Friday, September 26, 2014

String Quartet #9 - Chris

Of one starts  with  a phrase,  that brings out,   not heard of the  beginning.  is because  the music often goes forward,  as well as backward,  from this Ur-moment.    It will travels forward, and backward,  routing out its  ending,it as well as its beginning.  in this case the movement  is in the middle of the second movement,  when the  fury,  and at the same time the analytical nature is both contained.   It reaches backward to a  calmness which was there from the beginning,  and forward to a  whirlwind that is contained in the last movement.  this is truly a piece that, wall it doesn't look like it,  is actually one piece from beginning to end.

Most  pieces are not in that way,  they contain many themes,  many contrasts,  many position points,  and thus have many changes.  but some are,  and this, particularly, is one of them. This is why beginning is a coolness,  a  calmness,  which stretches forward,  and contains the city of God,  which shows itself two thirds of the way through the first movement.   the other  side contained in the last movement,  which is not a roar,  but imitation.

Thus the sides are in fact one and the same,  which is you listen to it you can tell.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Marne 6


It was twilight in the air, and in each individual throat they are was a clearing, half a noiseless uttering, and half a tangible fear that no one else could quite understand, in this was true for every person, they were all holding their breath. People came home from work, other people went off to a midnight splurge of activity, still others would not make up until later on, so that there was no motion because every one was either holding the course, or was gone to the utter villages to take refuge. But each day, there were more and more who decided that they were not going to be here. It was still a trickle, but now it was a large trickle. And everyone knew it.

Over in the other world, more people were there, mainly soldiers and the like, or people who didn't understand what had happened to them, but were getting out of the city, quickly. The soldiers, primarily, were green, there is no use to say otherwise, because at the front was still along way from Paris. But it was getting closer.

When one reads of times like these, it goes by quickly, but that is an illusion, because each minute on the clock, someone is dying, and someone's life is being born. People eat meals, and they do those things which polite society does not mention, but they happen in a large city, to a great degree. You would not want to think about how much shit occupies a minute of time. And with every minute thousands of flies swarm over it, never knowing that anything is wrong. After all, to their eye, it is all just excrement, and there is no war or peace about it.

Meanwhile those freshly embalmed stirred themselves and tried to figure out what had happened, it was bewildering, One moment they were alive, the next minute they were alive but in a different realm, and not all of the bodies were exactly fresh. In fact, at the moment when someone who was hale arrived, there was a screaming effect when he, for almost always was he, screen out in terror when it one was far less immune to the circumstance. Remember that at the blast center, the man who was hit, took of the worst of the damage, and so got hit the hardest, while only if you inches away, his friend got away with, comparatively little damage. But both were dead, but the man who had been hit the worst, was nothing but a pile of rubble. This had an effect, because nothing worked on him in the afterlife, and he was screaming tangle of ruin. Which, if his better able companion, knew it, would be last thing he ever did. But it was so easy for some. These incidents were, however, relevant brief in nature at first, but they were becoming more frequent, and has they to into Paris, they were becoming more frequent.

Albrecht had sweaty palms, though he didn't know why that was, he cleaned them over and over again, but they remained. He drew them together, even though that was not the best idea in the world. It was not as if they were cold, and in fact quite the opposite, and yet he could not help it.

“I don't know why my hands are so freezing, when the rest of my body feels warm. There is something wrong with me, though I don't exactly know what it is.”
She glanced down at his hands, checking them both top and bottom. It was obvious, to her, what was the problem.

“You have poison ivy, and you should get it looked into. For now, stop rubbing your hand.” then he noticed that she had not dropped his left hand with her right hand. And he felt warm, though he should probably tell her that that was not a good idea, because she too would get poison ivy. He stated to protest, and thought the better of it.

Instead, he looked out along the river Seine, with the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower in their wake, gradually drifting behind them as they looked back. “Why are we going this way, do you have a plan?” he turned his face up quizzically.

“Yes, actually, I do.”

“May I know what it is?”

“Behind us, lies the Eiffel Tower, which is nice to look at, but is a grand target. Over on the other bank, lies what could be called the German forces, which for the two of us, would be an insurmountable problem. So we are going to go this way. Which though filled with houses, will be the best option.”

“I'm not sure that that is reasonable, shouldn't we go down the bank towards the Eiffel Tower and beyond, the Germans will probably take the place, and then dictate terms. Then it will be all over but the shouting.”

“I don't think they're going to win, and this is why I believe so.”

He listened intently, but he was still skeptical, though increasingly the air of Paris got to him, and he was much less certain of becoming German victory, then a while ago.

“Go on.” He said.

“You have many cities in Germany, and you took Paris easily the last time.”

“To say the least.”

“But Napoleon the Third, though he thought of him self as great leader, wasn't. Not unreleased. He was actually a man of peace, and did all of the things of peace quite well, and did all of the things badly that were of war. Though he tried his best, with his breastplate. Bismarck was a man of war, though he didn't like to do so very much. ”

“And you think times are different?”

“The positions are exactly reversed. The French are men of war, the Germans are in of peace. The Germans have quite lovely things to wage war with, and the men are truly honed to their work. But they do not have the willpower, not this time at least, who knows about next time.”

“But why will they not carry the day on third, or fourth, or however many times it may take them?”

She stopped, and looked at him, though she was shy, her eyes gleamed. “There is not going to be a next time, though of course your generals may not realize, and will give it their all.”

“Why are you so sure about this?”

“Because I've seen you, and you are more like, but your ancestors are not. If you were directing, I would be very much afraid, but your fathers, I know them well, and they are nothing to be afraid of. Your people, when they are in charge, are different story.”

“So you think my generation is ...”

“We should make peace, with your kind.”

He nodded. Though is mind was different, it had many of the same thoughts. The old men of his generation were old fat, bursting through with buttons, while the young men were trim and lean. He had often told him self, “if only I would have been in command...” he would not have done things wrong way, is commander was a fool, but he followed orders. So, actually, they, on this point, were mostly in agreement.

Then he noted, they were already dead.

They wandered down the left bank, and then they saw something which was highly unusual, you see all the lights were dim, but there was one like, just up ahead, which was bright. Why it was so perplexed both of them. Because individual people could not run the lights, or anything else that was to hand. But here it was, light, as bright as it came.

Of course it was Albert who spoke first.

“That is unusual, how did one light out of several, become lit?”

They stood there on the street, just to make sure that they had not missed anything, or that anything was out of place. Then they saw what looked like a little girl, dressing and by all accounts, curtsy, though they could not tell to whom. It was very strange, because why would a little girl be there, they could understand adults, but not children.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Marne 5

It was the brutal hours of the morning, and all was still. In the real world there had been an alert, because it was heard that bombshells would be falling. It was a false alarm, in a way, because in that twilight, where the shadows fall and the dead rise, a dirigible had flown through and ripped apart very near to Gare d'Orsay, as has been told in the last two chapters. On the ground they had surmised that there were other people, and hostile at that. In the air, they already knew that they were dead, and still they were not quite dead. And they were going to use this fact, to do something, something for the side which they didn't know the name of. But still, there was a kind of clarity emerging, because they knew that powers that be controlled than. Which was more than they knew before, and that at least was clarity.

The battle hordes still lie to the East, and more specifically, in Belgium. They were scraping and clawing, with their basis half blown off, or gouges rattling have way down there spine, or some other distorted mangel of flesh. These were controlled by people who looked human, and had neat, precise, perforations that were only visible if you looked very closely. These were the men who ordered people, or rather the sampling half people in to the ditches. In other words they were intact, and they made use of those who were not intact. And slowly they were coming down to Paris, with angry force of a maelstrom.

Here in Paris, you would think he would have been peaceful, but forces denied that luxury. You see, now that there were half people, there was a rush on what looked like to size, to seize the day. Seize the day, that ancient phrase from young English tongue, that year present in both French and English. Many tales, and phrases, leapt as if something unnatural caused them to be in the air. The people who you would think were being prospective, were in fact have mad, have giddy, with all of the urges that they succumb to.

But one, not exactly normal mind, was wrestling to consciousness, I speak of a doll, or perhaps a ragamuffin. You know him as Peternotes because while he was quite alive, most people, in fact almost all people, would not have noticed him as living or gifted with any form of intelligence at all. He had been buried, and was trying to dig his way out, which was hard. You don't know how much time it took him to barely scrape his consciousness, and see above the enormous green window which was, from his view, shrouded in mystery. But finally after a full day, he finally could reach the floor and steel away.

What he saw was a deserted house, and he didn't know what to make of it. What did not know, was that the mistress of the house was dead, and all of the service scattered, as if to the winds.It wasn't as if they had families, because they did not, and it wasn't because they had duties, for all their work was here. It must have been a lust to get a way, as quickly as possible. But even in that objective, day were stymied, and flustered. Each one of them was mindless in his, or her, goings on. There was no method to their madness, and when they departed, there was no one to say whether they had gone out. What one could say, is as far as possible, what little baggage was carried, though to a great extent, not by the right owners. What was missing, of course, were children, and one who worked for the old landlords was going to take the chance that they would be stuck with a pair of young children, so very carefully, they shut them in the upstairs, and here away. This was unusual in this part of Paris.

When the girl woke up, she knew that all of old people had fled, so she looked around for her mother, who she found stone dead, two or three hours ago. She quickly look up her brother and explained to him what was a bold fact: they were left to their own devices. At this point, be Peternoke came round around the corner, having just escaped from the closet, and see to children, and no one else, he surmise that the three of them were all alone.

“Don't tell me, that me guess, the adults have left, and by left I need, a have left us to our own devices.”

“It seems so.” replied the boy, “ What are we going to do about it?”
“Seems like they taken all of their belongings.”

“Does indeed, does not.” replied the dwarf, if such he could be called.

“Should we stay, or should he go, that's the first question that has to be answered, I think.” that was was the girl, thinking has usual, on her feet.

The son started to think, and then replied: “Why don't we look out, and see what can be seen.” the new that there were no children that they both knew, since there mother had hidden them from the local police, she didn't have the money.

So all three of them looked out the window, while some people were staying indoors, almost as many people were trundling here we to the nearest train station, to board what ever training they could manage, since many of them had relatives.

“Some people are staying, and some people are going.”

“But,” asks Peternoke, “which are we going to be, a plan here would be most highly encouraged? It is a quandary which we should decide now.”

They look out side again, and decided one more day wouldn't be too much to ask. But only just, because every day the Germans were coming closer, and it might be that they would enter Paris has they did in the faded days in 1871.

“This might be one of the last times Paris ...” Began the marionette.

“Do not think of it.” The boy intoned.

“Do you think that it might be true?”

“There is no way to know, it might be true, but not be true, it's the deciding point of the every war. That's definitely either the beginning or the end, and we don't know which.”

“Then there is some way to make a difference.”

“Yes, I suppose there is, because you don't mind me saying, your adults don't have a clue, not even the things that they can see, left alone things they cannot see.”

The boy nodded at this, with the girl looking at her shoes, saying nothing, except perhaps mumbling in agreement. There was general agreement that something needed to be done, but what was it? Three people stared in to the distance, each one of was hoping that someone else would come up with a brilliant flash of light. Which was also equipped to hoping that it would not come to them.

The girl, followed by the boy, looked out over Paris, somewhat dumbly watching as a few people were leaving their homes and gradually sky grayier as this is started to stream upwards to the sky. It was yet a pilgrimage, but it was close, so very close. And they could feel that innumerable other people were, as they were, trapped in a decision, to leave or stay. Each one had points in its favor, after all, there was still a great deal of common among the common man, the poilus, infantry man of fame. Surely there would be at least one push left in this beast, which would snarl even the most brutal German depots. But against this were a small trickle of people who did not believe it, who perhaps could not believe. And they were the for there lives, looking over here shoulders, even though nothing could be the scene in the way of German artillery. Also, it was still a trickle, not a mass exodus, perhaps these few were simply scared out of there wits. To the girl if certainly look as if that was the case, a horde of the worse kind people who had nothing left to live for. That she realized, now that with the absence of their father, this might describe them. And it described the servants, and their mother was dead. She turned away from the side, and wept that her life, as short as it was, was entirely different than what she expected it to be. Tears grew to a torrent on her cheeks, and her face was buried in her brothers stiff necked necktie.

This, in turn stiffen his results to be a man, even though he really was not a man yet. 

There was something about his sister crying that did something to his soul, though he did not know what you was. Then suddenly there was a glimmer in its spine, which grew stronger with every passing moment.

“Peternoke, you are not human, what do you know about all of the ones such as yourself?  
You told us that they come out at night. Is this really the case, or are you just making it up?” he had some doubts, because a number of stories did like reading out as true. And he had to be sure, in this one instant.

One may say that he didn't regard his companion as generally the most truthful, even though he won major points for showing himself to children, where as the adults didn't notice him at all. You had to be honest about what defects person had.
Especially when it was not really a person at all.

This, in turn, caught the marionette, because he knew, oh so well, that occasionally he had told a few fibs in his life, and he was sure that he was caught. Even without saying so.
He started to lie, and thought the better of it. Better to start with a clean slate.

“What do you want to know?”

This, in turn, caused the boy in some what of a quandary. He knew about what he wanted to say, but not exactly, and exactly was what was required. But was the girl who spoke, with a determined tone of voice.

“What I think he means, our there more than one you, or are you unique.” she had just learned “ unique” the day, in passing between mother and one of the servants, so she had been itching to use it.

The marionette was clearly uncomfortable, and from the look of him both child guess the truth: he will that he was one of a kind, all alone in the world. That fact, alone, was enough to set him apart. But he spoke, even though both he and the little girl were both in some stage of weeping, The girl was blubbering, while the marionette was somewhat more subdued in his own way.

“There once was a time, along time ago, where there were more of the sort of type of thing like myself, gradually a word taken away leaving only me.”

“When was this?”

“I don't know, if must have been a long time ago, but years is the way that I, or anyone of my type, reckons things as they are. It is just not something we do, only humans do it, I don't know why.”

“So you don't know, but there was once a time, where things were different?” course that was a little girl talking, what gives it away is the lilt about the voice.

“I think it is around the time of Napoleon, because before that name was not used, and then it was everywhere. So it must have been around that time.” he looked over his shoulder at the boy, and saw that there was exactly the kind of sureness that he would like. Then he continued on, as if he did not see the boy at all. “ you see we were all built in about 1790 or so, and afterwards, because there was a revival, where children should children, before that, there were infant, and then they graduated to little adults. Then all of a sudden, care was a between time, which spread through the masses, infecting, as it were, children of station, and then every one had a time of life where they were children. Except of course, the very wretched, who were not taking care of at all.”

The children were listening intently, because these stories were important.

“Was it Napoleon the first, or Napoleon the third. And what ever became of Napoleon the second anyway?”

“It might have been Napoleon the third, now that you mention. There were the older ones who said that this was the beginning of all over again.”

“So, it was probably involving third, several things that you have mentioned point that...” he was flustered, because he wanted a word but could not exactly pick out which one.

Peternoke thought on this a while, and then nodded is head. “ that seems to be right.” if you haven't noticed, he was a great deal less high and mighty then before. He had, in a way, shrank a good deal, as if he were the same, not overbearing in the way he was even just a few minutes before. Something had happened to him, though neither he nor they knew what it was. Certainly he would not know that a change war generally was happening around the world. But that is in fact the case, people were talking different, because before if for a sample you read the young Nietzsche you would be in a thicket, but reading the elder Nietzsche, the line was totally different. It was spare, and clean, and tidy, and all things that the younger Nietzsche was not. Or Freud. Or any one of the crowd that came of age writing densely, and then cleaned up their work so as to communicate with a different sort of person. Books were, different, because they reached for more numbers of people. And while they did not have so many, it was better then to have just a Bible, and nothing more.

“I think that is the case, I was made just before Napoleon the third, and heard about the First, though I don't know if they had actually known it. I think not, because they didn't reference him, but they did reference Bismarck, who was terrible in his apparition, absolutely terrible.”

Again both children haven't, if you have not guessed, both of the children were exactly the same age, twins, though of course fraternal, and not identical. So they both nodded at the same time, and did other things, but there was not the unique pattern that identical twins would have.

The girl had been thinking, long the boy, and Peternoke, in the main, were talking. But she had an idea, and blurted it out.

“Let us see what is left behind, and then when night crawls up, we can see if there are any things such as Peternoke that were left behind.”

 And so that is what they did, from pickles, to all sorts of things, they realized that the adults had not done a very good job. So for the three of them, there were at least a week worth of food, perhaps longer, though there was no milk, just juice. But they had powdered milk, which would last long time.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Marne 4


It is morning, again, and again

12 August 1914

It was on the great flood planes of northern Germany, that in the other world had become a hub for comings and goings for a dirigible, some would say a zeppelin, which had a mission in this counter reality. You would also recognize the commander of this, man in life commanded, and in death, as well. He had recovered six of the men that were under his jurisdiction, and he spent a large number of hours during such diseases as he knew, because that which in life is also that in death. He himself had damage as well, a clean puncture wound through is left side, which was still there, though now of course it did not bother him. What did bother him, though he put it out of his mind, was that he was dead, but felt alive. He knew that there was some kind of reality, but of what he did not know, but he knew that he was restored in this counter reality, and a vision of that which corresponded to health. 

He also realized that there was a mission to be taken, and grasped with the firm knowledge that it was what he had to do. And that was very simple, he would take his crew and bomb Paris, and again, and again. Until in this way there would be marks on le belle epoche resulting from this final, ugly, damage. He knew this, but not by how he did. It was as if he had been born in this counter reality with certain knowledge, that he knew not from where. But they are was a war here as well as in the reality that he thought he would die from. But it was different because the rules were not the same, they were different and it was not Germany and France that were contending, though he did not know what it was that was contending with itself. There was a light side and a dark side, and he crept in to the dark side of existence. And it made him peaceful, relaxed, and filled with a purpose. He had gathered around him such men who also knew that they were in fact, evil. He had found to others, which would know longer speak their name to anyone here. This was an afterlife, but there was more, he did not know how much more, just that he was in service to of force, or an entity, or some other 

God which demanded vengeance on all the land in this counter reality.

He had bombed Paris the night before, and he and the men were talking about it. It was obvious that there would be more and more individuals, on both sides, who would take up arms. On the way over and on the way back they saw people, with weapons at their side, striking and combating with each other, slowly over the ground, in great sweeps. He knew from this that the German side was addressing quickly, quickly over the ground towards Paris. He did not know whether they would make it, but it seemed likely. He did not know what would become of them, just he had a mission to perform in this counter reality. And he knew that there were Frenchmen who were on his side, as their were Germans who were on the opposite side of him, though it was clear that the French and English side of things were preponderantly on the light side battle, and the Germans were on predominantly on the dark side of battle.

He tore out of his outer lined pocket a cigarette, imported from Turkey, that he smoked constantly, and with gay abandonment, such that his whole face was engaged in sucking the life out of the tobacco laden euphoria. At this point in the twilight, he saw his second-in-command curry up him, also carrying a cigarette in his mouth, so you could see, though dimly, his entire face.

“We have a load more ammunition on the right side, and check off various things that I think would be in order to do so, Sir.”

He nodded at this exchange, and took a another path on his cigarette, which was very small by this point, and snuffed it out.

“Tell the men to double check everything, I know that that will take two or three hours, at least, but I want everything to be in order, once we are a light.”

His second in command nodded at this order and trotted off, with his hand over his hat, because the engines were still shutting down, and there was a breeze.

He ruminated on his position, and what he, and he alone knew his objective was. It was not what his crew know it to be, they knew only minor things where as he knew the objective to be. The objective was to destroy the Eiffel Tower, because in that way, it would collapse in the real world, because then it would have no structure to support it in this counter reality. Why he knew this, it was because in his brain he could see that the death of the counter reality was the key to destroying the Eiffel Tower in the real world. Because that which is real first occurs first in this counter reality and then occurs in what people think of as the real world. But it is not, just as we think things happen in real time but they are not. In the blink of an eye they happen here first, just as things happen in reality with a delay that is not noticeable, but is a fraction of a second later then it should be. This fraction of a second is the real world copying from the counter reality, and he, are rather we, take that counter reality and change it to what we would like you to be, and no force from the real world will change it. This is why there are discrepancies in the counter world which happen first, and then, and only then do they propagate out in to the real world, and that have second is in fact a distant reality that is taking shape, from counter reality to reality. Most of the time they the dead cannot influence reality directly, but indirectly they can do very much.

And his job was clear, his job was to destroy the Eiffel Tower at the exact moment when someone would try to do the same thing in what they think of as the natural state of affairs. He knew this because someone was reaching in to his mind and he could feel his knowledge changing as it did so. He felt the change abruptly and suddenly, as if to tell him that this knowledge was pure, or rather diabolical in nature, and it came from the darkest regions that he could only imagine. Why he and not the others he did not know, but he could guess, there was a need to know which did not extend to his crew, just as he did not understand what the reason for destroying the Eiffel Tower was, he was not in the loop for that information. But this did not bother him out all, he just carried out his orders as best that he could, and leave the rest to others higher up then he was. What was interesting to him, was there were more people at the bottom then at the top, and none at all from the very top, who said and studied plans that they thought were the expression of national will. It occurred to him at this instant, that national will and force were not things that were instrumentalities of individual persons, so in a way, mankind knows that even he is beyond the reach of normal plans.

At this point he moved inside, and began just his coordinates, he would be planning for a long time, because he needed to know when people in the real world are doing exactly the same thing as the ones doing in this in the counter reality. It bothered him, of course, that he did not know who was controlling the little marionette men who controlled the, but at least he knew that there was someone who was controlling them, which after all was more than he knew before, which were only witchcraft, magic, and some very trivial parapsychology, in this only because his was an aficionado of that sort of thing. So it actually was a benefit to know, truly know, the inner workings of the mind of the creator, which he was sure he could discover. The two hands, dark and light, were, he felt, part of the same entity, evil was just the other hand of good, and he had chosen the darkness because of his own reasons, even while he was living. It dawned on him that he knew something, though he did not know what, while on the other side.

He got out another cigarette, and lit it very tightly, beyond his view was the machinery that controlled this zeppelin, and beyond. Over the hills, and over the dales, he knew the their was something about which was innately bond to the controls on this side of reality, but he did not know what it was, but it was crafty and almost sublime in its aspect. It was not is straightforward way of thinking that control in the real world correspondent to a control under his own hand, no was it a straight translation from either through world or this world controlling what it did. It was far too innate for that to be the case, was if it was controlled not from within but from some source that he could not see, but he could feel it.

Then up out of the darkness a face formed, it was the face of his right hand man. He knew the men intimately, more than intimately in fact, he was the first officer, and he knew everything about him down to the last detail. The very last detail, and in hurt.