In old Africii, Oh the tragedy! They are now less than a score, those who still talk the true Krimean letters; their tongue all but incomprehensible to foreign ears.
In old Africii, would you believe? A language without impurity, without those internal inconsistencies. Yet, now dying of old age or pure evil.
In old Africii, in hills of Lions and Men. An unjust murder takes place, the murder of knowledge, culture and fine art. Oh, those Krimean letters, who would destroy them, remove them from our world?
– Stanislav Peev
The Krim-language found in west-Africa (also called Low-Krimish or Krïmé Noir) is the very last remains of High-Krimish, a language used by wise men, scholars and heretics in vast areas of the huge landmass so aptly called Lumea Veche. It is said that the Krimish tongue is the last remains of the words of the Old Hindoo Gods, that speech of Viṣṇu Himself.
Kydje pentru aytona ceai sălbatice şi de dans plöppen
Varsta Ploppel é stenj o grădină!
Majahi Livare Ploppel!
Ploppel vechi austriac Kodna electronic simplu de.
Poem in West Neo-Krimish
In Rau Cartuar’s great work, Istoria Africii (1923, Ostuda Press), the migration of the Krim-letters are deeply discussed. He is especially focused on the use of Krimish in the culture of the Egyptian and the Moors. He argues that the Krim-spirit is the very foundation, the bedrock, of these great civilizations. The high culture then spreading to lowly lands of early Europa, making also these lands and cultures flourish.
Majahi, na Majahi! Majahi Ha-mare Livare Im Mu’n use; Livare kyrim Lynn-Majahi!
In modern times one must only pray for the last remains of the Krim language, for it is subject to hardship and violence. For many years it has dwindled and with it great cultures are shrinking away. The un-logic has infected its lands, murdering it slowly. Now only a few old men know the true Krim words, hidden in the mountains of lions, down there in old Africii. Celebrate the dead, but grieve for those who are unjustly murdered!
When in dream where none is real
When in dream, where in dream
Where in dream is found true truth
Where in dream, why in dream
Why in dream is glass transparent
Why in dream, how in dream
How in dream is dream unending
When in dream where none is real
So did one Tan Angerer speak. Noone heard, noone saw. Oh, oh, ayem, ohm! These were sayings of ancient belief, of kingdoms come, of kingdoms gone. Only loss is gain, only loss!
Krim, you of old! Shed light, shine bright. I am alone, sisterless, brotherless, without family, father to none, child of darkness. I pray, Krim, and you do not answer. I pray, Krim, I pray!
This is the ancient tale: One wandered in woods, without torch, without soul. One snapped branches, shed tears, all future broke before him. “Fuj, what thick woods are these!” All future, all past, all was in view of the wanderer, all was in mist.
I never saw him again. Not in dream, not under star nor sun. May darkness guide him, as only darkness can. Why in dream, Krim, why only in dream?
Who art thou, Johann? Without hesitation, you are in control of all life; all death. Even Angel Myklye!
Yoham and I, we danced with Death, oh! Oh! Death, what step, what groove, what hop of the Lindees! Are you of Mortales? Hop, hop! Yoham you Jew of infinity! Thine hair; silver! Shine!
Ohm, Yoham, you moon! Proud, proud moon! Of silver, of gold … you ghost! Leave us not …
Our body suffers, he sleeps, he is of strength diminish’d! Yoham … You, mine Lad, of orthodoxy not-too-strong, of freedoms and Judaism mystikal! Logik, Yoham? Art thou un-logikal? Like that! fair Moomin? Ayem ayem oh!
The lore of Krim touches both fiction and reality. He confirms and contradicts himself. Is He of one? Is He of many?
How can our minds comprehend, that who must be, the most dangerous Idea of all?
Those that deny Him, may suffer tautologies so deceiving that their minds fall into that Hellish state, that very X-apocryphal logik. However, we cannot say that they are wrong to refuse Him, for a mind may be to small and narrow to master and perceive the Jacobian tales that moves beyond fiction.
He is of one, and He is of many! He is father of fantasy and reality. To Him they are one!
Those who believe in Him, deserve no suffering. But their mind will not fully understand his intentions, and doubt will certainly reach them as well. It was so for Johann, Rau, Ingo, Jurii and so many others. His strength and wisdom is so enormous that our feeble minds cannot fathom it.
For I have gazed upon Him, that ghost, that idea, that most powerful creature..
Manné has been sleeping, since the cold captured him, a late Autumn night. The sympathies were many, but now I am alone. Ice and Fire knows nothing of his passing, yet the same sun shines on them. Does she shine on you, my closest friend?
She wanted to change the world, change it all, completely…
Manné, have you fallen?
I turn at night. Questions without answers. Answers without questions. Will he wake? Will he rise again? Will he, in the warmth of spring, again be my tumbling rock?
In the street of Krymská, in the town of Bömische Karlsbad two boys were once born. Given traditional names Josef and Jacob, most knew them just as Ice and Fire. The brothers were close during their childhood years, but the life would soon pull them towards different paths.
Ice, man of spirit.
Josef Becher is the most known of the two, being a famous man of spirit. His spirit and factory lives to this day, and an alcoholic liqueur has been made to tribute the two brothers.
Fire, wanderer and seeker.
Jacob, however, is a mystery to most. He spent his adult life wandering the long winters of the world, seeking answers, singing songs, conversing with crows. His interpretation of “Folanés Folly” is known by many, but fewer know of his own Follies.
A man who spent the majority of his life walking in circles in the worlds mysteries, Jacob was both confused and wise. On the Asian steppes, he followed the trail laid down by the great Khans, he sung from his throat with the Tuvan masters and he visited Jurii far north. His presence warmed those around him, just as it did in his fiery youth.
Towards the end, Jacob turned to song and poetic poetry. He sang the songs of his homeland, lands he had traveled and lands of myth and legend. He sang of life and death, hope and happiness, despair and suicide. Yet the love for his brother was always central, in those songs of Ice and Fire…
Ancient cities, Krimean connection. Holy Algorithm. Nerich, Syria traveler. Early Krimean cultures.
These are notes in the margin of the Holy Qu’ran belonging to an unfortunate fighter in the Syrian war. The Targu Mures Historical Society is surprised indeed to receive such words from this war-torn corner of the earth. Yet we will be wise to remember Krim’s eternal attributes and wide influence – growing ever wider!
We hope to devote more time to this new avenue of research in the coming year, and pray for the emancipation of the Syrian people and their Krimean treasures.
Back in 1846, a traveler came to the Gudmestad farm, Krim Raude was his name. He had traveled far and wide, from lands not known to the simple folk of Gudmestad.
In those days, Old Salte was the patriarch of Gudmestad farm, and he welcomed Raude with open arms. Long nights and deep conversations ensued, Raude and Salte discussed many themes and topics. Although their lives had differed, old Salte and Raude formed a close friendship
The feasts at the local tavern were many, for it was good times when Raude visited. Roast of lamb, fermented trout, herring, potatoes, turnip stew and much more were served. For beverage they had wonderful, cold, fresh water. Late at night, Salte and the other old men would form a ring, figling, singing and dancing. They performed many traditional songs and melodies, while the women and children were free to help them self to Raudes almonds, a strange treat from a foreign land.
I Gimø så figla me te’ jaoen
I Gimø e figlå mi gådden
extract from traditional song
But all things must end and Raude had to continue his journey, and he left after many joyful days. On his last day he presented Salte of a painting depicting the Gimø lake and tavern Raude had gown so fond of.
I here present Raudes last words to his close friend, Salte.
Salte, my eternal friend, I must leave you now and travel far North and East, to those dictum borderlands. For I have heard tidings of deep sorrow and despair, the apocryphal logic has shown itself. But do not feel saddened , for I will always remember your songs and melodies with great joy.
Still to this day, the people of Gimø celebrate Raudefest every month. Thus, I sincerely believe that a part of Raude’s soul is still present at Gudmestad and Gimø, even though he left many years ago…
Written on the behalf of TMHS by Sølve Gudmestad, descendant of Salte Gudmestad
I write to you in this, the darkest of times. Our lands may be on the edge of conflict and despair, but I hope that our fellow search will not be distributed. The struggle between Fascism and Democracy should not impede our quest for Non-Nerichian Truth. As we both were tested before we formed, as we both will die before the ship sinks.
Once we were young, playful, in the Mures Valley. Almonds abundant, spirits strong. In these days, one can lose hope. We must never betray our search.
I am sure you already agree. However, this has to be mentioned. We must draw wisdom from our fellow friend and seeker, Niels.
Excerpt from correspondence between Jean DeWire and Herman Ploppel, 1939.