Archive for May, 2013|Monthly archive page

La Concha

I live below a cubistic looking mountain, about the size of Mont Sainte-Victoire, Cézanne’s redoubt.

 

It wasn’t painted by Braque or Picasso, but in the ever changing light of day appears that way, delineated against the endless sky, an anchor, seemingly altering its appearance every hour, its sharp yet subtle angles stacked upon each other, reaching up towards its own Matterhorn-shaped top.

 

Flat planets are dead planets. There would be no life on earth without constant volcanic action added to solar heat: humanity following flora and fauna in their footsteps, the last one to join the biological fray, and why I cannot live without my mountain, my life, itself child of tectonic might, tenderly watching over me.

 

Download Anthony Steyning’s superb new E-Novel: A Kiss by the Clowns

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Of Moustaches

It was always a mystery to me where Hitler got all the money to arm himself to the teeth. At this point he hadn’t invaded anybody, or got cheap slave labour from the countries that he would later attack. The Weimar Republic was on its arse, inflation running at 100 000%, the entire outside world sunk into a deep depression, and the reason our boy got elected to Reich’s Chancellor in the first place: yes he was democratically elected by a desperate and defeated people.

 

Germany doesn’t have much in the way of natural resources, so where did he get the inital materials and loot to pull Germany out of its rut with public works and feverish arms production? How did he pay? Who gave him credit? You tell me!

 

But then I read this, as a follow up, written by P.G.Wodehouse, while in Berlin, where he had been kept in detention:

 

The situation in Germany had come up for discussion, and it was generally agreed that Hitler was standing at the crossroads and would soon be compelled to do something definite. His present policy, said a Whisky and Splash, was mere shilly-shallying. “He’ll have to let it grow or shave it off. He can’t go on sitting on the fence like this. Either a man has a moustache, or he has not. There can be no middle course.”

 

And then it hit me. I had stumbled upon a magnificent metaphor for his later foreign policy, somehow beefing up his armed forces with absolutely nothing for them do or to look forward to, plus sporting a horrendous debt: He had to do something or the whole damn thing would have collapsed like a Ponzi scheme. Refusing to ‘Shave them off’, he chose to attack. And attack. And attack.

 

And the rest is bloody history!

 

Download Anthony Steyning’s exquisite new E-Novel: A Kiss by the Clowns!

Of Nostalgia!

Remembrance of Things Past is a lousy translation of Proust’s A la Recherche du Temps Perdu in that all things remembered are in the past, making this is a tautology. In Search of Lost Time is only slightly better as search and loss are mutually implied and ‘lost time’ sounds like a factory malfunction. The latter also has no rhythmic quality whatsoever, and why I would settle for the simple Of Days Time Forgot!

 

Download Anthony Steyning’s delicious new E-Novel: A Kiss by the Clowns

Pardon me, Ma’m

When I asked this woman for a jowblob, she slapped me in the face. But how was I to know both of us are dyslexic?

 

Download Anthony Steyning’sterrific E-novel: A Kiss by the Clowns

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