Here's some more I found you in my flipbook:

Freiheit ist das, worüber man sich gewöhnlich
am wenigsten beklagen wird.

Freedom is that about which nobody
would normally lament.
_________

"Eh, Poet, wie ist denn so die epische Lage?!"

"Hey poet, how’s the epical situation?!"
_________

Wenn Du klug bist, laß es die Leute nur wissen.
Aber die richtigen.

When you’re bright just let the people know.
But the right ones.
_________

Find the sweet spots of the world. Do it.
Don't get stuck in the first best one.

Be sovereign!
_________

SILENTLY burn money. Don't be flashy trashy!
_________

"You didn't inherit the world??"
"No. I just found it."
_________

Rangunterschiede, die von beiden Seiten geachtet werden,
sind das Nobelste überhaupt.

Differences of rank being respected by both sides
are the most noble of all.
_________

Ein Hund, der bellt, fühlt sich allein und weiß, daß er's nicht ist.

A dog barking feels alone and knows he isn’t.
_________

Du weißt: wer befehlen kann, braucht nicht zu verführen.

You know: he who knows to command will not have to seduce.
_________

Der verrückte Affe kriegt immer alles zuerst. Auch den Planeten.

The mad ape gets everything the first. The planet, too.
_________

An Dreck kann man sich gewöhnen, aber nicht an falsche Form.

You can get used to smut but not to bad form.
_________

'morals' is about things you can't change but use.
_________

Ein Menschenrecht auf gute Gesellschaft gibt's offenbar nicht.

Obviously there is no human right to good company.
_________

Der Unanständige reagiert nur auf Gemeinheiten.

The indecent only reacts to meannesses.
_________

Wenn man nur immer perfekt oberflächlich ist,
gewinnt die Dummheit Tiefe.

When perfect superficiality is the general rule,
stupidity gets profound.
_________

Wo eine Eitelkeit die andere bedient, da sieht keiner
etwas Falsches. Ei, da floriert sogar die Ironie...

Where one vanity serves the other nobody sees any wrong.
Alas, there irony even flourishes.
_________

Was machmer, wenn's regnet,
ist immer die Frage bei Regenmachers.

What shallmado when it’s raining,
is always the question at the rainmakers’s.
_________

"Being stoned is not enough. You gotta have a theme!"
_________

Laws, man, are painted eyes.
_________

Niedertracht annihiliert den Menschen.
Das gilt vor allem für den Niederträchtigen selber.

Baseness annihilates man.
That’s valid especially for the base one.
_________

Die Gott hören - und die nur von ihm reden...

Those who hear god - and those who just talk about him.
_________

Der schlechte Mensch ist niemandem ein Gewinn,
nicht einmal sich.

The bad man is nobody’s gain
not even his own.
_________

Nicht wichtig. Ich krieg's auf meine Weise,
sprach der Indianer,oder es ist nicht wichtig.

Not important. I get it my way, said the indian,
or it’s not important.
_________

Wo eine Gosse ist, da wartet Steinvolk auf Regen.

Where there’s a gutter, stone folks wait for rain.
_________

Never argue with the girl.
Find ways. But don't argue.
_________

Wer ewig lebt, kann ewig irren.

Who lives eternally may err eternally.
_________

Wer schlecht ist, kann nur schlechte Gründe haben.

He who is sick can only have sick reasons.
_________

"Glaub ich nicht" WEISST Du nicht!

"I don’t believe" you don’t KNOW!
_________

Be a winner. Win what you can.
Don't get stuck with money.
_________

best friends must be able to stand off each other.
_________

Am liebsten hören die Leute (auch Tiere) da,
wo ihnen nichts Falsches gesagt wird.

People (animals also) prefer to hear
where they are told nothing wrong.
_________
_________

I'll be getting some more pearls for you if you
like so. Til then...

Greetings from Rhenania

privé

...so it began also now with small, pale yellowishly playing
spotlights in my vision, accompanied by rushing, rumbling
sounds, a sizzling like from lighted fuse, followed by small
areas of colours that eat themselves powderily into the vision
and then vanished. Such a pale light as it appeared often then
I had seen at the end of the past year on paths in the Sea-Alps;
there it shone out of a waterdrop under limestone, pale as
a midget’s piss. It glowed like a diode, if not in such electro-
magnetic frequency but like a kind of moonlight out of the earth.
The animals are always so especially fine, I could find, where
in their place I find myself before such gems. Here but - the
fire burnt in the most solemn colours, a red that deep, what good
your eyes; a blue likewise: flames in blood orange, fine grey
ashes in filigrane on the coal black sides of the wood. Embers
then fading away to powder-pink and amitabha-red, colours
in which there is no time anymore. First of all the beginning
high set me right - some news had to be set in order with the
picture ahead of me; a corridor goes there, 4 rows of poplars
across, slanted through the hill cut, 200-250 m far perhaps,
behind that green acres and the height of the hill above.
Some odd spirits in the orcus let themselves be neutralized.
About half hours I sat there at ease from the outer world,
with effects of the Atropin not as strong as later on. At some
orientations of the eyes however there came these visions
of a hurrying metal sieve - perhaps because the brew had
been filtered through a such - and voices, more often those
of relatives in banning precision, out of the surfaces at the
base of the back head bones. At some time I had stood up
and walked about, reeling like heavily drunk. I but perceived
this as funny. A faint feeling of humans about that could have
seen me gathering wood, so I let myself rather stumble than reel.

...”be carried away”, several pounding blows in the ground
that apruptly moved the soil under me (on the following day
that appeared more likely to be resonance waves in the earth
from the railway, 3 kilometers far away)...

...Tantalos on the Blocksberg - my throat was anyway bone dry
and anytime now as I wanted to drink, my mouth couldn’t even
touch the wet in the container - my hands holding the glass just
wouldn’t give me...

...anyway - in the middle of the night I was awakened by something.
Looked out of the tent door to the chute and there they were in the
weat and over in the barley(?)field. But many, more than there ever
had been gathered. I watched more tightly, if possible - then the
picture changed. Some of the roes’ body shadows transformed
into human shapes quietly rolling from one foot to the other.
Balancing figures. Ghostly beautiful. I should mean the mirror
combine, two mirrors deriving from China that reflect slatedly one into
the other over there at the chute, before the roes’ bushes, half open
to the west, and they mostly shine thus into each other as to let
someone look into to see a flight of serial reflections for some yokes,
serves them roe now to obtain a multiplication of their appearances
in the illusionary heaven of the early morning. A dream had added:
you perceive it and you can’t grasp although you see everything
but precisely. The beings moved about quite similarly enough
to the roe but untypically; besides, sometimes head shapes like thick
buffalo calves, arousing an elementary abackness. In all these
metamorphoses I could easily discern the bodies of the Kandahars;
some, when I looked more precisely, gave way in my sight and
the fabulous creature over there transformed the so vacated place,
filled in another spirit into the body of illusions in order to clarify
its play. The roes’ spirits playing over there may have used the parallel
mirrors as a kind of address book flipping through which they called
forth dozens of avatars. The night scene was terrifically eerie; later on
I was not able to say in any way whether I was awake or dreaming.
It was so perfect that not a trace of thought remained before such a
spell.

Once again, as resumed two days later: one of the roe came shortly
in the early afternoon out of the door that I have sawed out of their
bushes; it browsed a bit, showed a silvery coat, looked over here
for several times, it swerved a bit and thus played, over 300 meters
hereways, its girly fragrance to me, light and aromatic like rose
water, if not in the timbre of a such. That gave me to remark and
to think. It dived out of sight again. It’s beautifully fresh,
and I always think: matt pink...
Motto of this report: this year the stag comes on Walpurgis.
I have seen more red deer claws. He’s come early. As his visiting
card he has brought along a clown: as certain as the dogs have
to shit down in the alley for their humans, a human has defecated
down right opposite of the tent, with a shot like normally only
especially spoiled and trained dogs do, against the root of a tree.
That’s the man-dog that the stag lets run around freely here...
On Walpurgis (however) it just was too silly. I had nearly not been
sleeping, enough tea, little provisions that might yet do for two days.
Walpurgis is just once a year. For once, I wanted to know that.
Menu: 2 stems of fly agaric from the region of Mayen; 80 centimetres
of Belladonna stalks and half a root, the mildewed side of which
had to be cut off. Both brought to boil in a tin can full of water.
The mushroom pieces (split) I soon removed and ate them.
But that is tasty! Which edible mushroom then has such an aroma
so delicately manifold! After 20 minutes I mixed the decoction
with Mate tea and drank it. In addition two tea spoons of nutmeg.
The mushroom essentially said again and again: great. Gave the
impression of the meant to be noticed through the mucous membrane
nerves, and I writhed in pleasant recognition: oh yeah, oh yeah,
such I haven’t got into my breath since my child days.
The Belladonna however was much stronger than that - half of it
would have sufficed.
The temporal succession of events is not clear anymore.
The great virtuality show of the roe deer yet went until daybreak;
then I lay down to sleep because I did not want to see how at day
not even the Kandahars weren’t there and all but illusion, but!
At some odd time in the middle of the night I must have stood up,
or I have dreamt it in a realism so that, yet, I could not differenciate
between dream and awakeness. That wandered about here -
down at the brook’s bank, 500 meters away, I have found a
footstep in the border, my own, naked foot + toes. I mean to have
gone barefooted over the pebble path down there, I got lost,
didn’t see anymore where this could be. The embankment was
much too high - that could not be where I had to mean where
I was. Also, I could not differenciate anymore between North and
South, but I had a voice in me that told me: there and there your
tent has to be. I was so weak from the Atropin - I could yet reel.
I got the feeling that my sense of balance had risen from my body
under my scullcap. This itself tended to move like in swings and
the body had to find the movements fitting to it, was not autonomic
(Siberian reel). At places in the underbrush, don’t know what
I had to find there, I therefore more often lost balance and fell
into twigs and nettles. I was thirsty like never in my life, the
whole throat one dry, very aromatic mucus. Later in the tent
I meant to have found something edible, a peanut perhaps,
but it probably was a piece of charcoal that I bit into parts and
choked down. It must have been a dream. At one place I felt
and saw two or three figures, young barbarians that stood
sideways up in the bushes. I had an awful problem: I could not
fetch objects in reality any more. How ever I tried: most of the
objects that I tried to get with my left hand were not reachable,
like empty light. At something I wanted to fetch a tool in order
to fix something with it, missed again, discovered there a face,
that of the Saturnian of the gothic town who glanced up at me
from the left side and upwards - his like knows that. I should not
call this face evil but saturnian, kynical in a way. Here up at the
tent that I refound like something completely strange and where
in the obstructed back corner I stumbled that I fell, during the
roe deer show an elder couple appeared, even such silent breads,
Saturnians. The woman placed herself nearer to me so that
I sensed the insulation of her coat and her body’s warmth
in the air, and her husband took a bit of a distance. Then again
the shadow of a young bloke leapt by that held himself at the
hawthorn nearest to the tent entrance as if he hid and lurked
downward on the path. About that I didn’t care, did further tries
of fetching and missing - tactile and optical data didn’t fit together
anyway, but now I know how the cow manages to make her nose
invisible in my sight. Strange world. Out but in the width
before the tent there played roe, hares, crow and those smaller
swarm birds that at other times flew such precise theatre, fine,
well breathing symphonicity. As it got late at least 30 - 40 shadows
stood in the hillside, moved precisely as I know it from the Kandahars.
There are traces not few but so many not. At the border of the
weat acre, 10 meters before the tent, there finds itself a small
pointed roe’s trace. So far it may go the Drude’s foot of the roe -
inside of it they play me their orcus instead of that I myself placed
myself in one (Drude’s foot). At the fence of branches over there
where I had rested under the bridge, quite unintentionally a
pentagram could be seen, and there had not been little ado then.
The appearances in the near here therefore never came nearer
than but the roe’s foot tip. Once I meant to see a roe deer or two
but they had such improbably thick heads, like buffalo babies.
Sometimes it also seemed to be a pheasant or a hare. Two such
took place beyond a near plot like at two sides of a playing table,
and promptly they transformed again into human shapes,
cape-clad like the hunters - but much smaller. In the acre across
the animal shape seemed ALWAYS to transform into something
else as soon as I watched. (The roe let mean the double mirror
be an ontological caleidoscope. Plausible enough. The videodisc
also hung there that I placed because of its irisations did not
give little to the colour play of the night show.) When then an animal
trotted along the hill’s height it appeared once as a camel, then
as a great Dane dog, as a calf and so on, and never I could find
something known. Others that I looked at transformed into human
shadows, and these most often turned around and had a pocket
light in their hand. I wondered about these human figures but I
had no fright. Anyway I was nearly completely out of myself.
When going about I even didn’t have the ground in sight.
To want to see and feel it was nearly as illusory as the fetching.
Once a whole bed of stinging nettles vanished before me and
let see the empty ground beneath.
Over there, with progressing night, something came to a point.
The roe deer had become quite many, about 30 - 40, unto that
a giant swarm of crow, at least 500, and the other bird swarm.
These flew in very peculiar formations and between them a bird
at least as huge as a condor appeared - with four wings of like
size. Ah, you’re the dragonfly here, I greeted it when first seeing it.
I had not the least grounds in me to doubt what I saw or to be
afraid. Grandly this giant animal moved through the sky with its
wings greater than those of the heron. The strange, pale yellow
light came dotwise out of numerous sources, but before all from
the roes’ eyes. Once a whole row of these lights looked here,
that was beautiful! In addition, faint but strong colours shone
from but all sorts of sources. Two, three times I saw bright light
of flames from the corner of my eye through holes in the tent’s
tarpaulin, like at a foot’s distance in the open beyond, but this
radiated no heat, I just registered it with cool reflex, extremely
clear, and in the next moment it was gone. Nothing, of course
that I saw there hadn’t been carried along to me in human or
animals’ gestures, including a sudden, tried arson at the hem
of my tent. Everthing on the hill became much more decided,
though. The crow flew true masterpieces of swarm navigation.
The smaller ones flew clinching a fist - in form of a swarm. The roe
began to dash about and back over the height in groups of at least
20, one dashed ahead, the others followed behind. To the right,
the edge of the hollow, to the left, to the roes’ bushes, to & fro,
to & fro, like with the gladiators. Then four such troups followed
each other (to the right) and behind them a human figure seemed
to accompany them on a riding animal or a sledge, in figure and
grooming not unlikely to Henry the Eighth. Then I thought now
at least a batalion of roe deer had gone over. In the chute side
although not less animals seemed to be than before. The crow now
had the frequency (someone behind the hill had fired sylvester rockets),
they flew high, many, to the right where the hollow’s edge is. They
unfolded and spreaded flatly like a banner, and alone through the
interference of their wing oscillations a colourful pattern developed
of not bright, fast, sensual colours, white, black, green red blue,
pale yellow, colours of things in my childhood. The whole crow canvas,
10-15 meters high, 10 meters in long, thus filled with a colourful
mosaique. Aw, that’s beautiful, I said. The four-winged animal flew
about, the crow returned, flew again, again put up their Tangka,
and greater even, more beautiful, more even the pattern of the
colour areas displayed in it, up to the point where the crow themselves
became invisible. So, everything seemed to be going on that should
be found on the Blocksberg. And finally when the banner had been
well seen a trace of omnipotence was added. No opera without
deus ex: in a movement of my eye directed by the animals I saw
there where the eye normally doesn’t see, high steeply in the
south east, directly over the place, the UFO, as usual only on a
moment`s skin of the eye, a giant, friendly seeming thing (perhaps
the four-winged creature was from there), just so (as the flamelights)
that I knew after to have seen it clearly and distinctly. It was like round,
something like three-storeyed (the animal spirit could have easily
seen it from the television towers of Cologne or Düsseldorf). For here
it marked the lodge of the steep star space in the atmosphere of this
planet. The UFO consisted of an upper and lower part, flat, conically
formed pieces, in between a tie band, and round about these 3 storeys
rows of lightning clear, star white lights. These lights alone impressed
themselves before the picture of the star heaven (that seemed to be
solemnly near), and therefrom it became much more visible to the
intellect than the shady doings at the ground. The roes’ avatars
didn’t tire. Pheasants of course were about all night. I looked -
it seemd to be getting light. Always when a good star’s night
becomes late-early, anyway there comes this white breathing
brightness into the soul from outer space, the most godly moment
before the first faint premonition of daybreak becomes aware.
In the eastern sky the not too precise, late half moon stood, just
a piece afar (four or six moon diameters) to the left of Jupiter which
I had first seen again to rise not before long, three weeks ago.
Brilliantly, straightaway loud the light of the planet. I looked again:
is it perhaps an aeroplane like they deceive here often?
No, the planet. It shone so brightly into my senses like the lights
of the UFO before, similar to a dragon’s mouth full of diamond teeth,
yelling and roaring with it.
Then I finally laid down to sleep.

Translation from the German by the author

All sit well?!

.

...what do I have with Chestnut Hill. Well - familiar affairs.

My mother’s franc father went by the name of Nussbaum, that means
chestnut tree. He spent his whole life with doings about the village
where he lived, also greater works when a dam was built in the wider
region (near Aachen, the old franc capital most west in northern
rhenanian Germany). He had six children and died two months before
my birth from Tetanus which he had contracted while working in a
cow stead. A little injury, and he was done for. I didn’t hear much
of that until far in my adult age. In the later times of my wanderings
through Europe and Germany it often so happened that when I had
found a pleasant place in nature where I would want to stay for a
while, I also found one or several chestnut trees about. My grandmother
who bore this name was to become my godmother and it seems that
my relation to physical chestnut trees is that of a human to a godparent
spirit, a thing that may be similarly known with certain indian habits.
Also, in later times when I rested near my home place, I found a
location where to stay, a notable Löss hill on the edge of the Rhine
valley northwest of Cologne, right near the villages of my childhood
and youth. The sight is very fine there, one can nearly see until the
Eifel mountains near Aachen, to the Rhine metropoles of Cologne
and Düsseldorf. Opposite on the other side of the valley a mountain
range is well visible, not high but markedly. The soil of the hill is of
most exquisite Löss that is mixed with marl so that it crunches under
the foot when it’s not so dry as to form marvelously heavy dust,
nearly white, pale. At the Rhine valley side of the hill a chestnut tree
stands, about fifty years old. I found it when I took residence there
and spent much of my days holding and watching a fire
from abundant old wood.
Just recently I came to check about Immanuel Kant the prussian
philosopher of enlightenment. I found that not only has he been an
astronomer but also he whilesomely teached building techniques
of fortresses. However else, this man became the archspirit of prussian
doings in the large, as concerned with moral obligation and reason.
In the wake of the changes Napoleon had brought about, the Prussians
got hold of Rhenania. Prussian thrust in ostentatiously taking party
at the side of deadly insulted Austria brought about the First World War.
What this war was to be is well known, it was a first instance of
engaging mighty America in European and wider affairs. Later in the
war staff decided to build a strategic railroad parallel to the Rhine valley
through our lands, intended to carry support to the front and transport
lignite which is dug up in considerable dimensions nearby to the
cities in the Rhine valley and further. The railway dam was built straight
through our lands, it runs at even level with the fields near my youth
village and cuts through the hill, to form a hollow at the southern end of it
before running on as a rather high dam over the brook that surrounds the
hillside there. When the war was lost the railroad was not yet finished
and its completion was interdicted in the Versailles Treaty. In the 20ies
some bridges were yet built because the landscape had already been
altered but no railway ever existed there. The state uses the land
to plant poplars, and since, short beeches, oaks and lime; beyond
that one has made the place into a riding path and walkabout for people
with dogs and so on. In the 90ies I lived at this dam in a bridge right
beside my youth village, and there I was shown how the spirit of
Immanuel Kant and his like had really instrumented a thing here.
One may see the dam as a kind of fortification. I had very much,
pretty silent times by the fire under the bridge with long nights and
during these meditative times I came to observe that the bow of the
bridge was very finely weighed out with the movements of celestial
lights, especially the moon. At times when that circled low through
the heavens it very finely contoured the edge of the bridge bow,
and when I was very very silent I could even follow its movement
with the open eye, therefore also feel the effect of the centrifugal
force from the rotation of the earth, which in our zones lightens
every particle of matter, also whole bodies, by about 1 / 40 of its
weight, with direction to the celestial equator. This observation
enthusiasmed me, and, as I said: it is just recently that I found
about this fact that Kant with his astronomical background
occasionally teached the building of fortifications. That both came
together at this bridge. Other elements corroborated this picture:
the typical prussian animals were visible: dogs, horses, a very genial
rat that gave me company, also a woman lived nearby who came
from Berlin and had a dog and horses herself. For the french party
a cat appeared that had born six kittens in the wild and when they
were able to move somewhat coherently she brought them to me
and set off without returning; also there was a very spirited night
bird, perhaps a hawk that talked very intensely to me and did really
nice and interesting audio dramas with decided sounds of its very
sharp claws in the foliage at earth. The bridge seemed to be the
border arch in several animal affairs; animals liked to come there
and have things cleared like little turf quarrels they fought out
before me.
The bridge lies about one mile north of the hill, directly besides
the village and especially the mill, which is now an assortment
of silos. After three years of holding fire there I moved to the hill
because things at the bridge had become a bit too crowded.
Over the following time I erected several tents, one after the
other, and lived between the hollow and the chestnut tree. The sky
here also is very peculiar, wide to all horizons and full of clowd
pictures at times, visions all the day. A family of roe lived nearby
who don’t fret before man; they consequently showed me how they
live und sometimes visited me at my tent. We surely had some
fine kind of interaction. Besides that, from the times at the bridge
already, I cared for the cow wherever I found some. Times for
these became bad, however; one farmer after the other abandoned
the job and sold his herd to the slaughterer. This place near the
chestnut tree has its distinctive features. First of all: the animals
like the place and they like to be genial. Several laws seem to be
valid there, one of which is: one suffices, that means when a new
species appears at the place there is always a decent place for
just one exemplary of it, for certain, but for more, nothing is sure.
Another law seems to be the theme of uncomparable companions.
So once a very large and a rather small dog appeared there,
promenading alone, then the very genial goshawk and a small
hawk one time showed me a little artistic figure together in which
the goshawk serenely flew some curves between the poplar trees
and the hawk flew with him, accompaniying him, straightly flying
in perfect correspondence directly and precisely three hands over
the other’s tail. And they blinked to me while doing it! Another time
yet I wondered whether the owl chases the bat. Only three days
later I was standing at the edge of the hollow and the field on the
high of the hill, and silently the owl passed, the bat flying coolly
at his left side, wing tip at wing tip.
The chestnut tree is forked in height of the thigh into two strong
branches. That seems to be a verse on the landform there. The
hill, about a half mile in diameter, pure heap of löss down to the
foundations, is curvy so and so at all sides. The brook comes from
the south through a near village, literally runs into the hill at a point
where the distance to the Rhine valley is just a third of a mile -
there the brook bends sharply to the left and surrounds the hill foot
on the south and west side. The hill’s surface on the Rhine side
swings in two parallel grooves down into the valley. These two
grooves unite farther down and form thus a fork, which fact is
obviously reproduced in the fork shape of the tree. The land forms
a kind of cushion between the grooves, and out of this cushion the
tree draws this certain special smoothness and sweetness that is
to be tasted from its fruit. When I took residence there I soon detected
a serious flaw: the dam cut is drawn thus through the hill that it cuts
through both these grooves. The grooves are discreet waterlines.
In the original state water trickled from the high side of the hill
through them and perhaps came out visibly farther down, where
the fork of the grooves unites. However, now the dam cut is there,
the water that would normally seep down unseen, breaks down
into the open at the upper side of the cut, especially at the more
southward, greater groove whose cut-off upper part forms a pan
in which the water gathers. This business was a severe sacrilege.
The animals too, roe and hare, sometimes commented on this.
Which leaves us to remark that Immanuel Kant has best to be
understood out of his time when people started to gather in
permanence and therefore had to learn how to behave properly
in questions like when to take leave from duty in order to decently
have a leak. This also is depicted in this construction. It could
apparently not be avoided - but sanctioned, like in the Versailles
Treaty.
Upside on the hill top they now place tree plantations which are
very hotly accepted by the roe who like places to hide and rest.
Beyond, all the hillside is used agriculturally. On the crest between
the valley side of the brook and the southern slope of the greater
groove a small plantation of fir grows where the roe familiy used
to stay. There is sharp hunt but they gladly seem to know the
calendar - whenever shooting appears in the near, they will have
certainly been absent for at least a day.
Animals mark the east-downward slope into the Rhine valley.
First I found a dropping of the fox who lives not far from here
and seems to like the place. Then I found one piece from the roe.
I picked it up and kept it, to be used in a certain transaction:
At the lowest point of my home village, directly besides the brook,
a historic site is to be found. A pit hole is dug out there in the
dimensions of a moat that in former times, so so from the 6th
to 14th century, circled a small watercastle with four towers.
The people from this castle seem to have been known well enough
in the Empire. The castle has long since gone and a four-sided farm
house stands in the moat, surrounded by an old and sweet meadow
well known by all grazing animals in the land. There is perceptably
a special force with this place: once in an evening when a strong
southwest wind was blowing, I was out in the fields over the brook.
The atmosphere in the brook valley is very subtle, at ideal times
there tend to be tiny clouds in the way of some vents where the
slightly humid air from the brook blows up over the fields around.
In this windy evening now I saw a whole row of such tiny clowds
hover high like poplar tops over the southern edge of the moat.
And the best is: the really strong wind did not blow them away,
they did not move such a bit. I concentrated on watching this play
of nature, but really, they remained like riveted.
In former times the farm in the moat had been a normal place with
cow and hen and dog and swine, but one day the cowstead burned
off and so only the dog and hen and swine remained, then swine
and dog, at last only a tribe of hogs. That was not quite ideal.
Three years then I had good play with troups of beautiful and
spirited heifers, timewise the young from the herd over there that
got skipped because of plague fears. Beautiful people, I can tell.
Cow can be very charming. These heifer groups apparently
laid siege to the hog heaven of the farm quarter. I had much to do
with them and I could follow the goings on. The cow kids once
even engaged me as a go-between to the hogs. When I had found
that roe dropping, a fine, dense cylinder of matter, I thought it
could help in this. Also, I knew some more - I went to a Kiosque
somewhere and bought a pulp novel with the title “The lost soul”.
With this and the roe dropping I went to the Pigstead in the farm.
I showed to a sweet friendly pig that was near what this issue was -
it behaved a little strangely, ducking away like morally fearful under
its ears. But the essence of the gesture seemed clearly understood.
I stuffed the volume at the side of the muck the swine lived in and
added the piece of roe dung. That would have to make it.
Beyond that, the heifers played their little manoeuvres arond the
house and some meditated the unseen swine in the stable.
And right: things changed with the owners, the son would not
like to raise hog anymore so the stead was cleared out of them,
but since then also the meadow outside is in no use anymore,
the siege has ended, the cow can only stay away.
As for the roe, they like to do similar magic: one day I came along
the dam to the smaller groove, I mounted there on the valley side
and found a roe standing right ahead of me at the border of the field.
Roe can spurt off like that when found in the wrong moment but they
do not the least fear man that they know for good. So this sweet
animal just stayed where it was, twelve steps ahead; before it there
was a puddle in the margin of the field planted with sugar beet.
And now the animal did a bit of its magic: it dipped its nose very
slightly onto the puddle, then, before a long neck, it made little
throwing movements with its nose like dealing singular drops to
singular plants before it. I watched. It dipped its nose once more
and repeated the gesture. O.k., I saw, all was fine - I turned
around and went, not wanting to disturb such spirits.

The greatest community of chestnut trees, I read, is to be found at a
side of the Tianshan Mountains in westernmost China and beyond.
It is knowm that chestnuts disperse from their leaves a sort of
poison that inhibits most other plants to grow under the tree.
At my hill this can clearly be seen. The tree grows on a strip of land
about three steps broad between the edge of the dam ditch and
the outlaying field. This strip is densely grown with stinging nettle.
Three years I also spent clearing this place from rampaging hollies
and blackberry bush. Under the tree that towers half over the strip,
half over the field, one can easily see the poison work; also in the
field under the tree nothing grows. For some while I had an
agreement with a little animal I have never seen. Wenn all the nuts
were fallen from the tree, the animal would appear and eat all the
nuts on the strip, but it wouldn’t touch those in the field. Thus,
we about parted the treasure by half and both came off gladly.
I tried to transplant a

Oh yeah now I see I was all in an error - of cause my people, my
spirit and all are WALNUT. It goes on like this: I dug out a little
chestnut plant at a famous chestnut alley having been planted
by Napoleon or for Napoleon, at least in that time, I transplanted
it to the strip on the border of the acre but shucks, it just would
not grow. Year after year goes and it remains as tiny as a hand and
a half. The stinging nettle held themselves before this little plant
but once they should have grown over it it will be done for. Also,
the majestic alley near a fine castle nearby where I took it from
has been cut down, as I hear.

Teehee. What can I say now - perhaps this: Phillyfuture the name
of this here blogomatic could well be seen with reference to the
title of Philadelphia as groundstone of american historical existence.
I should suppose a switch with which to return at the beginning
of all this and see everything that has happened since as in the
future of that place in time. And everything that still is going to happen
is also placed in that frame of reference. Is that how Philadelphians
feel about the future, any future?

I find it very appealing that the state of Pennsylvania has “Virtues”
as a state parole. That, I think, is the word missing in all the great
declarations that founded the US. Fine that at least one state at all
should not forget it. My sympathies to you, therefore.

Besides all that, there ARE Chestnut trees at the hill but not on top
but at the brook where it has passed through a tunnel under the dam
where that comes out of the hollow. Anyway...

And fate - New England is an atlantic zone. One time I could see
how the great wind demon of the Atlantic keeps balance. A great
storm had been in the eastern US and after that they showed a
picture of a very huge, strong tree in Hope, Arkansas that hat been
kicked over by the wind. Normally, when something has happened over
there it takes about a week until the spoils, of Hurricanes for instance,
can be felt here with us. Also, our little Highland over the Rhine valley
can experience considerable winds - therefore the mill, and I myself
have seen how a wind that missed the mill broke over a poplar tree
some yards further. But here this Hope storm was an extra one.
When its response hit home with us I wasn’t there but returning
I found the wind had broken my delicious Lalique tree, a normally
rather elastic being that was my joy because I could sit inside its
span, the sphere of its ornamentally curled twigs around me, seeing
the eastern Sky thus decoratively fragmented. I have had my joy,
mad fury had to take it away...

My, the world will have to do without it, like it shall have to do
without me someday. Greetings to all philosophers, I think this
stuff will but have to do now. Ciao folks.

Philadelphia, City of the friends of Apollon...

Let me give you some good words that need not be unspoken.
Mostly they are aphorisms, some written originally
in English,others in German or French. The german sayings
I shall quote in original, then translate them. My words
know to mean something, I am a master of thoughts.
Be my guest!

(Besides that, I read a bit about the place in the Internet -
there is not much, but significant. When I contacted the page
of the government the whole picture tilted and I had to close
down my computer, restart it. Last thing I saw was: In Philly,
we don’t smoke. That’s for official. Very significative I found
the information that the town was the capital of the then U.S.
during the years in which the revolution and its spoils shuddered
through France and Europe. Someone someday wanted to please
his god by slaughtering a pleasant bull (Taurus) for him.
Some distant but certainly real day in Philadelphia Town someone
offered the first bull, and he need not have meant it for the Gods.
It was just that the animal got expressedly, expertly killed.

I find this by some distant association with the picture
of the astronomical-astrological sky of this year. Be greeted
my fellow men, something really great is going on. At the start
of this sun year the sun, Jupiter, Mercury and Pluto convened
at the winter meridian. Jupiter went three days ahead, Mercury
hurried through between sun and Jupiter, the sun followed and Pluto
in the far high background of the picture will definitely pass
the meridian through this year, recurving around the meridian
like striking a string. Once when early in the 80ies in France
I found myself invited by some fine young people into a village
in the mediterranean mountains.
We celebrated the anniversary of Helene by sharing
an LSD-Trip. A cat was in the house, black and strong.
When high, alone with the cat and a very finely strung guitar,
I repeatedly struck the cords in an airy feeling, delighted
(exalted) by the audible effects I thus exacted. Besides that,
I cuddled with the cat and made it purr intensely. Finally,
the cat jumped from my arm, took his right paw to the strings
of the (upstanding) guitar,and, really, a tone sounded.
That’s understood. So, it remains to be said that during this year
Pluto, the outermost planet of the known system and guardian
of the sun’s riches ageinst the nothingness of empty space,
will start another run around the sky for 248 years now.
Last time that happened, the industrial revolution was about
to set out, with a glance upon the provinces
in America. Also with this, a new run around the heavens for 12 years
then will start Jupiter. A time that may make see those who know
to find sense, in themselves as in the world picture. Another
remarkable occurrance of this year is that the sun with her nearest
planets, Mercury and Venus, is now already in the way of passing
through the sky without one of the other, outer planets standing
in the way before far sky. So to say, the sun is acting as star
between the stars, judging the planetary system and
especially earth AND especially everything that led the US
to send up several satellites far beyond everything, into open space,
thouroughly, since the passage without intermediary planets between
her and the other stars in all distance will last from April to August,
a stretch of a third of the zodiak. The most interesting ocurrence
during this span shall be an imminent move of Mercury around the sun,
forming a figure line like the profile of a cow’s tongue sticking out
to an iron spike that had been drawn by the planet Mars on the
summer high of the celestial sky. Everything clear so far? I have more often
encountered cow who sticked their tongue against a spike of the barbed wire
that fenced them in. The Mercury curve will then rush down at the right side
of the sun to form a spike that points sharply to the Taurus star,
the red Aldebaran. In our steads I somdeday found a pleasant young bull,
really nice guy, sturdy, awake, strong enough. I often wrangled with his head,
and he seemed to like this play. But I found a slight bump at the right side
of his face. His owner told me that he had piqued and infected himself there,
as it sometimes happened with cow (comes the term “holy cow” out of Philadelphia?),
and he would have to be slaughtered because of the sickness. This boy’s fate
was an omen for the whole stead because some time later when rumours were
far about over mad cow desease and mouth and claw plague the owner on the spot
sold his whole herd into instant oblivion. You see, a sign like that in the
emerging sky picture preannounces itself in earthly events. I felt very sorry
over this because this herd was an exceptionally fine one and very private to me.
In France, during this time or later, I found that the bovines business is
handled like a Mithras cult, very expressly, that’s a kind of state cult
in the republic that follows those who beheaded les rois de tous boeufs.
Oyoy.

Well - bad news from Asia show how concernedly one is deemed
to experience this. The year goes on. Watch it, it’s going to be great -
in ways that no human would intend... )

AND NOW: FOR THE DICTIONS

The word "god" is part of the public domain.
_________

Die Sinne sind ein Kleid, das Kindern mitgegeben wird,
und Vernunft ist: wie man sich anzieht.

The senses are a suit given to the children
and resaon is: how to dress.
_________

Der krummste Stecken,
an einen festen Punkt gestellt,
befährt mit seinem oberen Ende
die idealste Sphäre. Yeah.

The most crooked stick
put to a firm point
will move its upper end
in the most ideal sphere. Jawohl.
_________

"Dem Prinzip genügt das Eine."

„The One suffices for principle.“
_________

Wer nicht warten kann,
dem kann man auch nichts versprechen.

You can’t give promises
to those who don’t know how to wait.
_________

Wissen schärft den Blick. Sonst ist es zu nicht viel nütze,
darüberhinaus.

Knowledge sharpens regard. Beyond that,
it is of not much use.
_________

"God knows. He read of it."
_________

Schöne Dinge wissen, was sie meinen

Beautiful things know what they mean
_________

Die obere, die feine Seite der Ironie ist der heilige Ernst.

The upper, the fine side of irony is holy ernest
_________

"I'd love to." That's what love is to me.
_________

don't mind LOSING time. You don't own it.
_________

Pride proscribes envy.
_________

Prayer won't change things but meaning.
_________

The secret of elegance is secret bliss.
_________

"Der König kümmert sich nur um das, was sich ihm gibt."

„The King only cares about the given.“
_________

Geld muß man ernstnehmen, aber nicht wichtiger, als es ist.

Money has to be taken serious but not more important
than it is.
_________

Creature comforts. Moral comforts. Es ist eine
große Errungenschaft, angenehm sein zu können.

Creature comforts. Moral comforts. It is a
great achievement the ability to comfort.
_________

Ich schlafe gern bei Konservativen. Bei Bäumen.

I love to sleep near conservatives. Near trees.
_________

Dieu, c'est une façon à dire.
_________

Formlosigkeit ist das Ende der Welt.

Formlessness is the end of the world.
_________

VERSTEHENDES Schweigen ist Gold!

KNOWING silence is gold!
_________

Reden, damit das Schweigen etwas wiegt.

To talk in order to make silence weigh.
_________

Ich habe verdient, frei zu sein.
Ich habe die Freiheit immer gut aussehen lassen.

I deserve to be free.
I have always known to make freedom appear good.
_________

Fürchte Dich nicht vor Dreck. Aber sei wählerisch mit ihm.

Don’t fret for smut but know how to be choicy with it.
_________

Wem Artemis nicht hilft, dem hilft nur Hermes.

For whom Artemis can’t care, Hermes will help.
_________

Zum Strafen: ein beschädigter Lebender, das macht Moral.
Tote sind keine Unterhaltung.

As for punishing: a damaged alive makes morality.
The dead don’t entertain.
_________

Freiheit ist das, worüber man sich gewöhnlich
am wenigsten beklagen wird.

Freedom is that about which no one would
normally lament.
_________

Wenn Du klug bist, laß es die Leute nur wissen.
Aber die richtigen.

When you’re bright, let the people know.
But the right ones.
_________

Find the sweet spots of the world. Do it.
Don't get stuck in the first best one.

Sei souverän!
_________

SILENTLY burn money. Don't be flashy trashy!
_________

Meinungen wie losfliegende kleine Vögel...
Frauen. Rehe.

Views like little birds flowing off...
Women. Roe.
_________

"You didn't inherit the world??"
"No. I just found it."
_________

Rangunterschiede, die von beiden Seiten geachtet werden,
sind das Nobelste überhaupt.

Differences in standing being respected by both sides
are the most noble at all.
_________

Ein Hund, der bellt, fühlt sich allein und weiß, daß er's nicht ist.

A dog barking feels alone and knows he isn’t.
_________
_____

So much, my dear friends, from here for now. Bowow!

Hiya everyone. Just arrived from across the Atlantic, which
means I'm still here in Europe but taking a glance. First of all I find that also here I'm getting into all kinds of
american palabras, like I see in every movie from your side of the water, and I really never see where that gets ME. Big story anyway that everyone finds to talk about, what?!
Never mind, at least I have some decent connections to the US - a great uncle of mine lived in Rhode Island at the begin of the recent century. He apparently didn't do too well. Also, a cousin of mine has spent his life in Chicago. I don't rightaway know what made me look for Philadelphia -
I guess I've heard something good about the place before. Also, there's many folks about there of german descent. So, since I can show up with some material of literary nature, written in German, I reckon on some reconnaissance by people who still speak this language and who would like to
read something decent (philosophical literature, latest issue) that even people in Germany not yet get to read that
directly. Since in a blog I cannot put questions rightaway,
I can only put forth some remarks or propositions.
We never get to see more about your political theatre than
the big fuss getting a president set. As for me, I'd prefer
McCain who seems a decent guy, not as squeaky and cracky like the Democrat's. But this is just a passageral opinion. With what you have rightaway, one wonders...
Shit, really, I do not know one little thing that people really have to care about over there - apparently, american society exists anyway in just two layers, doesn't it - folks like that and a class of governors - seen from Europe, this is very simple, no things of old standing that are existent besides that, since olden times. Wrrrr!

Anyway - here, I have a little proposition that may use some
venting in the public mind, something damn physical: states
and industries everywhere have considerable problems with nuclear and toxic waste, they do not rightaway know how to guarantee the ten thousands of years of good conduct until these matters will have lost their dangerousness. However,
some states have experience with subsurface detonations of
nuclear ordnance, in caves and so on. I just reason a bit -
would it be so far off to perhaps create a program of nuclear and dangerous waste disposal by just digging some giant caves somewhere in the rocky wilderness of, say, Canada or somewhere in Asia, in order to get all superfluos waste there, pile it up and then detonate a nuclear machine
over it? This would burn nuclear and chemical waste on the spot, one would never see any more of it but glass that will not spoil any water...

And here's another subject I'm venting: People like to know where whine and cheese are from - one can precisely point to the special place they are from. Now, I'd also like to know where the alien vegetables and fruit are from, as precise as possible, in order to wisen my taste for the world that nourishes me. I guess it would not take much to institute a data bank, paid for by advertising of just those
firms who, now, give data of the most precise origin of this and that food to this bank, add a small decal to their ware with a reference number by which one could identify this peace of food (or other) in this bank. This would be wholly free to partake in, firms can better their name by providing good information like this, and no government would have to force comparable gestures. Wouldn't that be fine, with all the refrigerators and computers that we have?

Well, so much for today. For germanspeakers who might be there and who could use a whiff of honest great spirit,
here's my literary address: https://books.google.com, searchword "Leo Hoeninger". I'm hungry for brains that I can feed, do you see that??

Greetings for now from Leo Hoeninger in Düsseldorf, Germany