A Meeting long remembered

Excerpt from an unfinished essay attributed to the young and un(in)formed Rau Cartuar. We see the gentle beginnings og a larger Krim-Cosmological Philosophical Sistem, but the sophistication and pure power of its later incarnations are not yet bloomed. This is Rau the rose-bud; the babe, grasping towards the clouds and stars above, believing them always to be just out of reach.

At the creation of the World – the birth of thought, when Life came to be – Life immediately assessed the situation: “I am, so I must be, and I must continue being.” The first thought was of Immortality.

This should come as no surprise, as the only purpose of Life is to live. In slightly vulgar terms we may call this ironic, but it is rather an inevitable tautology; the Living must necessarily understand existence through their fleeting moment of apparent endless Life, and this false assumption grants purpose. Tautologies can be deceiving.

That autumn, when the world was gray
I met Great Krim when on my stroll
Through nearby woods (the woods were gray)

I saw him, there, beyond the trail
He didn't notice me, but
Whistled a wholesome tune 

And the skies opened with immense color
And I fell to the forest floor
And the world turned abstract and immense

He slit the sky with a finger
Passed through, out of this World 
Without as much as a wave

An encounter with actual Immortality, with an Immortal Soul in Immortal Body. Imagine my rapture!

Crypto-Brandonites and other Beta-folk

Blessed are the Brandonites
for they shall inherit Boolean Tautologies
and the Beta-Reductions held within

Unknown, foolish, author

The self-titled Tribe of Brandon, followers of the Jorsalian Exile (counting among them Arch-Rabbi Darch of great stature and weak mind), are as an ethnographic and sociological phenomenon not yet fully understood. Their scholarly corpus, espoused especially by the academic outcast Yanolf from Ararat, is much studied, yet somehow even more mysterious to modern minds.

At the heart of this elusive society, and both lock & key to their knowledge, is the concept of the Grammarless Grammar, an integration of algebra and Kabbalah which is said to prove all that is True, but to the unbeliever also all that is False: a logical gambit which sacrifices reason for faith, a universal arithmetic of non-prime Primes.

While accomplishing no mainstream Rabbinic acceptance, echoes of the Grammarless Grammar (pronounced in Wordless Words) are heard still over afternoon tea in learned places. Yes, you have most likely met Him, this Eternal Student – not inside the lecture hall, but waiting just outside, pondering Eternity. Though they remain hidden, and indeed enjoy this air of mystique, the Crypto-Brandonites are certainly among us.

Apologies are due to Dr. Prof. Hegel

The great sickness, the curse thrown upon Europa by her enemies abroad, by all her disbelievers, has come upon even our insular Institute, otherwise so well-guarded against the waves of trend and sands of time. It is true: MODERNITY has struck us.

Our great fever-cough, produced by this ailment of no known cure, has spread even to the grey brain-masses of our entire congregation (yes, even to our close friend Mr. Whitehouse, where it has manifest also in great lust and severe venereal disease). It has caused a dense mental fog and an inexcusable delay in the publication of this, our letter to the great Doctor-Professor of grandiose thoughts and writings.

While we expect no forgiveness, let this meek offering be at least a token and a symbol, an utter prostration. This is the land, and age, of beggars.

In apology,
Your Dear Staff

Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel was born in Stuttgart on the 27th of August, 1770 Anno Crimini. There are those who hold that he passed on some 61 years later – a much disputed statement, of course.

I am sure that you, Dear Reader, observing the World of Today, know very well that the Geist yet lives!

The Time Cube of Infinity

In the innermost and most secret chambers of Haus Helwegia in Olde Vienna one could study the most obscure and mysterikal topics. Topics of Mathematix, psykologie and on obscurity itself. Many a seeker would find him self on the divan, searching for the well-undefined and

Young Dr H. (name unkown) came to study the fields of numbers super-naturale, on matrices of granite (and of other bedrocks) and on curves eternal, ethereal and smooth. He was assigned two assistants, Paolo and Ivan, one humble (Ivan), one proud (Paolo), both well respected.

They studied for many years, digging ever deeper into madness and disarray. Following a continuous path towards the Krim-origin, the very singularity where logik and un-logik is one. Could they pass the borders to His realm?

Ivan could not, in madness (or a moment of clarity) he took cyanide. Yet H. and his now lone assistant sustained their search.

dead_circle live_cube
Paolo, Paolo!

And then, suddenly it was clear! One day was not one, nor four, it was infinite. Four roads to madness and wisdom, forty-four dimensions and infinite bi-directional edges. An infinite graph of time and obscurity, at once nowhere dense & everywhere dense; a graph that only the wisest and maddest could traverse. Traverse over cuts and cliques, by tree-width, on flows and over mountain pass. A graph traversed perhaps only by Him, Krim!

… and Dr H. yelled:

Paolo, Ivan, come and see – The time cube of Infinity!

Tuvan call

They met before Anesh.
And they played at many games.
At His temple, in His honor.

Bear fight tiger!
Bagh-Bhaluk juj!

Elephant fight crocodile!
Haati-Ghorial juj!

Egg fight egg!
Koni-Koni Juj!

Fuj!

But from over the mountains they could hear a song on the wings of winds. And they pondered. Was this violence right? Would He be content with merely song and dance?

tuvan
The shaman calls, Tuva calls

They set afoot towards the winds of the Northern steppe.

 

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.

The Cursed Isle Gurskaya

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.

Monk of the Holy Ortodox temple of Myklye
Holy Monk of the Holy Ortodox Temple of 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.

yoham-the-elder
Yoham, ancien!

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!
Hollow, hollow!
Hallow, hallow!

For our souls are forever blessed
Blessed!
by that Arch-Angel
Mykyle

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 …

Who is Jacob Krim? Was Jacob Krim arrested? When was Jacob Krim arrested? What was Jacob Krim arrested for?

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.

from Our Fable of Malevolence

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?

The Ensimmäinen Engine

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
no joy,
no fear,
not remorese
nor regret.

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.