a man's end

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Look at this face, and if you have not already, then you may come to realize that the appearance

reflects the spirit, that the body is in fact the living embodiment of the spirit's characteristics, limits,

tendencies and will.

This face tells you that in a war, he is the first in and the first one to die; he has loyalty to honour that

cannot be understood through education, it is natural to him; he may have a family but will never raise

his children for duty calls to protect his wife and children to fight the enemies still on distant land to

prevent them from coming near to his family and property; he is intelligent and compassionate but

does not cower for executing a captured prisoner of war - a man of character and endurance, of labour

and family, of war and strive, of peace and reading.

Compare this face to that of a Modern Economic orientated Cuck's face, so dominantly represented in

our age; chubby cheeks, a chin not yet double but can come falling down any moment at age thirty; a

childish expression with not the innocence but the meanness and deserving attitude of spoiled

children - a Manchild from bourgeoisie be-ing class, who when he has power will abuse it, let others

do the dirty work while privileged himself for not having to climb up because everything has been

given, he has a wife and children but never spends time with them relating to nature, sports and

animals; the kind of a ''man'' who when duty calls for war, he is the one trying to obtain a ''rank'' to

either be excluded from the warrior's strive, or to give safe orders, or be stationed far away from the

actual fighting, always sheltered and always his corrupt bloodline passed on from generation to

generation; that is how cucks survive.

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But if you look at this face of strive, loyalty, endurance, compassion and merciless mercy (his mercy is

to kill and execute clean, no needless suffering) - you see he is rare; in ancient times they were more

''common'' and young men were trained to become warriors and women were given no other value

than to give birth to warriors; throughout the many centuries of wars such men were the first to

sacrifice themselves and the Socratic, Christian and Secular-Humanist doctrines having had an

resentful impact upon the gene pool of our peoples in favour of weakness, ugliness and cuckoldry, this

face can be seen suppressed somewhere in our society, hidden in this unnatural world of Economicpriorities and cuck perversions, or as it is presented here - a statue's head capturing the moment of a

rare face of hardship, loyalty, good fathership and labour; he sees the future and embraces it as a will

of higher gods guiding him to his certain death in violence, but ever living through heroic inspiration for

others to look up to, for women to be reminded with what kind of men they should bed and what kind

of children they should birth; reminding young men how to embrace strive and how to sacrifice their

own lives for the higher ideals and for wife and children to protect: to remind us what our people lack

today and what kind of blood has been spilled; during World War II, these kind of men were the first to

die and too many this time have been sacrificed and had not have the chance to inspirit a strong

woman's womb to continue such a line of bloody Nobility; can we return to beauty and strive, that is

our present day's difficulty to answer, not as a question but as a duty, a task we must fulfil - too much

has been destroyed already and too many of the ugly breeds, the lower classes and Economic

inverted Elites have survived and been propagated.

I Heil to all Men of Valour and Women with Courageous Instinct.

Once you lose faith in Nature, you distrust potential understanding which relates to knowledge.

Knowledge alone corrupts the soul, you have to do and be or else you are nothing more than a piece

of storage machinery designed for Modern intent (meaning, a tool for destruction and corruption).

If only we would still see Nature and natural phenomena as inspirited forces, the commercialized andeconomic living standards would have never corrupted us as much as it has already done so.

I start to see and feel the (hidden) spirits everywhere, or try to; you can mock me, but I look upon you

the way you present yourself to be - an empty shell with the spirit of Modern superstitious ''superiority''

looking down upon our ancient ways.

You think you can replace us?

You only replace yourself with replicated Modern thought and ''value'', which means; to be equally

loved is to be equally disposable - that is your value and superiority.

Heil the spirits of Nature,

May the Elves guide us!

A Man’s End

A story to continue of prose, poetry, philosophy, dignity - I write through unknown paths.

Initially, by intent, dedicated to write not for, but as inspiration, a person in mind, as I had an

ending in sight, now losing in my heart, I will see wherever the road leads, if it does.

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Part 1

A man’s worth,

a woman’s chamber

A misty coldness over the land upon which one wooden cabin stood in its loneliness, breathing out

smoke from the hearth; surrounded by grassy lands without a people, on its turn surrounded by a thick

forest of mostly oaks and ashes. On one side however, there was a lake always covered by a blanket

of dense spirits, with or without wind, the ghostly clouds were always on the move as if the lake was a

sunken market, where all was mute but the ravens’ wings and the silence speaking by itself as when a

prey had noticed too late its hunter and freezes without a breath.

A man lived there of an age praised for livelihood and way of the sword, brought up by the gods

themselves as were the rumours in distant towns, for how they know; the man occasionally visited the

pigeon towns, as he thought of them in that manner, to attend festivals in honour to thunder, war, love,

wind, ancestors – all through dance, song and battle contests; as the greatest poet living by the wordshe sing, the warrior by the sword he will swing for the cause of his people, and the dancer by

expressing the season’s colours - through the word as witness and oath, sword and axe for blood and

land, and rhythm of steps and season, they were the very offerings themselves next to the selected

cows, sheep and slaves.

He was the best of all in all, not known but for his actions and solitude by which they wondered how he

gained such skills with no one other to practise and judge; so were the gods to challenge him as a way

of upbringing, so they spoke so he lived.

The gods among us, fighting against their raging willing;

I will! I will scorch the heat of forging elements, I will burden sword’s weight,

I will challenge willing of higher Fates!

One night the poet by sword and dance saw his destiny to choose witnessed in the stars, as they

spoke of his death, to die in battle is to live among eternal strive and arts with the gods, to die a

pigeon’s death is to be forgotten, to rot away in the earth alike verses that will never be spoken for the

men to come to take guidance from.

The gods among us against Noble detriment is to be with our fight,

Challenge so to forge sword’s strive -

So to dance Norn’s webs in destined life.

The next morning he ate and drank, packed his bread, meat, wine and left behind all but his spirit

which is his body, his armour and his sword from forgotten times; he wandered from town to town and

lived by people’s hospitability which he rewarded with his presence, if not, nature was his home and

the trees his coat against rain and as the leaves started to fall, the snow to follow in a distant time, he

had his wolf skins to live the way of the howling moon.

Far away already from land and in time, he crossed paths of many in high orders; as a bard he began

to sing for the loss of a local king’s life to the left behind beauty now in mourning with the people in the

Great Hall:

‘’Do not river your tears,

For your king will be reared,

Your stomach has the seed

For many to harvest in later years;

Your husband among the Great Ones

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Your child to come for you to lead,

The battle to come …’’

And so he sang and so they ate swine and drunk on wine and beer forgot their tears in joy for what

was to come.

Another place, another time, guest in a great village known for its youth, now known for women wholost their men far away to protect what they left behind; their women, daughters and wives, whose

feature is to please men who have spilled their fathers’, sons’ and husbands’ lives on the earth for the

crows to eat.

A beautiful young woman begged to help which silenced all others’ their pleading, for when beauty

speaks it needs only silence or a breeze to be heard and felt:

‘’Wanderer, we have received signs from the skies beyond ours’, for the crows are descending from

lands unknown and blackened our hearts, the time has told us that not our men are to return and

celebrate the fallen ones and our future in beyond our lives, for the singing of our men in the wind

would have rejoiced our hearts already – it are men who’ve slaughtered our future of peace and

grandchildren after we would have birthed ours’, for the crows to eat their flesh and the winter tofreeze what remains of them; they are on their way for their claim of our wombs which they will take

without our souls. I beg, lead us elsewhere, fight them with yours by the gods given strength and

wisdom, sing them to the end of our world with your voice no match for flute and drum giving the

rhythm of steps to march on – By the gods, I will marry you and bear your children in loyalty, even in

my grave my frozen lips will have your name on them.’’

The guest thanked her trust and their kindness of care, while staying along the road of his death in

their village known for youth and spoke:

‘’Women and girls, young and lesser young, I can be of no help for you are the treasure for which

many would fight for and have already done so, on their way to your new homes which are of the

ancestors of your new men, after burning your old homes; whether I lead you here or there, youcannot hide for your men’s failing who have abandoned you, though with honour and no intent to leave

you at such a fate - even the gods would plunder your hearts into despair for new children for you to

bear, I would bring mere misery upon the earth by drowning flowers in blood of armies and gods ready

to give life in your bodies through force, or your fear to resist the key to the chambers of treasure and

fruits, for a key is easily replaced by a ram.

Most beautiful girl of this great village known for its youth, soon for its cries and destiny in verse of

victor, honoured I am but cannot fulfil our bonding, I can tell you your fate however: You will be

married above mere pleasure, to the highest of their order and give birth to children who will be loyal to

the blood of same kin we are but a different clan you despise, thus will be your lot, strengthening your

enemy’s future, slaughterer of your beloved men.’’

And so he left and so he heard the echoing in distance like snow resonating the sun in the night by the

moon’s reflection; and the stars shining their lights by which ancient spirits, our ancestors forgotten in

verse and memory, we are in body merely, took guidance and counsel from – the haunting cries of

young women being hunted down and blazing fires feeding on wood built to blaze hearths and sleep

dreaming of the next day’s dreams to fulfil as memories; to pass on from family to family.

The most beautiful of the great village, the place now known for its cries and women’s lamenting, was

about to take her own life, or to flee, she did not know what to do, the words of the wanderer, could

they be countered, or was his tongue as are his deeds, inevitable as thunder following the lightning.

A man broke through the door, followed by three others but they were as if they were not, for the first

one to enter was a man of great stature, had a most hardened face, broad, tall, a beard as if it was a

second face, that of a bear hungering for flesh; he wore no helmet but thick layers of animal skins over

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his body, a shield and an axe - an image as if the old Giants had escaped the mountain’s glaciers and

collapsed upon the earth’s surface.

She was with her younger sister who was of an age soon to be regarded as fruitful, not yet; the first

one to enter grabbed her younger sister and tossed her to the three men behind him, and the worst of

what is to a woman’s her value, was dishonoured and ravished the heart as much as it did her soul, for

the soul is seated in the stomach, and in woman, in her womb she transfers to her children, the soul in

child with a man forcefully to fuse, or simply her dignity distrusted for the sake of treasure to please theinexhaustible energy of the aftermath of an victorious battle.

Their destiny was sealed, for a fruitful woman cannot hide for the man’s sword and key, what to think

after taste of blood, it erects the man’s will to subjugate and penetrate into the deeper realm of the

enemy, one’s self; materially or spiritually - either to destroy, for pleasure, or to create.

And the poet of sword’s ink and phase of dance wandered on.

Part 2

Wholeness,

Heil

Sieg Geist

On his way through thick forest he heard a bird sing, the melody of a lost winter - and thus was

revealed the Heilige adem; carving from oak a flute to become sacred, whole in Geist , as breath is

spirit breathed from wherever you are, the surroundings will animate your stofwisseling and by

becoming conscious in Geist you will animate the spirits.

He breathed and exhaled for each tune has its force to be played upon, to know the distance and

strength, to listen to purity and master the melody which goes from body into spirit and spirit into body;

beware for ill breath; and so he mastered the bird’s secret.

Playing his flute, he talked to the birds, he asked an owl about the road and was told; ‘’where spirit is

ijl , that is the way, where your breath becomes heavy and body light in your mind, where your legs

become heavy to move – where spirit is light but reveals its holy heaviness, to become wholly, your

instinct will testify, for breathing through nose is to filter, to filter is to smell, to smell is to taste, to taste

is to feel your body, to feel is to listen to Will beyond yours; breathe the pines, the eternal of life and

taste its death of cycles’’.

In the forest’s part dominated by pines and lesser light, he breathed but the cold air made his lungs to

be moist in feeling, each seasonal and chemical degree of air has its pureness, our body regulates it

by its own cycles that have been animated by the cycles of nature. The wolf’s skin was too thick and

breathed already another past, another spirit; but he had a scarf in possession unworn by woman’s

hair and untouched by perfume, he used it for his face but knowing the scarf’s intent he became

distracted by yearning for woman’s touch and so his breath became out of melody.

He meditated on his flute and asked for counsel and was spoken to by a wind sent by gods’ guidance,

it whirled a pathway of light by opening the pines density and the snow covering a road of green

needles; and he was reminded of witnessing his intent of leaving, to arrive; and so he focused and felt

eternity living his soul.

Out of the forest, orientating for his road, a robber mistook him for a poor and weak commoner lost in

his travel and engaged him in combat; before the robber knew his breath already was stuck, stricken

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out of his chest and kneeled in suffocation, his dagger was no match for the wanderer’s motions. He

waited till the robber could express his fear and defeat in heavy breathing unsatisfying his blood

pumping through unmelodious beats of the heart. He unsheathed his sword and with controlled

breath, which is the spirit, he held his sword above the robber’s neck who was pleading for mercy.

‘’Mercy, for I was not about to take your life, only to scare you, threaten and at most wound you at a

spot easy to be healed for I am well experienced!’’

The breather of pines spoke: ‘’And how did you gain these motions; how many before me had to suffer

their weakness, or your weakness of direct combat, making it a strength to be alike a bush, ambushing

those even stronger than you, I have no disdain for that, only that I am not in any care for you to be

alive.’’

‘’Mercy, for I have lots of valuables, I share them to your like of choice!’’

‘’First you wish to play upon my spirit you mistook to be alike that of yours’, to have you alive and well

because you intended no actual harm upon me but eager to nose through my possessions, that did

not work and now you try to persuade me, a wanderer who cannot be burdened with your, by others’

earned, treasures.’’

‘’Mercy, for I have many who know me who are willing to avenge me, it will spare you your life or at

least troubles on your road to wherever you go!’’

‘’This is exactly what mercy is, by the common use of your fool tongues, fear in the hypocrite who

spares lives and prevents pain upon others to not have actions taken against him in similar manners,

but I am not a commoner, my mercy is that you won’t feel your head in parts through weak aims, but

wholly served by a strong breath throughout my body, my muscles are already in shape, which is

strength possessing space and holding breath in my veins; I fear no re-actions in the way how I am

judged by them, by fools, who cannot even judge their own limits and false arrogance, this is my

truthful arrogance for knowing better and acting upon it, and even if I may ever fall by your kind of

common fools, I would take mercy upon myself, mercy is to not spare another, not yourself, but if yougive it, do it wholly with no ill will to inflict unnecessary pains and mutilations, such should be justified

for higher Mercy of greater intent.’’

‘’Mercy..!’’

The head severed; he had no dignity, no understanding and so his face expressed ill spirit while rolling

on the earth, no control over submitting to what was to come.

He left the body for the animals in winter hunger to be eaten from and put his head on a thick branch

he had sharpened to face those alike in commonness, and wandered on - his next vision was a ‘city of

free slaves’ in the near distance.

Part 3

Spirit and ancestors long gone

– all are embodied

To feel as it appears,

To feel as one is

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Walking on towards the near distance, so it seemed, towards the ‘city of free slaves’, it took him a

while for the walls were so great it dominated all the focus away from the surrounding environment,

the distance was in sight, but not that near; meanwhile he passed a yard of graves, of ancient times

when only those with honour would be resurrected in names carved in memorial, verse in memory, or

simply the earth raised with a tomb of stones testifying one’s worth.

He sat down once the sun was on its way to the world beyond gods, to make way for the moon, the

cycle – beginning and end, what is in between is the story of the chirping bird about to be lost in the

claws of an eagle, the ant fighting its way through the great halls of another colony, the man leaving

his home and pregnant wife to fight for his dear soil to grow fruitful as a family he firstly has to protect

from the threat of those who wish to spoil his soil into theirs’, including the woman and the destiny of

the unborn fruit unknown, as in those times the fruit not of one’s own could easily be sold or sacrificed

to the foreigner’s own will for pleasure and gain.

The abandoned yard of graves was more alike a part of nature yet to be cultivated, ruins eaten by time

testifying a man’s worth by enduring, for that is what ruins are, testifying the past of greatness – woe

those whose past will crumble without ruining their future for those yet to come to take testimony from

the past of ancestors, and build upon their endurances and strive.

In the snow he sat and read unknown names with known deeds; darkness fell and the moon was

covered by a cloud so thick and grey, shadowing the earth that even the snow’s whiteness became as

if it were a shadow itself following wherever the cold leads.

‘’Fallen ones, who fought and died as well as they were among family and lived well; my night of

health I say unto myself and those I wish well: ‘Schlaf gesund Sterb gesund! ’’

So he became a sleeping wolf covering his bare bearded face and his eyes sunken into the depths of

his soul, his flesh.

Thus was revealed to him in dreaming abyss reflecting the day’s impressions: ‘’Spirit and long gone

ancestor, all are imagined in flesh, even in the mistiest fog we see faces of haunting ghosts’’, for acripple in body is as much crippled in spirit; his attention, emotions and overcoming plagued revolving

the body; the body manifesting in spirit for when one is in good health so one perceives the world to

overcome in as much strength and Will – for the body testifies the strength of Will; alike when you start

to smile and the mind feels its body and starts to laugh together with the flesh, through voice and

rejoiced stomach where the soul seats.

The skies finally about to shine their cyclic eye:

A god awakening the dawn by spurring blazing fire behind his chariot, the horses eager not to burn as

fuel fuelled their will riding around the world and those unknown to us; so too he who is the past to

continue awakened from his revelation.

His eyes beholding a new dawn looked upon a tomb, the former evening still covered in shadow, with

painted, yet to faint, bodies and symbols; one of a beautiful woman, who he assumed lays buried next

to the man fallen and resurrected in memory, told a story of her taking her own life not wishing to leave

her beloved behind to be buried under the earth, without her next to him accompanying the road to

what was to come after we’ve endured this one.

And thus was revealed, speaking these words to himself: ‘’I feel the way it looks; for beauty makes one

feel his strive to obtain, to become, yourself or your legacy of children yet to come by picking the right

tree on fertile earth bearing fruits of good taste - or to cover for those having tasted their own mistakes

unwilling to overcome’’.

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‘’I listen, and it makes me feel; on the loneliest mountain I may play my flute and sing my song in most

rejoiced tune, so it is as if I am among good people celebrating wedding of proved man and fertile

woman.’’

His words before he would go on hunt and feed his stomach hungering, to eat and the manner as

much reflect the stofwisseling and organs in need and hierarchy of soul, organized in stomach, so he

spoke his dream: ‘’I feel as I perceive and as I act; I perceive and act as I am embodied.’’

Part 4

Knowing distance

Humbling yourself

In the midst of a field astray from the road as does the stomach lead the mind’s thoughts towards the

taste of prey yet to be hunted, away from the pursuit of his greater hunt resulting his end; though

surrounded by pines and bald oaks varying on the sides of the field, the dry winds, as if different rivers

made their way over the earth, swooped over the field taking the upper layer of newly fallen snow as

dust blinding his sight, screaming into his ears the pathway of whirling, the cold numbing the touch of

his blood.

The healthy death-sleeper, breather of pines, flute-talker to birds, wandering poet, dancer of sword

and other names to come, was tracking an elk, midst the field the animal passed between hills

breaking the winds and so he had great opportunity to strike his prey with clear senses and breathuntouched by the god blowing his air out of his lungs taking away his own spirit, hidden under his

wolf’s head.

It was then that he felt the presence of more than himself and the hunted elk, for there were those who

hunted both; wolfs surrounded and as was the elk about to run, this was the moment to strike

imbalanced fear in a corner of already lost opportunity; the man-wolf breathed calmly as was to see

from the cold being rhythmically confronted with his heat from living – exhaling what was inbreathed.

The elk was down already, though wolves are lesser in weight and strength, they attack those stronger

than themselves and submit to a clear hierarchy. The remaining wolves not focused upon the elk

started to approach him with carefulness, as they thought him to be an outcast who survived solitude

and will take many down before the more will kill off the few, for the skin of wolf protecting him was of

remarkable size and smelled of strength even after its death and protective endurances for blood not

its own to warm and skin to embody.

The man-wolf calmly moved around his axis, confronting each approaching wolf with calamity by his

willingness to fight, so they themselves kept calm too and this is ‘to know each other’s distance’ ,

feeling the measurement of strength and outcome.

Then he started to approach the one who clearly led the others, and his she-wolf pretending to be

scared, stroked her head in front of her mate’s, exposing her own throat to protect his’. At this moment

he realized, it was time to humble himself; for when one has pride but does not know his place, he’s

alike a man who never bows his head and thus the sword strikes its aim, while he who isn’t stubborn

and ruled by shame from plebs, will fall on his knees to not be stricken, and thus the opportunity to

jump-up with a dagger arises to slice the opponent’s throat, or to extent your life, delaying the death of

the ‘wrongly merciful’.

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Humble but not as prey, they smelled and encircled him for a cold time, until they left him be to enjoy

the death of hunt giving life, they shared, as a mistaken outcast even prior other pack-members, to

take his share and fill his stomach on a later time away from the field.

The wolf and she-wolf; loyal to each other and in strength and stealthy intelligence leading, they were

attracted to each other, or rather the wolf took her and she liked him afterwards as his possession, fora woman to be possessed by a man is a jealousy in just behaviour, which means care and loyalty; as

like attracts like, so like gives birth to like; imbalance often enough destroys the former better traits of

one and by few outcomes, gives a strengthening result.

Away from field and hunt, he ate his roasted share of meat and sung accompanied by fire:

‘’Alike the howls of wolves

That cannot be without self’s remaining

Overcoming beyond love’s of self

To love the becoming of the coming hunt

Is the Strive of love of self yet to come

Dawn to rise alike howling’s mystery

Echoing beyond where wolves hunt’’

And so he sang and so the cycle of the day was to repeat its shadowing night to resurrect the light in

the dawn to come, awakening the sleep to be gone.

Part 5

Making your way

Moonwalkers

As life started to let itself be heard in the order of sounds familiar to each cycle of the day, so

awakened the man without a heart; on he went but with his melancholic blood yearning, and the soul

corrupting by an overflow of feelings exposing his spirit - as even the gods are known for, for has not

each god a cycle of season and nature, so each season and cycle in life has its dominating

wereldaanschouwing – he wandered around without intent of purpose relating to the stars’ revelation

he had read at his home near the densely spirited lake.

So far astray, from the road that even the gods had eased for his pathway to end and greatest agon

with green needles leading his melody, he now did not care for, he followed a river, by its sound as

mostly the surface was frozen; up and up, through forest and over rocks, he came to a halt at a glacier

and disheartened gave a sigh alike a quiet spring breeze over a field of buttercups, partly picked by a

young lad but not taken with him to have a flowery crown for his girl, as he felt no future in anything; so

he sighed alike this lost wind of spring.

It was there that he saw the last flower of winter-breath, red as a rose, shaped as one too - beside that

the head was frozen in crystal clearness, it was white frozen and its stem had thorns of ice.

He broke the stem from the snow and it broke into pieces except the rose’s head, the crystal head

started to melt in his warm hands, blood flowed through his fingers making the snow as if history was

now in shedding of life – a cold heart was what was left in his palm, from the size it was of a human

child; that he ate to remember his youth and forget his petty sorrows as the heart testified that his’ still

beats and glories in life, his youth had endured, but it did not make it wholehearted.

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He glimpsed from whence he came and realized that he had to start over by stepping over each

heartfelt past traces of his feet, to return on his pathway towards wholeheartedness, much to pass by

and go through before that to reach.

Going back, he saw the moon in the midday’s sky and thought: ‘’To possess all the gold of this earth,

lonely is the moon, distant from the sun, praised by many in poems from our earth; but lonely – to

possess al the gold on this earth, nay, to desire and live by this desire, that is to walk on the mooninfertile without men, women, children…, life…; suffocating your breath in pursuit of greed – then the

sun stops to shine, or rather, you face the moon and see it is all an illusion and it has given you

nothing but wasted time, which is wasted life, for to be conscious about time, in mind and body or in

body without mind, is to live, all that lives testifies, enduring time and a part of cyclic rebirth, that is the

value of death - to give birth.

And so, even astray he is on his right way, for no road is to be walked on by rules or by any person;

each his own way, if not – make one, if you share the road, each heart may follow its own destiny, its

own intent and its own purpose to another hearth with different wood to be warmed from – don’t be

fooled by sharing, for digesting is not equal as each tree burns differently.

Back on track again.

Part 6

Corrupters of youth

Those who do not want to hear have to feel

The road towards the ‘city of free slaves’ became more and more untouched from how nature gives

her touch in accordance to seasonal cycles upon and as the environment; the snow started to melt thecloser he came, smoke and human herding waste became more dominant in the air to breathe.

The eater of childhood passed one of the more and more frequently becoming, standing houses along

the road, increasingly busier with human traffic too, a manmade road of cultivated stones – at one

house he stopped once he noticed a young boy who seemed lost yet not.

‘’Boy, why are you not playing or learning skills of the body at your age, why do you laugh at the

games of those your age who take it serious, and count your steps in school as if life depends?’’

The boy looked up at him and said: ‘’I have ambitions, the body is for those people who will become

nothing in life, so say my parents and so say my teachers’’.

‘’Boy, what is status between the walls of the civilized is a circus in life without borders; the true

acrobat has no rules, the clown does it all from a paper; who are your parents to have you so serious

and weak in body, don’t they know the mind feeds from the body and the body grows from the mind, to

neglect one is as it is, one; not the other, you neglect both.’’

The boy did not know what to answer but was taught to not withdraw and overthink what was said, or

question more, so he called for his parents, who came to see what went on, and after being explained

they said agreeing: ‘’Look at you, playing games by just wandering around, not taking life serious, a

beard that will never give another trust in you; you are like a child in a man’s body, take example of our

little son, more grown up than you!’’

‘’Example of your boy…, why does he bleed from his chest? What are with his eyes so dull and

ambitious for a petting on the back; I see now, he has no heart but a number, where is it, I ask, but I

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know already – you are the slaughterers of childhood, cutting out youthfulness from those eager to

explore and see for themselves; once the heart of childhood has been spoiled or ambitiously

cultivated, so youth rots in its chest infecting from there all within and those to seek guidance will be

misguided, a cycle of cultivation alike roads leading to one corrupt city of governance.’’

The parents, angry at what they heard, such arrogance as if the wanderer would know any better,

replied: ‘’Man with no future, no status, no credence to say anything against our ways, for only thosewho drink from our nipples and give milk on their turn alike that of ours’, have any say upon our ways;

his heart was no good, we tossed it away to have him serve justice, which is to be justice, that is, to

say, allow no other way leading astray from our city’s freedom, justice is in numbers.

You know, from the very beginning were our laws, that is what make us so great today, as it should

have always been this way, ought to be and will be.’’

Sick of their spirit outside the walls but as if they were behind them; he prophesised from the past:

‘’In the beginning was the Sword.The destroyer held it up high and cleft through pages,

There they were, hovering through the air, voiceless words, A book; written legislations and summed memories gathered throughout the ages,But after the beginning, because in the beginning was the Sword...

The Sword created a new era of spoken poetry,Poetry recited and danced upon, circling the life-tree,The dances reflected the essence of the volks-spirit and Nature,The women gave birth to sword-wielding men of oath to none but blood,Blood for blood so goes the law, oath to bloody legacy so goes the law.

In the beginning was the Sword, And the Sword, so shall be the ending -of each cycle uttering its last words...’’

And he left the corrupters of youth nearing the great walls of free slaves.The snow was gone in totality as the heat became more intense the closer to the city, and so did theskies became viler.

On a crossroad of the many from all-over, but the same they were no matter which corner, for the leftdefines the right and the centre is any creature that thinks, and if not, feels, it is the centre of life andthe world in itself, all to be valued and tasted by its own hierarchy of organs, and so the dung beetlecelebrates the taste of faeces and the one repulsed by it, reflects what its organs say it is, you smell somy face will tell you exactly that.

A fool stood upon carton boxes, towering above all, he proclaimed: ‘’Great men and women of high

stature, for we all are, that is, ‘to keep everyone in their value’, disagree or not, we all share the samevalued principle, that is, we are humans and can be whatever we want..., just imagine.’’

‘’If we are all of such great stature, little man towering above us upon carton boxes, then why raiseyour voice in such a manner to make belief…’’

The carton-tower fool interrupted: ‘’Carton boxes…?! These are bricks of truth, solid, worth a thousandcastles of fake knights, who are you to say I am little, look at me, I tower above you, people arelooking at me, they listen to what I have to say; who here is little, you jealous man – I have my ownvalue, you should know that, we share this as humans, so let’s have everyone in their value!’’

‘’If so, I dare you, why not have the dogs piss on the first brick and see what happens, for according tothe elements, each follows another upon effect; the thunder is with lightning but it is after that you

hear, and the blind man can testify; you need these bricks to feel tall, but that is the need alike a smalldog barking to appear dangerous.’’

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‘’Lightning and thunder?!’’ - the fool replied - ‘’I show you, here, I have a dagger and cut off my ears;see how my head turns into wine, for all to drink from; you ignoble man – bring me the lightning and Iwill not hear the thunder, who here is the stupid one now!’’

He left the man standing for others to witness his collapse, a stray dog took a leak later that day, and

there he was; deaf, without ears and soaked in dog’s piss testifying his fool’s bricks.

Part 7

To steal by givingCyclic intent

The city’s mad-goat

At the gates, it was like a city made of desert sand, giant walls which seemed to be impossible to climbupon, to penetrate and to conquer; but the walls themselves testify conquered freedom, paradisebehind fences exposes your desires and loyalty, your lack of fulfilment, in knowledge to counter, or inWill beyond what has been given without choice, for to be given can be a theft in itself .

It was unknown to him to even guess how many days it would take to circle around the city’s walls witha marching pace; if the lungs can bear at all the ill air to tolerate without a sickness to strengthen itstolerance, that is to weaken its strength of origin, cyclic intent .

The city had no seasons but was as if an era of volcanic eruptions, though in the environment it takes

life by its own, overtaking each cycle of order to create a new order of will-less will, it happens andthrough such the new organic hierarchies will perceive it as a new will, organs re-organized to lead,either by strengthening of will or as the will itself to stomach without mind.

Entering the gates, he saw guards who did not know to guard but their image of representing only inrank, not in intent of origin to act. No soldiers, only guards of the eternal season.The breather of pines was a strange image and attracted lots of winking eye-gazing moments, walkingthrough the market-streets ending up at one of the many open centres; the moment manifesting intheir imagination by just passing by, affecting the minds’ cyclic season of comprehension; but soontheir focus was upon something else - they called the creature ‘the city’s mad-goat’.

The goat at ease was telling a story about a Helen and the surrounding events, a name of an other-

world’s beauty from a long gone time; he asked a question in which you can find the answer: ‘ ’What ishistory without the face of Helen?’’

Everyone knew about the legend from the other-world, other because the people did not represent theslightest beauty of those in the chain bygone, cut off from union, for to unite it means you wereseparated at first ; the ruins of long gone peoples entice to puzzle your potential of understanding andcreation; if you can’t you are not in union with the past’s part, for the past is never a whole, butdifferent holes’ alike stars lensed upon with different lenses of strengths and colours, for what is anabyss but the heavens shining its past upon us to see the moment and grab the future.

The city’s mad-goat, though the given name testified the madness of the people which one can say isnormal, yelled: ‘’That would be a history with peace and a future in which we live without intolerancefor our personal tastes’’

That is the value of beauty – war.

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Alike the village now known for its cries and lamenting women of youth.The war from within to attain yourself in the image which is to unite, the war to obtain for the sake of

taste, the war to create is the peace of the Noble, the war to compete, the war to be at peace butready to sacrifice for the moment to behold, the sun to rise and the rooster to initiate its cycle it has

breathed to announce another: Agon, to become what was, like the fragile cub dependent upon its mother and father to grow in the

image of its past, the ancestors - or a weakling walking on air about to collapse.

The city’s mad goat, the direct descendent of a lineage converted into sheep, spoke: ‘’What are yourtastes’ but bad instincts and denial; your jealousy and envy testify what is worth, that is what makesyou feel what you are, for to behold is to feel the way it is, or rather in your cases, what you are notand cannot attain, worthless is that what you feel and are.’’

The people laughed and the Witness of Fate, the healthy death-sleeper, the wandering-moment ofeternal cycles - was curious why they were not in anger, not about to silence his tongue. And theymockingly said: ‘’Look at you, old goat, time has no meaning here, we are time for we are the numbersand we are the perceivers, we are the value-givers to time; however we look is what was; theimagined and the past are the same, Helen’s face is fading, look around you, who here looks like thepast; we are the future, the eternal season.’’

The city’s mad-goat tried to voice his spirit but the laughing did not stop for too long to even bother towait any longer, and thus he started to blare its bleating; ‘’beheheh, behehe, behehe’’; and those trueto numbers stopped laughing and became serious; saying ‘’hear who has come to reason, he starts tosound like us already, everything at last won’t last its madness when confronted with so many ofcommon taste and senses.

‘’Behehe’’

‘’Ye, ye, I have heard that already, my neighbour spoke about that two days ago, come with somethingnew’’; while another was intrigued and started to clap.

The flute-speaker with birds asked the city’s mad-goat how come they laughed and mocked and were

about to get drunk on joy when speaking such words of sense uncommon to the common senses ofplebs and politicians.

‘’Once you start to speak in their words, they know already; that is, to not understand, they speak alanguage we have in common but translates differently – it is their daily talk in serious manner, soundlike them to be tolerated among them; be an animal, in our context, be human.’’

The man-wolf started to howl and the people who were already departing turned again in the directionwhich made them laugh earlier; and started to shout - ‘’you hateful dog, how dare you; guards, guards,he threatens our feelings!’’The city’s seemingly common-goat said: ‘’A animal to their like, that is, to their image – unite indeception.’’

And he started to purr like a kitten, bark like a dog of ankle height and oink like a piggy.One man apologised for having made too soon a conclusion and the man-wolf was thus invited to adinner, and another asked him if he went to the same college as him; a woman asked him if his poetrywas meant for her and at last, a man of high rank in human value, offered him a position of leadership,that is, to be a face of their righteousness.

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Part 8

Image of godsStrength and forgetfulness

He went to the dinner on invitation given at the market, in the evening he sat down at the table withother guests as well; the talking was minor in importance, but such can be important to lay the

fundament for doors to others, or the realm of hidden depths to crack open.

The kitchen was open to the living room, empty as the other rooms were to be used for the intent ofother activities, though a bookshelf in a corner, the table was long, the host sat at one end, the

stranger another, the host’s wife busy in kitchen and serving, in between that time taken to sit close toher husband.

The host, after having poured each guest his share of wine started to talk about how ‘’all aresubjugated to the Divine, there is no strength other than that of the Divine, ours is merely allowed by

the grace of the One power.

Strength is, to bow your head and sacrifice your will to that of another more Supreme, the Divine andbelow, those representing the One’s will by guiding us to the greater will; strength is, to acknowledgeyou have none and all is by One’s grace, to know you cannot act against One.’’ So spoke the host.

‘’What do you think, stranger from faraway?’’

‘’Strength is the many in one to unite; and the minor to be appointed its best will, that is, its design and

intent going well. A fist is a unity of fingers and force, but with one finger to point alike a sword you can

expose the enemies and traitors from distance and direct the warrior lines behind you towards the

right, specific direction, then the single finger becomes the greater fist of ordered lines marching

towards opposed unity.

Know when unity is the power serving Greater interests than the immediate or that of others; then you

are alike to the finger with its own intent beside the unity of forceful fist, a part of the whole instead of

the whole determining the parts.’’

‘’But for One there is no-one alike, One’s part is whole, the whole is all that exists in parts; no-one to

measure against One, there is not a two alike the One.’’

‘’Strength is not whole but divided, to have force is to possess spirit in being to become; the mind has

no will, so the body will not possess, on its turn, to possess spirit is to break through habit; the mind

wills not but you breathe it nonetheless, the body strengthens and once mind wills not to pain the

body, the body wills upon the mind and so you fight on – find your harmony.’’

‘’And how do you measure, don’t we all have weakness in old age, the strength each to his degree,

has same essence from One, we all share both strength and weakness.’’

‘’Strength is the measurement with the gods, the gods are to be challenged and to be taken as guides,

a challenge is for the betterment of your judgement; the strength of gods mean nothing to them with

no-one to measure against, the strength of man is nothing with no god to live up to. The gods are in

our image, that is, the different forces in us mirrored as the highest forces, the elements and nature

too are the gods image manifested in our image as to possess the consciousness of elements, and to

be all that is, so the tree may be death or may be fertility, it certainly is time - for we perceive the

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strengths and qualities and measure our humble place on this world from which we got birthed - and

fight to overcome or harmonize with the gods.

All that is, so death is and so the gods too will die and cycle re-birth, the value of life is death’’.

‘’And can all that live be life or find it through death?’’

‘’The lowly are in the image of no-life, for those low-hearted and cowardly, they will have no image but

ugly reminder and scourge to not be like them, their image is all the ugly, but they are no-life, for they

leave no legacy of life; no hero alike who lives in his death through his deeds to be inspired from, no

Hall of Life after earth to go to but to the Hall of the Common, where they disappear in the common

face and thus will disappear from our memory alike, that is, the Memory to Strive alike – the Hall of

Fallen Great Ones is the return and life eternal - to remember, not just to remember, but how to be

remembered, if your enemies don’t erase you or scourge you in lies; regardless, the deeds exist and

to be erased because of Greatness, too is to be remembered, the wish to forget in the enemy; they

forget, but the Greater spirits will turn against forgetfulness, to return Strive, so goes the cycle and so

each has its dominant era.’’

‘’I understand we both have great divide in how we understand the worlds, let us be one at least in

good taste for wine and talk about what others too can follow.’’

So the evening became night and the one among many was given a place to sleep to find his way in

dreams not shared by any of his time, that is, the time measured through Great spirits of other times.

Part 9

Sold love and tolerance

Hate and taste

Outside having said goodbye to the friendly contrast who hosted him, he walked through the city to

explore, he came at a market and stood still at ‘a shop of love’. The salesman was unshaven in an

unclean manner with black stubbly hairs, greasy skin with a sweaty appearance and a moustache

fuller than any other parts of his face and head.

“Look at these beautiful women, this one specifically, her hairs as the goddess of fertility, the stomach

in perfect proportion to her feet, and her smile… oh, how well carved in her face!’’

The soon to become the Most Hated of the city looked in disgust and perplexed; the woman’s waist

was so fat that her feet were not to be seen by her own eyes, her hairs were cut short and kinky with

crawling dirt in it; and her face…, that smile of arrogance on that unfitting bleach face, that she

believes any of what that salesman of love said was true – a tiny smile carved deep in her pig snout of

a face, her cheeks were eaten away by the contrast. So hideous he expressed what she was and

what the man lied about.

The Lover of Few spoke to the merchant, or rather, just to have someone speaking against such

corruption: ‘’What is this for nonsense, non-beauty?! How could any Man of Health be attracted to

such a corruption of life and believe in your words of whoredom; and I do not mind your feelings, both

of you, the seller and the to be sold, for in all my honesty, to tolerate this is to hurt the Strive for

Beauty, too much caretaking of watching one’s feelings is at cost of health!

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To be tolerant is to accept certain ways relating to the past or to open up new roads that might be

intolerant to former ones walked upon; but too much tolerance is dust consuming lungs, for dirt is more

to be found, dirt to our organs of cyclic ordering, than air untouched by stench in this city. Tolerance is

one thing, to melt different metals in a fine sword of a new era, but your kind of tolerance is the

corruption of all pure elements as an impotent mongrel.’’

The tyrant of equal love shouted: ‘’You hatemonger, how dare you, we are here to be loved and togive love, to all, regardless but not to your ugly way of speaking and behaving; look how teary eyed

she is and see how much in anger I am!

We are all equal, I command you to love and be loved, so our love demands!’’

‘’What is this, an authority speaking for the shattered among the many; equal authority and dividualism

– the equal to command the equal; the arrogance of hypocrisy. I speak with no hate but with love, the

love for healthy fruits, the love for beauty, the love for Wholeness; that is the intolerance for ‘’by

chances’’, don’t let a ‘by chance’ corrupt the choice of senses attracted to proportion of organs of

another.’’

Another slave girl of much better appearance was brought in line: ‘’This woman, I will give her away to

the most loved, that is, the most hated by nature; certainly not you, you with your hateful taste; she fitsthe man over there, with the eyes wide apart, the upper lip split in two and his head in proportion to his

chin, alike a bulb of candlelight containment is his head.’’

‘’What is this, forcing the good to mate with the bad, and your metrical perception too is a broken

compass, for symmetry is the opposition of equal parts to each other; and proportion is the connection

of unequal parts with each other, proportion is a relationship of changing, developing things, creates

the unity of sequence, while symmetry, which is static, creates opposition and balance (*) - and my

taste is well proportioned hatred indeed and symmetrical in response to anyone daring to silence or

challenge me; that is, take an eye from me and I take away your family, or if you are noble I cut you

down only, symmetrical in relationship to nobility or wickedness.

Can't you see that I express my love through my hatred; I hate that, than I love such, the opposite of,or a balance in between - of that which I hate.

Hate, this feeling beyond goodness, yes – this feeling which we are supposed to discriminate against

and to accept Love as the One and Only great-est virtue in this city of eternal season, of all times;

since the flock of sheep interprets immediacy as everlasting and dominant throughout all centuries and

villages, as it was, is, and should have always been this way – and shall be. Never!

Understand do you not, the love for the selected few, to sacrifice – through hatred. Through hatred, I

tell you, is the best way to learn to love, to know the value of sacrifice; for have I not the will to spill my

blood to have live the memory of a long forgotten age, she who awakens the call to war in the Rooster

regardless of Sun to behold -- for my instinct beholds in all void and dark, perceiving through blind light

as well – that for which I would sacrifice and not share, those for who I would spill in plenitude and not

receive but coldness nearing death.

If not, then what value has my willingness to sacrifice; then what is left of Will at all but the will to be

satisfied; woe! that I ever will be De Ontevredene, the one who is Dissatisfied with all immediacy of

institutionalized-understanding and instincts polluted with artificial-nature. That I ever be Dissatisfied

with your civilization and progress and myths towards Utopias - of all kinds with all of mankind, away

from the myths of the long forgotten ages, like a Cacus misleading, inverting the meaning of left-

behind traces.

Your equal love is indifference to whatever your ‘’equally loved’’ partner expresses herself; to be

equally loved is to be equally disposable; but your love too has an intent that is not unconditional, the

intent of parts from all over the city of different pasts to melt into a monstrosity. Equally ugly and

equally disproportioned - or else equally symmetric to have it equal in impotent expression - and equal

slaves; that is your corrupt love, hatred for beauty!’’

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‘’That is enough’’, said the sweaty, greasy skinned Man of the Brothel; ‘’People you have heard, he

hates you all, by his perception, you dancer with grace, you are a limp-walker; and you, ocean’s

beauty, by his preying hatred you are a goldfish in a bowl; you, transcending Oneness, are a bastard

of anti-blood; all people, you have been insulted equally by his hateful taste and you should cast him

into the fires to have him purified, for fire has no special taste but fuel that can burn - thus we can

cleanse him into salving tastelessness!’’

See Ruskin’s Theory of Beauty

Part 10

Plebeian right

The punishment shall be retaliated

‘’We, the good citizens’’

The plebeian undividable mob of individuals encircled the Lone Wolf, he understood that plebeian law

cannot be reasoned with and he could not make his way through the path of the sword nor by words;

they seized him and took him to the tribunal; a pole, a rope and the Free Man.

Around him were the executers, the witnesses and the public to entertainingly feed themselves on the

misery of others, though the misery of another is theirs’, they identify the High as if belonging to the

lowly pitiful, and so their measurement fits all feet. All of them, though, were mere plebs with differentnames given the right to judge what they understand by rights only, against all instincts.

‘’You, non-citizen; we have concluded to cleanse you from your own misery, for who can live with so

much disgust for those not alike your will – But! if you repent, we spare you your punishment; what is

your answer?!’’

‘’What makes you think I value my life so much to plead the ugly in your manner of ugliness, I have

spoken and stood by truthful taste, and thus too I accept the actions taken in accordance to the might

of those given the pathetic right to judge over others.’’

‘’Well then, fire alone can save you from your taste we give you; for in ashes we are all equal and it

tastes as good to the earth whether from wood, me or you; in the wind we are as light and will be asgrey to the eye of the beholder, let us all be ashes, after life we’ll all be equal.’’

‘’After life we are as equal as during; your actions testify, you no-life, erase me but the stronger I shall

rise from the dead to live inspirited in your desire to forget!’’

The city of eternal season was so for a reason other than their markets and walls - underground

tunnels continuously fed with coals, the dead, chopped down forests, the living; all to keep the season

pleasant to the feet of those that cannot measure the cycles of spirits, and of course the comfort of

their world against all the worldly.

No stake burning but a tossing in the underground to end as warmth for spoiled feet no matter how

ravished; and smoke covering the skies to melt snow and keep sun at distance to their likeness, the

winds have no say.

http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/ruskin/atheories/2.2.html



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Loosened from the pole they were about to lead the unleashed to their punishment which never be his

whether executed or not. Walking with his head up, for to show pity to your destiny is to slander your

sovereign love for Fate, that is, to overcome your will yet not given up – the strongest of will; the ones

pleading and humiliating their dignity find value in life for the sake of breathing, whether it is the scent

from rotten meat or the eternity of pines embracing their touch in a sovereign forest, life tastes the

same to them, to live tasteless with death as enemy is alike to have never been born and thus death

too does not exist, they find no resurrected life in the memory of the living.

The bells started to ring all throughout the City of Free Slaves, it marked the war against the season,

the city was being seized.

As the commander in debt to civil values tried to reason their reasons upon the seizers, he was

scalped in front of the shut gate with the guards outside in formations alike a tumour of malformed

weakness.

The warriors with female servants, wives and mothers to their children they left behind in their chain of

villages, the women of the raided village known for its youth now for women’s echoed lamenting and of

what used to be their homes, had surrounded each gate the walls against time have.

As the sound of unbelief and despair started to dominate the city’s streets the news spread about how

one man nearly slaughtered the childlike guards at one gate all by himself, the man with the beard as

a second face and his posture and size as if giants collapsed from eternal glaciers upon the earth;

each head he collected, each scalp he would decorate his soldiers’ tents with.

All in this moment of focused thoughts of the citizens and executors, he himself seized the tasteless

executors and took possession over his belongings again; while doing so, he struck one man’s chin

broken in his throat; a chin that testified he never grinded his teeth out of body’s need to release

excessive strength, or thoughts possessing his body and foods rather he drunk than chewed, the

eternal nipple suckling, fore chewed pureness of untouched skeleton.

The Crusher of weak chins had to run and hide among the chaos of trapped excesses, the far toomany; while doing so he heard a ‘narrator of the we’ call out above the crowds of people already

settled with comfort to comfort their entrapment and disbelief as the city’s wall against time, against

health, too stood against enemies from foreign lands and seasons; ‘ ’we good citizens are bowed to do

the most hated of the city harm if they are able, for we are the city and we have no other self than what

the city is!’’

Wandering in shadows till the night fell and the sun got killed to give life to the moon, he found a place

avoided by all; a small place of green season untouched and uncared for by human civility. A

catacomb sunken under a temple where greatness once flourished and gods were honoured along the

past; in ruins. He stepped over the rubble and found an entrance of crumbling stairways hidden as if a

partially exposed underground sewer.

He lit an old torch into flames and followed the one way only, deep down to where the past can only

be confronted from one sight, or else turn back among the ruins of different pasts and parts of civilised

humans too long sheltered from the cycle of the Golden Age - leading the season at first into

darkness, for without the darkness no cycle towards light.

He arrived at a underground pasture of carved-out rocks as if cave walls and small plateaus with little

green, to find himself in front of the Hall of Ancient Statues, covered in darkness till he passed on his

flame upon the few wall torches separated in distances; the Hall now got a dimmed atmosphere with

the torches flaming the walls mildly with their distantly fiery lights, and the great statues of forgotten

times became alike grimly giants, for the flames wakened the faces and then hid them due to the

dancing fires, in the shadows again..

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Part 11

Preserving of bloodGiving the punishment meaning

Eye-gazing moment

Dionysus is the erection in my heart, next to Fortunae being the rotating wheel in my Will and Wotan

the wandering poet in my spirit. When I am drunk the erected heart takes over and rotates my will in

wandering spirit, the poet in me is a madman, a no-mad.

While standing in front of a mighty warrior erected as a giant, long gone yet his legacy haunting those

who forget, the Statue spoke to the Listener of Hewed Rock; ‘’Heil upon you, onheil upon those broken

in parts from corrupt pasts.’’

‘’Heiligheid upon your wholeness in spirit and memory, Ancient One.’’

‘’The sight upon you incites my ogenblikkelijke life captured in the monument, that is, eternal moment

in wholesome ruin united merely with those alike and beyond; we speak to one another through

eternity of belonging.

I have to tell you, you know your tale, answer yourself, ask me.’’

‘’Tell me, Inciter of Feelings through Appearance which is Essence; where do I find meaning in their

punishment?’’

‘’A woman most beautiful from a village, formerly known for its youth now for bygone echoes oflamenting women; you will harvest their punishment upon the City of Forgotten Past through the fruit

of her inspirited by a man who collects the heads of the terrified, to terrify those who belong to such

ruins, as we speak to each other so do the heads speak to those not alike us.

Their re-actions stream in their blood, as corrupt blood follows from corrupt taste and great actions

follow from wholly blood alike the best wine making you understand the rhythm of good time; past

crimes follow blood lines, actions are retaliation and good measurement, too they are in balance if a

Healthy Stronger defeats a Corrupt Weaker, so the actions flow in the Healthy Stronger’s blood as

living and the other’s as by being spilled on soil; as the city will not be besieged in this time, so they

will fall by the fruit of his time; walls to preserve blood corrupt the stofwisseling and thus they will not

dare to river their blood in order to have their Tree of Life continue in its steady soil and skies, a sea

shall cleanse and fertilise the soil and rivers be birthed again, so the Corrupt Weaker may not know of

any retaliation.

The birthed fruit in ripening shall crack open their shell by your will, for no ready told destiny is

unfolded if the will does not act.’’

‘’Tell me, Warrior Risen in Forgetfulness, where does my journey lead after I have given vision to the

father of the fruit, what is my measurement, where to find my path when I have endured this

Underground of Halls?’’

‘’Once you find the Wegwijzer and become wise in vision, that is when you gain an eye Beyond Storm

and Ice, to see beyond your time that you can alter Fate in as much as a compass will shake its arrow

in sensitivity to belonging, only the lowly are destined without destiny, your eye shall be Ægishjálmur,

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terror between your brows, one shall turn inward that cannot be said is a loss, alike a grape ripening

into wine – this soma of the gods called Hisamdalajjad.

Now tell me, Fateful One, where do the birds speak in the skies beyond sun’s whirl.’’

‘’I will be on my way Beyond Storm and Ice after I have given vision to the harvest.’’

And so he left behind the hall of ancient statues yet to find the way outside.

Part 12

Flowers and grain in catacomb

Having passed through darkness he finally came where breath became less in depth of the earth andsight as if the shades and shadows were more light; that was when he found a long gone dead womanin unrest. Her blue dark appearance as tight fleshy skin on her bones, nails and moonshining hairlonger due to shrinking of life, a robe of nice red velvet with golden threaded symbols of whirling sunsand a crown of withered flowers around her head.

‘’Who gives unrest to death and breathes through another world?Be careful to not blow my flowers into pieces’’

‘’Your unrest is you in your grave and your flowers already are in parts, picked from life to give love

and so love withered, don’t you know the Jera lasts longer, it does not wither and keeps its goldenglance from which we make bread while flowery beauty has its seasons and temperaments, so wedecorate death and give our love.’’

‘’Silence your mouth on beauty of flowers crowning, they still have their scents, few of them belong tothe mountains and were given with great love by a wind from the mountains, the wind seemed to weepin whispering echoes when I was laid to grave alive and well:

‘My heart has loved you more than my soul has loved my heart, than I've loved my soul, for what is mysoul without you; I have loved you in the eternal, in the scent of flowers far-away, brought by windssent by gods within, from other worlds where the Great resurrect; love I shall you in withering offlowers, for I taste your beauty in bee's honey..’

Do you understand now, I wished to die to live with a man who was taken on unknown fields; can youhear the yearning of those dead warriors drawn to death to live which became their ending of breathsand loss of wedding’s longing – ‘Ha! I wet the soil with my blood and cheer, no loyalty to no woman,the sword of chastity cannot be shared in bed!’ only to realise.., ‘Ha.., how I wished I had wed youdancing our future as libation to favour the gods’; thus shall possess the last breath of the swordchastised man.

And my loyalty to be possessed by this love of only him became my end, now I am here and cannot bewith him after such a long time I do not know of, only be-longing and rotting testifies time when dead...

But what do I speak, you remind me of him and I wish to forget…’’

She raised herself from the dead into the realm of remembrance to face more closely the Speaker toLover’s Yearning, her ruined beauty resurrected and she was about to kiss his lips but her life

collapsed into dust and all what was left was her red velvet robe and flower crumbs.Her last words when succumbing were unheard.

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Thus he spoke:‘’Flowers on unknown mountain tops, how they celebrate life how they spread themselves in fields oflovers' sources to the hearts of many already gone and yet to come - from life to life; let us celebratelife's colours, see the beauties crowned by flowers, to wither for the sake of flowering faces, unrootedto die in vases but to live in our minds' sewed by girl's loving for her love in newly stitched clothes; forthe sake of life and love, for the sake of decorating death - forsaken by love, lovely flower dancing

most beautiful on rhythm of storms and thundering earth, how I am about to end, the last winter'sflower having tasted nothing but roots denying quench of thirst for the sake of death we witherblossom, we give our love through cut-off colours -Life and death, it is a flower; resurrection is jera forwe shall resurrect in the death as we do live upon bread.’’

He took the red velvet robe with its golden stitched threads of whirling suns and gathered the dust offlowers to be released into the wind; the robe to be kept for unknown greed.Outside he was on his way to give vision to the collapse of the city.

Part 13

Dragon’s delusion, our sleep

Vision makes destiny

Behind the lines of the enemies against the City of Free Slaves - night already, as a dragon of the sizeof many stars devoured the charioteer with his horses spurring blazing fire as a great forcethemselves, so each dawn he fights his way out and the dragon spews out the furious god whenresting on his gold we call the moon, deluded by what the sun makes the cold rock appear to be, sothe charioteer kills the moon and the dragon possessed with greed and hate devours light and firewhen darkness is set to come - he made his way through the camp; there it was that he saw theCollector of Heads next to a fire with his nobles, that is, those with taste for blood, the art of fightingand possessing, they who care for their lively blood and not the loot to keep guard in old books aboutwhat it meant to people who lived rather than exist, they understood and created, that is, to destroy –the greatest destroyer is the greatest creator, for those who destroy in most effect and widespread are

the most creative; unlike the degenerate destroyers who live as they ravage, in a degenerate manner,they know no difference.

When the Collector of Heads went asleep in his tent, then was the time to head to his wife marriedabove mere pleasure and loot, sleeping in a tent next to him with their birthed son; he came in and themost beautiful of the village of youth lay asleep, but by approach she woke in a manner as if she wasstill dreaming – a man she offered to birth him children to protect her from the one to which she gave ason now, and have his name on her frozen lips when life is to be given to have death not die by life, asthe cycles of spirits demand, was recognized.

With steps as if he, so she visioned, would caress her, he headed towards the bed, he raised hissword above her head while she faced lying in bed on her back, the strike above her throat; not beforehe told her she will be a vision as an initiation to a new season for the city, her son will not be used for

the revenge of her people nor spoiled by spoiling with motherly tenderness kept away from man’sinitiation – her head he put in between her legs as if given birth to her own death and the baby he laiddown where her head once stood firm in youthful beauty and hopes for many a passion.

When sun kill moon after having broken open dragon’s beak, the dawn rises and her birthing of owndeath became known to the Collector of Heads, he understood his son will be brought up withouttender care, the baby son henceforth born to vision his destiny - his wife’s head he held up by its hairsin the sky to face the City, as to say he will be back to face what he cannot obtain in his time; with agreat roar he initiated the inevitable doom of the people behind the walls against time.

This is how the City fell decades later in a time close to that of theirs’ but distant in hopes differentfrom their eternal comfort they knew that would last in a season that seemed eternal, but cannot:

The son named Opperhoofd brought winter’s legions and catapulted frozen sickness in their season to

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rot their decay in a faster phase, from within they broke and opened the gates in hope for salvingmercy to continue their past-less existences they thought to last in all innocence which is corruptignorance, a form of arrogant deserving and rights they took for granted even from those not alike.

The Young Winter did not even think of melting their glaciers of fresh ice age by taking them as slaves,but killed them all off to have no diseased seeds growing into trees with fruits to the taste of fruitless

whores who when they give birth will not grow a Tree of Life but a calendar of whoremongers.

But that all happens between the vision and the will towards the strive, in a time the wanderer bygone.

Part 14

Eye of the StormBody needs to breathe

Cold as warmth against dis-eases

Meanwhile reading what happened in the days the wanderer bygone, he was back in winter’s cold inthe heart of a storm, for the heart is the clearest to follow, each time the whirling storm went west oreast, south or north, he followed until he had to go beyond storming eye which reflects heart’s intent.His dark brown eyes could not see what was in the rain, hail and whirling of the world, it all shookbelow his feet and he had to grab his balance until he reached in weather’s colour-blind the outergreyness of storm’s setting.

He was thrown on shore to be devoured by the mighty sea, its waves eating away the sand and itsdepth within the very coastline as the rocks towered above the water measuring the strength of currentand depths to the bottom of the sea.

Taken by the forces equal to gods, with grace of patience and chance he let himself be taken by thecurrent, to not resist the hands of the demons pulling him down and further away from what can beseen as a coast in war with the storm.

At the bottom of the sea in all calmness below the surface, there he found a sea urchin that echoedhis death to bear for life was not yet over; passing out in suffocation the storm gave way to his journeyand the waves washed him ashore.

By wakening, his heavy pelt of wolf took away his breath thus his body told him it needed to breathenot through lungs but through blood, so naked he stood and searched for wood to burn him warmth todry and food to eat; and naked he slept for bare nakedness strengthens against comfort weakeningimmunity against exposure; but already known by cold, his body cannot be warmed by fire, hiscoldness burns.

Part 15

WehrwolfRefresh the memory

On his way to give his sight to possess blind vision in the land beyond storming eye before frostingroad, masked men in berserk possession exposing their intent of wanting to raid the man about tobecome blind in fury, stormed upon him. Before they came into reach of death the Wehrwolf gavepossession to the rage of unknown depths; he danced, roared and attacked his own life to live beyond

as if resurrected into death already. A wolf howling beyond its place echoing in another time, so heattacked his life in order to defend and devour as a beast hungering for itself:

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‘My eyes are out,

wards the enemies within my heart,

forward to life, I take mine,

my tongue testifies toward those facing,

each organ ready to devour their spineless bodies raided,

my fury onward, the tree is about to fall,the world be devoured in love and cowardice,

screaming the spirits inward to possess my breath,

outward to possess the lungs of they who hear,

they who will not hear their screams in fear,

the tree is about to fall –

I shall raise myself from ash,

and beat my chest drowning in your blood.’

And so he lost an eye in battle when terror was written in between his brows, wine poured from his

face and his grape fell upon the yard of vines growing from bloody strive, his eye remaining was alike

the winter clouds blue of inevitable fall of snow, forecasting an era of sleeping dragon and eaten fire.

The men behind the masks were in front of the careless one; smile or anger, the face nor the maskmakes a difference in front of the one who sees beyond time.

One who is ready to Fall shall Resurrect, a dancer alike walking is to those newly living; embrace

death as if already resurrected, embrace the raging beast within as if love to fight for does not exist,

just the moment of to be possessed and refresh the memory as such rather than to teach and pollute

your vision. May the memory return and retake its turn on the wheel of turning be-longings; for the

taste of blood is enough to the dog to howl to its ancestors of the Wild Hunt.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Wild Hunt

Resurrection into death awaits only the Great;

Only the 'Equal' shall cease to be

Already in life and beyond forgotten

For they are and be the far too many.

Love and Hate

Genuine love is when you stretch your arm out into the coldto reach and embrace the warmth of another amidst the frost,

to give and give up your own comfort and warm yourself in cold blood–

so hatred is too.

Hopeless Strive

When hope dies is the gaze into the eyewink of eternal sight

The eternity of love and hatred in you to take on

The sword to clash against giants beyond tides

A flood that devours all what testifies long gone times

The moment you say goodbye to all in thy heartBut feel just the beating in heartless echoing

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Lamenting memories in the chest of a lost battle

A silent breath ready to be the last and let go of all life

To return to what lies in death’s layers of forgotten ruins

To step over the footsteps of gods from times bygone

For God is a forsaken Lord living in the dreams

Giving hope and will-less slumber sleepwalking in day

Despair is awakened to have faith in hopeless StriveFor once hope dies is to swing the sword

And make the heads bow their final prayers

To take the odds in own hands

Against all hopes.

Holy Death Wholly Life

To die holy death where blood shall pour

Alike good wine bitter after sweet

Thunder with lightning but after to tremble

Skies blue of clouds to coldly weepLetting go wholly of life alike ancient honey

Giving taste to bitter death sweet to life’s riddle

Mein Kampf

Es ist Krieg mein Mädchen

gehen ich muss zu Kämpfen

als Rittern am die Feldern von schlachten

Im ewige Schwerter ist die Loyalität

Hört die Schlagzeuge von donnernde

Trommelns geben die Rhythmus für Herzen und fußeDie Heilige Liebe ich habt vor ihr mein Mädchen

Ich fühl nicht doch das Blut strömen für unser Land

Wiedersehen wir in die Halle von Gefallene Liebem

Du bist mein Fall im Kämpf, mein Grund

Zu leben und sterben zu bemühen und erwachen

Krieger für ewige Minne und hinter Liebe die Will zu Kämpfen

Ohne dich und leben mit Göttern verfluch –

Mein Kampf ist die ganze Welt in Friede.

It is war my girl

Go I must to fight

As Knight at the fields of slaughter

In Eternal Sword lays the Loyalty

Hear the drumming of thundering

Drums giving the rhythm for hearts and feet

The Holy love I have for you my girl

I feel not but the streaming of blood for our land

See each other again we shall in the Hall of Fallen love

You are my fall in battle, my ground

To live and die to Strive and awaken

Warrior for A-Mor and past the love the Will to fight

Without you and live with gods damn -

My struggle is the whole world in peace.

~ Sjoerd Heeger

a man's end

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