BETWEEN- fragments on perennial interims...

long before working in an office
before entering a school-room
I saw life performed on a stage
and on other stages

lifes around me were always performances:
military convoys or black Mercedeses filled with
defence lawyers going to Nuremberg...

life around me was always 'staged'
and wherever my father was 'invited' to go to
he took me with him
to observe,
to be a witness

of history's most unique moments...
some of its unique 'players'
and history's losers...

not sure anymore when and where
after Nathan the Wise
I went to experience Marcel Marceau...

we boys never knew Halloween's mass-culture masks
but we 'read' our friend's face when his parents spoke French
or other friend's parents spoke Esperanto
to hide their alleged sectrets from us boys

Marcel Marceau's language
was to be learned above all other languages
an unforgettable language

but just like in any language,
there are bad imitators:
real clowns, giveaways

never ever 'sincere' factotums
in whatever hierarchy
always deluded by group mentality

always unable to be singular,
always unable to be 'nothing'

Posted by Andreas at 04:22 PM | Permalink

for the last few weeks I have observed a Mourning Cloak Butterfly
www.butterfliesandmoths.org/species?l=1765
flying and gliding around the apple tree (going for rotten apples!)
and also approaching me and landing in front of me while sitting and reading
on my garden bench...

"""Range:
All of North America south of the tundra to central Mexico;
rarely in the Gulf States and peninsular Florida.
Also native to temperate Eurasia.
Comments: Adults live 10-11 months and may be our longest lived butterfly."""

Posted by Andreas at 06:55 PM | Permalink

were taken for real
legislators would never touch it

Posted by Andreas at 02:24 AM | Permalink

seldom knows the culture
from which smiling arose

yet the grimace
speaks ahead of its time
against time

Posted by Andreas at 02:06 AM | Permalink

even in silence and no word spoken
no eyes ever met

an abstinence
that abstains from language,
shuns all words, no voice sounds

yet around you
language approaches two-leggedly

imagination on the wings of language
words hide behind gestures that hide the cult

as if you're witnessing proceedings
a ritual, an acting by many to diminish you, the stranger

the cleansing procedure the blotting out
the connivance the complicity

are these faces, protruding eyes
frozen into the most uniform grimace
performing an aimed repetition of cummunal terror

Posted by Andreas at 01:41 AM | Permalink

via language
trapped people within an invariable series of opinions,
trapped within their narrative,
trapped and stuck within their situation

a stubborn language not amenable to learning and 'education'
as if an unenlightened situation immune to information

but language as an imaginary object feeds upon other imaginary source objects

thus,
the effects of language resulting from manipulative causes
exceed all measurable facts

as if a concrete form only in the form of law
bites, a force that terrorizes
from within the situation, place of narration and fabulation

Posted by Andreas at 01:01 AM | Permalink

impersonates the idea of Man

actors succumb as if an idea's perfection needs actors

Posted by Andreas at 10:55 AM | Permalink

is so easy a word,

just easy enough
for entertaining prejudices
against nature

Posted by Andreas at 01:04 PM | Permalink

of the child
in the to be boy

were formed by failures of humanity
when basement and bunker shook

when sleep was cut off
then divided

and rubble and ruins
no longer visible houses
turned into playgrounds

Posted by Andreas at 12:56 PM | Permalink

stopped by
landed right on my book while sitting outside on my garden bench
today at 13:50

just finished reading this:

"by distancing ourselves from every reason for fighting,
by achieving perfect moments,
which we know we can't surpass..."

(in George Bataille's Epilogue in History of Eroticism)

when I thought of these few sentences
-such a beauty-
with how many few individuals 'we' have reached the many perfect peaks !
of how many moments !
that could never be surpassed !

and each, and each moment a beauty
each individual individually a beauty that lingers on...

...when that butterfly landed on the white page opposite the above cited passage
sat there on the page in full sunshine
in all its beauty...

Posted by Andreas at 03:13 PM | Permalink

that I mentioned somewhere
created for us boys the necessary distance
but it was also to provoke others

with their 'no good boy' prejudices:
the language one elicits by 'being different'
and thus in turn the others ongoing stupidity sorted them out

while my friend's chauffeur
shut the door and we drove off..

wanting to be unlike others
to nearly sing the text I was reading to the class
between tears and laughter then
the goodness of a drawn-out orgasm
boys bragged about...
and wanted always more
and again and again then again
even in another language:

Lisbon while still under dictatorship
the blackness of the suits
unsmiling faces,
we went up to the Castle and looked west
into the sun

or the monks waiting walking naked into the Atlantic
so different from the monks that instructed in religion

and the boys who skipped class
and went deep into the dark forest

even on short winter days
the snow seemed always warmer

yes, the formlessness,
but as my father said, it must be pleasing to the eyes

it must be painterly, artistic, an unforgettable face
you would want to get closer to
to discover talk then walk and then discover fewer words

wasn't that the reason French, each word
that made us boys travel and travel to France
drink wine and discover more
inside that language
more than we could at home...

please! shy away from all form;
how many funerals and always that dark suit
and a darker tie !

but then, all that form and that very same constrained culture
destroyed itself, Jazz in the church for liberation dance
as if there was not a bombed out church near by

but the very same words
come back, always meant to come back
a warriors god never gets away from the living
no war is ever lost except to the dead

and so they shape once again everybody
to suit the old old fashioned form
the only one, the legal form,
law's unseen terror
walking in darkest suits

Posted by Andreas at 10:04 PM | Permalink

wanting to be hostage of the word,
they're advocating belief in the word

yet they keep faith
with a deeply rooted dissatisfaction
bound up with their very own desire

and 'manage values'
by sqeezing out ever more law...

Posted by Andreas at 01:59 PM | Permalink

had been removed...

the adults created a 'gap' -
their very own 'untrustworthiness'
that we boys summarized as a 'false person'

these 'supervisory adults' teachers, managers et al
were 'ahead of us' with their behaviours

we boys had no secrets
that's why we could 'measure' behaviour

their 'perversions' were not articulated in language,
of course not, because they were 'inside a process of hiding'
a show of 'playing inspector' or cop or NAZI 'giving orders' to boys

or
to put it this way:
they themselves interfered with themselves
their behaviour gave them away as 'untrustworthy'

a genuine behaviour never 'masks' or 'performs'

boys had opinions on religion -
fathers or mothers came and 'liberated' their boys

Posted by Andreas at 09:44 PM | Permalink

is really always an 'act' upon other people

after so called 'love'
people fight people first, then each other...

all language acts 'against' each other, substitute for 'acts' against...

prodding as if self-motivated whips guide language 'against' an other

survival within nature remains out of reach of language

Posted by Andreas at 08:55 PM | Permalink

for after lunch all day snack

2 cups of unbleached cake/bread,etc flour
bit salt, sugar
1/4 + teaspoon yeast

mixed with handwarm water and let it sit
covered with a linen towel

it rose pretty good, beautiful dough
by 14:00 I got hungry for 'coffee and snack'

Friday I had bought ten blue plums, I have none in the garden...
same plums that we boys ate while touring the forest around Frankfurt
last century...

my apple strudel got kind of 'boring'
not exciting my appetite too much,
so my eyes found good looking plums

I put them out in the sun all afternoon friday
to make them plums sweet and sweeter

This dough rose very nicely;
poured more flour over it and started kneading by hand...
I rolled the dough ball flat to fit the ten inch width spring form

then I took the stones out of the ten plums,
which gave me twenty halves and pressed them professionally
into the dough
resting and then wanting to rise again inside the spring form;
sprinkled some sugar on top, some flour, both not too much

while doing above I preheated the oven for five minutes,
put now the spring-form for further rise inside
for about fifteen minutes
then turned on the heat for 30 minutes at about 400F

then another fifteen minutes on Broil/Toast,
that brought out the juices nicely and sweet
and browned the dough some

Then put the hot hot hot springform on the wooden board on the table,
opened the springform
and the beauty stood their
wanting to be eaten

Cut in four pieces and then again which made eight pieces,
the more I cut the more pieces I got to eat...

This tasted so good, I have one piece left for breakfast;
these fresh plums compete now with my fresh apples for taste

the baked dough tasted excellent too

and with the juicy plums pressed into the dough
I was not able to improve on this taste with whipping cream
which I skipped
not to spoil an 'original' plum taste cake,
so I ate my cake "raw".

a cake which I couldn't buy around here...

I'm seven time-zone hours away from Europe,
the more I cook and bake myself the better the adventure;

again 30Celsius today

Now I can't wait for breakfast and eat the last piece...

will I bake another one tomorrow?

with apples, beautiful apples, don't know what's the name...
beautiful taste

Posted by Andreas at 12:13 AM | Permalink

than the world of facts

facts 'disappear', don't repeat themselves

but words repeat
even transformed into lies
they repeat themselves 'negatively'

in the figure of some peculiarity
words are hardened into some 'fact'

words are signs that play "repeat"

but silence wipes out wars-
history an orderly disposal of what will be

the present is always silent and wordy;
nobody understands the present

the present is made up of real ambiguous relationships:
yesterday's language applies never to today
but is meant for tomorrow

so, to build on some retrospective ensnarement strategy
language rules within all relationship games
to create 'special' propped up 'subjectivities'...

Posted by Andreas at 08:43 PM | Permalink

the only real relationship:
solely and only with language,
pre-language dreams,
with indoctrination's reductive language's
forced words
believably mixed in

anonymous language
confiscates the body
reduces it to institutionally useful gestures
gestures that grow from within bodies
as if from choice words

it virtually "extracts" behaviours
as if converting words into blood
then into idols of obedient grammar

after language muddles against facts
reason quits

'culture' at its turning point
now exhausted and mythologized,
humans dehumanized
bodies de-constitutionalised

there's war,
an ordered series of sacrifices
tropes of choice
another generation 'loves'
a forced play of marionettes'
as if by choice
a false choice
dancing
on distant strings

same
as before all language
all were animals

speechless within nature
seasonally copulatin'
as if by choice from within

Posted by Andreas at 04:22 PM | Permalink