Georg, traveler of the World! In the footsteps of Krim

Olde Evropa

from Belgrad to Bruxelles, and onward still …

From humble birth, Georg soon found fascination in the world and its many people of oh-so-many letters. His father told him stories of distant lands and great men, and the local libraries overflowed with quality reading. But the stories closest to young Georg’s heart were those of obscurity, especially those that told of the great Krim Jacob. From young of age Georg knew his destiny was to travel the world, to follow that great Krim, and perhaps, like Krim, find a land of eternal bliss.

From Belgrad to Bruxelles, and onward still. Even in fertile Mures his feet landed once or twice (or thrice, or even seven times). Yet he did not seem to find a land, a town, a field or forest without the ever-present un-logik. Was his Evropa already damned? Had the keys to the Krimean creation been stolen out of its ancient cradle?

Roma old, Rusia vast, România relevant! Georg saw them all!

Yet, did you ever go to that Congolese Africii?
Did you ever see that great jungle flood?
Did you experience that most immense Energie
form that most terrific branching factor?

Did you, my old friend Georg?
And when did you grow those wings?

Georg believed he was traveling to the cursed city of El Fahir, that home to exiles and wayward Ladds, but his destination was Death. Only in spirit could he ever fly on to the dark stream of the Congo, and only in these words is his memory intact and true. Perhaps he soars still amongst clouds and mist, watching over Belgrad, Bruxelles and El Fahir, and all the Krimean creation …

Yet, did you ever go to that Congolese Africii?
Did you ever cross the black desert gates?
Did you ever experience that most immense Energie
and traverse the deathly mountain passes?

Did you, my old friend Georg?
And how you soar the sky!

Migratory Birds Flying at Sunset

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Valle Valle Waling!

Olde Witchmaster!
Is She pregnant again?
And now, she blew his mind
to live His will.

Words and deeds
I’m not your knowledge
I am knowledge, control
I do not know.
Waling! Valle!

Wailing!
To this end,
drink a lot of water
and rich, full sqvill
even shower.

And now it’s old bones!
Take the case of the poor in rags;
Long live you slaves!
Now meet the demand!
Standing on two legs.
Hurry up and go!


– Written by Poet Jürgen Milchbucht, an inspiration for many here at TMHS and indeed for the whole Krim-Jacobian way of life. Thank you Jürgen!

Majahi Na-Majahi!

There is a Fountain

fountain

The spring of Krim, from whence the Mysterie floweth;
where the good drink is produc’d and consum’d.
Where all are humble, where none is false
and sad tales no ear hear, as such words are unspoken.

There is a Fountain
design’d by no simple craftsman,
but by that hand that reacheth
from the Beyond.

There is a Fountain
worshipp’d by true seekers,
who will find in their seeking
the words from Beyond:

Who will hear that strange bugle call out magnificent,
who will find, verily, a peace forever valid.
And none shall wrest it from their grasp,
as they grasp, indeed, Eternally, Forever.

There is a Fountain
by the great Livare, in that place
where I once stepp’d, yet stand
no more.

There is a Fountain
that was lost to mankind
as we crossed the threshold and
denied the Maker.

From Yanchal Krimeli – Becherian Interpretations pending English release in 2016.

Krim Jacob and the nature of nature

What is nature? What is the nature of beasts, of man? What is the nature of nature?

Jakko Krimälainen knew, and he writes:

I saw this morning a most peculiar thing…

jakkolake

What did you see, Jakko? On the lake an iced pyre, on the snowy heath some deer, from the billows a cursed maiden:

I come to you with heathen words
from strange and foreign shore;
I’ve sailed for days and days and nights
to share this ancient lore:

occultwaves

In Wallachia’s lands a sorcerer
of grand, hideous power
chants and calculates his curses,
curses you this hour!

A Sense of Relevance

In ancient times, much greater days, the Mures Valley was the most prosperous region in known Europa, envy of every province, target of every greedy intent. Under a benevolent sky reigned a benevolent King. The King brought glory and fame to his clans, promising eternal life for their name and kin; lasting relevance. Lasting, that is, until this relevance was taken from us.

mureslord

Take pride, Muresdol, in that King. Remember him now that he glimmers most faintly.

Väinämöinen, brother of Krim

Finnish representation of Krim Jacob?
Finnish representation of Krim Jacob?

Vaka vanha Väinämöinen,  peer to Klever Krimälainen?

Moomin? How did you feel? ‘Twas a land of dismal cold, of a long winter night, of deep, deep Krim.

Who art thou, Klever Krimälainen? Of beasts, of hidden kowledge, of foul Ratty Ruotsi…

Majahi, na Majahi! Majahi ha-mare Livare!

And he did see that old spirit above shallow billows; that Krim, that Ghost… Strike thy bone-harp, bearded fellow, sing to all Northland, sing songs for all to hear: The Krim-song of Krimean saga!

Ingo Schweitzer, the possessive Prussian (Chapter 1)

Being Chapter 1 from Part 3 of "The Armed Forces" by Jan C. Zločin. 
Ostuda Press, Brünn, 1942.
Now in the public domain.
This excerpt translated from German by the Targu Mures Historical Society.

Ingo

Suum cuique

Despite his family name suggesting Swiss or Austrian origin, Ingo Schweitzer had always been (and ever would be) a Prussian in soul and heart. Indeed, his body was cut from that firm and strictly northern stock that in more ancient times so terrorized mighty Rom herself.

A weathered, leather-bound notebook (which I acquired in what is likely the muskiest of all bookstores in temperate Europa) bears his name on the first, second and final page. Its narrative ends on these words:

I have traveled the ever-expanding recesses of this state since its modern inception and never have I felt more lost than I am now.

How does it begin, you ask? In time you will know, but for now we must step even further back and examine the somewhat peculiar circumstances that would later propel Mister Schweitzer onto his unfortunate wanderings. To properly admire a painting, I find, one should always start with the frame.

Ingo suffered through an unusually slow and long adolescence in an unimportant town of exactly average size. At 17, he refused to follow his father Aloys (as Aloys had once followed his own father, Johann, and as Johann had followed his father, Martin, and so on) in the moderately prosperous family business of tailoring and cobbling. Instead, Ingo opted to join the local regiment in the city of Elbing. Aloys passed away two years later; with him crumbled also the family business and, ultimately, his stubborn branch of the long Schweitzer lineage. Content with being a disappointment to his kin, Ingo never returned to his hometown, instead focusing all his youth and effort into a budding military career. Ingo stood tall, a young man in flower, but all that shines must dull in time.

At the age of 21, Ingo was expelled from the Akademie for reasons that have never have become quite clear. Explanations and rumors among his acquaintances varied wildly: boredom, involvement in some petty crime, even an unhealthy interest in the occult.  Some suggested the expulsion as something of a mutual agreement between the senior staff of the Akademie and Ingo himself.  No matter the motivations, we know that in the very same year, one Ingo Jakovius Blestemat Sweitser purchased the estate Mare Gramada near the city Targu Mures (now in Hungary [Translators note:  Romania since the end of the second world war]) from its previous owner, Igal Migdala, head of the recently impoverished Migdala family.

The local populace did not at all welcome its new citizen (“Lord”, some mumbled bitterly). Tensions were high in Europe at that time, as they are today, and a German controlling one of the primary estates of the region was not at all agreeable to the stubborn inhabitants of the Mures valley. Claims were made, some say fabricated,  that the land was stolen from Migdala, or that the initial negotiations had involved some kind of trickery, and even that Blestemat had the aid of supernatural  forces and intended to use Mare Gramada in ceremonies of sacrifices to the heathen deities of the old north; the mighty sky-gods once worshipped in his homeland, long before the Baltic crusades: Nerthus, Wodanaz, Kurim Jakos, and that Ingo was loyal to Widewuto, mythic king  of the Pomesanian clans

Widewuto and crew

While wildly imaginative and greatly exaggerated, we can not deny that in these rumors there is a kernel of truth, albeit obscure, an almond enshrined or entombed in protective bark-like layers. Among the vague scribblings of the first pages of his notebook we find a prayer of invitation in old-Sudovian, beckoning Kurim Jakos and his host to visit the world of mortals again:

Beigeite beygeyte peckolle
Kails naussen gnigethe
Beigeite beygeyte peckolle
Kails naussen gnigethe Kurim Jacove

We will find that even though Kurim might not have visited ours, this plane of base physicality, Ingo certainly did visit Kurim’s. For better or worse, for doom or salvation, Ingo was to be a man both possessed and possessing.

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

The Unallocated

The Unallocated suffered severely under the iron hand of Jerna Nerich. While she swelled from fatty almond feasts, the poor thralls at the bottom of the feudal ladder had no sustenance but moss and moldy crumbs.

Lakes of Targu Mures

The matriarch took her biannual baths in the many ponds and lakes in our Mures Valley. In azure gown she would wallow like the Hippopotamus Amphibius of sub-Saharan Africii. Woe be to him of The Unallocated that was set on toweling duties.

Oh, what will thy next project be, Unallocated One? Releas’d from agony perhaps only in death.

Wise we would be never to forget The Unallocated, the unprofitable. From their caste would rise, in time, that great Red Rebel!

Five years in the service of Truth

Targu Mures Culture Palace, home of the Targu Mures Historical Society
Targu Mures Culture Palace, home of the Targu Mures Historical Society

This week, the Targu Mures Historical Society celebrates five years of internet presence.  In the service of Truth, we carry out our mission, pledged to the creed:

Seek Krim Jacob
Wherever he may roam
Makes himself known

Taste Krim Jacob
The almond will grow
Ere cold winds blow

Noi vă mulțumesc tuturor, și mulțumim Krim!