Announcing “A Complete and Contemporary Histobiography of the Many Great Krims”

Almond Grove
Almond Grove

The Targu Mures Historical Society is proud to announce that it will be releasing an English edition of the great scholarly and spiritual work A Complete and Contemporary Histobiography of the Many Great Krims by the reclusive Rau Cartuar.

Previously published in various journals spanning several languages (Romanian, Hungarian, Sudovian, Saxon, several Slavic tongues and even Turko-Arabic), this will mark the first time his writings on the subject of Krim Rosü is collected and concisely presented. To our knowledge, this is also the first professional translation of the writer into English.

The collection, sequentialisation and translation of Cartuar’s considerable body of work is no small task, but the Targu Mures Historical Society is proud to take this powerful step on the demystification of Krimean knowledge; sharing the story, the glory, with the wide world.

A Complete and Contemporary Histobiography of the Many Great Krims is due for publishing by Targu Mures Press & Publishing and expected for international release in 2017. Visit our website when the release approaches for more information on ordering details.

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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.

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

Krim Jacob and the Demons of Old

They say he walks these woods,
and in these dark winter days I must meet him

Yes, so are the words of the wise man Jakko, who dedicated his life to the pursuit of truth and blessings.

Nicolaus and Rosu and the cave-dwellers
only laugh at my despair

He would not be granted a single blessing. The truth he found, he was not prepared to face.

I leave the safe hearth fire
and throw myself into his domain

Folklore has it a single star twinkles, dull, each and every year.

 I know, Krim Rosu
that you are here
somewhere

Krim in the sky, the summer swan

Another poem from the Granite Matrix, translation by Stanislav Peev.

Today again, Krim walks on the summer graph.
Other men gay, they saw a white feathered swan.
Krim in the sky, clouds are white.
Sun screaming like children happy!

Glasses are used in a joking Light
Anything that is connected to its urban Khan!
Han Sin Sou, western rider, waving and jumping.
Made born hosts see from borderline Khan

Infinite cycles, a Krim walks forever.
After the Han, people still feel nervous.
And sometimes, a little dry.
I am sure you are right.

Joking with the whip.

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.

Everyday Life with Krim Jacob

The Targu Mures Historical Society was very pleased to receive this e-mail from a Ms. Musa, an avid reader from Japan. Her brief observations on Krim in the most mundane day-to-day circumstances touched us and lifted the spirits in the office for days! We reproduce an especially amusing tale here. Please note that the Targu Mures Historical Society can not guarantee for the correctness or factuality of any Krim-related episodes  that Ms. Musa describes – let them bring you joys of the light feather rather than heavy thoughts.

The bamboo chair

I sat on my chair one morning.

As I sighed, I let my back lean backwards and the chair let out a sudden “squeak”. My cat stared at me in slighty irritation, as he is not one who enjoys such noise. I sang to him to calm his nerves; of The Red Wanderer of many a mountain. The old cat was calmed. I told him through my trembling voice of the great sea that the Wanderer once did cross, the waves he forced docile and the sea-turtle that was his friend. What days those were, on the sea.

Befriend him not

My song was over, and as I let my muscles relax the chair squeaked once more.

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

Where I see a tall mast in the woods…

sword?

Nerich proposed the death of my father
Firefighters and prayer against the enemy;
My spirit is pleased,
My arm is strong

I like the first of many storms
This is a charming valley, you fence me in
Exciting places to see
Spring Valley, shine in my mind

Ground and the celebratory mood
Beautiful nature of culture and 13
I saw the wagonwheel could barely walk
Now, I flew from the water.

He then congratulated his country
His sword is the vagina.
Blow! Therefore, they sing, I sing,
A coward, who has the sword.

Fire and sword, never come into contact;
It seems that everything must grow fierce!
Who really believe in birth?
When the bees are seven; permanent gene

Crimean poem translated on behalf of the Targu Mures Historical Society by Douglas Rogers