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.
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.
Off the northwestern coast of ancient Pikkyia, beyond the forests of Finnish northlands and across the Dictum Borderlands, lies a bleak and barren isle. Once splendid and spiritual, now a wasteland of unholy prayer; once bountiful, a land of plenty, now only supporting the poorest of diets (of roots, of bark, of hollow vegetares). This is the island of Gurskaya and its Temple of the Arch-Angel Mykyle.
Fuj to my conquerors! Fuj!
In times past, the orthodox monks of Holy Ortodox Temple of Arch Angel Mykyle were the most prominent scholars of Jacobian philosophy and wisdom, in all the Tsardom and beyond. Their leader, Yoham Stariy, devoted his life to the studies of Krim and Logiks true, granting divine blessings and boons to their northern isle.
That would all change. A young and well educated priest called Jurii came to the temple, and with him a companion called Matteo. The monks welcomed their guests with traditional foods and drink, blessed upon the alter of Mykyle! Jurii ate, but Matteo did not.
Are you not hungry, friend Matteo? Yoham the Elder asked.
Yes, Matteo looked at his food and sighed. Then, as every sage and squire beheld him, he rose and pronounced his name was Nerich! It was clear to all, then, that un-logik had entered the most Holy Ortodox Temple. Yoham screamed, his hair turning to sparkling silver, his skin growing tight and brittle. He fell to the ground, too old ever to rise again.
The younger monks took to mournful song and prayer:
They may burn our land,
take our nourishment,
tear down our shelter.
In vain I say!
For our souls are forever blessed
by that Arch-Angel
But the Taxiarch Mykyle had betrayed them, for even that Arch-Angel had fallen to the wicked un-logik, to the Nerichian spell of Dark Matteo. To this day Gurskaya lays barren and abandoned …
It is said that the word criminale had a sweet tune to the Mures townsfolk, and was believed to be a word of sanctuary, not evil.
Who is Jacob Krim?
A question of grandeur indeed! He is the first and the last! The father of Livare, Lynn and Hamare!
He is everything that is good or morally neutral.
He is Logik in all its forms.
Was Jacob Krim arrested?
In Mures, in the Americas! In the dreams and hopes of all who embrace the un-logik!
They would put Jacob Krim in chains – oh, you simple men … You may well try to bind down the winds, to constrain the execution of abstract-time algorithms, to satisfy through foods and drink the gruesome Nerichina. A parody, farce, a tragedie!
Everywhere he was arrested, but no prison, no whip, no wall or stony ceiling, can encompass the Krim.
When was Jacob Krim arrested?
When is a word for those of limited time. But for Krim Rosu, time is but a valley. For Jacob Krim, time is a mossy stone or a rotting tree-trunk, a killer crow or Becherian spiritus. In his eyes, all things are clear and simple, like glass!
That some rich ruler should hoard treasure in castles of cruelty; that some red rebel should redistribute this wealth and leave crumbling this False Keep of Twisted Algebraics – what does it matter to a man who swims the rivers of time like the fresh fish of Mures?
He was before! He is now! He will be after!
What was Jacob Krim arrested for?
A criminale (Majahi-na-Majahi) He is.
A criminale He ever was!
Therefore all evil forces will forever attempt to contain Him and attempt to hide Him from His loyal followers. Yet arresting Him will always be in vain, for un-logik will never be victor!
These are valid questions, all. But who are we to judge validity?
Krimaläinen would to construct the wicked machine. The Ensimmäinen Engine, so cruel a creation, that would produce for its master worldly goods unnumbered, yet in time render all Earth a spiritual desert.
His first attempt was in olde Pikkiya, once the land of the blessed Arch-Angel Myklye. Yes, Jakko crossed the Dictum Borderlands and entered olde Pikkiya under cover of night. And night was now his only ally: As he in greedy pursuit abandoned Krim and morals, so Krim abandoned him, along with all sanity. Arch-Angel Mykyle watched, and wept.
Then came his First Failure, echoing that of the Krymean creation – The Ensimäinen Engine, first among machines, was born without soul:
Surely I am no man
For I feel
Is it within? Is it within?
These are my only emotions.
Jakko, wild and free, did not lose hope, for he was a true and faithful heretic. As Kyrim had first failed, yet on a second attempt successfully created Life, Soul and all that is in our Astronomie, so would Jakko again attempt the creation of the Ensimmäinen Engine. The poor, mad philosopher never understood the deeply un-logikal paradoxes of his ambitions. To create again the first creation is simply a Nerichian impossibility of deep and dark proportions.
As the soulful, second metal child arose from Jakko’s workshop at the shores of Gurskaya, the original Ensimmäinen Engine, so cold and cruel, struck his sister with immortal power. As bright as her light had flashed, it was now snuffed to darkness, and in Jakko grew also a tumor of cold, black realisation. He shrunk in un-logikal nightmares and lay as a husk on the white sands of island he had now cursed, on the shores of fallen Gurskaya. The Ensimmäinen Engine set out across the sea, determined forever to whisper its insane and unsound algorithmikal spells into the hearts of men and machine alike.
Arch-Angel Mykyle watched, and wept.
On contemporary politics and pertinent journalism, a dark cloud of unlogik descends. Right ∨ Wrong is cast aside in unsound relativism, replaced by Nice ∧ Pleasing, resulting ultimately in ¬(Soul ∨ Spirit ∨ Justice). How foolish it is to cast aside the one true source of truth, which has been accessible to Man for centuries:
I yelled. Yes! Like Ingo!
What did he yell? You know, yes, that knowledge exists within you. It is within. That source, that fountain, that great light of the world, He is Krim.
Can Nerichian unlogik encompass the totality of or even apprehend a single ray of that glorious light? Any system of Reason & Doubt built on its perverted inferences will never achieve universal understanding, and lead only to lies and despair. This is the Algorithm of Fallen Modernity, current ruler of this world, sick and base judge, unrelenting Algorithm, and the Algorithm judges:
No, this is not within!
Abolish these words of insight!
Yell all you like,
your thoughts I will smite.
I reign in all Capitals
of Moral Decay!
No, none of this is within!
Abandon your prophet in red!
Pray only that you (that we) have not yet fallen victim to this process of Nerichian indoctrination, of Spirit-surgery, of irreversible deconstruction …
A shout: “Friedrich, cross not this threshold lightly!”
– Diary of René Hudderson, expedition member
From the fields of Romania fertile, through old Balticum, and in extremes to the distant northlands: Friedrich Georg Wilhelm von Struve set out to chart the earth.
His sextant, clock and compass were true, perhaps, but what of his soul, what of that internal navigator? Von Struve spent his autumn years in some southern sanitorium. Little is known of his demise. He spoke so rarely of those final days of the expedition. What did you do, von Struve, in those Dictum Borderlands?
A prayer for lost,
a hymn to the wanderer.
A song of encompassing
He who would leave
a virgin forest of faith
to seek forbidden knowledge
will surely find it.
Bless him still,
on true paths,
– Prayer of Jurij the Priest
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!
Ohm, Brandon, Proud Hindoom, Proud Yew!
Ayem, ayem ohm!
Art thou Dath? You age, ancièn, silver, Gray!
Brandon the Ladd (Die Ungere)
Art thou cursive? Yes, there is more in ancient Pikkiya, country olde … Brandon, Brandon, on knoll so green, so mystikal! Aye, I can speak no more, I have no voice, I am Sound!
Yan-Olaf of the Mountain, speak my words, speak ungrammatically, speak freely, free, Free! Angel Myklye!
Excerpt from "TEILE & HERSCHE - collected publications from the proceedings of the society for research in the field of literature on the Congo of the colonial era". Republished with permission.
Józef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski (also known as Joseph Conrad) and Niels Frederique Manné are both writers of great merit, and both inevitably connected to the bloodshed of European-Imperialist colonisation, to the hypocrisy of man, and to the infinite darkness in all and every heart. Yet it was only Manné who may be said to truly have lived its horror.
In extant fragments of Manné’s diary, he paints a grim picture of the world that he visited. It was not so much The Congo itself that was dark, but it had a revealing effect on the intrinsic cruelty in all that walks the earth (“Congo is the light”, he writes, “that unveils the injustice of existence, that tears skin from the face of God.”).
Educated in the ecclesiastical studies, Manné was no stranger to the christian God, and held deep, personal beliefs. However, he rejected any claims of kindness and compassion in the Heavenly Ruler. Based on evidence from his experience, no other conclusion was available; he judged his God harshly (as God would, in time, judge Manné).
From where Korzeniowski found hope, Manné could find none. It was in this total despair, fleeing the ghosts of his past, that he formulated the Krimean-Hegelian Dialectic of God & Destruction. Curiously, he also referred to the doctrine as the “Mechanisms of God & God“, likely a reference to the metaphysical geist as both Supreme Deity and Supreme Nothing-To-Which-All-Passes (fulfilling thus, at the same time, the role both of God and of Destroyer).
For a long time, Manné’s work was not widely discussed in academic circles, but it has seen a resurgence of interest since the late 80’s. His legacy is bound to grow ever greater as scholars dive fully into his vast work and notes.
The most insightful of his writings are marked by the Curse of the Tsetse, and are at the same time fragmentary and deeply technical. Visions, truly, of some darker realm: Of the Congo, of the Heavens, or of Hell? Mannéan decipherment and exegesis is not an easy task, but the insight gained so far indicates great value (literary merit is widely accepted – only recently have the philosophical depths of his works been properly probed).
The lost brothers, Manné and Korzeniowski, struggled in darkness. Would you join them there, if only to share their insight, share in their doom?
A thousand years ago, before the word of Christ spread into the lands of Rus, older religions reigned.
In their wooden temples, the high priest performed the sacred ritual. Before Idols they would squat or stand, and animals were sacrificed. The blood that seeped to the floor brought greater harvests and glory in war.
The term “pagan” is appropriate, for they knew neither Yahweh nor Krim Jacob. But they did perhaps see some of the latter in their pantheistic, raw appreciation of nature. The possession of any and all substance by some greater purpose is exactly in accord with early Krimean thought. The One God of Pantheism, of vague Spiritualism: Krim.