The Frisky Mill of Nerich

The studio of lively advancement, so virile, so fresh.
Almonds in abundance!
Welcome in, young lad. You shall know pleasure …

Beware, it is a trap!

The She-Devil Grande is tempting young men, full of virile youth. Young men, just like you! She stands in the field exposing her bosom, Grande. Who can resist Her?

She calls young men of sin and lust, lures them into the mill. And there she shall eat. But her hunger can never be undone. So she must eat again!

The mill is frisky, but for young men lured, the pleasure it gives will soon turn into sore itching and regret.

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Remorese and Melankolia

Nikeli
Long live the strange white / Foreign on naked isle, once whole

Norilsk and Nikel, abandoned by God, embraced by Kirim. Vomit smoke and sulfur, drink narcotic sludge. Where have you gone, Angel Mykyle, Pikkiya’s saviour of old? Oh, oh …

In Remorese, deepest sorrow sing
Have a seat and dip your head low
And never will you return to the surface
Let this barstool be your resting place

It was there the Krim of Old died, there the Krim of New was born. So, too, was I reborn in the deep blackness and coal-dark mines that are the eateries & pleasure-houses of these abandoned, yet blessed places.

Melankolia, soot on the soul
Poor is the meal of
The toothless soup-man
& the bird in flight

nikelio
As bright as her light had flashed, it was now snuffed to darkness / and in Jakko grew also a tumor of cold, black realisation

Yankal Krümmel’s revolutionary view on tales of the Blajini

Feast of the Blajini

Among rural people in Romania and Bessarabia there is a widespread belief in the existence of the Blajini, they are beloved by both God and Krim because of their purity, innocence and moral neutrality.

Children and women throw the shells of easter eggs into the many tributaries to our Mures, while the men smile at their childish (and womanly) joy. How simple they are! Their belief is that all rivers and streams will flow into a single flood, the river of life, and along this the Blajini lives. The blessed creatures will then find the shells, and thus know it is time to celebrate the Easter feast.

blajini-dobre-dobre-si-si-si
What is that in the river? And has the rhubarb already grown tall, now, in spring? Surprising and pleasing, this leafy creation!

Blajini and the Eternal Man

It is said that the only man ever to pass back and forth between the realm of the Blajini and the realm of common men is Krim the Eternal. He is said to be the father of the Blajini and at home in their realm. The Blajini loves their father, and likes nothing more than to celebrate the Easter feast in Krimean fashion.

What ship may sail the river of life? Will Krim voyage on the ship of His eternal son, Livare the soulless sailor? Or will He swim and wade, back and forth, from our world to theirs, as time and ages pass by?

Livare and the soulless children

However, not all sources claim that the Blajini are of good and blessed nature. Old Yankal was a hefty critic of this view. In, among others, the Matrice Granit, Blajini are referred to as dead children who did not receive the benediction of the Holy Spirit. That they are the children of Livare, and like him soulless!

Old Yankal has been criticized for this view, but who are we to judge? We know so little of Krim, Livare and the children, compared to the knowledge and wisdom of Old Yankal.

The Escapades of young Herr Ploppel

Young Herr Ploppel to his mother, his father, his niece and his colleagues, to his memory and to his mirror. Yes, he was Young Herr Ploppel to most. But to the ladies distributed on his bed, so naked and Nerichian in size and superstition, to the high-thighed lurkers of nightly Gasses and city gates, to the alleys and oil-lamps and unforested fields, he was only Hermann.

vienna
Ever older

Young Herr Ploppel, or Hermann if you like, was a seeker of the most precious and pure escapades, a wanderer of the paths moist, soiled and unsacred. An explorer of coves and caves.

And he laid her upon that divan.

Her skin pale and fresh, reflecting light diffuse.
Her curves, womanly and fertile, yet modest and continuous.
Her eyes, tracing his, rays of creation.

And they laid upon that divan.

Ploppel (Hermann, our man) awoke as if a new man, and that new man was old, so old … He walked into Viennese streets, upon Germanic cobblestone and ancient manure, piss, blood, sadness. He was changed and unchanging. He raised his gaze, and saw nothing. The scholars of the Sexual Soldier’s Sorrow School hold today that this was the very moment at which Ploppel & Europa slipped irreverisbly into infinite debauchery, endless genocide, unending un-logik.

 

The sixteen shades of Phong

The sun with light
Intense and true
Shining on
Our Earth, Phong-blue.

Phong saw a world of light and colour. The rainbow was

  1. Phong-blue, like oceans and Mures Grande fair. Specular, spectacular!
  2. Phong-green, like grass and woodlands. (who is that wild Krim on the trail?)
  3. Phong-red, of Blood and apples, and the coat of Krim (peace be onto Him).
  4. Phong-yellow, of sun and concentrate of pérè (Majahi-na-Majahi)
  5. Phong-pink, as sweets for children and of feminine homo-gay (Fuj!)
  6. Phong-purple, of the halls Kings and of Emperors!
  7. Phong-brown, of soil so fertile and of almonds roasted! (help yourself)
  8. Phong-orange, of flowers and flame! 
  9. Phong-sky-blue, like the sky!
  10. Phong-white, of snow. Cold and harsh. 
  11. Phong-diffuse, Suddenly the colours faded! Spread thin over too many objects.
  12. Phong-fog, and then they became it was unclear! 
  13. Phong-gray, of ash and destruction, of uncertainty,  would it be light or dark? 
  14. Phong-shadow, it came over him.
  15. Phong-black, light was gone. Every colour dead. Phong was afraid!
  16. Phong-darkness. And he fell to un-logik, poor, foolish Phong!

Ultimately the rainbow had betrayed him.

Every soul,
I think, in time
Is captured in
Sistem sublime.

The tragic Livare, condemned to an eternal soulless life

In pre-ancient times the spirit of Kyrim created Man and Woman. He was Livare, She was Flynn! Yet Kyrim the Great made but one mistake! On that dreaded Night of Obligations His Son was not given a soul, no Spirit, no life force.

So was the creation of Livare, the premier tragedie.

Oh Livare, the Tragedy you are.
Alive, yet not living.
You smile, yet you cannot feel happiness.

Majahi Livare!
I pray for you.
Will you ever be releas’d  by Death?

Livare my Livare,
are you doomed to forever be
Kyrim’s single mistake?

Cursed, Livare embarked his ship and set sail. On to that eternal gray ocean. Cursed to forever sail the eternal sea, to search for a soul, until the end of time.

And for ages he sailed. His body beaten by salty waves and harsh weather. His skin scorched by the burning sun and withered by that most treacherous enemy of all (young) men, time. His face grew old and its features diminished. But he sailed on.

The tragedie of Livare is not unlike the tragedy of all men. We must all segel & sail on restless seas, hoping to find a calm shore where Krim may receive us. But beware of the skerries of the Outer and Lesser Lindees, for un-logik is there! Yet mortal men are blessed with mortality, our search will soon end. Livare is cursed!  Forever will he sail, searching for his Father’s realm, that Majahian Kronkolonie, on those Greater Lindees.

Yan-Olaf, the eternal student (of Krim)

Of Krim there is always more to know, the knowledge goes ever deeper. In eternity!

As a young man Yan-Olaf Montanius had a dream, a dream of unlimited knowledge and wisdom. When he came of age, he took to studies at universities. His ambitions were great, but he soon felt at loss. Un-logik came over him, and he failed all three courses his first semester.

He tried again once, twice and thrice. But never would he produce proper results. His ambitions of knowledge and wisdom dwindled, and he left the university. In the next years he took what employment he could find. He worked as a shepherd in the mountains and as a shopkeeper’s assistant. Then, at one point joined a struggling group of travelling musicians.

Yan-Olaf soon became a figure of leadership for the group and was soon known as Yan Olaf the Wise. The group played in streets and town squares to the enjoyment of many.  The gang toured Europa and the Empire of Osman for many years.

While on the Osman island of Crete, Yan Olaf met a Semitic man in rags. And they conversed … A Darchness fell over Yan, it was warm and heavy.

I met the Arab. He had no grammar, no order, no sistem.

In the chaotic appearance of the ragged Arab, Yan Olaf saw also himself. He felt regret & remorese so strongly. Why had he strayed from the path of Knowledge? His ambitions returned, and he began his studies anew. And as far as one knows, Yan-Olaf is still a student, in eternity!

The Little Prince of the Mountains

Avram-Iancu
Avram Iancu

What words. What soul!

Yes, he was perhaps some deep Krim of the Mountain, our little prince.

What words! What Words! What Words!

I am high
in the grand aboves
in sister sky and brother sky-cloud
and all my siblings (seven by seven)
with fourty-nine fathers
and I

I am deep
in muddy depths
under aunt branch and uncle branch-root
and all my sons (nine by nine)
with eighty-one mothers
and I

I am true
on Krimean peaks
in all-father Krim’s magnificent gaze
and under his paternal care
with eternal knowledge unveiled
for me