Manné, the tumbling rock

Mountain crumbling
Tumbling rock, tumulus in tumble

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?

From Jean’s diary, 1913

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Josef and Jacob Becher; Ice And Fire

krymska
Krymská Trees, as seen in autumn (Google Street View)

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.

ice

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.

fire

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 and his spirit was always central, in those songs of brothers two, of Ice and of Fire…

Krimean Heresy in the Islamic State (IS/ISIS)

krimisis
Artist’s impression of Krimean archeological treasures. What is buried in the Syrian sands?

Ancient cities, Ancient Kingdoms, Krimean connection. El-Fahir, 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.

Ovi Dänânae, Targu Mures Historical Society

Raude, the traveling man.

Gimø tavern
Gudmestad water and the old Gimø Tavern, painted by Raude (1846)

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

Biserica Ortodoxă Română (the barbarian oppressors)

Image

This is the first in a series of guest articles from my friend and former colleague, historian and polyglot Vasile Sandor. The topic is proposed connections between the Krim metamyth, Romanian Orthodoxy and the political or moral plasticity of a corrupted Europa. Vasile was recently featured in the media and will be releasing a book on Hegel-sexual trends in neo-Marxist southern Moldovan literature later this year.

What is Romanian Orthodoxy? Who was Krim Jacob? And, not least; how can the Krim Jacobinian societies of Old Europe still influence political discource and pan-Abrahamic religious dogma? These are questions central to contemporary histo-theological research at Petru Maior and related institutions. I strongly oppose any attempt to answer these questions: it may well herald the final death of the Schwartzwald soul (our last chance at bridging the conscious/subcounscious divide).

In this first part of five, I will focus solely on the concept of Romanian Orthodoxy in a Qïrim-Byzantine context (in addition to the preceding introduction). This will provide a solid and necessary foundation for further discussions on the more transcendental topics presented above.

Jacob Krim was the first truly orthogonal-orthodox man on the northern hemisphere. In the words of the third patriarch of the Romanian Orthodox Church, Justinian Gimo Marina, put it:

I am familiar with Krim Rosü, he is dear to me like a father or suspicious uncle. His life and teachings is an inspiration and moral compass for all true believers and men of letters.

In modern monomyth-terminology, we might well call Jacob Krim the ultimate and universal Oedipal/Muhammedan hero-prophet. Learned of the eastern schools have also linked him to the primal Orphic sacraments and general, historical Gnosticism. In this sense he is a still man of flesh, but absolutely also part of the supersensoral realm of pure pleasure: the “seventh heaven” of Christian-Orthodox and televisional tradition.

Carvings in Cambodia

The river of truth still flows through the Cambodian wilderness, but the blood of its fallen defender is long washed away. The algorithm was born here, in sea of dark green. The mysterious shrine and ancient mood gave young Jacob a deep inspiration. “I have been here before” he yelled,  yet his mortal flesh was new to these lands.

To be carved in Cambodia, the be bound by the earth…

Picture of the Transylvanian Circumvolution

This picture was sent to us by Colin Rodgers from Edinburgh. It shows the mythical symbol of the Transylvanian Circumvolution, a symbol strongly connected to the mysterious Krim-Jacob algorithm.

The picture is taken near the top of Arthur’s seat, a hill near central Edinburgh. This picture will indeed confirm a possible Krim-Jacobian presence in Scotland and Great Britain, and we will of course continue our investigation and  research in this field. We will also thank Colin for his contribution, help from the public makes our research much easier.

Adrŷan Nerich – Historian –  Targu Mures Historical Society

A tale of capture and escape

The rains poured down, and the capture took it’s toll on our hero. His body was captured and for once his mind may have felt doubt. In the darkness he sat, but in brief moments  the sun lighted the cell in and hope was kept. One day a white summer swan flew by his prison and immense hope filled him. “I will return to the valley of almonds” he yelled, and the door was unlocked.

Being a man of forgivingness and love, he taught the northern Brits of his tale and teachings before he commenced the voyage across the shallow sea and journeyed on to his homeland in east. It is said that the “school of the circumvolution” is still active in the green valleys of Caledonia.

Deep Krim of the Mountain

There were joints, but there was no displacement. Yanchal Krimeli saw dust and traces of legends past, but there were no legends on the map; for whom or for what? An abomination!

Before him stood a most disfigured being, one of coal and the deepest minerals of our Earth, a creature of the night gone into hiding, hopefully for time eternal; but not so: folded as a blanket, there were some and some others, some as layers, som as people, some as lawyers, who were they and for whom did they work? They were not for Krim; he was not for them. It is not a straight value – as much is certain. Recent events, did however bring to question and consideration the very essence of truth and the falsability of truthness: if nothing is, then what is not?

The taste of the tamed and awful. The crimson oxen! At what shalt one look at? Twisted creatures of nature – behold thyself – look no further! And thus did Yanchal look himself in the mirror, and indeed he did gaze into eternity; for nothing would mirror such a face (or fate) as his; the very damnation: an ungodly being in an ungodly world – no sanctuary would be granted, even beyond the pearly gates yonder.

And then the great wall descended upon Yanchal himself, and Yanchal ran into the darkness along the long and forsaken road along the mountain in which he had looked and forgotten, but the mountain had not forgotten Yanchal. “Stare into me! Face me, face me you becursed being, you blessed born of the light! I am the darkness of the mountain, the chains of the earth!” And Yanchal did not stare, merely smile, and he walked further and did awake many a demon of Satan.

So he ventures on; gazing into orogenies of the forgotten past; the chain building events that never will be remembered nor witnessed in evidence nor quasitruth or real thruth or the given circumstances. There is no truth, only the truth which one can gaze upon but not grip, and behold – the Beast as if frozen and freed; forth sprung a most hideous dweller of nighttime: the idea of our salvation and the basis of God – ungodly as Messiah and doomed as Metusaleh to weakened age. It is no thing on which we lightly speak in circles of Mystics, but in times demanding, we kneel and yield: I shall tell you of the ancient roamer; the wanderer (and harbinger) of our sorrow:

The void granted him no sanctuary – “there shall be no rest for the wicked on earth”, and wicked he was, that raven of old revenge. That which has no beginning will have an end, but Krim is not of beginning, nor of end; Krim is forsaken; Krim is the ingredient – “the forisiack and mohemiack – call your curtain upon me, gruesome beast!” Cain! Cain! I call you! Empires may wax and wane; yet did the struggle of Krim and the Ungod remain unresolved – no man would interveen without total destruction of his own and only soul – and hither and tither did they roam in battle; ravaging the villageside and many a field of harvest. Fold thy barins! Crack and fault! There is no direction in which you can thrust, only the web which the spider does not crawl nor reside in; for as long as the cobweb remains virtual, remains Krim – that which has been for a very long time.

Thus we conclude; grab thine sword and man the ramparts! See now that the Ungod is upon you, and fight with the Deep Krim of the Mountain!

– Jakko Krimälainen, early scriptures