When I was a scholar of the golden age and the Days of Weimar were golden in the streets nothing was more relevant than the golden State in the minds of sleep, after life finally achieved its politics. I wonder why I bother about these things that changed while anthropologists gave free hurricanes and turbulent weather, eternal horrors of the god primordial fantasies shared all, and the electric universe revealed the age of Saturn a theology again and called it gold. Of course here's what it really was.
This is Weimar/America in all its dissolution said
Before our golden age the solar sun of Saturn filled the sky. There was no sunlight or rain, and mist came up from the ground. Not stuff we've seen in jpegs sure, our iron age not gold.
We correlate the experiments.
Putting out the sun became a thing, and that's the truth. Good thing the News has already appeared.
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| L3 on Patrol. |
They flip me wi' the skillet,
they caught me wi' the pan.
Like, "unhappy, pained, gentle creatures Americans represent the heart of another Germany, those leftists do not understand what happens to them…the whiteness and stillness of their eyes drained of pigment…
Slip to de kitchen, slip up de lead,
Slip ma pockets full short'nin' bread.
How closely I press upon a secret! A Marxist key to the globe! Why am I always attracted by these desolate souls?" (Stephen Spender, Journals, 1939-1983, 30).
Well I'll tell you why!
Because the Globe is a pie crust in the crumb of being.
"Three naked: the new, bronzed German, / the communist clerk, and myself, being English" (Spender. Poems, XIV in 1929) caught me wi' de gal makin' short'nin bread. This splendid coracle, "All for one and one for all." HBO in haunting speech: "I’m haunted by these images, / I’m haunted by their emptiness," Spender says (Poems, XVI)
Who in Weimar America
lives in the shadow of war?
Nobobody!
just like Weimar!
QED!
The shadow comes after not before!
Spender goes a decade before, but sees "The prisoners / Turned massive with their vaults and dark with dark" (Poems, XX) where "all things are naked and opened unto the eyes" as Saint Stephen would have said. He could have written a book of Psalms, "I am poured out like water and all my bones are out of joint…I may count all my bones." (Psalm 22.14). But the Weimar does not believe the porcelain words. The "slanting iron hair pattern no stigmata" (Poems, XXXI). The machine of war in the war of three worlds, apocalypse heaven, earth and hell. Choose at least one. That’s what you get when their knees are tight on your arms and they hold you down, for while Chomsky thinks its Hitler from the right, the forces keep marching, left, right, left, right. Except they have phones. It's not Hitler coming, or Weimar back from Danube with Marlene Dietrich in song, it's hyperinflation or Balkanization. It's the man who brings war. Who is able to make war with him? (Revelation 13.4). Four angels loose from the Euphrates.
Electrosmog out of order, out of time, a poem moved by dilemmas for its own sake, no easy kinship with the desolate sweep. I get out Spender’s Poems of 1933 as an oracle, inscribed "For Horst Keller, a souvenir of Oxford London Berlin from Stephen Spender / March 11, 1933." Spender tells his Journal "I met [Horst] on the Hook of Holland boat once, shortly before Hitler’s rise to power," twelve days after the Reichstag fire (27 Feb 1933). Hitler's "rise" ended in March 1933 after the Reichstag adopted the Enabling Act of 1933. President Paul von Hindenburg appointed Hitler Chancellor on 30 January 1933 after elections and intrigues. Then Hitler used The Enabling Act to constitutionally exercise dictatorial power without legal objection.
"Horst was the son of a general. And now at least four
names crowd on to me I remember. Many are aristocrats and often close to the
higher ranks of the army. This boy was called Horst. He had a round face with
very well-formed features, delicate lips, light blue eyes, and brown hair of an
almost feathery lightness. He was very quiet and polite and he had some small,
out-of-the-way interest – playing the flute or making musical instruments or
something. There’s really nothing much more to it than that. He had a
scholarship at Oxford and I used to call on him
there; we went for walks and I introduced him to Isaiah Berlin. But he never in the least became
part of the life at Oxford...one of those
unhappy, pained, gentle creatures who represent the heart of another Germany,
and do not understand what is
happening to them. I have touched a deeper chord than I knew here,
for have I not met two or three? Didn't I know very well the peculiar
whiteness and stillness of their eyes which seem to have been
drained of pigment? These poor ghosts are really beautiful in a sexless way,
because,
if one is a young man of another country, an exile in one's own, one cannot
expect to be virile. How closely I press upon a secret! Why am I
always attracted by these desolate spirits? There was one I met on the Hook of Holland boat once...(Journal. 1985, 30).
Which do you prefer, prewar Germany or prewar you?
The oracle "throws up strange shapes, broad curves / And parallels clean like the steel of guns" (Spender. Poems, XXVI).
"That program of the antique Satan / Bristling with guns on the indented page" (Poems, XXXIII).
To everybody empowered by the need to remember addresses and time no more, electronic designs are "more beautiful and soft than any moth / With burring furred antennae feeling its huge path" (Poems, XXVII).
Who are these pained creatures?
Sir Stephen says, Watch the hawk with an indifferent eye, that almost won War on the sun until the hands, wings, are found (Poems, 1933, 11).
Hurry up Horst!
Keller dismissed is "always just as gentle, just as isolated [with] a restlessness that never ceased..." but the poor ghosts, as he puts, for the oracle stands for American hearts, "peculiar whiteness, drained of pigment," "most of these poets and writers...delivered their sad advice on the literary life which I was now just about to enter, like ghosts in purgatory, conscious of the relative failure of their illusions" (World On Worlds, 89).
As if appointing a board of directors Auden had assigned Spender to be the poet at Oxford. Isherwood got to be the novelist, but they were grasping at escape from Weimar and fell to Dylan Thomas, drunk all the time, or Faulkner drunk, or Edith Sitwell in some depth psychology of esoteric Jung. The lords of lit dismiss its past and victims of the present as Americans dismiss the past, as Spender does "the sustained gentle sense of unhappiness" (31).
It’s not just England naked in the world.
England is America without the water to cross. England echoes America, America China, India, Ukraine, Egypt, Japan.
Wii Panache
in his Cyrano de Bergerac hat
Fast forward to the Colorado late at night, the edge of a lunar eclipse, Halloween with fires, rooftops call on civilization to surrender to what it does not believe, bizarre Earth burrowers, mole prophets.
So much signifying Horst Keller naked. On one he is the American dismissed for lack of depth--for all poets and critics scourge each another, and on the other hand he is the counterpart of bullying Spender himself received, "My parents kept me from children who were rough…their knees tight on my arms. / I feared the salt coarse pointing of those boys" (Poems XII).
Pound called Yeats' The Tower putrid.
Hemingway called Spender squeamish, and why not, he was as cloistered in his cell phone world as Oops, you?
Spender and Keller prophesy how we live in our Weimar before the fall, "coracles with faces painted on" (Spender, Poems, III).
Even as the Reich-stag burns, the Towers morph to a tool, mirages of the digital, like a new species
of digitalis that poisoned Van Gogh's brain and gave him seizures, produced
a color shift of the yellow
period, haloes around lights, xanthopsia --fools! Propaganda! We know the yellow
is the gold!
Our seizures, after creation of group mind, when the
news is offered by Yahoo headlines, have no word for who will destroy. This is Weimar's
Childhood’s End,
catalyzed by the beast that comes from in 50 years!
Cited:
Poems. Stephen Spender (Faber, 1933).
Glossary:
-Electric universe. The Golden Age of the Solar System as
devised by the Thunderbolts, the theory that the solar system was once, not
long ago, configured very differently, with Saturn the predominant overwhelming
event of Earth's horizon, and that it, with Mars and Venus, exchanged
significant electrical charge and discharge with Earth.
- disappeareds. Between 1976 and 1983 at least 30,000
Argentines were swept off the streets by the junta and never seen again. The
great Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges never said a word. Jacobo Timmerman says
"virtually the entire population will consistently seek a compromise with
reality in order to be able to survive" (Prisoner
Without A Name, 147) This is charged
also by the Oracle as the fault of populace today except that their silence is
their end.
-breakup of iron and clay. The statue of Nebuchadnezzar of Daniel 2 pictures the four kingdoms of Babylon, Medo-Persia, Greece and Rome
that end the world, except Rome
never ends; it fragments into pieces mixed of iron and clay. Oops, I almost
forgot, there is a fifth kingdom that smashes the toes. It is a big rock that
falls down.
Blue Beam Project. The notion that the catastrophic news
event of all time will be a false flag image projected in 3D, but attaching all
the senses, hence utterly believable so that people will say, I saw it, as
alleged of the planes that struck the towers.
Stephen Spender has comforted others besides ourselves. When
Timmerman was on the table being tortured and seeking the passive states of Viktor
Frankl (Man's Search for Meaning) he
decided to write in his mind a book about his wife's eyes. Reviewing all the
models for this, rejecting Neruda, Lorca, Mayakovsky and Whitman, "finally
I settled on Stephen Spender and began to write, in my mind. Timmerman, 35
Alejandro-Nabucodonosor. The ultimate of empire, Alexander-Nebuchadnezzar,
after a poem, "To Roosevelt," by Ruben Dario.
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