Tag: prayer

End of the Golden Years

On By Targu Mures Historical SocietyIn Ethnic clashes, Nerich FamilyLeave a comment

After years of Great Prosperity, the valley fell again into darkness. In the material sense the darkness was immense and sudden (and quite obese), but the spiritual fog was of a slow, malicious nature, and its coming subtle indeed.

During this time of regress, a poet likely let out his anguish through a fountain pen, bottling the fleeting Geist of his age in verse, for us forever to ponder. Scholars argue, as scholars do, but we believe it must have sounded something like this:

Evening comes upon us all
The sun sets universal
That transcendent fire-ball
In astronomikal traversal

And so fades this Day on Earth
Shadows stretch and conquer wide
Moonrise brings from Death a Birth
Is old Krim still by our side?

The River overruns its course
Summoning an Age of Fears
Behold, ahead, a pale white horse
The end of our Golden Years

We must never let truth blind us.

Incantations of the Wild Women of the Outer Lindees

On By Targu Mures Historical SocietyIn Everyday KrimLeave a comment

They sing and scream, whisper and laugh, hop and dance. They are simple, as women-folk ought to be, but also Dionysian, frenzied, wild; free. They dance (in step, in groove), and all the while they chant this silent spell:

Who are you to tell us how
The rain descends and drains, and now
To guide our life and to endow
Us with your gifts of piercing sight
To speed us on this rhythmic flight
To bathe us in Divine delight
You are Krim, you are Krim

Who were we, we puny souls
We roamed & danced with unknown goals
So dutifully playing roles
That lonely, un-examin’d life
Was married, yes: confusion’s wife
Through empty years of pain & strife
We were Lost, we were Lost

But then You came, and You perceived
How all of us had been deceived
And so in our minds conceived
The ancient, magikal idea
Of how Our’Earth has come to be
You taught us all to truly see
We were Saved, we were Saved

So who am I to ramble on
Now that my sorrows, all, are gone
Regrets, remorse, concerns; no, none
And even as the stars grow dim
When I am drained of Life & vim
My Death is blessed by Father Krim
Majahi, Majahi

wedancedwithdeath
Oh, oh, what step, what groove!

Yes, they were wild and free, yet Melankolie was their earthly destiny. Is their spell not like those of Old Krimälainen?

False Waldemar – The Boolean Prophet

On By Targu Mures Historical SocietyIn Wanderers and seekersLeave a comment
truewaldemar
They call him Jacob, my Lord …

He who is True, who liveth in truth
Is never welcome in Unholy Halls

I am the True and Final King
Son of the son of the son of The Bear
And I am a True Bear, also
Westfalie and Brandeburg bow low before me

This was the personal prayer of False Waldemar, true Skolare and true King. A true King who was mocked and abused by the weak-minded, scorned by the Jealous Men in his time. We will not further assert nor argue for his legitimacy here, but recite instead some more from his Grande Book of Prayer. This wild tune he called If ever you see a tall mast:

If ever you see a tall mast in the woods
Linger a while and reflect on the mast
And the woods

If ever you meet there a grey-bearded stranger
Listen a while to his maddening ravings
And his truths

If ever you know then that you are true king
Claim what is rightfully yours, your domain
And reign

 

Sakhalin; a Survey

On By Targu Mures Historical SocietyIn Everyday KrimLeave a comment

Introductions

These are the melancholy journalistics of a wandering Photografeur whose name is forgotten or otherwise lost. Let it be known: All lands are islands, disconnected and despairing. Let is also be known: All souls are lands of infinite darkness, save for the Light of Kirim.

Rejection

sakhalin_window.png
Red Krim, return! Have you forgotten us? He is surely a fool, he who still holds Krim close.

Remorse

sakhalin_slavs
Yes, but those were better days! Days of Spring and growth. It is our lot to suffer, for we are abandoned, child. Be not judgemental, for one day you, too, will abandon your dreams.

Rejoice!

sakhalin_sky
Arch-Angel Mykyle: Bless this land of Pikkyia! Bless this cursed soil! We are Children, you are olde – You are child-like, we are dead and dying. May the ocean carry us home! Arch-Angel Mykyle: Bless our vegetares, poor as they may be! Grant some salvation for these fields, these farms, this peninsular sadness …

 

When in dream

On By Targu Mures Historical SocietyIn Crimea JacobiusLeave a comment

When in dream where none is real
When in dream, where in dream
Where in dream is found true truth
Where in dream, why in dream
Why in dream is glass transparent
Why in dream, how in dream
How in dream is dream unending
When in dream where none is real

So did one Tan Angerer speak. Noone heard, noone saw. Oh, oh, ayem, ohm! These were sayings of ancient belief, of kingdoms come, of kingdoms gone. Only loss is gain, only loss!

Krim, you of old! Shed light, shine bright. I am alone, sisterless, brotherless, without family, father to none, child of darkness. I pray, Krim, and you do not answer. I pray, Krim, I pray!

This is the ancient tale: One wandered in woods, without torch, without soul. One snapped branches, shed tears, all future broke before him. “Fuj, what thick woods are these!” All future, all past, all was in view of the wanderer, all was in mist.

I never saw him again. Not in dream, not under star nor sun. May darkness guide him, as only darkness can. Why in dream, Krim, why only in dream?

Prayer of the Crimean-Catholic order

On By Targu Mures Historical SocietyIn Krim Fundementals, Nerich FamilyLeave a comment
Monastery of the ancient Crimean Order
Monastery of the ancient Crimean Order

Recovered from monastery tomes donated to the Targu Mures Historical Society:

Semel in Chersonesum relegatus
Propterea dic ad Khmer cælaturas
Iuvenis filius praevaricationis Jacob
primogenitus

Audio fidelium canunt
Natus est rex
Krim Jacob, vivet in aeternum
Quoniam die illa benedicta

Et Nerich tubis canere!
Audi quid dicat:
Illuc usque in sempiternum in tenebris,
Quia in die illa, quod damnatus

Ian Whitehouse has been so kind as to translate for the plebeian masses:

Once in the Crimea
Tell the Khmer carvings
Of the transgression of this young
son Jacob, the firstborn.

I hear the faithful sing
A king must have arrived
Krim Jacob will live forever
we are blessed this day.

And the trumpets of Nerich yell!
They tell us:
Crimea is forever in darkness
since that damned day