Saturday, January 30, 2010


Rumor has it the hole of sorrow is somewhere in Christendom. Löwden Bewußtsein lives above the Dogmen Deli. Out-smarting a mob of roustabouts he stays locked away in his bedsit. He wiles away his days and nights reading ‘L'Histoire d'une Vie Sale’ by Armand-Marie-Jacques de Chastenet, Marquis de Puységur. Of Löwden Bewußtsein I will say no more; he deserves his privacy, as do we all. This is nonsense! Stop! Please! I implore you: stop!

Courting calamity he pitched his way up the sideways, stumbling like a wretch on a bender. Patting his cockcrow pantaloons he felt for his hipflask. William Didcot and Simon Oxfordshire are in cahoots with the Malodors and Balmacaan Bros. ‘Here, look at me! Look at me’ said the Inspector General. ‘I am the whole of Christendom’. ‘I will take them out at the knees and cut out their spleens’ said the Witness appearing out of nowhere. ‘and I will nail their heads to the door’ said a small man in an undersized hat. ‘I will by God I will!’ Listening from his bedsit over the Dogman Deli Löwden Bewußtsein cleared his throat and said ‘rough rhimes and hoarse, to suit that hole of sorrow’. ‘we must put an end to this’ commanded the Witness, the small man in the undersize hat sneezing loudly. ‘he’s right’ yelled Löwden Bewußtsein from his window perch. ‘we must, and quickly’. At that very moment a yellow crow appeared overhead, its wings spread over all of Christendom. ‘caw caw caw’ cawed the yellow crow arching upwards. ‘caw caw caw’ said the undersized man in the small hat. ‘I will by God I will!’ declared Löwden Bewußtsein from his bedsit window.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz

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