertz...
or some other german random
soldier...
well... you should travel to Ypres,
Belgium... and visit a German cemetary
from war world I... then visit
the allies graveyard...
each soldier, individually buried...
with his pwetty pwetty weißkreuz -
mostly named...
now visit a german cemetary...
mass.... graves...
they just dumped them,
heaped them...
to me they were people...
you can't exactly reason with a mythological
evil - an archeological evil,
an archetypical evil...
for an archetypical evil?
try the nuclear family...
******... that sort of thing...
child abuse... too many actors
were involved in this story,
too many mistakes, too many naive blunders...
evil on this scale is easily diluted...
which is why it's taught as history,
in schools...
no one will teach children about...
oh... say... the Wiener Blut scenario...
Josef Fritzl...
i'm pretty sure this will not be
taught in a history class...
or... the H. H. Holmes Hotel story...
but it might become a jack the ripper
tourist-fetish... might it not? well, it already is.