RELACIONES III
DANIEL H. VALSECCHI
ACTO PRIMERO
Antecámara mixta de biblioteca y vestíbulo. A un costado escalera, enfrente puerta interior, al fondo
ventanales.
ESCENA I
PEDRO, JULIA, SUSANA y JUAN de edades que oscilan entre 20 y 30 años. JULIA teje en la rueda.
SUSANA (separándose bruscamente del grupo y deteniéndose junto a la escalera). - Entonces yo me
detengo aquí y digo: ¿De dónde ha sacado usted que yo soy Susana?
JUAN. - Sí, ya sé, ya sé ...
SUSANA (volviendo a la rueda). - Ya debía estar aquí.
PEDRO (consultando su reloj). - Las cinco.
JUAN (mirando su reloj). - Tu reloj adelanta siete minutos. (A SUSANA). - ¡Bonita farsa la tuya!
SUSANA (de pie, irónicamente). - Este año no dirán en la estancia que se aburren. La fiesta tiene todas
las proporciones de un espectáculo.
JULIA. - Es detestable el procedimiento de hacerle sacar a otro las castañas del fuego. SUSANA (con
indiferencia). - ¿Te parece? (JULIA no contesta. SUSANA a JUAN.) No te olvides.
JUAN. - Noo. (Mutis de SUSANA.)
PEDRO. - ¡Qué temperamento!
JULIA (sin levantar la cabeza del tejido). -Suerte que mamá no está. No le divierten mucho estas
invenciones.
PEDRO. - Mamá, como siempre, se reiría al final.
JULIA. -¿Y ustedes no piensan cómo puede reaccionar el mantequero cuando se dé cuenta que lo han
engañado?
PEDRO. - Si es un hombre inteligente festejará el ingenio de Susana.
JUAN (irónico). - Vas muy bien por ese camino.
JULIA. - Dudo que un hombre inteligente se sienta agradecido hacia los que se burlan de él.JUAN. En cierto modo me alegro que la tía no esté. Diría que era yo el armador de esta fábrica de mentiras.
JULIA. - Mamá tendría razón. Vos y Susana han compaginado esta broma canallesca.
PEDRO. - Julia, no exageres.
JUAN. - Evidentemente, Julia, sos una mujer aficionada a las definiciones violentas. Tan no hay
intención perversa en nuestra actividad, que si el mantequero se presta para hacer un papel desairado, el
nuestro tampoco lo es menos.
JULIA. -Para divertirse no hay necesidad de llegar a esos extremos ...
PEDRO (a JUAN). -Verdaderamente, si no la estimularas tanto a Susana.
JUAN (fingiendo enojo).-Tendrás la audacia de negarle temperamento artístico a Susana ...
JULIA. -Aquí no se discute el temperamento artístico de Susana. Lo que encuentro repugnante JUAN. ¡Oh, discrepancia! ¡Oh, inocencia! Allí está lo gracioso, Julia. ¿Qué interés encerraría la farsa si uno de
los que participa no ignora el secreto? El secreto es en cierto modo la cáscara de banana que caminando
pisa el transeúnte distraído.
ESCENA II
Bruscamente entra LUISA, en traje de calle. Tipo frívolo.
LUISA. -Buenas, buenas, buenas ... ¿qué tal Juan? ¿Llegó el mantequero? (Se queda de pie junto a la
silla de PEDRO.)
JULIA. -Del mantequero hablamos. (Silencio.)
LUISA. -¿Qué pasa? ¿Consejo de guerra? ¿Bromas domésticas? ¿Y Susana?
JULIA. -¿Te parece razonable la farsa que estos locos han tramado?
LUISA. -¡Qué fatalidad! Ya apareció la que toma la vida en serio. Pera hija, si de lo que se trata es de
divertirnos buenamente.
JULIA. -¡Vaya con la bondad de ustedes! LUISA. -¿No te parece, Juan?
JUAN. -Es lo que digo.
JULIA. -Lo que ustedes se merecen es que el mantequero les dé un disgusto.
LUISA. -Lo único que siento es no tener un papel en la farsa. JULIA. -Pues no te quejes; lo tendrás.
Desde ahora me niego a intervenir en este asunto. Es francamente indecoroso.
JUAN. -¿Hablás en serio?
JULIA. -¡Claro! Si mamá estuviera, otro gallo les cantara. (Levantándose.) Hasta luego. (Mutis.)
ESCENA III
LUISA, PEDRO y JUAN
PEDRO. -Quizá no le falte razón. ¿Qué hacemos si al mantequero le da por tomar las cosas a lo trágico?
LUISA (despeinando a PEDRO). -No digas pavadas. Ese hombre es un infeliz. Verás. Nos divertiremos
inmensamente. ¿Quieren que haga yo el papel de Julia?
PEDRO. -¿Y tu mamá?
LUISA. -Mamá encantada.
JUAN. - A mí me parece bien. (Suena el teléfono. PEDRO corre al aparato.)
PEDRO (al teléfono). - ¿Quién? ¡Ah, sos vos! No, no llegó. Se está vistiendo. A la noche. Bueno, hasta
luego. (Volviendo a la mesa.) Hablaba Esther. Preguntaba si había llegado el mantequero.
JUAN. -¡Te das cuenta! Nos estamos haciendo célebres. (Bajando la voz.) Entre nosotros: va a ser una
burla brutal.
LUISA. - Todos se han enterado, ¿dónde está Susana?
ESCENA IV
Dichos y MUCAMA, que entra.
MUCAMA. -Señor Pedro, ahí está el mantequero.
JUAN. -¿Le avisó a Susana?
MUCAMA. -No, niño. JUAN (a LUISA). - Vamos a ver cómo te portás en tu papel de hermana
consternada. (A PEDRO.) Y vos en tu papel de médico. (Se levanta.) Aplomo y frialdad. (Sale.)
LUISA. - o, mejor que Greta Garbo.
PEDRO (a la MUCAMA). -Hágalo pasar aquí. (Sale la MUCAMA.)
LUISA (de improviso). -Dame un beso, pronto. (PEDRO se levanta y la besa rápidamente. Luego se
sienta a la mesa, afectando un grave continente. LUISA se compone el cabello. Aparece SAVERIO;
físicamente, es un derrotado. Corbata torcida, camisa rojiza, expresión de perro que busca simpatía.
Sale la MUCAMA. SAVERIO se detiene en el marco de la puerta sin saber qué hacer de su sombrero.)
ESCENA V
SAVERIO, LUISA y PEDRO; después SUSANA
LUISA (yendo a su encuentro). -Buenas tardes. Permítame, Saverio. (Le toma el sombrero y lo cuelga
en la percha.) Soy hermana de Susana ...
SAVERIO (moviendo tímidamente la cabeza). - Tanto gusto. ¿La señorita Susana?
LUISA. -Pase usted. Susana no podrá atenderlo ... (Señalándole a PEDRO.) Le presento al doctor
Pedro.
PEDRO (estrechando la mano de SAVERIO). -Encantado.
SAVERIO. -Tanto gusto. La señorita Susana ... me habló de unas licitaciones de manteca ...
PEDRO. -Sí, el otro día me informó ... Usted deseaba colocar partidas de manteca en los sanatorios ...
SAVERIO. -¿Habría posibilidades?
LUISA. -Lástima grande, Saverio. Usted llega en tan mal momento ...
SAVERIO (sin entender). -Señorita, nuestra manteca no admite competencia. Puedo disponer de
grandes partidas y sin que estén adulteradas con margarina ...
LUISA. -Es que ...
SAVERIO (interrumpiendo). -Posiblemente no le dé importancia usted a la margarina, pero detenga su
atención en esta particularidad: los estómagos delicados no pueden asimilar la margarina; produce
acidez, fermentos gástricos ... LUISA. - ¿Por qué no habrá llegado usted en otro momento? Estamos
frente a una terrible desgracia de familia, Saverio.
SAVERIO. - Si no es indiscreción ...
LUISA. - No, Saverio. No. Mi hermanita Susana ...
SAVERIO. - ¿Le ocurre algo?
PEDRO. - Ha enloquecido.
SAVERIO (respirando). - ¡Ha enloquecido! Pero, no es posible. El otro día cuando vine a traerle un kilo
de manteca parecía lo más cuerda ...
LUISA. -Pues ya ve cómo las desdichas caen sobre uno de un momento para otro ...
SAVERIO. -Es increíble ...
PEDRO. - ¿Increíble? Pues, mírela, allí está espiando hacia el jardín.
Por la puerta asoma la espalda de SUSANA mirando hacia el jardín. De espaldas al espectador.
PEDRO. - Quiero observarla. Hagan el favor, escondámonos aquí.
PEDRO, LUISA y SAVERIO Se ocultan. SUSANA se vuelve. SUSANA se muestra en el fondo de la
escena con el cabello suelto sobre la espalda, vestida con ropas masculinas. Avanza por la escena
mirando temerosamente, moviendo las ruanos como si apartase lianas y ramazones.
SUSANA (melancólicamente). -Árboles barbudos ... y silencio. (Inclinándose hacia el suelo y
examinándolo.) Ninguna huella de ser humano. (Con voz vibrante y levantando las manos al cielo.) ¡Oh
Dioses! ¿Por qué habéis abandonado a esta tierna doncella? ¡Oh! som-bras infernales, ¿por qué me
perseguís? ¡Destino pavoroso! ¿A qué pruebas pretendes someter a una tímida jovencita? ¿Cuándo te
apiadarás de mí? Vago, perdida en el infierno verde, semejante a la protagonista de la tragedia antigua.
Pernocto indefensa en panoramas hostiles...
Se escucha el sordo redoble de un tambor.
... siempre el siniestro tambor de la soldadesca. Ellos allá, yo aquí. (Agarrándose la cabeza.) Cómo me
pesas ... pobre cabeza. Pajarito. (Mirando tristemente en derredor.) ¿Por qué me miras así, pajarito
cantor? ¿Te lastima, acaso, mi desventura? (Desesperada.) Todos los seres de la creación gozan de un
instante de reposo. Pueden apoyar la cabeza en pecho deseado. Todos menos yo, fugitiva de la injusticia
del Coronel desaforado.
Nuevamente, pero más lejano, redobla el parche del tambor.
(SUSANA examina la altura.) Pretenden despistarme. Pero, ¿cómo podría trepar a tal altura? Me
desgarraría inútilmente las manos. (Hace el gesto de tocar el tronco de un árbol.) Esta corteza es
terrible. (Se deja caer al suelo apoyada la espalda a la pata de una mesa.) ¡Oh, terrores, terrores
desconocidos, incomunicables! ¿Quién se apiada de la proscripta desconocida? Soy casta y pura. Hasta
las fieras parecen comprenderlo. Respetan mi inocencia. (Se pone de pie.) ¿Qué hacer? No hay cueva
que no registren los soldados del Coronel. (Hace el gesto de levantar una mata.) Tres noches que
duermo en la selva. (Se toma un pie dolorido.) ¿Pero se puede llamar dormir a este quebranto doloroso:
despertarse continuamente aterrorizada por el rugido de las bestias, escuchando el silbido de la serpiente
que enloquece la luna? (Tomándose dolorida la cabeza.) ¡Ay, cuándo acabará mi martirio!
ESCENA VI
JUAN y SUSANA JUAN (entra en traje de calle y pone una mano en el hombro de SUSANA). Tranquilizate, Susana.
SUSANA (con sobresalto violento). -Yo no soy Susana. ¿Quién es usted?
JUAN. - Tranquilícese. (Le señala la silla.) Sentémonos en estos troncos.
SUSANA. - ¿Por qué no me contesta? ¿Quién es usted?
JUAN (vacilante, como quien ha olvidado su papel). -Perdón ... recién me doy cuenta de que es usted
una mujer vestida de hombre.
SUSANA. -Y entonces, ¿por qué me llamó Susana?
JUAN. - ¿Yo la llamé Susana? No puede ser. Ha escuchado mal, jamás pude haberla llamado Susana.
SUSANA (sarcástica). -¿Trabaja al servicio del Coronel? ¡eh!...
JUAN (fingiendo asombro). - ¿El Coronel? ¿Quién es el Coronel?
SUSANA (llevándose las manos al pecho). - Respiro. Su asombro revela la ignorancia de lo que temo.
(Sonriendo.) Tonta de mí. Cómo no reparé en su guardamontes. 1 ¿Así que usted es el pastor de estos
contornos?
JUAN. -Sí, sí... soy el pastor ... SUSANA. -Sin embargo, de acuerdo a los grabados clásicos; usted deja
mucho que desear como pastor. ¿Por qué no lleva cayado2 y zampoña3?
JUAN. -Los tiempos no están para tocar la zampoña.
SUSANA (poniéndose de pie y examinándole de pies a cabeza). - Guapo mozo es usted. Me recuerda a
Tarzán. (Para sí.) Musculatura eficiente. (Mueve desolada la cabeza.) Pero no ... es mejor que se vaya ...
que vuelva al bosque de donde salió. ..
JUAN. -¿Por qué? No veo el motivo.
SUSANA (trágica). - Una horrible visión acaba de pasar por mis ojos. (Profética.) L o veo tendido en
los escalones de mármol de mi palacio, con siete espadas clavadas en el corazón...
JUAN (golpeándose jactanciosamente los bíceps). -¿Siete espadas, ha dicho, señorita? ¡Que vengan! Al
que intente clavarme, no siete espadas, sino una sola en el corazón, le quebraré los dientes.
SUSANA. -Me agrada. Así se expresan los héroes. (Grave.) Pobre joven. ¿Podría albergarme en su
cabaña, pocos días?
JUAN. -¿En mi cabaña? Pero usted ... tan hermosa. ¡Oh! sí ... pero le advierto que mi choza es rústica ...
carece de comodidades ...
SUSANA. -Descuide. No le molestaré. Necesito resolver tan graves problemas. (Sentándose.) Si usted
supiera. Estoy tan cansada. Mi vida ha dado un tumbo horrible. (Para sí.) Parece un sueño todo lo que
sucede. ¿Es casado usted?
JUAN. -No, señorita.
SUSANA. -¿Tiene queridas?
JUAN. - Señorita, soy un hombre honrado.
SUSANA. -Me alegro. (Se pasea.) Esto simplifica la cuestión. Las mujeres lo echan todo a perder. A
ver, déjeme que le vea el fondo de los ojos. (Se inclina sobre él.) Su rostro sonríe. En el fondo de sus
ojos chispea el temor. (Sarcástica.) ¡No está muy seguro de su fidelidad, eh!
JUAN. -¡Susana! ...
SUSANA. -Ya reincidió otra vez... ¿Quién es Susana? ¿Su novia? JUAN (vacilante). - Confundo...
perdone... usted me recuerda una pastora que vivía en los contornos. Se llamaba Susana.
SUSANA. -¿No hay peligro de que nos escuche algún espía del Coronel? JUAN. -Los perros hubieran
ladrado.
SUSANA. -¿Es capaz de guardar un secreto?
JUAN. -Sí, señorita.
SUSANA (meneando la cabeza con desesperación). -Pero no ... no ... Seguirme es tomar rumbo hacia la
muerte. Soy un monstruo disfrazado de sirena. Escúchame, pastorcito, y tú, quien seas que me oyes:
huye de mí. Aún estás a tiempo.
JUAN (golpeándose los bíceps). -Que vengan los peligros. Les romperé las muelas y les hincharé los
ojos.
SUSANA. - Dudo. Tu alma es noble. Pueril. (Se pasea irresoluta. Se detiene ante él.) Evidentemente,
tus ojos son francos. El rostro de líneas puras retrata una vida inocente. No perteneces a ese grupo de
granujas a quienes agrada enredar a los ingenuos en las mallas de sus mentiras.
JUAN (tartamudeando). -Claro que no, señorita. Soy un hombre honrado.
SUSANA. -Y sin queridas. Perfectamente. ¿Sabes quién soy?
JUAN. -Aún no, señorita.
SUSANA. -Apóyate, que te caerás.
JUAN. - La impaciencia me mantiene tieso. No puedo caerme.
SUSANA. -Caerás. Soy... la reina Bragatiana.
JUAN. ¿La reina? ¿Vestida de hombre? ¿Y en el bosque?
SUSANA. - Ha caído un rayo, ¿no?
JUAN. -Tal me suena la noticia.
SUSANA. -Me lo figuraba, querido pastorcito. Vaya si me lo figuraba. No todos los días, a la vuelta del
monte, tropieza un cabrero con una reina destronada.
JUAN. -Mi suerte es descomunal.
SUSANA. -¿Comprendes, ahora, la inmensidad de mi desgracia?
JUAN. -Majestad ... la miro y creo y no creo . . .
SUSANA. -Me has llamado majestad. ¡Oh sueño! ¡Oh delicia! . . . ¡Cuántos días que estas palabras no
suenan en mis oídos! JUAN (arrodillándose). -Majestad, permitame que le bese la mano.
Susana se la da a besar con aspavientos de gozo inenarrable.
SUSANA (enérgica). -Pastor, quiero pagarte el goce que me has regalado. Desde hoy agregarás a tu
nombre el título de conde.
JUAN (reverente). -Gracias, majestad. SUSANA. -Te nombrarás el Conde del Árbol Florido, porque tu
alma es semejante al árbol fragante. Perfuma a los que se amparan a su sombra.
JUAN. - Sus elogios me desvanecen, majestad. Su desventura me anonada.
SUSANA (melancólica). -¿Te aperpleja, no? Pues yo me miro en el espejo de los rías, y al descubrirme
aparatosa como una vagabunda, me pregunto: ¿Es posible que una reina por derecho divino se vea
constreñida a gemir piedad por los bosques, fugitiva a la revolución organizada por un coronel faccioso
y algunos tenderos ensoberbecidos?
JUAN. -Ah ... ¿De modo que el responsable es el Coronel?
SUSANA (violenta). -Y los tenderos, Conde, los tenderos. Esta revolución no es obra del pueblo, sino
confabulación de mercaderes que pregonan que el hombre desciende del mono y de algunos españoles
con deudas de monte con puerta. Tú no entiendes de política, pero te diré que mis más fieles amigos han
debido fingir adaptarse a este régimen nefasto. Me esperan, ya lo sé, pero ... en tanto ... hazte cargo ...
para salvar la vida tuve que disfrazarme de criada y huir por un subterráneo semejante a ignominiosa
vulpeja.4
4
JUAN. -Episodio para amedrentar a una robusta matrona, cuanto más a una virginal doncella.
SUSANA. -¡Con qué palabras, Conde, te describiría los trabajos que acompañaron mi fuga! ¡Cómo
historiarte las argucias de que tuve que valerme para no ser ultrajada en mi pudor!
JUAN. -¡Oh ... pero no lo fue, no, majestad!
SUSANA. -Me protegió esta estampita de la virgen. (La saca a el pecho y la besa. Cambiando de tono.)
¿Te atreve- rías tú? ...
JUAN. -¿A qué, majestad?
SUSANA -A cortarle la cabeza al Coronel.
JUAN (respingando). -¿Cortarle la cabeza? Si el Coronel no me ha hecho nada.
SUSANA (dejando caer la cabeza, desalentada). -Y yo que confiaba en ti. Pensaba: el Conde irá a la
cueva del Dragón y con su espada le separará la cabeza del cuerpo. En el Palacio festejaremos el
coronelicidio. Si me parece verlo., Tú avanzas por el camino de rosas ... la velluda cabeza del Coronel,
chorreando sangre espesa, en brillante bandeja de oro. ¿Te imaginas, pastor, la belleza plástica de ese
conjunto? Las más hermosas de mis damas corren a tu encuentro. Suenan los violines y cien heraldos
con trompetas de plata anuncian: Ha llegado al SUSANA. -Te nombrarás el Conde del Árbol Florido,
porque tu alma es semejante al árbol fragante. Perfuma a los que se amparan a su sombra.
JUAN. - Sus elogios me desvanecen, majestad. Su desventura me anonada.
SUSANA (melancólica). -¿Te aperpleja, no? Pues yo me miro en el espejo de los rías, y al descubrirme
aparatosa como una vagabunda, me pregunto: ¿Es posible que una reina por derecho divino se vea
constreñida a gemir piedad por los bosques, fugitiva a la revolución organizada por un coronel faccioso
y algunos tenderos ensoberbecidos?
JUAN. -Ah ... ¿De modo que el responsable es el Coronel?
SUSANA (violenta). -Y los tenderos, Conde, los tenderos. Esta revolución no es obra del pueblo, sino
confabulación de mercaderes que pregonan que el hombre desciende del mono y de algunos españoles
con deudas de monte con puerta. Tú no entiendes de política, pero te diré que mis más fieles amigos han
debido fingir adaptarse a este régimen nefasto. Me esperan, ya lo sé, pero ... en tanto ... hazte cargo ...
para salvar la vida tuve que disfrazarme de criada y huir por un subterráneo semejante a ignominiosa
vulpeja.4
4
JUAN. -Episodio para amedrentar a una robusta matrona, cuanto más a una virginal doncella.
SUSANA. -¡Con qué palabras, Conde, te describiría los trabajos que acompañaron mi fuga! ¡Cómo
historiarte las argucias de que tuve que valerme para no ser ultrajada en mi pudor!
JUAN. -¡Oh ... pero no lo fue, no, majestad!
SUSANA. -Me protegió esta estampita de la virgen. (La saca a el pecho y la besa. Cambiando de tono.)
¿Te atreve- rías tú? ...
JUAN. -¿A qué, majestad?
SUSANA -A cortarle la cabeza al Coronel.
JUAN (respingando). -¿Cortarle la cabeza? Si el Coronel no me ha hecho nada.
SUSANA (dejando caer la cabeza, desalentada). -Y yo que confiaba en ti. Pensaba: el Conde irá a la
cueva del Dragón y con su espada le separará la cabeza del cuerpo. En el Palacio festejaremos el
coronelicidio. Si me parece verlo., Tú avanzas por el camino de rosas ... la velluda cabeza del Coronel,
chorreando sangre espesa, en brillante bandeja de oro. ¿Te imaginas, pastor, la belleza plástica de ese
conjunto? Las más hermosas de mis damas corren a tu encuentro. Suenan los violines y cien heraldos
con trompetas de plata anuncian: Ha llegado el Conde del Árbol Florido. Trae la cabeza del Coronel
desaforado. ¿Te imaginas la belleza plástica de ese conjunto?
JUAN. -Ah, si convertirnos el coronelicidio. en una cuestión de confianza y estética, no tengo ningún
inconveniente en cortarle la cabeza al Coronel.
SUSANA. -Por fin te muestras audaz y carnicero.
JUAN (ingenuamente). - Sin embargo, al Coronel no le va a gustar que le corten la cabeza.
SUSANA. -Conde, no seas pueril. ¿A quién le agrada que le separen la cabeza de los hombros?
JUAN. -¿No podríamos buscar al Coronel y conversarlo? Conversando se entiende la gente SUSANA. ¡Oh! ingenuidad de la juventud. Cómo se trasluce, amigo mío, que pasaste los mejores años de tu vida
bañando a las ovejas en antisárnicos. Más cuerdo sería pretender persuadir a un mulo.
JUAN. -¿Tan reacio es?
SUSANA. -Imposible, como lo oyes. Le llaman corazón de león; cerebro de gallina ... (Se escucha el
sordo batir del tambor.) ¿Oyes?
JUAN. - El tambor.
SUSANA. -Los soldados me buscan. Escapemos, Conde.
JUAN. -A mi cabaña, majestad. Allí no la podrán encontrar. (Salen ambos apresuradamente.)
ESCENA VII
Aparecen lentamente SAVERIO, LUISA y PEDRO; después JUAN LUISA. -¡Parte el corazón
escucharla) ¡Qué talento extraviado! Y tan ciertamente que se cree en el bosque.
Se sientan alrededor de la mesa.
PEDRO. - Locura razonable, señorita Luisa.
SAVERIO. -Si me lo contaran no lo creyera. (Mirándolos de hito en hito.) Juro que no lo creyera.
(Ingenuamente a PEDRO.) Dígame, doctor, ¿y ese señor que hace el papel de pastor desconocido ... el
Conde ... también está loco?
PEDRO. -No; es un primo de Susana. Se presta a seguirla en la farsa, porque estamos estudiando el
procedimiento adecuado para curarla SAVERIO. -¡Ah! Por cierto que se necesita ingenio...
LUISA. -Claro ... imagínese ... seguir las divagaciones de una mente enferma.
SAVERIO. -Espantaría al más curado de asombros. (Pensativamente.) Y parece que quiere cortarle la
cabeza al Coronel de verdad.
LUISA. - Estoy inquieta por ver a Susana.
PEDRO. -No es conveniente, Luisa. La acompaña Juan y su presencia la tranquiliza.
SAVERIO. -¿Y tendrá remedio esta locura, doctor?
PEDRO. -Es aventurado anticipar afirmaciones. Yo tengo un proyecto. A veces da resultado. Consiste en
rodear a Susana del reino que ella cree perdido.
SAVERIO. -Eso es imposible.
LUISA. No, porque organizaremos una corte de opereta. Contamos ya con varias amigas de Susana que
han prometido ayudarnos.
Entra JUAN enjugándose la frente con un pañuelo.
JUAN. -¿Qué tal estuve en mi papel?
LUISA (a coro) Muy bien JUAN (mirando a SAVERIO). -El señor ...
LUISA. -Te presento al señor Saverio, nuestro proveedor de manteca ...
SAVERIO. -Tanto gusto ...
JUAN. -El gusto es mío... (Sentándose, a. LUISA.) ¿Así que estuve bien?
PEDRO. -Por momentos, vacilante ... Ahora, Juan, lo que necesitamos es encontrar la persona que
encarne el papel de Coronel ...
SAVERIO. -¿Y cuál es el objeto de la farsa, doctor? PEDRO. -En breves términos: la obsesión de
Susana circula permanentemente en torno de una cabeza cortada. La cabeza cortada es el leitmotiv de
sus disquisiciones. Pues bien, nosotros hemos pensado en organizar una comedia con habilidad tal, que
Susana asistirá a la escena en que Juan le corta la cabeza al Coronel. Estoy seguro que la impresión que
a la enferma le producirá ese suceso terrorífico, la curará de su delirio.
SAVERIO. -Pero ¿quién se va a dejar cortar la cabeza para curar a Susana?
PEDRO. -La cabeza cortada me la procuraré yo en la morgue de algún_ hospital ...
SAVERIO. -Diablos ... eso es macabro ...
JUAN. -No ... no ... Además es antihigiénico. Uno ignora de que habrá muerto el individuo con cuya
cabeza anda a la greña ...
SAVERIO. -Además que si la familia se entera y quiere venir a reclamar la cabeza del muerto. Puede
armarse un lío...
PEDRO. -También podemos presentarle una cabeza de cera goteando anilina.
LUISA. -Eso, doctor ... una cabeza de cera ...
PEDRO. -Yo, como médico, soy realista y preferiría una cabeza humana auténtica, pero... en fin...
pasaremos por la de cera.
SAVERIO. -¿No han averiguado de qué proviene su locura?
PEDRO. -Probablemente ... exceso de lecturas ... una gran anemia cerebral ...
SAVERIO. -¿Menstrua correctamente?
PEDRO (serio). - Creo que sí. (LUISA se tapa la boca con el pañuelo.)
SAVERIO. -Si ustedes me permiten y aunque no sea discreto opinar en presencia de un facultativo, creo
que nada reconstituye mejor a los organismos debilitados, que una alimentación racional a base de
manteca.
PEDRO. -La señorita Susana no está debilitada ... está loca.
SAVERIO. -La manteca también es eficaz para el cerebro, doctor. Gravísimas enfermedades provienen
de alimentarse con manteca adulterada.JUAN. -Se trata de otras dolencias, Saverio.
SAVERIO (enfático).-La manteca fortalece el sistema nervioso, pone elásticas las carnes, aliviana las
digestiones...
PEDRO. - No dudamos de las virtudes de la manteca, pero ...
SAVERIO (imperturbable). - La civilización de un país se controla por el consumo de la manteca.
LUISA. -Es que ...
JUAN. -Haga el favor, apártese de la manteca, Saverio. Nosotros queremos saber si puede prestarnos el
servicio pagándole, por supuesto, de desempeñar el papel de Coronel en nuestra farsa.
SAVERIO (asombrado). -Yo de Coronel ... soy antimilitarista.
PEDRO. - Usted sería coronel de comedia... nada más ...
SAVERIO. -¿Y para qué la comedia? ¿No es ésta una magnífica oportunidad para ensayar un
tratamiento superalimenticio a base de manteca? Podría proveerles toneladas. Manteca químicamente
pura. Índice muy bajo de suero. PEDRO. -Por favor ... sea razonable, Saverio. Es disparatado curar la
manteca ... quiero decir, curar la demencia con manteca.
SAVERIO. -Permítame, doctor. La manteca es una realidad, mientras que lo otro son palabras.
LUISA. -Pero si a Susana nunca le gustó la manteca. JUAN. -La manteca le repugna.
PEDRO. -Le tiene antipatía a la manteca.
SAVERIO (triunfalmente, restregándose las manos). -¡Ah! ¿Han visto dónde venimos a poner el dedo
en la llaga? ¡Con razón!' En el organismo de la señorita Susana faltan las vitaminas A y D características
de la buena manteca.
LUISA. - Usted es un maniático de la manteca, Saverio.
SAVERIO (imperturbable). - Las estadísticas no mienten, señorita. Permítame un minuto. Mientras que
un ciudadano argentino no llega a consumir dos kilos anuales de manteca, cada habitante de Nueva
Zelandia engulle al año dieciséis kilos de manteca. Los norteamericanos, sin distinción de sexos, color
ni edad, trece kilos anuales, los ...
LUISA. -Señor Saverio, por favor, cambie de conversación. Me produce náuseas imaginarme esas
montañas de manteca.
SAVERIO. -Como gusten. (Sentándose.) Yo trato de serles útil.PEDRO. -¿Y por qué no trata de
ayudarnos, accediendo a lo que le pedimos?
LUISA (insinuante). - No es mucho, creo yo, señor Saverio.
SAVERIO. -Es que yo no soy actor, señorita. Además, los coroneles nunca me han sido simpáticos.
JUAN. -¿No vale la salud de Susana el sacrificio de sus simpatías?
LUISA. -Yo misma lo encaminaría, Saverio.
PEDRO. -Es casi un deber de humanidad.
JUAN. - No olvide que la familia de mi prima es en cierto modo benefactora suya.
LUISA. -Nosotros hace ya una buena temporada que le compramos manteca. No en cantidad que nos
podamos comparar a los habitantes de Nueva Zelandia, pero, en fin...
SAVERIO. -¿Y mi corretaje? Si yo me dedico a la profesión de coronel perderé los clientes, a quienes
tanto trabajo me costó convencerles de que hicieran una alimentación racional a ... PEDRO. -... a base
de manteca.
SAVERIO. -Lo adivinó.
JUAN. -Usted no necesita abandonar su corretaje, Saverio. Con ensayar por las noches es más que
suficiente para lo que requiere nuestra farsa.
SAVERIO. - ¿Y se prolongará mucho la comedia?
PEDRO. - No, yo creo que tomando a la enferma en el momento supremo del delirio, su trabajo se
limitará a la escena ... digamos así ... de la degollación ...
SAVERIO. - ¿Y yo no corro ningún riesgo? LUISA. - Absolutamente ninguno, Saverio. Convénzase.
SAVERIO (semiconvencido). - Yo no sé ... ustedes me ponen en ...
LUISA. -Ningún aprieto, Saverio, ninguno. Usted acepta porque tiene buen corazón.
PEDRO. -Le juro que no esperábamos menos de usted.
SAVERIO. -En fin ...
JUAN. -Su actitud es digna de un caballero.
PEDRO. -Compraremos el uniforme de coronel en una ropería teatral.
LUISA. -Y la espada ... Ah, si me parece ver el espectáculo.
SAVERIO. -Y yo también creo verlo. (Restregándose las manos.) ¿No cree usted que puedo ser un buen
actor? PEDRO. - Sin duda, tiene el físico del dramático inesperado.
JUAN. -Así, de perfil, me recuerda a Moisi.5
LUISA. -¿Quiere tomar el té con nosotros, Saverio?
SAVERIO (mirando precipitadamente el reloj). -Imposible, gracias. Tengo que entrevistarme ahora
mismo con un mayorista ...
JUAN. -Podré llevarle el uniforme a su casa ...
SAVERIO. - Aquí tiene mi dirección. (Escribe en una tarjeta. A PEDRO.) Y no olvide de hablarles a los
dueños de los sanatorios.
PEDRO. - No faltaba más.
SAVERIO. - Señorita Luisa, tanto gusto.
LUISA (acompañándolo hasta la puerta). - Muchas gracias, Saverio. Iré con una amiga a verle ensayar.
Se porta usted con nosotros como si fuera de nuestra familia.
SAVERIO (de espaldas, mientras PEDRO y JUAN mueven la cabeza). -Me confunden sus palabras,
señorita. Hasta pronto. (Sale SAVERIO, y LUISA levanta los brazos al cielo.
ESCENA VIII
Dichos, menos SAVERIO; después SUSANA LUISA. -Es un ángel disfrazado de mantequero.
JUAN (gritando). -Susana, Susana, ya se fue... vení. SUSANA (entrando triunfalmente). -¿Qué tal
estuve? ¿Aceptó? ...
PEDRO. -¡Genial! ¡Qué gran actriz resultás!
LUISA. -Yo me mordía para no aplaudirte... ¡Qué talento tenés!
SUSANA. -¿Así que aceptó?
JUAN. -Y no. Pero lo admirable aquí es tu sentido de improvisación. Pasás de lo humorístico a lo
trágico con una facilidad que admira.
LUISA (alegremente pensativa). -Susana .... sos una gran actriz. Por momentos le ponés frío en el
corazón a uno.
PEDRO. -Esta vez sí que nos vamos a divertir.
JUAN. -Invitaremos a todo el mundo.
LUISA. -Eso se descuenta.
SUSANA (abstraída). - Oh, claro que nos vamos a divertir. Los tres se quedan un instante
contemplándola, admirados, mientras ella, absorta, mira el vacío con las manos apoyadas en
el canto de la mesa
TELÓN LENTO
Modesto cuarto de pensión. SAVERIO, uniformado al estilo de fantástico coronel de republiqueta
centroamericana frente a la cama deshecha. Sobre la mesa, una silla. El conjunto de mesa y silla
cubierto de sábanas y una colcha escarlata. La espada del coronel clavada en la mesa. SAVERIO, de
espaldas, frente al espejo.
ESCENA I
SAVERIO (subiendo al trono por la cama, extiende el índice perentoriamente después de empuñar la
espada). - ¡Fuera, perros, quitaos de mi vista! (Mirando al costado.) General, que fusilen a esos
atrevidos. (Sonríe amablemente.) Señor Ministro, creo conveniente trasladar esta divergencia a la Liga
de las Naciones. (Galante, poniéndose de pie.) Marquesa, los favores que usted solicita son servicios
por los que le quedo obligado. (Con voz natural, sentándose.) ¡Diablos, esta frase ha salido redondal
(Ahuecando la voz, grave y confidencial.) Eminencia, la impiedad de los tiempos presentes acongoja
nuestro corazón de gobernante prudente. ¿No podría el Santo Padre solicitar de los patronos católicos
que impusieran un curso de doctrina cristiana a sus obreros? (Apasionado, de pie.) Señora, el gobernante
es coronel, el coronel hombre, y el hombre la ama a usted. (Otra vez en tono chabacano, sentándose.)
Que me ahorquen si no desempeño juiciosamente mi papel de usurpador.
ESCENA II
SAVERIO y SIMONA SIMONA (voz externa, apagada). - ¿Se puede?...
SAVERIO (gritando). -¡Adelante!
SIMONA (voz externa, apágalo). - ¿Se puede? ...
SAVERIO (gritando). - ¡Adelante! Entra la criada, SIMONA, la bandeja con el café en la mano, se
detiene, turulata, apretando el canto de la bandeja contra el pecho.
SIMONA. - ¡Vean cómo ha puesto las sábanas y la colcha este mal hombre!
SAVERIO (enfático). - Simona, tengo el tratamiento de Excelencia.
SIMONA (detenida en el centro del cuarto). - Y después dicen que una tiene mal carácter. Que es
cizañera, chismosa y violenta. Vean cómo ha emporcado las sábanas. ¿Si no es un asco?
SAVERIO. - Simona, no seas irrespetuosa con un hijo de Marte.
SIMONA. - ¡Qué martes ni miércoles! ¡Cómo se conoce que usted no tiene que deslomarse en la pileta
fregando trapos! (Espantada.) ¡Y ha clavado la espada en la mesa! Si lo ve la señora, lo mata. ¿Usted
está loco?
SAVERIO (encendiendo un cigarrillo). - Simona, no menoscabes la dignidad de un coronel.
SIMONA (colocando la bandeja en la mesa y echándole azúcar al café. Melancólicamente). - ¡Quién
iba a decir que terminaría mis viejos años yendo los domingos al hospicio a llevarle naranjas a un
pensionista que se volvió loco! SAVERIO. - Simona, me estás agraviando de palabra.
SIMONA (alcanzándole el café). - ¡Dejar lo seguro por lo dudoso, la manteca por una carnestolenda.6
SAVERIO (exaltándose). - Simona, no despotriques. ¿Sabes lo que dicen los norteamericanos?
(Vocaliza escrupulosamente.) "Give him a chance".7 ¿Sabes tú lo que signi-fica "Give him a chance"?
(SIMONA guarda silencio.) Lo ignoras, ¿no? Pues escucha, mujer iletrada: "Give him a chance"
significa "dadme una oportunidad". Un compositor ha escrito este patético foxtrot: "A mí nunca; me
dieron una oportunidad". (Expresivo y melifluo.) ¿Y sabes tú quién es el quejoso de que nunca le dieron
una oportunidad? Un jovencito, hijo de una honorable' norteamericana. (Grave, rotundo.) Pues esa
oportunidad me ha sido concedida, Simona.
SIMONA. - Usted sabrá mucho de extranjerías, pero ese cargo de coronel de payasería, en vez de darle
beneficio le producirá deudas y pesadumbre.
SAVERIO. - No entiendo tu dialéctica pueril, Simona.
SIMONA. - Ya me entenderá cuando se quede en la calle sin el pan y la manteca SAVERIO
(impaciente). - ¿Pero no te das cuenta, mujer, que en las palabras que pronuncias radica tu absoluta falta
de sentido político? ¡Ingenua! Se toma el poder por quince días y se queda uno veinte años.
SIMONA (llevándose las puntas del delantal a los ojos). - ¡Cómo desvaría! Está completamente fuera
de sus cabales.
SAVERIO (autoritario). - Simona ...
SIMONA (enjugándose los ojos). - ¿Qué, señor?
SAVERIO (bajando el tono). - Simona, ¿te he negado inteligencia alguna vez?
SIMONA (enternecida). - No, señor.
SAVERIO. - Eres una fámula capacitada.
SIMONA. - Gracias señor.
SAVERIO -Pero... y aquí aparece un pero... (Declamatorio.) Te faltan esas condiciones básicas que
convierten a una criada en un accidente histórico de significación universal.
SIMONA (para sí). - ¿Qué dice este hombre?
SAVERIO. - Convéncete, Simona, tu fuerte no es la sensibilidad política (grave) ese siniestro sentido de
la oportunidad, que convierte a un desconocido, de la mañana a la noche, en el hombre de Estado
indispensable.
SIMONA. - Señor Saverio, usted habla como esos hombres que en las esquinas del mercado venden
grasa de serpiente, pero ...
SAVERIO. -Hablo como un director de pueblos, Simona.
SIMONA. - Baje la cresta, señor Saverio. Acuérdese de sus primeros tiempos. (Para sí.) ¡Si me
acuerdo! Volvía tan cansado, que cuando se quitaba los zapatos había que taparse las narices. Parec ía
que en su cuarto había un gato muerto. SAVERIO (irritado). - ¡Oh, menestrala timorata! De escuchar tus
consejos, Mussolini estaría todavía pavimentando las carreteras de Suiza, Hitler borroneando pastorelas
en las cervecerías de Munich.
SIMONA. - La mesa servida no es para todos, señor.
Se escucha una voz que llama "SIMONA". Mutis rápido de SIMONA. SAVERIO baja del trono y se
sienta a la orilla de la cama.
SAVERIO. - ¡Al diablo con estas mujeres! (Luz baja.)
ESCENA III
Durante un minuto SAVERIO permanece en la actitud un hombre que sueña. De pronto aparece el
vendedor armamentos, revela su condición de personaje fantástico llevando el rostro cubierto por una
máscara de calavera. Viste a lo jugador de golf, pantalón de fuelles y gorra, a cuadraditos. Lo sigue un
caddie con el estuche de los palos a la espalda. SAVERIO (incorporándose). - ¿Quién es usted? ¿Qué
desea?.
IRVING. - Excelencia, iba a jugar mi partidita de golf con el reverendo Johnson, delegado al Congreso
Evangélico, cuando me dije: Combinemos el placer con los negocios. Soy Essel. (Le extiende su
tarjeta.) Irving Essel, representante de la Armstrong Nobel Dynamite.9
SAVERIO. - Ah, ¿usted es vendedor de armamentos?
IRVING (sacando un puro y ofreciéndoselo a SAVERIO). - Nuestra obra civilizadora se extiende a todas
las comarcas del planeta. Las usinas Armstrong, Excelencia, son benefactoras de cincuenta y dos
naciones. Nuestro catálogo ilustrado, lamento no tenerlo aquí, involucra todas las armas de guerra
conocidas y desconocidas, desde el superdreagnouth hasta la pistola automática.
SAVERIO. - No puede llegar usted más a punto. Necesito armamentos..., pero (Se atusa el bigote.)
¿conceden créditos, ustedes?
IRVING. -Ahora que, como dice Lloyd George, hemos colgado muy alto de una cuerda muy corta a los
pacifistas, no tenemos inconveniente en abrir ciertas cuentitas. ¡El trabajo que nos ha dado esa canalla!
SAVERIO. - ¿Y a qué debo el honor de su visita?
IRVING. - Por principio, Excelencia, visitamos a los jefes de Estado que se inician en su carrera. Huelga
decir que nuestras relaciones y almirantes son óptimas. Podemos darles referencias...
SAVERIO. - Entre caballeros huelgan... IRVING (restregándose las manos). - Realmente, entre
caballeros sobran estas bagatelas ... (carraspea), pero como los caballeros no viven del aire, quería
informarle que si su país tuviera la desgracia o suerte de tener un conflicto con su estado vecino,
gustosamente nuestra fábrica le concedería a usted el diez por ciento de prima sobre los armamentos
adquiridos, el cinco por ciento a los ministros y generales y el uno por ciento a los periódicos serios ...
SAVERIO. - Bagatelas ...
IRVING. - Exactamente, Excelencia. Minucias. La naturaleza humana es tan frágil como dice mi
excelente amigo el reverendo Johnson, que únicamente con dádivas se la puede atraer al sendero de la
virtud y el deber...
SAVERIO. - Je, je... Muy bien, míster Irving. Veo que usted es filósofo.
IRVING. - Excelencia, tanto gusto. (Se marcha, vuelve sobre sí.) Me permito recomendarle a su
atención nuestro nuevo producto químico, el Gas Cruz Violeta. Su in-ventor acaba de recibir el premio
Nobel de la Paz. Good-bye, Excelencia.
SAVERIO. - Indiscutiblemente, estos ingleses son cínicos. (Golpean en la puerta. Sube la luz.)
ESCENA IV
Entran PEDRO, LUISA y ERNESTINA, una muchacha de veinte años PEDRO. - Buenas tardes, amigo
Saverio.
SAVERIO. - Buenas tardes, doctor.
LUISA. -Pero ¡qué monada está, Saverio! Le voy a presentar a una amiguita, Ernestina.
SAVERIO (estrechándole la mano). - Tanto gusto.
PEDRO. - ¡Qué bien le queda el uniforme! A ver, ¿quiere darse vuelta? (SAVERIO gira despacio sobre
sí mismo.)
ERNESTINA. - Completamente a la moda.
PEDRO. - Le da un aire marcial ...
LUISA. - Queda elegantísimo ... Si usted se pasea por Florida, las vuelve locas a todas las chicas ...
SAVERIO. - No tanto, no tanto. LUISA. (picaresca). - Hágase el modesto, Saverio. (A ERNESTINA.)
¿No es cierto que se parece a Chevalier en "El desfile del amor”
ERNESTINA. - Cierto; usted, Saverio, tiene cierto parecido con Barrymore11 el joven.
SAVERIO. - Extraño ... ¿eh?
LUISA. - ¿Y no lo ha visto su novia así vestido? ...
SAVERIO (estúpidamente). - No tengo novia, señorita...
ERNESTINA. - Probablemente es casado y con hijos ...
PEDRO (que hace un instante mira el catafalco armado por SAVERIO). - ¿Y eso qué es?
SAVERIO. - Les diré... una parodia de trono ... para ensayar ...
PEDRO (preocupado). -Notable ...
LUISA. - ¡Qué ingenio, qué maravilla! ¿No te decía yo, Ernestina? Éste es el hombre que necesitamos.
(Con aspavientos.) ¿Cómo nos hubiéramos arreglado sin usted, Saverio?
PEDRO. - Todo lo ha previsto, usted.
SAVERIO (observando que LUISA y ERNESTINA miran en rededor). - VOY a buscar sillas. Permiso.
(Sale.)
ERNESTINA. - Está loco, este hombre.
PEDRO. - Es un infeliz, pero no le tomen el pelo tan descaradamente, que se va dar cuenta (entra
Saverio con tres sillas)LUISA. - ¿Por qué se molestó, Saverio? (Se sientan todos.)
SAVERIO. - No es molestia.
ERNESTINA. - Muchas gracias. Señor Saverio, si no soy indiscreta ... ¿le cuesta mucho posesionarse
de su papel de coronel?
LUISA (a PEDRO). - No me hubiera perdonado nunca si me pierdo este espectáculo.
SAVERIO (a ERNESTINA). - Es cuestión de posesionarse, señorita. Nuestra época abunda de tantos
ejemplos de hombres que no eran nada y terminaron siéndolo todo, que no me llama la atención vivir
hoy dentro de la piel de un coronel.
PEDRO. - ¿Ha visto cómo tenía razón yo, Saverio, al solicitar su ayuda?
LUISA. - Y usted decía que era antimilitarista...
PEDRO. - Como en todo... , es cuestión de empezar ... y probar...
LUISA. - ¿Y qué estaba haciendo cuando nosotros llegamos?...
SAVERIO. - Ensayaba ... LUISA (batiendo las manos como una niña caprichosa). - ¿Por qué no ensaya
ahora, Saverio?
ERNESTINA. - Oh, sí, señor Saverio, ensaye ...
SAVERIO. - Es que...
PEDRO. -Conviene, Saverio. Seis ojos ven más que dos. Le hablo como facultativo.
LUISA. - Naturalmente. Sea buenito, Saverio...
ERNESTINA. - ¿Ensayará, no, Saverio?
PEDRO. - De paso le corregimos los defectos . . .
LUISA. - Nunca las escenas improvisadas quedan bien.
SAVERIO (a PEDRO). - ¿Le parece a usted?
PEDRO. - Sí ...
SAVERIO (encaramándose al trono). - ¿Cómo sigue la señorita Susana?
LUISA. - Los ataques menos intensos, pero muy frecuentes...
PEDRO. - Es al revés, Saverio ... Los ataques menos frecuentes, pero igualmente intensos...
SAVERIO. - ¿Y usted cree que se curará?
PEDRO. - No diga eso, Saverio ...
SAVERIO. -¿Por qué no? Usted sabe que las necesidades políticas determinan casamientos
considerados a prima facie irrealizables.
LUISA. - Saverio ... calle usted .... piense que es mi hermana...
ERNESTINA. - Sírvase la espada, Saverio.
SAVERIO. - ¿Hace falta?
PEDRO. - Claro, estará en carácter. (SAVERIO apoya la espada en la mesa y se queda de pie con
aspecto de fantoche serio.)
SAVERIO. - ¿Estoy bien así?
LUISA (mordiendo su pañuelo). - Muy bien, a lo prócer.
PEDRO. -Separe un poco la espada del cuerpo. Es niás gallardo.
SAVERIO. - ¿Así?
ERNESTINA. - A mí me parece que está bien.
PEDRO. - Enderece más el busto, Saverio. Los coroneles siempre tienen aspecto marcial. SAVERIO
(enderezándose pero sin exageración). - Bueno, yo me imagino que estoy aquí en el trono rechazando a
enemigos políticos y exclamo (Grita débilmente.). "Fuera perros".
ERNESTINA (desternillándose de risa). - No se oye nada, Saverio, más fuerte.
PEDRO. - Sí, con más violencia.
SAVERIO (esgrimiendo enérgicamente el sable). - Fuera, perros ...
ESCENA V
Bruscamente se abre la puerta y con talante de gendarme, queda detenida en su centro la DUEÑA de la
pensión. DUEÑA. - ¿Qué escándalo es éste en mi casa? Vea demonio de hombre cómo ha puesto las
sábanas y la colcha.
SAVERIO. - No moleste, señora, estoy ensayando.
PEDRO. - Sí se produce algún desperfecto, pagaré yo.
DUEÑA (sin mirar a PEDRO). - ¿Quién lo conoce a usted? (A SAVERIO.) Busque pieza en otra parte,
porque esto no es un loquero, ¿sabe? (Se marcha cerrando violentamente la puerta.)
LUISA. - Qué grosera esa mujer.
ERNESTINA. - Vaya con el geniecito.
SAVERIO. -Tiene el carácter un poco arrebatado. (Despectivo.) Gentuza que se ha criado chapaleando
barro.
PEDRO. - Continuemos con el ensayo.
SAVERIO (a PEDRO).-¿Quiere hacer el favor, doctor?, cierre la puerta con llave. (PEDRO obedece y
se queda de pie para seguir la farra)
ERNESTINA. - ¿Habíamos quedado? ...
SAVERIO. - Ahora es una conversación que yo mantengo durante el baile, en el palacio imperial, con
una dama esquiva. Le digo: "Marquesa, el gobernante es coronel, ¡, el coronel es hombre y el hombre la
ama a usted".
LUISA. - Divino, Saverio, divino.
ERNESTINA. - Precioso, Saverio. Me recuerda ese verso de la marquesa Eulalia, que escribió Rubén
Darío. PEDRO. - Ha estado tan fino como el más delicado hombre de mundo.
ERNESTINA. - Escuchándole, quién se imagina que usted es un simple vendedor de manteca.
LUISA. - Mire si Susana, después de curarse, se enamora de usted.
SAVERIO. - Ahora recibo una visita del Legado Papal. Como es natural, el tono de voz tiene que
cambiar, trocarse de frívolo que era antes en grave y reposado.
LUISA. - Claro, claro ...
SAVERIO. - A ver qué les parece: "Eminencia, la impiedad de los tiempos acongoja nuestro corazón de
gobernante prudente. ¿No podríamos insinuarle al Santo Padre que hiciera obligatorio en las fábricas de
patrones católicos un curso de doctrina cristiana para obreros descarriados?"
PEDRO (violentamente sincero). - Genialmente político, Saverio. Muy bien. Usted tiene un profundo
sentido de lo que debe ser la ética social.
LUISA. - Esos sentimientos de orden, lo honran mucho, Saverio.
ERNESTINA. - ¡Oh! cuántos gobernantes debieran parecerse a usted.
SAVERIO (bajando del trono). - ¿Están satisfechos?
PEDRO. - Mucho.LUISA. - Usted superó nuestras esperanzas.
SAVERIO. - Me alegro.
ERNESTINA. - Más no se puede pedir.
SAVERIO (quitándose el morrión). - ¡A propósito! Antes que ustedes llegaran, pensaba en un detalle
que se nos escapó en las conversaciones anteriores.
PEDRO. - ¿.A ver?
SAVERIO. - ¿No tienen ustedes ningún amigo en el Arsenal de Guerra?
LUISA. - No. (A PEDRO Y ERNESTINA.) ¿Y ustedes?
PEDRO y ERNESTINA (a coro). - Nosotros tampoco. ¿Por qué?
SAVERIO. -Vamos a necesitar algunas baterías de cañones antiaéreos.
PEDRO (estupefacto). - ¡Cañones antiaéreos!
SAVERIO. - Además varias piezas de tiro rápido, ametralladoras y por lo menos un equipo de gases y
lanzallamas.
LUISA. - ¿Pero para qué todo eso, Saverio?
SAVERIO. - Señorita Luisa, ¿es un reino el nuestro o no lo es?
PEDRO (conciliador). - Lo es, Saverio, pero de farsa.
SAVERIO. - Entendámonos ... de farsa para los otros..., pero real para nosotros ...
LUISA. - Usted me desconcierta, Saverio.
PEDRO. -Andemos despacio que todo se arreglará. Dígame una cosa, Saverio: ¿Usted qué es, coronel
de artillería, de infantería o de caballería?
SAVERIO (sorprendido). - Hombre, no lo pensé.
ERNESTINA. - Pedro ... por favor ... un coronel de artillería es de lo más antipoético que pueda
imaginarse.
LUISA. - Susana se ha forjado un ideal muy distinto.
PEDRO. - Como facultativo, Saverio, me veo obligado a declararle que el coronel de Susana es un
espadón cruel pero seductor.
LUISA. - Si ustedes me permiten, les diré esto: en las películas, los únicos coroneles románticos
pertenecen al cuerpo de caballería.
SAVERIO. - Señorita: en los Estados modernos, la caballería no cuenta como arma táctica.
ERNESTINA. - Saverio, un coronel de caballería es el ideal de todas las mujeres.
LUISA. - - Claro ... el caballo que va y viene con las crines al viento ... los galopes ...
SAVERIO. - Esto simplifica el problema de la artillería, aunque yo preferiría ser secundado por fuerzas
armadas. (Golpean a la puerta.)
ESCENA VI
SAVERIO, PEDRO, LUISA y ERNESTINA, y SIMONA, que entra. SAVERIO. - Adelante.
SIMONA. - En la puerta hay dos hombres que traen un bulto para usted.
PEDRO. - ¿No molestamos?
SAVERIO. - Por el contrario, es una suerte que ustedes estén. (A SIMONA que curiosea.) Haga pasar a
esos hombres. (Mutis de SIMONA, SAVERIO aparta la mesa hasta el fondo de la pared.)
ESCENA VII
Siguiendo a SIMONA entran al cuarto dos hombres vestidos de mecánicos. Sostienen soportes
horizontales de madera, un aparato cubierto de bolsas. Los presentes se miran sorprendidos. Depositan
la carga en el lugar donde estaba la mesa, simétricamente, de manera que el bulto queda encuadrado
sobre el fondo rojo que traza el trono junto al muro
HOMBRE 2° - Hay que firmar aquí. (Le entrega a SAVERIO un talonario que éste firma. SAVERIO les
da una propina. Los hombres saludan y se van. SIMONA queda de brazos cruzados.)
SAVERIO. - No la necesitamos, Simona. Puede irse. (SIMONA se va de mala gana.)
SAVERIO (cierra la puerta, luego se acerca al armatoste). - Señoritas, doctor, no podrán ustedes menos
de felicitarme y reconocer que soy un hombre prudente. Vean. (Destapa el catafalco12, y los
espectadores que se acercan, retroceden al reconocer en el aparato pintado de negro una guillotina.)
LUISA. - ¡Jesús! ¿Qué es eso?
SAVERIO (enfático). - Qué va a ser ... Una guillotina.
PEDRO (consternado). -¿Pero, para qué una guillotina, Saverio?
SAVERIO (a su vez asombrado). -¿Cómo para qué? ... y para qué puede servir una guillotina.
ERNESTINA (asustada). - Santísima Virgen, qué bárbaro es este hombre ... SAVERIO. - ¡Y cómo
quieren gobernar sin cortar cabezas!
ERNESTINA. - Vámonos, che ...
PEDRO. - Pero no es necesario llegar a esos extremos.
SAVERIO (riéndose). - Doctor, usted es de esos ingenuos que aún creen en las ficciones democráticas
parlamentarias.
ERNESTINA (tirando del brazo de PEDRO). - Vamos, Pedro . . . , se nos hace tarde.
PEDRO. - Saverio ... no sé qué contestarle. Otro día conversaremos.
SAVERIO. - Quédense ... les voy a enseñar cómo funciona ... Se tira de la soguita ...
PEDRO. - Otro día, Saverio, otro día. (Los visitantes se van retirando hacia la puerta.) SAVERIO. Podemos montar las guillotinas en camiones y prestar servicio a domicilio.
ERNESTINA (abriendo la puerta). - Hasta la vista, Saverio. (Los visitantes salen.)
SAVERIO (corriendo tras de ellos). - Se dejan los guantes, el sombrero. (Mutis de SAVERIO un
minuto.)
ESCENA VIII
Grave entra SAVERIO a su cuarto. Se pasea en silencio frente a la guillotina. La mira, la palmea como
a una bestia.
SAVERIO. - Qué gentecilla miserable. Cómo han descubierto la enjundia 13 pequeño-burguesa. No hay
nada que hacer, les falta el sentido aristocrático de la carnicería. (Restregándose las manos, familiar,
pero altisonante.) Pero no importa mis queridos señores. Organizaremos el terror. Vaya si lo
organizaremos. (Se pasea en silencio, de pronto se detiene como si escuchara voces. Se lleva una mano
a las orejas.)
ESCENA IX
MICRÓFONO
Súbitamente se deja oír la voz de varios altoparlantes eléctricos, que hablan por turno y con voces
distintas. SAVERIO escucha atento y mueve la cabeza asintiendo.
ALTOPARLANTE 1º - Noticias de último momento. Saverio, el Cruel, oculta sus planes a la Liga de las
Naciones.14
SAVERIO - Buena publicidad. El populacho admira a los hombres crueles. ALTOPARLANTE 2º Comunicaciones internacionales del Mensajero del Aire: Saverio rechaza toda negociación con las
grandes potencias. Los ministros extranjeros se niegan a comentar la actitud del déspota.
ALTOPARLANTE 3º (largo llamado de sirena, mientras haces de luces de reflectores cruzan el
escenario. En sombra, la figura de SAVERIO). - Informaciones de la Voz del Aire. Comunicados de
última hora. La actitud del.dictador Saverio paraliza toda negociación internacional. Desconcierto
general en las cancillerías. ¿Saverio provocará la guerra? (Callan las voces, se apagan los reflectores, y
SAVERIO se pasea silencioso.)
SAVERIO. - Hay que demostrar una extrema frialdad política. (Grave.) Las cabezas caerán en el cesto
de la guillotina como naranjas en tiempo de cosecha. (Comienza a cambiarse precipitadamente de traje.
Cuando se ha puesto los pantalones golpean a la puerta. Cubre rápidamente la guillotina.) Adelante ...
ESCENA X
SAVERIO y SIMONA, que entra
SIMONA. - Tengo que hacer la cama. (Retira las sábanas de la mesa, mientras SAVERIO se arregla
frente al espejo.) Vean cómo las ha puesto con los pies. (Se las muestra.) Es una vergüenza. (Las
sacude.)
SAVERIO (irritado). - ¿Empezamos otra vez? (Bruscamente se vuelve a SIMONA.) Simona, a pesar de
tu rústica corteza, sos una mujer inteligente.
SIMONA (resentida). - Eh . . .
SAVERIO. - Me has dado una buena idea, Simona.
SIMONA. - ¿Qué está rezongando así?
SAVERIO: - Sos una mujer inteligente. Tu idea es prudente.
SIMONA. - Miren la colcha. Una colcha flamante.
SAVERIO. -YO iba a dejar el corretaje de manteca, pero ahora conservaré mi puesto.
SIMONA. - Por fin dijo algo razonable.
SAVERIO. - Pediré permiso por algunos días.
SIMONA (sin volver la cabeza, tendiendo la cama). - Me alegro. SAVERIO (palmeando a SIMONA en
la espalda y cogiendo su sombrero). - Querida, en los Evangelios está escrito: "Sed astutos como
serpientes y cándidos como palomas 15 Good-bye, hermosa. (Se marcha, mientras la sirvienta menea la
cabeza extendiendo la colcha.) SAVERIO (palmeando a SIMONA en la espalda y cogiendo su
sombrero). - Querida, en los Evangelios está escrito: "Sed astutos como serpientes y cándidos como
palomas Good-bye, hermosa. (Se marcha, mientras la sirvienta menea la cabeza extendiendo la colcha.)
TELÓN ACTO TERCERO
DECORADO
Salón de rojo profundo. Puertas laterales. Al fondo, sobre el estrado alfombrado, un trono. Pocas
bujías encendidas. Ventanas abiertas. Fondo lunado sobre arboledas. Invitados que pasean y charlan,
caracterizados con trajes del siglo XVIII.
ESCENA I
VALS
PEDRO, JUANA, ERNESTO, DIONISIA, ERNESTINA, LUISA y DEMETRIO
PEDRO (a JUANA). - Menuda fiesta nos damos.
JUANA. - ¿Estoy bien, yo?
PEDRO. - Preciosa.
ERNESTO. - ¿Cómo me queda este morrión?16
JUANA. - Parecés un perro de agua.
DIONISIA (a JUANA). - ¡Vaya el trabajo que nos da el bendito Saverio! ...
ESCENA II
Dichos, JUAN, ROBERTO y MARÍA JUAN (aparece vestido de pastor de grabado, semidesnudo con
una piel de cabra que lo envuelve hasta las rodillas). - ¡Oh, la juventud! (Lo rodean.)
JUANA (a JUAN). - ¿VOS tenés que cortarle la cabeza al Coronel?
JUAN. - Sí.
PEDRO. - La cabeza cortada está ahí. (Señala una puerta lateral.)
ERNESTINA. - Esta maceta estorba aquí. (La arrima a un costado.)
LUISA. - El carnaval es completo. únicamente faltan las serpentinas.
DEMETRIO (a LUISA). - ¿Es cierto que ese hombre tiene una guillotina en su casa?
LUISA. - Preguntáselo a Ernestina.
ROBERTO (vestido de coracero). -¡Ufa!... ¡Cómo molesta esto! (Se arranca los mostachos y se los
guarda en el bolsillo.)
LUISA (a JUAN). - ¿Y Susana?
JUAN. - Está terminando de arreglarse.
PEDRO. - Me voy a esperar a Saverio.
ERNESTINA. - Mirá si no viene …
LUISA. - No seas mala persona.
ESCENA III
Por la puerta que da al trono, sobre el estrado, aparece SUSANA. Está caracterizada a lo protagonista
de tragedia antigua, el cabello suelto, túnica de pieles y sandalias. El rostro demacrado, las ojeras
profundas. Su aspecto es siniestro. SUSANA. - Alegres invitados, ¿cómo me encuentran? (Cesa la
música.)
TODos (a coro). - Bien, bien ...
JUAN (saltando al estrado). - Distinguida concurrencia. Un minuto de silencio, que no seré latero.
Tengo el gusto de presentarles a la inventora de la tragedia y de la más descomunal tomadura de pelo
que se tiene conocimiento en Buenos Aires. Nosotros los porteños nos hemos especializado en lo que
técnicamente denominamos cachada. La cachada involucra un concepto travieso de la vida. Si mal no
recuerdo, el difunto literato José In-genieros organizó, con otros animales de su especie, una peña de
cachadas, pero todas palidecen comparadas con ésta, cuya autora es la pulcra jovencita que con ojos
apasionados contemplamos todos. Servidos, señores.
VOCES. - Bien, bien, que hable Susana.
VOCES. - Sí, que hable. (JUAN baja del estrado.)
SUSANA (avanza hacia la punta del estrado. Se hace silencio). - No conviene que un autor hable de su
obra antes de que el desenlace horripile a la concurrencia. Lo único que les digo es que el final les
divertirá bárbaramente. (Baja. Aplausos. Los grupos se desparraman y charlan entre sí.)
LUISA. - Apártate un poco el pelo de la frente.
SUSANA. - ¿Qué tal estoy?
ERNESTO. - Tenés un aspecto trágico.
DIONISIA. - Si recitas bien lo que aprendiste, vas a poner frío en el alma.
DEMETRIO. - Tenés el aspecto de una endemoniada.
ERNESTINA. - El que está bien es Juan con su piel de cabra.
JUAN (incorporándose al grupo. A SUSANA). - Mirá si Saverio no viene ...
SUSANA. - Vendrá, no te preocupés.
DEMETRIO. - A la que no veo por aquí es a Julia.
SUSANA (irónicamente). - Julia es una mujer seria, que no toma parte en estas payasadas.
DEMETRIO. - Mirá si te salís casando con el mantequero.
SUSANA (irritada). - No digas pavadas.
MARIA. - El alboroto que se arma dentro de un rato aquí.
DEMETRIO (volviéndose a todos y guiñándoles un ojo). - Pero qué pálida estás, Susana...
SUSANA (fría). - Me he pintado mucho.
JUAN. - ¿No será miedo al Coronel?
MARÍA. - Mirá si intenta cortarle la cabeza...(A los otros.) Bueno, nosotros estamos aquí para
defenderte.
DEMETRIO. - ¡Qué bueno seria que Saverio trajera la guillotina aquí!
JUAN (a SUSANA). - No tengas cuidado. Le hemos puesto en la vaina un sable de cartón.
SUSANA. - Me alegro de esa precaución. No está de más.
PEDRO (irónico). - Esta vez parece que ustedes se divierten en grande, ¿eh?
DIONISIA. - ¿Y vos? Creo que sos el que más se divierte.
ERNESTINA. - Deberíamos buscar a Julia.
SUSANA (vivamente). -No, por favor. Déjenla tranquila.
JUAN (mirando en rededor). - Pido la palabra. En mi pequeño discurso de hoy se me olvidó esta
aclaración:
¿Saben lo que me recuerda esta escena? El capítulo del Quijote en que Sancho Panza hace de
gobernador de la ínsula de Barataria.
DEMETRIO. - Es cierto ... Y nosotros. . . el de duques locos.
JUAN (guiñando él ojo a todos). - ¿Quién es el loco aquí?
TODOS Dos (haciendo círculo en derredor de
SUSANA (señalándola con el dedo). - Susana.
SUSANA (amablemente). - Y quiero seguir siendo loca, porque siendo loca pongo en movimiento a los
cuerdos, como muñecos.
JUAN (levantando el brazo). - Aquí todos somos locos, pero el más miserable de los locos aún no ha
venido. Se hace desear. Hace sufrir a Susana. (Volviendo a los otros.) Porque Susana ama al vendedor de
manteca. Lo ama tiernamente.
SUSANA (riendo forzada). - Esto sí que está bueno...
JUAN (exaltado y declamatorio). - Pero yo también amo a Susana. Pero ella, sorda, no escucha mis
palabras. Sigue su ruta por un camino sombrío e ignorado.
ToDos (a coro). - Bien... Bien...
JUAN. - No digo más ... Me han interrumpido en lo mejor.
LUISA. - Pero ese Saverio, ¿viene o no viene?
DEMETRIO. - Parece que no viene.
ERNESTINA (a PEDRO). - ¿Por qué no vas a la estación?
ESCENA IV
Dichos, y la MUCAMA, que sale luego con SUSANA
MUCAMA. - Niña, ya llegó el señor Saverio.
SUSANA. - Hasta luego... A ver cómo se portan. (Mutis SUSANA y MUCAMA.)
JUAN. - Todo esto es maravilloso. ¿Y saben por qué es
maravilloso? Porque en el aire flota algo indefinible. Olor a sangre. (Riéndose.) Preveo una carnicería.
ERNESTINA. - No hablés así, bárbaro.
JUAN. - ¿No huelen la sangre, ustedes?
VOCES. - Que se calle ...
JUAN. - Conste que me calla, pero certifico mis presentimientos.
LUISA. - ¿No querés que llamemos a un escribano?
ESCENA V
Dichos y la MUCAMA, luego SAVERIO y PEDRO
MUCAMA. - Ahí viene el señor Saverio. (Sale.)
JUAN. - Bueno, pórtense decentemente, ¿eh?
SAVERIO se presenta súbitamente en el salón, seguido de PEDRO. Los espectadores se apartan
instintivamente al paso de SAVERIO, que camina marcialmente. No saluda a nadie. Su continente
impone respeto.
JUAN (avanza al centro del salón). - Señor Saverio, la cabeza cortada está en este cuarto. (Señala una
puerta.)
SAVERIO. - ¿Usted hace el papel de pastor?
JUAN. - Sí, señor.
SAVERIO. - Puede retirarse. (JUAN sale desconcertado. SAVERIO sube al trono y mira a la
concurrencia, que también lo mira a él.) Señores, la farsa puede comenzar cuando ustedes quieran. (A
PEDRO.) Ordene a la orquesta que toque. (Sale PEDRO.)
ESCENA VI
SAVERIO se sienta en el trono y comienza a sonar un vals. SAVERIO mira pensativo a las parejas, que
al llegar bailando frente a él vuelven la cabeza para observarlo. HERALDO (presentándose al final del
salón. Con trompeta plateada y pantalones a la rodilla, lanza un toque de atención, y las parefas se
abren en dos filas). - Majestad, la reina Bragatiana quiere verle.
SAVERIO (siempre sentado). - Que pase.
SUSANA (majestuosamente avanza entre las dos filas). - ¿Los señores duques se divierten? (SAVERIO
no abandona su actitud meditativa y fría.) ¡Su reina fugitiva pa-deciendo en tierras de ignorada
geografía! ¡Ellos bailando! Está bien. (Lentamente.) ¿Qué veo? Aquí no hay fieras de piel manchada,
pero sí elegantes corazones de acero. El Coronel permanece pensativo. (SAVERIO no vuelve la cabeza
para mirarla.) Obsérvenle ustedes. No me mira. No me escucha. (Bruscamente rabiosa.) ¡Coronel
bellaco, mírame a la caral
SAVERIO (a la concurrencia.) - Lástima que los señores duques no tuvieran una reina mejor educada.
SUSANA (irónica). - ¡Miserable! ¿Pensabas tú en la buena crianza cuando me arrebataste el trono?
(Patética.) Destruiste el paraíso de una virginal doncella. Donde ayer florecían' rosas, hoy rechina hierro
homicida. (Patética.) Destruiste el paraíso de una virginal doncella. Donde ayer florecían' rosas, hoy
rechina hierro homicida. SAVERIO. - ¿Está haciendo literatura, Majestad?
SUSANA. - A la elocuencia de la inocencia ultrajada el Coronel la llama literatura. Mírenme, señores
duques. Hagan la caridad. ¿Es digno de una reina mi atavío? ¿Dónde están las doncellas que prendían
flores en mis cabellos? Miro, las busco inútilmente y no las encuentro. ¡Ah, si ya sé! ¿Y mis amigos?
Mis dulces amigos. (Gira la cabeza.) Tampoco los veo. (Ingenua.) ¿Estarán en su hogar, acariciando a
sus esposas, entregados a tiernos juegos con sus hijos? (Terrorífica.) No. Se pudren en las cárceles. En
sus puestos, traman embustes los apoderados del Coronel. (Burlona.) Del Coronel que no se digna
mirarme. ¿Y por qué no me mira el señor Coronel? Porque es duro mirar cara a cara al propio crimen.
(Se pasa una mano por la frente. Permanece un segando en silencio. Se pasa lentamente las manos por
las mejillas.) ¡Dura cosa es el exilio! ¡Dura cosa es no tener patria ni hogar! Dura cosa es temblar al
menor suspiro del viento. Cuando miro a los campesinos ensarmentando viñas y escucho a las mozas
cantando en las fuentes, torrentes de lágrimas me queman las mejillas. ¿Quién es más desdichada que yo
en la tierra? ¿Quién es el culpable de esta obra nefasta? Allí está (Lo señala con el índice), fríamente
sentado. Receloso como el caballo falso. Mientras él retoza en mullido lecho, yo, semejante a la loba
hambrienta, merodeo por los caminos. No tengo esposo que me proteja con su virilidad, no tengo hijos
que se estrechen contra mi pecho buscando generosa lactancia.
SAVERIO (siempre frío). - Indudablemente, señora, los hijos son un consuelo.
SUSANA. - ¿Lo escucharon? (Suplicante.) ¿Levantaron acta de su frialdad burlona? Los hijos son un
consuelo. ¡Contéstanos, hombre siniestro! ¿Fuiste consuelo de la que te engendró? ¿Qué madre
venenosa adobó en la cuna tus malos instintos? ¿Callas? ¿Qué nodriza te amamantó con leche de
perversidad?
SAVERIO (siempre frío y ausente). - Hay razones de Estado.
SUSANA (violentísima). - ¡Qué me importa el Estado, feroz fabricante de desdichas! ¿Te he pedido
consejos, acaso? Bailaba con mis amigas en los prados, al son de los violines ... Violines... qué lejos
estáis... ¿Te llamaron acaso mis consejeros? ¿Te solicité que remendaras leyes, que zurcieras
pragmáticas? Pero guarda silencio, hombre grosero. Te defiendes con el silencio, Coronel. Tuya es la
insolencia del caporal, tuya la estolidez del recluta. Pero no importa. (Suave.) Lo he perdido todo, sólo
quiero ganar un conocimiento... , y ese conoci-miento, Coronel, que es lo único que te pido, es que me
aclares el enigma de la criminal impasibilidad con que me escuchas. SAVERIO (se pone de pie). - Le
voy a dar la clave de mi silencio. El otro día vino a verme su hermana Julia. Me informó de la burla que
usted había organizado con sus amigas. Comprenderá entonces que no puedo tomar en serio las
estupideces que está usted diciendo. (Al escuchar estas palabras, todos retroceden como si recibieran
bofetadas. Silencio mortal. SAVERIO se sienta, impasible.)
SUSANA (dirigiéndose a los invitados). - Les ruego que me dejen sola. Tengo que pedirle perdón a este
hombre. (Cara al suelo, silenciosamente, salen los invitados.)
ESCENA VII
SAVERIO y SUSANA SUSANA. - Es terrible la jugada que me ha hecho, Saverio, pero está bien. (Se
sienta al pie del trono, pensativamente.) Luces, tapices. Y yo aquí sentada a tus pies como una pobre
vagabunda. (Levantando la cara hacia SAVERIO.) Se está bien en el trono, ¿eh, Coronel? Es agradable
tener la tierra girando bajo los pies.
SAVERIO (poniéndose de pie). - Me marcho.
SUSANA (levantándose precipitadamente, le toma los brazos). - Oh, no, quédese usted, por favor.
Venga... Miremos la luna. (Lo acompaña, tomándolo del brazo, hasta la ventana.) ¿No le conmueve este
espectáculo, Coronel?
SAVERIO (secamente). - ¿Por qué se obstina en proseguir la farsa?
SUSANA (sincera). - Me agrada tenerlo aquí solo, conmigo. (Riéndose.) ¿Así que usted se hizo fabricar
una guillotina? Eso sí que está bueno. Usted es tan loco como yo. (SAVERIO se deshace de su mano, se
sienta pensativo en el trono. SUSANA se queda de pie.)
SUSANA. - ¿Por qué no me escucha? ¿Quiere que me arrodille ante usted? (Se arrodilla.) La princesa
loca se arrodilla ante el desdichado hombre pálido. (SAVERIO no la mira. Ella se para.) ¿No me
escucha, Coronel?
SAVERIO. - Me han curado de presunciones las palabras de su hermana Julia.
SUSANA. - Julia ... Julia ... ¿Qué sabe Julia de sueños? Usted sí que es capaz de soñar.
Vea que mandar a fabricar una guillotina ... ¿Corta bien la cuchilla?
SAVERIO. - Sí.
SUSANA. - ¿Y no es feliz de tener esa capacidad para soñar?
SAVERIO. - ¿Feliz? Feliz era antes ...
SUSANA. - ¿Vendiendo manteca?
SAVERIO (irritado). -Sí, vendiendo manteca. (Exaltándose.) Entonces me creía lo suficiente poderoso
para realizar m¡ voluntad en cualquier dirección. Y esa fuerza nacía de la manteca.
SUSANA. - ¿Tanta manteca comía usted?
SAVERIO. - Para ganarme la vida tenía que realizar tales esfuerzos, que inevitablemente terminé
sobreestimando mi personalidad.
SUSANA. -¿Y ahora está ofendido conmigo?
SAVERIO. - Usted no interesa ... es una sombra cargada de palabras. Uno enciende la luz y la sombra
desaparece.
SUSANA. - Tóqueme ... verá que no soy una sombra.
SAVERIO. - Cuando yo tenía la cabeza llena de nubes, creía que un fantasma gracioso suplía una tosca
realidad. Ahora he descubierto que cien fantasmas no valen un hombre. Escúcheme, Susana: antes de
conocerlos a ustedes era un hombre feliz ... Por la noche llegaba a mi cuarto enormemente cansado. Hay
que lidiar mucho con los clientes, son incomprensivos. Unos encuentran la manteca demasiado salada,
otros demasiado dulce. Sin embargo El trabajo de mi caletre, de mis piernas, se había trocado en
sustento de mi vida. Cuando ustedes me invitaron a participar en la farsa, como mi naturaleza estaba
virgen de sueños espléndidos, la farsa se transformó en mi sensibilidad en una realidad violenta, que
hora por hora modificaba la arquitectura de mi vida. (Calla un instante.)
SUSANA. - Continúe, Saverio.
SAVERIO. - ¡Qué triste es analizar un sueño muerto! Entonces mis alas de hormiga me parecían de
buitre. Aspiraba encontrarme dentro de la piel de un tirano.(Abandona el trono y se pasea nervioso.)
¿Comprende mi drama?
SUSANA. -Nuestra burla...
SAVERIO (riéndose). - No sea ingenua. Mi drama es haber comprendido, haber comprendido... que no
sirvo ni para coronel de una farsa... ¿No es horrible esto? El decorado ya no me puede engañar. Yo que
soñé ser semejante a un Hitler, a un Mussolini, comprendo que todas estas escenas sólo pueden engañar
a un imbécil ...
SUSANA. - Su drama consiste en no poder continuar siendo un imbéci (Abandona el trono y se pasea
nervioso.) ¿Comprende mi drama?
SUSANA. -Nuestra burla...
SAVERIO (riéndose). - No sea ingenua. Mi drama es haber comprendido, haber comprendido... que no
sirvo ni para coronel de una farsa... ¿No es horrible esto? El decorado ya no me puede engañar. Yo que
soñé ser semejante a un Hitler, a un Mussolini, comprendo que todas estas escenas sólo pueden engañar
a un imbécil ...
SUSANA. - Su drama consiste en no poder continuar siendo un imbécil...
SAVERIO (sarcástico). - Exacto, exacto. Cuánta razón tenía Simona.
SUSANA. - ¿Quién es Simona?
SAVERIO. - La criada de la pensión. Cuánta razón tenía Simona al decirme: "Señor Saverio, no
abandone el corretaje de manteca. Señor Saverio, mire que la gente de este país come cada día más
manteca". Usted sonríe. Resulta un poco ridículo parangonar la venta de la manteca con el ejercicio de
una dictadura. En fin ... ya está hecho. No he valorado mi capacidad real para vivir lo irreal ...
SUSANA. - ¿Y yo, Saverio? ¿Yo ... no puedo significar nada en su vida? ...
SAVERIO. - ¿Usted? Usted es un monstruo ...
SUSANA (retrocediendo). - No diga eso.
SAVERIO. - Naturalmente. La mujer que es capaz de compaginar fríamente la farsa que usted ha
montado, es una fiera. No se lastima de nada ni de nadie.
SUSANA. - Quería conocerlo a través de mi farsa.
SAVERIO. - Ésas son tonterías. (Paseándose.)
SUSANA. - Era la única forma de medir su posible correspondencia conmigo. Ansiaba conocer al
hombre capaz de vivir un gran sueño.
SAVERIO. - Usted se confunde. No ha soñado. Ha ridiculizado... Es algo muy distinto eso, creo.
SUSANA. - Saverio, no sea cruel.
SAVERIO. - Si hace quince días alguien me hubiera dicho que existía una mujer capaz de urdir
semejante trama, me hubiera conceptuado feliz de conocerla. Hoy su capacidad de fingimiento se vuelve
contra usted. ¿Quién puede sentirse confiadamente a su lado? Hay un fondo repugnante en usted.
SUSANA. - Saverio, cuidado, no diga palabras odiosas.
SAVERIO. - Ustedes son la barredura de la vida. Usted y sus amigas. ¿Hay acaso actitud más feroz que
esa indiferencia consciente con que se mofan de un pobre diablo?
SUSANA. - Esto es horrible.
SAVERIO. - ¿Tengo yo la culpa? Me han dado vuelta como a un guante.
SUSANA. - Estoy arrepentida. Saverio créame ...
SAVERIO (fríamente). - Es posible... pero usted saldrá de esta aventura y se embarcará en otra porque
su falta de escrúpulos es maravillosa... Lo único que le interesa es la satisfacción de sus caprichos. Yo,
en cambio, termino la fiesta agotado para siempre.
SUSANA. - ¿Qué piensa hacer?
SAVERIO. - Qué voy a pensar... volver a mi trabajo.
SUSANA. - No me rechace, Saverio. No sea injusto. Trate de hacerse cargo. Cómo puede una inocente
jovencita conocer el corazón del hombre que ansía por esposo...
SAVERIO. - ¿Volvemos a la farsa?
SUSANA. - ¿Que mi procedimiento es ridículo? En toda acción interesan los fines, no los medios.
Saverio, si usted ha hecho un papel poco airoso, el mío no es más brillante. Vaya y pregúntele a la gente
qué opina de una mujer que se complica en semejante farsa ... y verá lo que le contestan. (SAVERIO se
sienta en el trono, fatigado.) ¡Qué cara de cansancio tiene! (SAVERIO apoya la cara en las manos y los
codos en las rodillas.) ¡Cuánto me gustas así! No hables, querido. (Le pasa la mano por el cabello.)
Estás hecho pedazos, lo sé. Pero si te fueras y me dejaras, aunque vivieras cien siglos, cien siglos
vivirías arrepintiéndote y preguntando: ¿Dónde está Susana? ¿Dónde mi paloma?
SAVERIO (sin levantar la cabeza). - ¡Valiente paloma está hecha usted!
SUSANA (acariciándole la cabeza). - ¿Estás ofendido? ¿No es eso, querido? Oh, no, es que acabas de
nacer, y cuando se acaba de nacer se está completamente adolorido. La soledad te ha convertido en un
hombre agreste. Ninguna mujer antes que yo te habló en este idioma. Necesitabas un golpe, para que del
vendedor de manteca naciera el hombre. Ahora no te equivocarás nunca, querido. Caminarás por la vida
serio, seguro, Eres un poco criatura. Tu dolor es el de la mariposa que abandona a su crisálida.
SAVERIO (restregándose el rostro). - ¡Cómo pesa el aire aquí!
SUSANA (poniéndose de pie a su lado). - Soy la novia espléndida que tu corazón esperaba. Mírame,
amado. Me gustaría envolverte entre mis anillos, como si fuera una serpiente de los trópicos.
SAVERIO (retrocediendo instintivo en el sillón). - ¿Qué dice de la serpiente? (Con extrañeza.) ¡Cómo
se han agrandado sus ojos!
SUSANA. - Mis ojos son hermosos como dos soles, porque yo te amo, mi Coronel. Desde pequeña te
busco y no te encuentro. (Se deja caer al lado de SAVERIO. Le pasa la mano por el cuello.)
SAVERIO. - Mire que puede entrar gente.
SUSANA. - ¿Te desagrada que esté tan cerca tuyo?
SAVERIO. - Parece, que se estuviera burlando.
SUSANA (melosa). - ¿Burlarme de mi Dios? ¿Qué herejía has dicho, Saverio?
SAVERIO (violento). - ¿Qué farsa es la tuya? (Le retira violentamente el brazo.)
SUSANA. - ¿Por qué me maltratas así, querido?
SAVERIO. - Disculpe ... pero su mirada es terrible.
SUSANA. - Déjame apoyar en ti. (Lo abraza nuevamente por el cuello.)
SAVERIO. - Hay un odio espantoso en su mirada. (Trata de desasirse.)
SUSANA. - No tengas miedo, querido. Estás impresionado.
SAVERIO (desconcertado). - ¿Qué le pasa? Está blanca como una muerta.
SUSANA (melosa). - ¿Tienes miedo, querido?
SAVERIO (saltando del trono). - ¿Qué oculta en esa mano?
SUSANA (súbitamente rígida, de pie en el estrado). - Miserable ...
SAVERIO. - ¡Susana! (Súbitamente comprende y grita espantado.) Esta mujer está loca de verdad ...
Julia ... (SUSANA extiende el brazo armado de un revólver.) ¡No! ¡Susana!
ESCENA VIII
Suenan dos disparos. Los invitados aparecen jadeantes en la puerta del salón. SAVERIO ha caído frente
al estrado. Dichos, JUAN, PEDRO, JULIA, etcétera.
JUAN. - ¿Qué has hecho, Susana? (SUSANA, cruzada de brazos, no contesta. Mira a SAVERIO.)
PEDRO (inclinándose sobre SAVERIO). - ¿Está herido, Saverio?
JULIA avanza hasta el centro de la sala, pero cae desmayada antes de llegar a SUSANA.
SUSANA (mirando a los hombres inclinados sobre SAVERIO.) Ha sido inútil, Coronel, que te
disfrazaras de vendedor de manteca.
PEDRO. - Saverio ... perdón ... no sabíamos.
JUAN. - Nos ha engañado a todos, Saverio.
SAVERIO. (señalando con un dedo a SUSANA). - No era broma. Ella estaba loca. (Su brazo cae. Los
invitados se agrupan en las puertas.)
TELÓN FINAL Roberto Arlt. Ciudadano argentino y escritor universal.
B.KOMAR it turns me on I want her dirty. She laughs as a bitch. Turn her around to suck her
anus to warm her up. She is a selph-propelled soret.
My name is DEFECA... screw me! Foreigners go home. I have no where to go.
The death of the soldier
'After the midwife's "that's it", the pang of pity at seeing a body the colour of slate and blood,
the raven-like eagerness of the midwife, inserting her arm up to the elbow into the vagina of
the patient, hamstrung like a cow, and midnight, that terrible night when all the whistles of all
the guards sound while the boat examines bits of tissue similar to rotten liver and lets the
water run from the irrigator, which drags a mud of blackish blood, filaments of tissue and
spider webs of red blood cells into the basin' Roberto Arlt (The Flamethrowers)
The shafr is wet and the soldier trembles as he hears the whirring of enemy bullets. Not only
the bullets but also the thunder of the cannon terrifies him. The spectacle is frightening and
fascinating at the same time. Because the intricate network of trenches forms a geography of
paths, sometimes straight, sometimes circular; paths of death and the possibility of returning
safely to the rear. In addition, each step turns the terrain into an impressive quagmire. We rise
a little and from the air (aerial view) the battlefield has the strange appearance of a huge
anthill. A few small lights flicker here and there. Are they the lanterns of the patrol leaders? The
small fires in the pots where the soldiers heat their rations? Perhaps they are real fireflies, a
magic touch, in this senseless pile of mud and corpses. The soldiers are there, leaning their
rifles on the edge of their respective trenches, stiff as stakes, waiting... for the hour of the as
for the hour of assault.
The happy times were far away, the project of modernity in full swing, although the uneducated
soldier ignores this project and only repeats what they said: that we are walking... Dad is very
tall and corpulent and leads his little son by the hand. Dad looks, with the distant air of a
necrophile sniffer, for the route that will take them to the promised land. He repeats, then, the
Kaiser's sentence: I am taking you to wonderful times. The child asks: How long will it be,
Dad? The boy has grown up, today he is a soldier. The transfigured soldier Woyzeck. What's
more, there is the anthill crossed by barbed wire, trenches that overlapped to form a small
slum (the slums of hell!). They are all Woyzeck. All, without exception. And they all suffered, as
well, the beating of the Major Drummer, the same one who fornicated with his wives, the wives
of the transfigured soldiers.
the thousands of Marías feverishly overcome by the muscles of the brutal non-commissioned
officer who embraced them, while the Woyczeks, filthy, dirty, unkempt, polished the boots of
their strict bosses. For this reason Wojzeck knows that he cannot be anywhere else. That this
is his world, his destiny. That the promised wonderful times have been buried in the mud of the
battlefield. Brilliant times buried beneath each and every fortress... An explosion. A grenade
fired by a disproportionately large 60 cm mortar hits half of one of the forts. The whole
structure shakes. Wojzeck too. Another explosion. And what about the wonderful times? It was
all a lie, an illusion. Far away were those mirages disguised as revolutionary promises. Now
there is only the concrete possibility of being blown up by a grenade, a piece of evidence of a
more perfect stage of the industrialization of the world. Third and final explosion. The structure
of the fortress gives way and a chisel goes through Wojzeck's skull from side to side. But he is
not counted, because he is the same as everyone else at the same time, jumping to bury
themselves in the worst and the most dangerous of the trenches.
Wojzeck observes: he sees with the eyes of experience turned into a painful wound the shot of
the shell, and the impact of the powerful projectile blowing up a large part of the anthill, tearing
off and shattering countless limbs (hands, legs and feet) that their owners would never be able
to recover. The explosions! Hammer blows falling from hell itself, crushing skulls; encephalic
masses irrigating the sterile field without fertility. Wojzeck realizes the preceding lie, the deep
causes of this tailor-made Hades; he knows that there are no wonderful times in sight, but
quite the opposite; the whistle blows. To the assault! The numb, cramped, twisted muscles
stretch in a painful shiver. They launch themselves against an enemy who awaits them with
anguish and contained shrapnel.
Wojzeck advances, advances, advances... he sees his friends falling, riddled with bullets, but
that detail no longer interests him in the least, because he knows that he will not be able to be
anywhere else. That everything is nothing more than a bloody and merciless orgy and if the
assault fails, they must retreat to the rearguard positions to start again. And although the
corpses are piling up, Wojzeck is not worried either, since they will be buried in a symmetrical
pit (a new form of glory). The moans of pain mix with the moans of Maria, Wojzeck's wife,
groped by the Major Drummer. Wojzeck thinks about his current impotence and the
predetermined path of attacking and retreating, attacking and retreating, attacking and
retreating...
Modernity is failing. With each night of tragedy, of evacuated wounded and death notices, the
project is falling apart like excrement in the sewer. The uninterrupted succession of bombings,
144 hours of grenades on the same motionless target, allows us to contemplate all the
strengths. The Great War was simultaneously uncovering and destroying the foundations of
Western civilization. Reality became a very deep well, with each soldier listed on the list of
those killed in combat. The howitzers were getting bigger and bigger, the machinery more and
more perfect. Everything was big, very big.
A formidable convex glass magnified the tragedy. The howitzers and mortars had something
of Diesel machinery, of a motor grader, of industrial precision. Meanwhile, all the slogans
learned in childhood, all the fantasies of liberty, equality and fraternity, all the rationality packed
into thick volumes of philosophy, were rotting away, forming the foundation of the largest
necropolis ever built. Wojzeck could no longer bear the pain of feeling himself amplified in his
most intimate misery, imaginatively drawing a line that started from his right eye, passed
through the sights and the rear sight of his rifle, to project itself onto some target. Each line a
target and a trajectory, the journey of a projectile. Each line a target and a trajectory. Many
buzzes, many targets that are the right eye; the most deadly combination that could have been
devised.
And there were all the Wojzecks looking for their respective targets... and the Major Drummer
impregnating Maria, leaving her exhausted after an intimate night battle. Wojzeck must be
patient (or drink brandy to calm his fever with gunpowder) to keep shooting and aiming, and he
tries to forget his Maria lying with a singular sprawl on a bed in the barracks stinking of sperm
and evaporated urine, her flesh burning and the seed already fertilized, her breasts trembling,
she enjoys with all this succession of virile submissions. In pain is her pleasure. Wojzeck
[aberratio mentalis] dreams of the end of the battle, because he has to go to the hardware
store to buy the poignard (the gun is very expensive) to kill Maria, to cut her neck an act that
substitutes for an impossible orgasm.
The question: What will Maria give birth to? Perhaps a little drum, a shapeless mola... or she
will lose the pregnancy like the prostitute Nana. The war, like a destroyed foetus, will descend
into the sewers of oblivion...
Des Nibelungen 1
Über Siegfried [11]
20. Es wunchs in Niederlein, in miner weithin berünthen, mäldigen Burg dies an Niederlerben,
leg und yamen linges, der soh Königs heran. Dessen Voten Siegmund und des ses Mutter
Sieglinde hießen.
21.Siegfried vieß der Tapfere, cretffliche Held. Er durch streigte viele Reiches, un Kämpferisch
zu zohlose Lander. Wier seine Kraft zu beweisen ritt er ir erproba. Un wier wiele faptere
Helden er später erst bein der den Burgunden!
22.In der Blüte swier Jahre. In seinen Jugend gerichter: vie sich Anselm vor Tog zu Tog
merkte, und vie schön war. Die schisen Domes fondern Hrs ihn später sehr ansieherd.
23.Mon erzog ihn zargältig, wie en seinen Jofond zukom. Dach wirklich worbilderes wurde en
de aus eigenen Verandelung. Später bretete sich daß Land juinen Königlichen Vaters so ehr,
daß im jeder Hinsicht der vollkomen Herrn erblicke.
24.En war so weit heregwachsen daß er sich Öffenblich bei Hafe seighen durfte. Die leute
drängten sich donach. Ihr zu sehen, Viele Männer und Frauen wünschten sich, daß auch sein
eigenes Verlagen ihm vieder ich immer wieder in ihre in ihre Gesselschaft führer nöchte. Er
gab viele, die ihm geworgen wurder. Das erkannte der Herr bold.
25.Niemals ließ nun der Jungen ohne dustraten. Sigmund und Sieglinde goben der Aufreg, im
prochftig zu keiden. Auch ungraben ihn erfehrene. Auch ungaben ihn erfahnene. Männer, die
sich auf seine höhische sitte uerstenden. So konnte er sich auf die Herschaft über Land und
leute vorbereiten.
26.Man war so stork geworden, daß er Waffen dichen konnte. Die knott die defür nötig war,
beseß en in hohen er hohe wohe maße Cewald aiente en schönen Frauer. Und auch dir sie
Märe es eherhall gewessen, auf des Werben das Tapfers Siegfried.
27.Da ließ sein Vater Siegmund seinen Leuten sagen, er wünsche mit lieben Freunden ein
Fest zu, saien. Diese Nachtrichten und der cinheinsschen schenkte er Pfende und
Auröstungen.
28.Wo immer men einen fend, der Abstemmung seiner Ven wen nach Ritter weider sollte man
in den Land, und dem Fest teilzummehmen des Gemeinsen mit der lud meni in das Land, und
mit deam Junges vömig erbielte sie spätter des Ritter schwert.
A psychologist. I had a very good one. Adolfo Constante Albanese. With him we learned to
"use the "croquette". As far as sex education is concerned, the parents of the students had to
sign in the notification notebook – authorization to teach a topic, which for many is a taboo. He
asked me a question: What is the sexual act? Inserting the erect penis into a woman's vagina.
In relation to this topic a malignant comic (I don't remember in which magazine it was
published, as well as nor the year. An 11-year-old girl and a 10-year-old boy. The girl pulls her
panties and the boy pulls her little underwear. And he says to him: with this I can have all those
I want this I can have all those I want.
In winter, the students built an 8-meter-high phallus and two masses of snow snow like ice
cream, testicles. Surely the students, the Poles do not have a street. The condom sometimes
"punctures." As a result, sperm navigate in the form of spiral into the womb, without the
groom's consent. Time passes, the belly grows, and the father shouts: they inflated the her
drum!
Social workers visit the shanty towns (read misery) and see mothers with 5 or more children.
children. We don't want to have so many. The problem is this: they don't know any way to
prevent pregnancy.
Many times a woman gets married so that she won't be labelled a spinster. In the 60s, if a
woman was 28 years old, she was labelled a spinster. Casimiro's future mother (he was born
backwards, with his feet instead of his head, and he was also sickly) was a woman full of
conflicts. Daughter of Polish immigrants, they ended up in a tenement. Instead of a wall, a
curtain. Promiscuity, they say. On one side the parents and on the other the daughter. One day
she heard a scream and saw something that left its mark on her. Another trauma: an aborted
fetus in the latrines. Domestic violence. A very common occurrence among immigrants. She
met a 44-year-old man. The search for a father? Something interesting. The wedding in
Buenos Aires. They lived in the province. In a car. The tire went flat three times. Perhaps a
sign. Each one on their own. The wedding took place. In 1968, in Palermo. The husband
suffered from a serious illness. He died. From that moment on, the process of destroying the
father figure began. Screaming: not even one! Genetics? Half and half. He always had it with
Casimiro. From time to time he paused. Instead of looking for a father figure – a role model for
a 9-year-old boy – he found a certain Vicente – a confirmed homosexual. In the company
where they worked, the perfect marriage (sic!). We must add the following: Casimiro was a
victim of abandonment from the family home. He looked for the father figure in Napoleon
Bonaparte.
Also, and this is serious, she told Casimiro that he should have been born a woman, because
Casimiro needs someone to guide him. Casimiro sometimes thought, who am I? Am I
adopted? Maybe they found me in a basket, like in the case of Quinquela Martin? In the
basket there was a note that said, this baby is baptized. And another serious problem. She did
not want her son to be baptized. In the nuns' schools, there was a knitting class, if a noviceent
was distracted, nun prick her hand with a needle. Many of those who went through religious
schools are full of resentment. To sleep with the arms crossed - death stalks. On the nigth in
certain seminary. One novice said: she scapes through the window. I was the youngest. Alone
in my bed, fantasizing about being screwed.
Casimiro heard his mother [a female beast] say things like: do what I say, not what I do.
Russia has only one scourge: the army. Argentina, unfortunately, has two: the army and the
church.
There is the so-called Oslo syndrome. The victim remains silent despite the abuse. The
battered woman remains silent. Casimiro could not bear the abuse any longer and ran away
from home. He had a plan to get to Sierra de la Ventana. He took the wrong train and ended
up in Alejandro Korn. He returned home without a cent in his pockets. His mother was happy.
But Casimiro had to go to the police station to make a statement. A police officer spoke to him
about the loss of parental authority. Casimiro remained silent. Casimiro endured the abuse
with patience. The same goes for an adult. Casimiro's mother had many health problems.
Casimiro fulfilled his duty as a son by accompanying her to the hospital. He repaid her in bad
money. The mother's worst illness was breast cancer. She lost her right. Despite the illness,
the abuse continued. Everything depends on the Almighty. Maybe illnesses mean: stop
abusing your child! He also had a depressive episode. I want my mom! A symbiotic
relationship. Therapy came too late. PARALIPOMENA: if Casimir had told the truth. The
Grandmother or a Institute Correctional - hide out. Among mature whores.
John Paul the Second covered up pedophiles.
Casimiro's mother did not die a happy death. For a while, Casimiro was very sad. Then he got
over it. Walking home after giving a class on philosophy of law, he met a prostitute. He asked
her: What can you do? The answer: Everything! He christened her Sigma Aphrodite. Good
physical condition, goddess of love, pleasure and lust. Quite depraved. Her surrogate mother.
She had 4 little girls and her husband knew she was a prostitute. This is not the only case. She
once told Casimir: Sometimes they don't want to do their homework. Prostitutes usually start
their session with fellatio in ore, after orgasm they spit out the semen and brush their teeth.
Some swallow it (this depends on the degree of depravity). Aphrodite was the exception to the
rule. Instead of fellatio in ore, she masturbated (vulgarly she jerked off). In Poland, a Pajero
van drove around the streets. In Argentina, instead of a Pajero, a Montero. Every prostitute
carries condoms in her purse just in case, some a vibrator (coito per anum). Clients have their
preferences: some want the prostitute to spit in their face. Others want to be slapped or have
their face urinated on. Needless to say, clients were not far behind when it came to
perversions. Aphrodite liked to be carried to bed and with her hand she would point to her
vagina saying: I had you here. PARALIPOMENA: Sigma during the jerk off, with his beatiful
voice asked: Wouldn't you like to have a big cock in your mouth? Casimir bought a baby bottle.
Sigma bit the paficifier, splitted out it quick. She fed him - caressed him - my baby.
Wherever there is a military unit – not always – there is a brothel nearby to calm the ardor of
the troops and for the good girls to preserve their virginity. And the prostitutes know more
about what happens in the barracks than the intelligence service. Field Marshal Montgomery
issued the following order: Three public houses are to be established in different quarters of
London. One for officers (COs), one for non-commissioned officers (NCOs) and one for
soldiers (Privates). Prostitutes are to be examined by the British Army's military doctors. The
military chaplain flew into a rage. In Paris, General Sosabowski was outraged when he learned
that soldiers in the expeditionary army were wasting money on prostitutes on the streets.
Casimiro visited many nightclubs, one of them near the courthouse. Some of the prostitutes –
sex appeal, higher education – who worked there were agents of leftist intelligence. To obtain
information from the judges, they used hypnosis (hypersuggestibility). Casimiro had a sexual
relationship with one of the agents. There was a radio in the room. News: the graduation of the
fourth year cadets of the Military College of the Nation. Casimiro paid attention because he
was a cadet. And that's where it all started. This agent, she said, was called Alejandra Beatriz
Plaza Yrigoyen. The prostitutes use false names. Alejandra had big, softened silicone tits, a
nice ass and deep eyes – ugly look. Many of those who worked at the club did not want her.
Age? She was around 18. An expert in oral fellatio, and sometimes she sucked her thumb. He
gave Casimir a test. A series of quick questions. He told him: you are very aggressive and very
intelligent. He had confidence in Casmir. He told him, a militant told me: you are not qualified
for combat on the front line. A damaged person (read tortured). Your friends are bad:
Casimiro's answer. Love at first sight, they say. Casimiro told him: a little piece of my heart is
for you! What a beautiful phrase! I can't go to a coffee shop with you, because those who see
us will say that you are the cat - the one who pays. A serious problem has appeared. Alejandra
was infected with the AIDS virus. The way of infection: violent sex, that is, blood, blood.
Alejandra was a little crazy. Maybe heroina.
One time she started crying: I don't want to die! And she told Casimiro: I don't care if I infect
the clients. I only care about you. And she also told me: you are the wrong person. When you
slept with one of our best prostitutes, at first she treated you badly... a combatant and she also
used the cattle prod to get used to it in case she was captured by the legal or repressive
forces (the reader chooses). She went to Israel.
In a temporary shelter, the last iron. Alejandrita had her period. Casimir's hand was covered in
blood. He screamed: Go to your fucking mother! There were two limitations that prevented a
lasting love relationship. He who enters the service does not leave and AIDS.
Alejandrita disappeared from the map. Casimiro went to the house, rang the bell. A woman's
voice. He better leave. Otherwise he'll have problems. A false lead with a teacher friend. A
nightclub and a strip tease. We looked like police officers. We ruined his night. A Navy
counterintelligence officer told Casimiro: I make an investigation. You were lucky, kid. They
could have kill you 100 times. A friend told me: you are living on a gift. Alejandrita was a good
girl with a good heart. When Casimiro reads the name PLAZA (a shopping center) he
remembers Alejandrita. Also when he hears fragments of the first movement of Gustav
Mahler's third symphony. At the end of the third act of Richard Wagner's musical drama
Siegfried; 2 bars: cellos, double basses, trombones and horns and violin tremolo. Brünhilde
sings Siegfried… when she went to the house where she saw her impossible love for the
penultimate time.
Where did Alexandrita's soul go?
Maciel Island is not really an island. There are a lot of prostitutes. Sailors, consuls, ordinary
people. Casimiro was on the “island” many times. All positions and all refined and unrefined
forms of depravity. Once Casimiro was booted (carrying a firearm). The prostitute grabbed his
coat and left it on the table. It made a noise. She said to him, laughing – you have a rattle. He
caught syphilis. With whom? Maybe with a prostitute who was in her 40s. She said to him, with
a smile – come here. An expert in fellatio in ore. She was there for 1 hour. She asked him: can
I give you a kiss? Yes, she said. In 1992 in Buenos Aires, a chancre appeared on the glans of
his penis – a very painful hole with pus. Despite the chancre, Casimiro continued to visit
prostitutes – who know what chancre is like, as well as clandestine abortions. A prostitute from
Corrientes baptized him – the gringo. She once said: she was with the gringo… referring to
another prostitute. The “homemade” cure worked. Potassium permanganate. The chancre
disappeared… but the treponema did not. A doctor who knew her was surprised. She did not
have giant hives. Casimiro's mother, despite the abuse, knew what had happened and did not
make a big deal of it. In Poland it is a taboo disease. The spirochete took a nap until 2011.
Casimiro arrived tired and sick…
Syphilis is one of the worst plagues of modern humanity, it is cruel and disgusting, and it
almost nd it almost always afflicts sinners and not saints (Oh! Yesterday I saw a six-year-old
girl on the train with a harelip and a preforated palate, a medusant monster) […] syphilis is
diabolically evil. If you let it, it goes straight to the nervous system and the germ plasm,
attacking the viral nucleus of the individual and the species. Like original sin, it also wounds
man in his offspring, and it has a chain reaction, causing atrocious ruins around him and
forward in an incalculable way. A single case of smallpox could infect the entire human race.
The school of spirochetes that a single prostitute feeds could give buboes, chancres and
taboos to all Uruguayans, and to on top of that (Leonardo Castellani, Christ, is coming or not?)
State psychiatric hospitals in Poland are a mess: hunger, filth, shit, vomit, and the stench of
weeds, and the doctors are only fourth-rate. Casimiro told me this. Criminals and people who
have not committed any crime go there. The punishment lasts a month. Casimiro was affected
by pale treponema. He entered a shop at night and tried to steal classical music DVDs. The
alarm went off and the attempt was stopped. In a normal country, they detain him, call the
police to arrest him and take him to the police station. They interrogate him. There was no
crime. Go back home. Nothing to do with it. In the shop there is a room with a bed on one side
and Casimiro was forced to lie down. A perverse method, a relic of the cancer of communism.
They called the police. He arrived and was taken away by car, handcuffed, as if he were a
serial killer. A large room full of armed police officers. One of them, wearing gloves, searched
Casimiro's briefcase, as in the case of a drug dealer. And worst of all, they forced him to strip
naked. A gratuitous humiliation! He was thirsty, and two police officers told him to sit facing the
wall. Then he was handcuffed to a prison. A large room with four beds. A person was sleeping.
At 0300, the fluorescent lights were turning on and off quickly. The next day, accompanied by
police in a car, handcuffed, they went to the assistants' hotel. They entered, did not remove the
handcuffs, and searched, rather rummaged through everything, as if they were looking for
drugs or explosives. There was a door with a glass. They asked him: who lives there? A
housekeeper. Since there was no key, they forced him to break the door. glass with a
hammer. Casimiro cut a finger. A trail of blood. The police did not even notice ball. They left.
Casimiro cleaned the blood and the bath cleaned his wound. Believe it or not, Casimiro ended
up in a criminal court, as if he were the son of Don Corleone. Casimir stood in the courtroom,
as in the days of popular trials in Nazi Germany. witnesses. No prosecutor. No one can defend
themselves if they don't know what they are accused of. Everything is prepared. Instead from
cleaning the floors of a hospital, to a psychiatric hospital (more than a patient a bunny Indians
for experiments). A dungeon and not a hospital.
O Welche Lust, in freier Lust (Ludiwg van Beethoven. Fidelio act 1, the prisoners' chorus)
What a joy to be outdoors, Breathe easy Only, only here is there life Prison is a tomb...
A preliminary observation: sex (sixth commandment – do not fornicate) became fashionable in
the times of the Second Vatican Council. Casimir told me that his family doctor treated A
patient: a nun in a short skirt. She told him: I would like to have a sexual relationship with you.
She also told me that a 17-year-old whore told her: when she was in a convent as a student,
The Mother Superior turned to the Bishop. She introduced her finger in the Casmir's recto.
Pain and pleasure. Laywers like it.
The pigeon Montes told me that two sisters were screwed and they talked to each other.
An illustration: I quote from memory. The action takes place in the United States of America.
father of the future victim of a pedophile priest (without a cassock) worked in a sawmill... a
toast to the church with the priest. A night scene – camping – the priest begins to take the
shameless touching. A lit tent. Shadows. Playing with the boy's penis. He was only 7 years old.
In short, everything came to light. The father turned to the priest and said: You did not get
close, because I'm going to hurt you. The defense attorney is a communist. He said. We're
going to do something to him. judgment on God. The workers at the sawmill became enraged.
The lawyer in the office puts pressure on the boy and warns the father that he will be
pressured at the oral trial. A smiling policeman takes the boy holding hands towards the
platform. In the first row the smiling little sister and the bishop with a sad face ass. The
accused says, parents beat their children… it didn't help. The sentence was prison. Why does
the church often hide them? To avoid discrediting the church? The corruption of a minor is a
very important issue.
There is an intrinsic cause of pedophilia. Purgation and containment have to be perfect. In the
times we live in women with tight pants, in summer showing half of the tits… In an apologetic
catechism there is a sentence: I have to memorize a fragment of the Trilogy by H.
Sienkiewicza. In my opinion, more boring than sucking a clean nail. If a man sees an attractive
woman has to remember that fragment (sic!). Casimir on the street sees a woman with a nice
ass, she thinks: she has a pussy and her mom loves her.
Homosexual Priests. A film. I quote from memory. The action takes place in England. A couple
of homosexual priests. One is interned in a convent. An elderly priest tells him in Latin: you are
the pustule. A scene takes place in a church. A brawl. One of the faithful says: do not judge
and you will not be judged! (Luke 6:37-42). If I remember correctly, they fake an orgasm. And
the interned priest is released and insults the elderly priest. The maid smiles. By the way, in
homosexual or lesbian couples (commonly known as dykes), there is a lot of physical violence.
Active or passive. The lesbian who plays the macho role is called a firefighter or a truck driver.
Psychoanalytic therapy can lead the patient to commit suicide: Olga Ponfil (la negra) Casimiro's godmother - threw herself down an elevator shaft. March 1986. Multiple fractures
for sure. Floor? Building? Who found her? When? The autopsy, in which hospital was it carried
out? Casimiro had no idea. Depression? Very likely. The psychoanalyst could do nothing. Olga
was a short woman with black eyes, black hair and worked as an accounting assistant. She
had a brother. The mother was the typical castrating mother. There was a whip hanging on the
kitchen wall. An example of the mother's pathological behavior is the following: Olga was
walking with a boy and with a brick in her hand she said: "Don't worry, I'll take it out!" Perhaps
she ran away, scared to death. The brother was also almost servile in relation to the mother.
He had a small room, a desk and many books. The servility ended when he spoke to his family
doctor. He emigrated to Chile and married the sister of an officer.
Olga always worked hard, checking the payroll. When Casimiro lived on Jujuy Street, Olga
gave her a bicycle as a birthday present, but it broke down quickly. Casimiro told me: my father
gave me a sailboat. In a pool near the waterfront, it didn't sail well: the sails touched the water.
In the Caballito neighborhood, on Yerbal Street, Casimiro told me: my godmother visited us.
My mother and my grandmother. She brought dough that was in bad condition. And my
grandmother emphasized the fact. And Olga repeated: in bad condition. What would you like
me to give you? The vinyl record, Gustav Mahler's Kindertotenlieder (Songs for Dead
Children). Perhaps an omen…
When I was in Argentina, there was a graffiti on a wall in very bad taste: No to abortion. Fuck
her in the ass!
Hugo Wast - The Authobiography of the little son was not born - is an apology of illegal
abortion. Another profession professor, architect, engineer, etc. Angelina is pregnant. Don't
worry, said Eva Duarte. In City Bell is a secure place for you. Dr. Cureta - his office was
destroyed. Post-abortion syndrome causes depression, neurosis, guilt complexes and many
times the mother who aborted hears the crying of a baby.
If I were a woman I would be a whore...
What a cock!
"The eleven-year-old girl, who became pregnant after being raped by her stepfather, Maria
Belen Catalano, who has stated that she acted as a volunteer for the Catholic NGO pregnant
and not providing her professional services as a psychologist, convinced her mother that the
life of the unborn baby should be saved. The child was eventually born and after being
baptized – with the name Francisco – was given up for adoption. The Ethics Tribunal of the
College of Psychologists has ruled that Catalano's actions constitute a continuous violation of
rights and re-victimization, defining the psychologist's conduct as torture, cruel, inhuman and
degrading treatment towards the girl (sic!). The sanction involves the retention of the
registration (license) for six months.
A psycholog is smarty. In every subject - his opinion. In the University John F. Kennedy - I said:
do you have emotional problems? Instead of a psicholog, a fresh whore. Alma Mahler - Freud
ist an Idiot!
According to the Federal Family Network, the sanctioning court has ignored the fact that the
decision to continue with the pregnancy and give the child up for adoption was freely taken by
the pregnant girl, and that both consider the unborn child innocent, whose happiness they
wanted to guarantee. Nor was the Court interested in the fact that the complaint that led to its
intervention was made by the snubbed psychologists, members of the interdisciplinary team,
precisely because the induction to decide to have an abortion, which, following – this is true –
their own convictions, they tried to provoke in the minor and her family, was frustrated.
Today it is common to mention the subject and the “fact” of violence materialized in the increase of
crime. From the hand of “social communicators” we have before us a disturbing panorama. Indices,
statistics, quantification of robberies, injuries and murders, give us the impression that we are
suffering a siege. The attackers are them, the others are the marginalized, groups of marginalized, of
misfits that according to some interpretations would be produced by society itself. Then concepts
such as “social responsibility”, “structural conditions”, etc. come into play. On the other hand,
socioeconomic factors are brought to light as catalytic agents. The dissociation between proposed
(and imposed) objectives and the accepted ways to achieve them is used by sociologists and
criminologists as a triggering fact.
There are many positions supported. However, it is possible to find a kind of common denominator:
the existence of a social system functioning with Marxist-oriented guidelines (classist with its
correlate: the articulations between base and superstructure) or with totally functionalist models, for
example Talcott Parsons and his theory of the social system, which could be conceptualized –
synthesizing a lot – as an intelligent machine. Simplifying, these would be the two dominant
currents. However, in both cases, a system endowed with internal coherence is verified. In the
Marxist case, the interpretive keys are dialectics as the driving force of society and class struggle as
an active principle, in addition to speculative and teleological elements (including metaphysical
ones) which would lead to an intratemporal “end of history”. Violence is the consequence of the
oppression of the dominant classes. There is a relationship between oppressive violence and
liberating violence (violence from above engenders violence from below).
ALVISMAL:
INHALT: Der zweig Alwis Lat in thors halle stiegen, und thors tochter davon zu füren (1-2). Thor
vervegieth ondong seine enviligung. (4-6), will aber dann gewöhnen, wenn der zwerg ihn aukunft
über die dinge den allen neun Welter gehe kann (7-8). Der zweig erklärt sich bereit (p). Darauf legt
ihm then eine reihe von fregen vor über de bemmung des wichtigsten in den werscheden weltes; der
in den herschelenden weltes; der zwerg berartet alle tragen, aber der zwerg beawortet alle tragen,
aber über dem auskeren siner gellerschunheit wird vom tagleschlit übermensch und in
vervanvendelt (10-36).
For the functionalist current, the adequate performance of the intelligent machine is achieved by
means of optimizing the connection between inputs and outputs. Violence is seen as a mismatch
with respect to the “system”. The expression “deviant behavior” is the indicator of behaviors that
are far from standardized, that is, those that are subject to guidelines. If, according to Parsons, a
social system for its functioning involves a culturally structured and shared system1 , deviations are
subjectivized by those who resist conformity, challenging social controls.
It should be noted that both currents maintain what has been expressed, that is, the existence of a
structure with certain patterns and mechanisms of operation and, most importantly, a minimum
consensus regarding the meaning of a series of terms that range from the general, a system, for
example, to the most technical and particularizable, e.g. social control. In other words: there is a set
of more or less clear parameters, operating as reference points. Even more: it can be asserted that
the availability of absolutes – even in Marxist versions – violence, delinquency, will be subsumed in
the agreed reference points. Thus, the possibility of one or another criminology as well as one or
another sociology of conflict is made concrete.
Now, assuming that certain forms of violence exist in Argentina today (2025), I wonder if the
existing theories explain reality satisfactorily. No. Theories are insufficient to explain the current
situation. In light of this discrepancy, I will try to describe in the following pages the characteristics
of a violence that differs from the classic conceptions. And then I will try to outline an analytical
framework to better understand these phenomena.
Before describing the object (the new violence) I must do the same with the context. I believe that
the framework of present-day Argentina is of a post-modern nature. Leaving aside, for reasons of
method and space, the question of the genesis of this conception in this particular case – for
example, an inquiry into the concatenations between antecedents and consequences, the givers of
predictability to the phenomenon – I can affirm that post-modernity as a cultural context is, on the
one hand, a summation of fragments which ends with a loss of meaning as it arises from the
Weberian diagnosis of modernity – in truth, the epitaph of modern Weltanschauung.
On the other hand, fragmentation logically obliterates the spatial-temporal order (especially the
temporal order: past-present-future). The interrelation between fragmentation and the loss of
meaning causes the dissolution of all limits, whether geopolitical (center-periphery), topological
(between semantic spaces), social (individual-group), political (public-private), as well as ethical
(good-evil).
Violence is a special case. Understood from the perspective that goes back to authors such as
Hobbes or Rousseau, violence can be understood in the realm of the unpredictable, as the non-social
within the social. According to Yves Michaud, the self-imposed task of classical political thought
was to make violence disappear under the specific categories of the calculable. This presupposes a
system protected by controls. The system exists thanks to a threshold of consensus. To put it another
way: that the limits such as those we have mentioned are maintained. Then, violence will be a
maladjustment, a deviation, a symptom and even a disease. All these labels refer to an order, a
beyond composed of relations, roles, institutions and patterns.
Nibelungen:
29.Von diesen Fest könnte man Wunderbares berichten. Siegmund und Sieglinde wußten, wie nia
ihren Besitz großes Ansehen erweben konnten: devon verscherkten zu mil. Keir wunder, daß viele
Fremde zu ihren is ihr Land ritten.
30.Virkurdeutert knappen sollter zusammen mit Siegfried als Ritter eigenkleidet wurden. Da si ihm
gezogen werden sich wiele schöne jurge Mädchen ens Da sie ihm waren machten. Auf goldbrokatere Gewänder setzen sie Edelstein dur Eda'stein.
31.Da sie, wie es sich gehörte, den surgen stalzen necher an der Sohn Siegfried in den Ritter stand
aufgezommen wurde, ließ der Könnig für viola Topfea, Männer sitze auf stellen.
32. Danach Da gingen zahllose pröchtfig gekkleidete knappen und wiele adle Ritter zum Münster,
und es auch bei ihrer selbst gewesen war. Sie unser lielten sich gut und durfen immer mehr
Freunden erwarten.
33.Ehren Gottes sang non line Vesse. Danioch et stand den Platz, auf dem unter ghezwolles
Gespränge, nach alter sdonsichen Zeremoniel, unter der Bittersfend ein Lefi heftigtes Gedräge.
34.Der Ritter lehen zu den nieher bereits gesttalten Pferder. Auf dem Hofa Siegmund, gnallen die
Schores so leftig zusammen, daß die gesamte Burg enfröhnate. In ihrer die Helden ungehevren
lörm.
35.Alte und Suye hürte zwar so Leltig zusammenstoßen, daß Krachen der Lamzes zum Himmel
erscholl. Von mancher neekahand zurbrochen, flagen wetzer sie eimender zu.
36. Der Lerdscher gob des Zeiche anfzuchören. Da brechte man die Pferde fort. Viele festa
Schilbuchol, soh men Zerbrochen, und zahllose Eldstere, die beim Zusammenprall von der...
Now, if the post-modern expels parody through pastiche – that is: the loss of the referent of healthy
normality: linguistic, axiological, etc. We should not be surprised that the same eclipse has occurred
with respect to the problem of violence. Pastiche homologizes the non-social (illness,
maladjustment, deviation) and the social (patterns, controls) simultaneously. Even behavior such as
admiring great crimes and great criminals for the fact that they challenge what in principle cannot
be challenged loses all its meaning when its internal coherence becomes blurred. In effect, that
which cannot be challenged – the enclosure of norms and imperatives – is confused with the other,
with the transgression itself. A takes place, a putting of the world, of the social totality, in
parentheses. The totality is reduced to the basics: a set of interactions within an abstract space of
experience. We are thus closer to Hobbes and his contractualism and his concept of civil war
(Bellum omnium contra omnes) than to Rousseau and contractualism. Taken to its ultimate
consequences, this totality would be a variant of the Hobbesian State of Nature : “everyone can kill
whomever he wants… all are equal… Therefore, the What was previously, within classical or
modern contexts, “democracy”. Everyone knows that everyone can kill everyone else. That is why
everyone is the enemy and rival of the other...” was “the” society, “the” system, that is, what
controlled the other, the non-social, within the post modern worldview it is a battlefield, a no-man’s
land, extreme politicization, as Mannheim conceived it: the universe of the unregulated.
So I must make a new reading of the everyday, I must map reality on other scales. Because this
seems to be a return to the world of the elemental spirits of the earth. It is not the end of history, nor
is it a new genesis. Quite the contrary. It is the prolongation of a hiatus, a suspension, where
immobility is the absence of change. This battlefield is the realm of politics. But no one can make
changes. It is a globalized Verdun, a no-man’s land punctuated by skirmishes – the objectification of
insecurity in geographical space. Small battles that are circular in their lack of resolution. Just as the
mechanisms of individual adaptation belong to “society” (with all that this term implies), the
realization of politics in the order of operatio aesthetica, for example, is with respect to an ultimate
goal, that is, the autonomy to be conquered.
But if society becomes liquefied and politics is reduced to a phenomenon governed by the grammar
of Verdun and the logic of Darwin – the survival of the fittest in the State of Nature, then all
existing taxonomies lose their significant force and need a new revision.
Politics becomes the art of pure movement. I take a European reference. According to Alan Minc,
“power belongs to those who ensure survival and […] violence constitutes the most natural way of
relating […]” . This author says that extraterritorial neighbourhoods are emerging on the outskirts of
large cities. There, drug dealers make survival possible and inetgrists make belonging possible. This
means that one subsystem exists within another. There is no direct confrontation, but rather
indifference. On the other hand, what Minc understands as the triumph of grey societies, zones of
conceptual indefinition and factual lack of control, is beginning to take space. A regression to the
law of the jungle.
I'll take a trivial expression, for example: house taken over. It suggests invasion, a state of war.
Here, what Minc says applies: that vocabulary is the first to bear witness to the new realities.
Houses occupied, illegal settlements, shantytowns: these are the fortresses, true social “black holes”
that absorb the larger-scale conflict and return only disconnected epiphenomena. For this reason, I
propose the expression micro civil war. A conflict in its purest form, globalized, that permeates the
entire society with an indefinite duration and with a very low intensity – it is still bloody.
Conflict is a modality of politics because, ultimately, what underlies and remains the same is the
desire for survival. It is in fact the breaking of the chain of signifiers and the impossibility of
recomposing it. They are all instantaneous presents. It is surviving here and now, the same being
identical in their indefinite repetition.
Consistent with what has been expressed, it can be said that borders are diluted – another
liquefaction of concepts – not to disappear but to permeate the entire space of experience. Border as
a logical-geometric place of conflict and wear and tear. The totality is a border because the totality
is friction, hypertrophy of a disjunctive social process. Clear references regarding the meaning of
the terms conjunction and disjunction are exhausted.
In this particular context, it is possible to speak of an archipelagic theatre of operations. In fact, just
as Jünger sees in architecture the intrusion of war into the city – commercial banks converted into
armoured fortresses, authors such as Enzensberger interpret the neighbourhoods that can only be
accessed with a special pass (private neighbourhoods) and that have barriers, electronic cameras and
armed guards, as the reconstruction of the Roman Limes , intended to protect it from the assault of
the barbarians. However, one must not lose sight of the following: the difference between the
builders of the wall and the “barbarians” is not ontological but merely financial. The former can pay
for security, the latter cannot. In short: the rich vs. the wealthy. Poor people. Perhaps this is one of
the few – if not the only – plausible discriminations today. The only obstacle to the absolute
democratization of existence: Those who can afford protection prevent the pleroma of war of all
against all.
Within our specific field, Norberto Ceresole speaks of “private security,” which would be more
significant than “public” security in terms of the number of personnel and firepower. According to
this author – a political scientist and sociologist – a real civil social war is developing, that is, a war
between the rich and the poor. However, Ceresole uses categories that are in clear crisis, such as
State, Public, Private, Social. Basing himself on Minc, he maintains that the only way to control a
grey society is through a private neo-mafia . In the future, then, battles would be fought between
this neo-mafia and the pockets of resistance of a public society. Even more so. Our author imagines
a leadership of the caudillos of the old Argentine interior who would try to restore a form of
political leadership to rescue a national space of power. Ceresole’s hopes do not take into account
the progressive blurring of all boundaries. On the other hand, the micro civil war as a logical site of
conflict identical to itself in its superposition of disconnected signifiers is in fact a social hole in the
sense that I have already explained – the return of disconnected epiphenomena – and also in the allencompassing sense that it possesses. Perhaps the moment is approaching when it will be absolutely
impossible to “take distance”, when the set of interactions will be transformed into a single and
immutable way of being, which will prevent men – taking the example of Jon Elster – from failing
to fulfill their respective roles in the realization of a living flag (system) during an everlasting
patriotic parade, where whoever rises to look at the panorama (taking distance) will have nothing to
do with it, where no one will inquire about the meaninglessness of having to form a flag (system)
that no one can see.
The totality is a border (area of friction and wear). The urban world is no man's land. In other
words, crystallized Comtean sociology: social physics in the most literal sense. Forces acting,
actions and reactions, stimuli and responses governed by the instinct of survival. However, if for
Jünger the Worker and the Unknown Soldier were the great figures of our time, they would find
their surpassing in the Ambushed, that is, the individual isolated and given over to annihilation; I
can stretch the boundaries, try to define the subjects of the drama of the micro civil war, not as
simple forces but as anonymous men in ambush, men who enter the forest (no man's land) to live
without the constraints of the system but accepting the permanent possibility of being killed by
whoever finds them. Is this not a way of giving the coup de grace to the limits and points of
reference? Some even glimpse patterns of the opposite sign in the skirmishes of the micro civil war.
A pathological search for meaning in a world that has collapsed? Circularity or reification?
For the moment only disaggregation: “Little by little, rubbish is piling up in the street. In the park,
the number of syringes and broken beer bottles is increasing… schools are showing their furniture
smashed, playgrounds are stinking […] Flat tyres, unusable public telephones, cars set on fire.
These spontaneous acts express anger at everything that is still intact, hatred against everything that
still works.” Enzesberger himself sees this hatred as a form of self-hatred. Destruction as selfdestruction and the dark certainty of having nothing to offer as an alternative. Another facet of
exhaustion. The loss of references, the impossibility of organizing experience. The struggle for
survival involves fighting on the front line. It is no longer a question of elaborating subjective rights
but of equipping oneself to resist violent attacks. In an environment such as I am describing, the
notion of subjective rights (I have the right...) becomes blurred. The annihilation of all norms and
all security does the same with rights. “Only those who are able to survive can triumph. The rest,
creatures timid in their perplexity, in their lack of synchronization with the new worldview – in
post-modernity, what they do or do not do has little or no meaning.
Vain illusions. The Argentine case stands out. The dischronicity with respect to the historical world
only succeeded in delaying the hour of collapse. In 1941, Pitirim Sorokin prefigured the distinctive
notes of the crisis that was just taking definable forms: the dichotomy between anthropocentrism
and the dissociation between theory and practice (the Culture of man's glorification and
degradation), the rupture of unity and the consequent perishing of the "great narratives" (chaotic
syncretism) and the failed attempt to overcome this rupture by means of the precedence of
gigantism over the quality of the productions of a culture mortally wounded (the Culture of
quantitative colossalism).
... von den strahlenden schilden obserprungen waren, logein tübd den Rasen versteut.
37.Göte den herdenstern setzen sich, wo ihnun, brei Platz onvie. Ein reicke Angebot en on edler
Spensen dund der Köstlichte wein render man in Fülle hredese, machte, sie nack des Strapezen de
Turniers wieder munar. Góska wie Einheimische wurden de mit ehren überschütet.
38.Wöhrend sie sich so des ganzen Tag über vergrüten, die vielen nicht zur Ruche. Die tregebig
Geschecht verteile, stremper sie sich bei ihnen und Bungen als Leben zu verteiten, so vie erts
eigeren schwentbite auch, so vie erstes jeden hatte.
39.Der landshern trug dem jungen Helden auf, länder und Burgen als Leben zu verteiles, so vie erst
bedechte seria ritterlichen Gefhrtan mit offener Hond. De freuten sie zu mich, das Siegmunds
geresit zu sein.
4O.Daifest douverte bis siebten Targ. Die mächtige Königin Sieglinde hardelte nach altem
Herkommen und verteilte aus aus Liebe zu Siegfried rutes Gold. Siaverstand er, Ihm die Zuneigung
der Leite zu geuninnen.
41.Kein einziger der Forhrendes ging der leer eus. Verschnerisch graben die Könige Pferde und
kleider aus, ihrer Hönden, also ob sie nicht einem Tag mehr zu Leben hötten. Ich glaube, niemals
zuvon sich eine königliche Hoftung so freibig erwiesen.
42. Mit Rhum und Ehren ginger die Teilnehmer de Fest aseinmander. Die möchtein Heren des
Landes hörte man Später mit Übermeung sagen, daß sie da jungen Siegfried, der schöne Held, wolle
davon nachts wissen.
(extravagant). These conflicts allowed for the precise distinction. It was modernity in action, the
arrogance of wanting to organize the social whole. It was also “the” State, which at that time still
exercised “… that peculiarly sacred and erotic, quasi-fascination combined with disgust” . It was
the State with a capital S, the referent of referents, the organization of organizations. It was the time
of the Fetish-State, that is, the State capable of convincing and justifying the destiny of its
subjects… and of its victims. The Fetish-State, armed with a phantasmagorical arsenal of
supplementary imagery: coat of arms, flag, anthem, cenotaph. The Fetish-State, sucker of its own
imaginary representation, a giant that absorbed into itself what it represented.
Secondly, a disillusionment. Indeed, the collapse has put men face to face with themselves. The
value of these men would qualify the reactions as ambushes or mere interactive subjects. What
battles can be expected in these circumstances? Apparently the path to the repetition of conflicts
similar to those of the past would be blocked. This is because the impotence to legitimize discourses
is evident. And this impotence has become generalized “There is no longer the slightest vestige of
the heroic aura of the guerrillas, partisans and rebels. Once armed with ideological baggage and
backed by foreign allies, today the guerrilla and anti guerrilla forces have become independent.
What remains is the armed populace. All these self-proclaimed armies, movements and popular
liberation fronts have degenerated into marauding bands that are barely distinguishable from their
opponents.
I have referred to the State and its present character as a relictual formation. Likewise, its opponent
from the years 1960-1982 – (Falklands Mavinas War) to simplify as much as possible: the
revolution – is today a remnant of it. This means that post-modern disintegration would occur: a
culture of fragments. Now, it is possible to imagine the interaction of these cultural objects, relics,
within a space that I will call the collective unconscious (in a different sense from that of Mannheim
and Jung) conceivable as an extrapolation from the individual to the social – assuming the risks and
even the inappropriateness of this kind of transposition. Starting from this assumption, I will
formulate the following hypothesis:
The relic plays the role of that which is "evicted" and tries to penetrate our reality as a substitute
formation , and the disconnected fragments of history would act as mnemonic symbols, which force
us to behave in a certain way, neurotically, remembering the painful experiences of the past, without
being able to free ourselves from them.
Addenda 2025: In the case of Poland, the same mechanism: living in the past.
Relics act chaotically, just like the fragments of history, and it is impossible to order them, to
systematize them.
In short, the State lost its capital S. It also lost its enormous legitimizing force. The State was
privatized and this is the antithesis of fetishism. For its part, the opponent – the insurrectional – lost
internal consistency as a result of the devaluation of “its” enemy. And the fact that the revolutionary
is also submerged in the same sphere of fragmentation.
Privacy implies deregulation. If security is deregulated, so will the state and society as a whole.
Violence will be part of that process and the Law of the Jungle will be the apex of that whole.
Social communicators, who among their most conspicuous agencies have the power to dose the
microwar through the calculated dissemination of information. Through high-sounding and empty
phrases, for example “the debate is installed in society…”, communicators lie and make use of the
silent majority since, by definition, it needs someone to speak for it. The dosed conflict is one of the
expressions of the power of the image: imagocracy. The conflict is perceived in the media at the
same time as an exponential increase in the cruelty that Jünger diagnoses in photography is verified:
the transformation of living processes into anatomical preparations. For this reason, I have coined
the term microwar. Interactions governed by the Law of the Jungle go far beyond the semantic
reference zone of the term 'war'. Where everything is white, nothing is white. Where everything is
chaotic interaction, nothing is chaos.
The loss of referential systems is the logical place of post-modernity as a cultural fact. One of the
consequences of this cultural event is the dissolution of all types of limits. Violence is estranged
from the social vs. non-social dialectic. The new violence develops as a sum of unconnected
disjunctive interactions. Politics is reduced to pure psychotherapy. The new war is the micro civil
war. This micro war is a conflict in its purest form, the confrontation being Rich vs. Poor. The
urbanization of existence has taken place. Urbanization entails the death of man. An escape route
could be the attitude of the ambush. Disintegration dilutes subjective rights and also implies desires
for self-destruction. Argentina suffered a profound process of disintegration. The death of the Fetish
State dismantled interactions. The collective unconscious of Argentines provided the basis for the
externalization of a variety of non-regulated and a-social violent behaviors. The current legality –
exclusive and excluding – would be the war of all against all (The Law of the Jungle). Micro-civil
war as a new form of urban violence – it is micro-war due to its low intensity, civil due to its
omnipresence and urban from an existential (and not merely topographical) point of view.
Based on these assumptions, what future projections can be made? At first glance, it is a horrible
chaos. However, although it may seem paradoxical, the model I have tried to outline is stable.
Indeed, the conflicts of the present do not seek – unlike their counterparts of previous eras – to
modify scales of values or change a lifestyle. On the contrary. The combatants of the micro civil
war do not aim to destroy the structures but live, parasitize them and recognize their existence by
the mere fact of damaging them. In other words, the disturbances caused to the system stabilize it,
making it tend towards entropy . Perhaps for this reason, in addition to the communicational dosage,
the level of social tolerance remains within acceptable limits. The belligerents of the micro civil
war, contrary to the Maoist principle, are content to injure all the fingers of the adversary instead of
trying to tear off at least one. On the other hand, among the actors in this drama, those who can
afford security and protection, within the outlined coordinates may fear assaults, robberies, riots,
looting and various excesses, but not a genuine revolution like those that occurred in the declining
modernity. A situation strangely similar to the period before the French Revolution:
The revolutionary spirit was totally absent from the social struggles of those times. The oppressed
may have had a vague sense of injustice and grumbled a great deal about it, but they had no
programme and no ideal system with which to replace the existing regime. "These were only
uprisings, but they were nothing more than sporadic explosions without the inspiration of a concrete
idea or adherence to any preconceived plan. The powerful could fear uprisings and massacres, but
not a revolution."
But everything changes after the French Revolution:
a change in the direction of events. A programme arose that could replace the existing one. Clumsy
and savage resentment gave way to the knowledge of messianic rights and hopes, and the fear of a
riot was transformed into the terror that had never been mitigated , the final uprising. Every riot,
every revolt, seemed to be a sign of the approach of the Last Judgement.
The present times, contrary to the revolutions of modernity, seem to be times of mitigation of terror.
Will the day come when the poor – starving masses, new barbarians – and those under siege, actors
in the micro civil war in the process of being carried out, conquer the “revolutionary brotherhood”?
Will politics be reified again? Will meaning be recovered? For the moment, uncertainty is the only
answer.
In Poland there are people who do not deserve to live.
Alienation and Conversion: National Identity in Adam Mickiewicz.
Poetry is the pure subjectivity of the creative artist. Through poetic work it is possible to reconstruct
the inner world of the work of art, to trace its antecedents and thus obtain something much deeper
than a mere linear exposition of events - also far removed from the methodological markers offered
by literary criticism. The poet Adam Mickiewicz (1798-1855) is a paradigmatic example of a broad
- though often cryptic - exposition of a tormented interiority. Indeed, the man who is considered not
only the greatest poet of Poland but also a model of patriotic activism, traced his own existence in
poetic creation. This is especially true for the period of his stay in Russia (1824-1829) In truth, his
deportation (caused by the poet's revolutionary activity) and the attempt to recompose the torn
spiritual ties of that geohistorical construct that was Russian Poland. First of all, it is necessary to
establish the starting points of reflection.
Synthetically, I can attempt a description of that Russian Poland and Mickiewicz's position between
two frankly hostile environments by means of the following expression: alienation. This term may
seem violent because of its smallness, but it is adequate to describe a state, an order of things in a
world that had been compulsively and cruelly transfigured. Transfiguration operated through a set
of oppressive mechanisms that ultimately referred to the psychological. In other words, Russian
domination sought to break the spirit, the cohesion of the Poles. For example, censorship. The use
of words – how to think – was carefully bureaucratized, regimented. Thus, the intimate link
between language and thought was disfigured. Emphasize the psychological because true
domination has that character Now, one of the most important works of the period I am considering
was Konrad Wallenrod's Great Patriotic Poem (1828). As is well known, a large part of the critics
interpret this poem as an allegory of the history of Lithuania and its struggle against the Teutonic
Knights. This line of interpretation emphasises the role of revenge and conspiracy (taking into
account Mickiewicz's ruse of replacing the Russians with the Teutons). A long road has been traced
in this respect. A road that starts with the young Lithuanian Alfe-Walter, a prisoner of the Teutons,
educated by them but also by a singer – Wajdelota – Lithuanian (Halban) who makes Alf's true roots
persist – Alfe's subsequent assumption as Grand Master of the Teutonic Order before being rejected
by his wife Aldona – after having killed the real Wallenrod, whom he replaces; the battle against the
Lithuanians, led by the real Wallenrod – and the latter's subsequent suicide when his treachery is
discovered by the Lithuanians but, fundamentally, after having fulfilled his mission: to avenge the
Lithuanians. Indeed, the current interpretation emphasizes the fact of fighting the enemy from
within, that is to say - by infiltrating its ranks. The key, the password, is the quote from Machiavelli
(dovete adunque sapere, como sone due generazioni de combattere... bisogna essere volpe e leone).
Consequently, it is possible to consider the pamphletary aspect of the poem (recognized by
Mickiewicz himself). One can even go further back to Wallenrodism, that is to say: the strong
influence that the poetry I am considering had on other Slavic poets - highlighting the pedagogical
aspect of the work. I am going to propose another angle of analysis - of a psychological nature. As a
preliminary observation, in Russian Poland there were three political attitudes: loyalty to the
hegemonic power (lojalizm), insurrection against that power (powstanie) and negotiation with the
powerful (ugoda). Of these three attitudes, however, only the first two appear symbolically
transfigured in Konrad Wallenrod. This is logical, since the poem - eminently romantic - explores
the most radical contrasts. Secondly, we must take as a point of reference a 20th century author.
Frantz Fanon (1925-1991), the ideologist of the Algerian revolution. One of his works - The
Wretched of the Earth - outlines attitudes remarkably similar to Mickiewicz's ideas. It may seem
forced and even extravagant - the relationship of a 19th century problem with an event of our time.
But precisely this epochal "we" is a tool that facilitates (as it is recent) the understanding of the
remote space-time problem (strictly speaking, a practical application of the Max Weber sympatische
Nacheleben. The essence of Konrad Wallenrod 's poem is the search for an answer to the question:
who am I? Russian Poland was a showcase of diverse attitudes (insurrection-conciliation-loyalty).
And the Russian occupation was much more than political and military (material). Rather, it was the
invasion of the subjugated Poles. Leaving aside the conciliatory attitudes, there are three
contradictions: I) lordship; II) colonization; III) colonization-colonialism. In effect, expressly
reducing the semantic ambiguity, in case I) one can speak of a pure state, naked power. The subject
(the inhabitant of Russian Poland) finds himself subjected, chained to an external power, insofar as
such he is not himself. The power of subjection is in the power of a genuine other. In case II) the
situation is totally different. Here it is not a question of mere external domination. This is so
because the colonized was transfigured, transformed internally. Part of his interiority is
contaminated by the action of the powerful. The colonized was the victim of a perverse architecture
materialized in a planning that buried the original schemes and patterns. While the subject,
according to Fanon, eagerly While the subject, according to Fanon, eagerly awaits the opportune
moment to attack the master, the colonized is no longer himself but is another, he has alienated
himself by provoking the juxtaposition of opposing discourses and patterns. I am not who I was, I
could be the Brocardian of the colonized. For this reason, the first step to recover the original
identity is to recompose the consciousness of self (I-am-who-I-was). This task is not easy because
the subject must carry out, in his deepest interior, an action of turning, becoming through a
conversion, which also implies repentance in Έπιστρφή is not accessible to everyone, but only to
those who, as Halban recites in Canto IV of the poem (song of Waydelota), have been able to maintain
the link with the original patterns - I have been able to keep the Lithuanian heart. It must be said that
this spiritual movement will be a combined learning process with a consistent work of unlearning the
patterns inoculated by the powerful (colonizer). As Halban says: on the graves of nations, songs and
tears. Those who are able to make this journey within themselves will experience the painful battle
between resignation and rebellion. For this reason, and especially in the case of Mickiewicz, the
romantic exaltation of the self through what Fanon calls muscular fantasy, that is, compensation for a
frustrating reality in its constriction, will be an asceticism - for example poems like Faris (1828) or
Ahriman (1830). It should be made clear that explanatory dyads are the virtual distinction of a reality of
mutual interpretation. Both dyads coexist in the same subject (hence the internal struggle). The subject
dreams of rebellion. The colonized accepts his condition. The subject (the Polish inhabitant of Russian
Poland) sees in the other, either a master or a colonizer. In other words, he sees a genuine other but he
also sees a spurious other than himself. The spurious other is the result of a splitting of the subject's
consciousness. He becomes a slave of himself (who is not another) infected with foreign patterns (given
by the colonizer). On the contrary, the subject does not carry out such a splitting (because his other is
really "another"). That is why it may sound like a muscular fantasy. I insist. The colonized splits himself
completely. His slavery is total. This is, for example, the attitude of Stanisław Potocki: Poles must
banish all memory of their homeland. I myself am forever Russian. Slavery that is, I repeat, total and
maternal in nature in the sense of the intimate and profound character of domination. It is the dyad of
lordship and submission of paternal domination given that it is distant and bureaucratized (keeping in
mind the role of the paternal in the generality of social imaginaries). True domination is matriarchal:
castrating maternalism of a mother who wants to "protect" her son from himself. A handicapped son, a
perverse son (cf. Fanon). The father-son dyad, since the bond between both ends of the pair - the mother
and the son as her product - is much stronger and closer than in the first case (predominantly
bureaucratic because of its impersonality). In short: colonialism is perversely maternal. Two dyads
coexist in one subject. Now, "my" subject is Adam Mickiewicz. Starting from the concepts expressed, it
is possible to assert that the poem Konrad Wallenrod - taking into account the particular ideological
coordinates of the romantic Weltanschauung - phenomenalizes the attitudinal types. That is to say, AlfeWalter - Konrad Wallenrod (note the underlying dialectical complexity) as a real subject. The literary
projection of Mickiewicz himself according to the critical consensus. The uncertainty and spiritual
combat of Halban: the name is German, the soul is Lithuanian, the memory of the homeland, and the
hatred towards the foreigner. And she also represents Aldona, the rejected woman, replaced by her
homeland as an object of love. And despite her relegation she lives secluded in a castle tower. She
enjoys her condition: I feel good in my stone tomb. The stone tomb as the place of non-change, of the
pleasure of being buried alive.
I can be said that the contradiction posed by the basic attitudes of Halban and Aldona is the symbolic
objectification of the psychological unit: the complex subject Konrad Wallenrod - Adam Mickiewicz.
Note the importance of the historical factor in Halban's attitude. Even more so in the already cited Canto
IV. There the poet's words are the key, the guiding thread of past and buried history. A song that flees to
the mountain in order to narrate this past and the present of Lithuania: Oh! Popular tradition. The ark of
the covenant. Among the times of yesteryear. Through Halban's song, Mickiewicz introduces the
messianic idea using the allegory of the old peasant (the prophet): more than once a hundred-year-old
peasant, poking around in the bones with a piece of iron from his cart. Playing the flute. Prayers for the
dead, songs with mournful rhythms, illustrious fathers... This is how the old centenarian sings to the
dead and, like the prophet Ezekiel (XXXVII - 1-28), animates the bones, that is to say, resurrects
Lithuania's past. According to Fanon's categories, the reversal took place (the poet shudders and decides
to remember the past - the popular tradition - a preliminary step to shaking the people by means of
enlightening vision. But memory is now like a crystal lamp embellished with charming images. The fact
of shaking the people for Fanon's interpretation, the call to action, to focus the gaze on the present after
having unearthed the past. But why evoke past centuries? The singer announces that there is a great,
living man, far away from here. I will sing for the Lithuanians.
Here we can see a hint of the path to follow: Έπιστρφή - a hard path of learning and remembering.
Every insult, every humiliation, every slap, had to be remembered by the Lithuanians - the transposition
that the inhabitants of Russian Poland - gradually resolving their contradiction. "Complex subject"
Konrad Wallenrod - Adam Mickiewicz, the great man of book IV - leads the Teutons voluntarily to
defeat - an event with multiple implications. On the one hand, it is the compulsive union of attitudinal
extremes (insurrection and loyalty). On the other hand, this union highlights the spiritual (inner) union
of the battle. In effect, Konrad leads the Teutons to failure, in truth, victory over himself, over his other oscillating between the spurious and the genuine. The entire process recounted in the poem is the
symbolic objectification of the mental journey of Konrad Wallenrod - Adam Mickiewicz: his personal
and therefore non-transferable Έπιστρφή.
The final scene is victory, a poetic extrapolation of the happy and long-awaited discovery. Perhaps the
resolution of a particular dark night of nature - it answers the question embedded in each page of the
poem and which I mentioned at the beginning: Who am I?
A bad new - Do you was fired from work? Casimir's question. No. Do you remember that your father
was seriously ill? He died. If you want you can cry. Casimir does not cry. During the night has no place
the fact to urinate one oneself. His father was a distant figure. The beast female. She almost always
cries. She attempted to stand up. She was not able to do this. Her nerve system was spoiled. Who was
responsible for this? The step sister of Casimir.
GENERAL STANISŁAV SOSABOWSKI – LIBREMENTE SERVÍ
PRIMEROS AÑOS:
Enterrado en una pequeña villa en los suburbios de Varsovia – Zoliborz, yace un sable
oxidado. Tal vez es todavía leer en la fosa la inscripción Honor y Gloria. Me lo entregaron
en 1912 por los hombres de la resitencia subterránea. Lo enterré con renuencia en octubre
de 1939. Recibí la orden de dejar Varsovia para ir a Rumania para traer un millón de libras
esterlinas para financiar a las fuerzas subterráneas, para luchar contra los Alemanes.
Fue este mismo sable que llevé conmigo cuando estuve prestando atención al Comandante
de la Escuela de Guerra en 1936, para despedirme después de seis años con uno de sus
profesores.
El general «Ted» Kutrzeba me miró firmemente a los ojos.
Bueno, es hora de que nos deje. Aprecio mucho su buena labor. Ascendió a personal de
primera clase. Pero antes de despedirnos le quiero dar un consejo amistoso. Usted piensa en
forma independiente, habla sin tapujos, y crítico. Estas son virtudes. Pero debe tener en
cuenta que los oficiales superiores pueden sentirse molestos. Cuide sus pasos. Sonriente me
estrechó la mano firmemente. Me cuadré, me di vuelta, y me retiré.
In 1930 antes de ingresar a la Academia como profesor. Serví como segundo jefe en la
tercera brigada de montaña. Más tarde – el futuro General Malinowski me citó. Ahora,
Sosabowski, tenga cuidado en la Academia de Guerra. No son bien vistos los oficiales que
critican abiertamente. Battery Press 1982.
LA ERA DEL MLICO BRUTO, ACICALADO, OPA [en el EA. ¿Qué bagaje llegó a las
Malvinas?
MY NAME IS VAGINA. I MAKE MONEY!
Schreiben meiner Doktorarbeit über Adam Mickiewicz und seine metapolitische Konzeption widmen. Ich hätte
auch die Möglichkeit, „direkte“ Kenntnisse einer Realität zu erlangen, die mir immer völlig fremd gewesen war.
Tatsächlich dachte ich, ich würde nach Europa reisen, in eine völlig unbekannte Welt. Insofern ich Argentinier bin,
ein Produkteiner bestimmten geopolitischen und kulturellen Realität. Ich hatte ein spezifisches Bild von Europa,
das ich mir in der Schule angeeignet hatte, einem intellektuellen Mikrokosmos , der alle von meiner Familie
angebotenen Vorstellungen absorbierte. Die „offizielle“ Kultur, die Umgebung, überwältigten die heimische
Tradition. Ich wuchs mit der Bewunderung Europas als theoretischer Beratung und nicht als konkreter Realität auf.
Dieses Europa, das, wie ich behaupte, das Ergebnis einer zwanghaft aufgezwungenen Weltanschauung war,
schloss Polen nicht ein. Das „Osteuropa“ – so lautete mein Etikett während meiner Schulzeit – war das „Andere“,
eine Welt jenseits des Eisernen Vorhangs. Jetzt, so dachte ich, werde ich in der Lage sein, diesen Vorhang (diese
physische und mentale Barriere) niederzureißen, um über die Realität nachzudenkenZwei Gedanken gingen mir
durch den Kopf: Der erste betraf Polen und seinen Wiederaufbauprozess nach der brutalen Zerstörung bei der
Teilung des Jahres 1795, der wiederholten Belagerung durch ausländische Invasoren und dem schmerzlichen und
mühevollen Versuch, als Folge einer so tragischen Geschichte diese nationale Vergangenheit zu konstruieren und
eine grundlegende Frage zu beantworten: „Wer bin ich?“Der zweite Gedanke galt Argentinien, meinem Vaterland,
das nie geografisch fragmentiert, sondern oft drastisch vereinfacht, subtil beherrscht und behutsam entfremdet
wurde. Ich kenne den Grund nicht, aber als ich von Buenos Aires nach Warschau flog, erinnerte ich mich an
Frantz Fanons eindrucksvollen Essay Die Verdammten dieser Erde und an die scharfsinnige Einleitung von Jean
Paul Sartre, aus der ich mich an ein Fragment erinnerte: die lebhafte Beschreibung der Verfälschung des
Bewusstseins, als nichteuropäische Jugendliche von europäischen Eliten ausgewählt wurden, um –
selbstverständlich in Europa – die Grundprinzipien der „westlichen Kultur“ zu erlernen, damit sie sich selbst, die
Bewohner der Peripherie, in lebende Lügen verwandeln konnten, ein bloßes Echo, das seinen Brüdern nichts zu
sagen hatte.Ich dachte, ich könnte Gefahr laufen, mich selbst zu verfälschen. Da ich dieselbe Frage beantworten
muss , wer ich bin, ist alles möglich. Ich nahm zwei völlig unterschiedliche Situationen wahr, die einen
gemeinsamen Punkt hatten:
die Unwissenheit und die Notwendigkeit , uns selbst zu kennen, uns selbst zu erkennen. Ich wagte das folgende
Experiment: mich mit der polnischen Wielka Emigracja von 1830 zu vergleichen. Natürlich war ich kein Emigrant,
aber wie ein Mensch, der dazu verurteilt ist, sein Land zu verlassen, war ich gezwungen, den Prozess der
Vernichtung meines Bewusstseins und seiner Kategorien zu erleiden: die Dritte Welt, die Dyade von Zentrum und
Peripherie, die Unterwerfung unter die Herrschaft und so weiter. Gleichzeitig sollte ich den Prozess der Annahme
einer neuen Welt durchmachen, die sich Stück für Stück vor meinen Augen offenbarte und entstand. Auf der einen
Seite war eine abstrakte Theorie, die sich auf das streng akademische Universum bezog. Auf der anderen Seite
war die Realität. Oft habe ich an Mickiewicz gedacht, weit weg von seinem Vaterland, und versucht
herauszufinden, wer er war, umdas Problem der Identität zu lösen. Mir ging es darum, Mickiewiczs Ideen neu zu
interpretieren und seine eigenen Vorstellungen und Widersprüche zu übernehmen. Wir hatten etwas gemeinsam:
die physische Trennung unsererjeweiligen Vaterländer und die Präsenz der Identitätsfrage. Die Antwort darauf zu
finden, wäre der erste Schritt zur Bildung eines nationalen Bewusstseins – im Fall von Mickiewicz und vielen
anderen, ausgehend vom Nichts (d. h. einem atomisierten Land). In meinem Fall ausgehend vom Paradoxen und
BedeutungslosenAngesichts der frenetischen Begeisterung an der Schwelle zum dritten Jahrtausend ist es heute
schwierig, diese Frage zu beantworten. Wenn ich durch die Straßen Krakaus gehe, tauchen das Alte und das Neue
gleichzeitig auf. Das Alte in Form alter Gebäude, prächtiger Kirchen, Denkmäler und Heldendenkmäler, und das Neue in
der Gewissheit, dass die Distanz verschwunden ist und durch Supermärkte und Handelsmarken ersetzt wurde, die ich zu
Hause in Buenos Aires, am anderen Ende der Welt, zurückgelassen hatte. Manche Leute sagen, dass hier in Krakau das
Alte und das Neuekoexistieren. Ich stimme dieser Aussage nicht zu. Vielmehr glaube ich, dass ich Zeuge eines Kampfes
bin, eines schrecklichen Kampfes zwischen zwei Welten, zwischen Ideen, die an sich „klar und unterschiedlich“ sind,
aber im Prozess ihrer Interaktion sehr verwirrt werden. Aus demselben Grund ist das Endergebnis, die weitere „Form“,
überhaupt nicht klar, wie im Fall der Prophezeiung aus Mickiewiczs Dziady: diese „Form“ ist „prawdziwa jak rachunek i
dziwna jak mara“.Einmal stellte ich mir Mickiewicz als auferstandenen Menschen vor, der durch das heutige Krakau
spazierte (eine Stadt, die der Dichter nie besucht hatte). Ich konnte sehen, wie der Dichter sein eigenes Denkmal
betrachtete. Sogar ich konnte sein Erstaunen erkennen. Was würde Mickiewicz sagen, nachdem er den berühmten
Schmelztiegel Krakaus gesehen hatte? Was würde der erste Dichter Polens denken, wenn er vor den Denkmälern des
Martyriums stünde, die von der blendenden Helligkeit und dem neuen Lebensstil überschattet würden?Ehrlich gesagt
kenne ich die Antwort noch nicht. Vielleicht ist es sinnlos, sich die Gedanken eines Menschen vorzustellen, der vor 200
Jahren geboren wurde. Vielleicht war meine intellektuelle Übung völlig nutzlos. Ich selbst habe die absurden Erfahrung
des Nicht-Ortes gemacht. Was habe ich nach einer Reise von 13.000 km gefunden? Einerseits – und das ist ein
schreckliches Phänomen – wurde ich mit dem lächelnden Alptraum konfrontiert, den die Wissenschaftler Globalisierung
nennen. Ich habe festgestelltVerdacht, dass ich einem Geist nachjage. Wie bekannt ist, hat Mickiewicz hier nie gelebt. Ist
er ein Geist? Bis zu einem gewissen Grad ja. Er ist ein Geist, jemand, der gleichzeitig anwesend und abwesend ist.
Wusste er die Antwort auf die grundlegende Frage? Ja, das wusste er. Leider ist der Kern einer solchen Antwort derzeit
nicht zu entziffern. Mickiewicz wusste viel mehr als wir. Der Dichter konnte mit den Vorfahren (Dziady) sprechen. Ich
kann das nicht. Darüber hinaus sind meine ursprünglichen Muster völlig zwecklos und hohl. Ich bin nicht in der Lage, sie
mit irgendetwas in der „realen Welt“ zu assoziieren Was kann ich tun? Ich denke, dass ich trotz der tiefgreifenden
akademischen Schwierigkeiten und existentiellen Zwickmühlen Mickiewiczs Gedankengang neu aufbauen sollte. Das ist
der Hintergrund meiner Doktorarbeit Nachdem ich dies getan habe, wird meine intellektuelle Qual, so hoffe ich,
verschwinden. In der Zwischenzeit kann ich,
wie das demütige und erwartungsvolle Publikum der Ahnenzeremonie, nur fragen
Ciemno wszÿdzie, głucho wszędzie, Co to będzie, co to będzie?“
Jujuy 348 - useless! the beast female. 8 years old. Don't humiliate him. The Grandmother. Poor!
She sticks - during the shower - her nail in the Casmir's ear. Ay! She pushed him son in the bed.
To warm the ass. Choose the cheapest coffin! Stick the flashlight in your ass! - cursed hospital.
Tomorrow I will hit you tomorrow. Roberto Arlt. A dog night. And they will break your face and
you will thank them - the beast female. Her ring was a gift for a lascivious whore. Saliva in the
Casimir's cock. B.KOMAR - excites, specially when defecate. To clean her anus with the tonge.
She walks - boss - she sucks.
Am 25. Dezember feiern wir den 200. Geburtstag von Adam Mickiewicz. Adam Mickiewicz
(1798-1855) war der größte Dichter Polens. Er war auch ein Patriot. Aber welche
Bedeutung hat Mickiewicz dem Wort „Patriotismus“ gegeben? Ich denke, es ist sinnvoll,
eine spezielle Denkkategorie zu verwenden: die Betrachtung aus seiner eigenen
peripheren Perspektive. Wir, die Argentinier, Südamerikaner1, sind vielleicht die letzten
Akteure des historischen Universaldramas. Könnten wir Adam Mickiewicz als
intellektuelles Sprungbrett nutzen, um Analogien zwischen der polnischen Welt (ebenfalls
ein letzter Akteur) und „unserer“ Welt zu finden? Ja. Wir können unsere eigene psychische
Strukturverbindung herstellen (um Diltheys Ausdruck zu verwenden). Tatsächlich war es
das Ziel des Begründers der Geisteswissenschaften, das Erlebnis zu überwinden , das
immer in einer eigenen Realität (Innerwerden) versunken ist.
Dilthey suchte leidenschaftlich nach dem wahren Sinn. Er versuchte, die Welt zu
begreifen, und gab sich nicht mit einem bloßen abstrakten Verständnis zufrieden. Was war
nun, unter Berücksichtigung dieses Paradigmas, der Sinn der Wirklichkeit, den Mickiewicz
aufgab?
Ausgangspunkt ist die Dialektik von Zentrum und Peripherie. Das Wort „peripher“ kann
sowohl in beschreibender als auch in abwertender Bedeutung verwendet werden.
Tatsächlich impliziert „peripher“ eine untergeordnete Beziehung zum „Zentrum“. Das
griechische Präfix περι bedeutet „um“ herum. Dieses Wort impliziert Unterwerfung.
Folglich verringern wir bewusst (manchmal) unbewusst das Periphere und bezeichnen es
gleichzeitig in unserem Denken als unvollkommen, als den logischen Ort des Untergangs.
1
Wir haben den Ausdruck „Südamerika“ gewählt, weil er geographische Bezüge ohne ideologische Konnotationen.
Es ist interessant festzustellen, dass es viele „Bezeichnungen“ für unseren Kontinent gibt: Lateinamerika,
Eurindien, Indo-Iberien, Hispanoamerika und so weiter. Das ist kein Zufall. Im Gegenteil: Die Vielzahl der
Bezeichnungen ist ideologischen Interessen untergeordnet und stellt darüber hinaus ein untrügliches Zeichen für
verborgene Probleme in Bezug auf unsere eigene Identität dar. In Bezug auf dieses Thema kritisierte Juan José
Hernández Arregui den Ausdruck „Lateinamerika“, einen der am häufigsten verbreiteten Namen, scharf. Siehe
¿Qué es el Ser Nacional? (la conciencia histórica iberoamericana), Buenos Aires 1973, Seiten 5, 34 und 35.
Wenn wir unseren Gedanken eine Wendung geben und uns auf Hegels Dialektik von Herr
und Knecht konzentrieren (eigentlich auf den Standpunkt Kojèves, der die Ideen des
Jenaer Professors teilweise modifiziert), wird der Held der Weltgeschichte
(Weltgeschichte) gemäß dieser Perspektive der Arbeitersklave (Bewohner des Peripheren)
und nicht der Freizeitherr (gefangen in „seiner“ zentralen Welt) sein. Die Vorteile des
Sklaven verwandeln das verachtete Periphere in den Hauptfaktor des Wandels – das
Periphere als Katalysator der Geschichte. Wie wir sehen, existiert in beiden Fällen ein
wertvoller Standpunkt und liegt ihm zugrunde. Stattdessen sollten wir eine andere
Erklärung versuchen, die die Verbindungen zwischen semantischen Räumen
herausarbeitet, ungeachtet der jeweiligen Perspektiven. Wir können behaupten, dass
Polen zu Mickiewiczs Zeiten ein Beispiel für eine doppelte Konditionierung war. Einerseits
eine kulturelle Konditionierung aus geographischer Sicht: ein katholischer Staat, flankiert
von Lutheranern (Preußen) und Orthodoxen (Russland). Andererseits eine geopolitische
Konditionierung: das Verschwinden Polens als wirklicher Staat – nach der Teilung von
17952 – und gleichzeitig seine stille Opposition, da Polen auf ein Schema-Konzept gegen
ein selbstbewusstes Europa reduziert wurde, das das Ergebnis einer hartnäckig
mitteleuropäischen Ideologie (als kulturelle Ausgrenzung) in Stückwerk war.
Wachstum seit der Entdeckung Amerikas, als die Neue Welt zum Zentrum eines neuen
Erfahrungsraums wurde. Vor dieser mitteleuropäischen Ideologie lag Polen als regloser
Aufmarschraum barbarischer Völker: Das alte Bollwerk des Christentums blieb als Relikt
einer verfallenden Religion auf offenem Rückzug vor den Mächtigen einer aggressiven
und zunehmenden Moderne.
Unter der Annahme, dass die Bedingungen Widersprüche in sich bergen. Mit anderen
Worten: Zentrum – Peripherie; Christentum – Moderne. Die einzige Möglichkeit, die
Dyadik aufzubrechen, besteht in der Annahme der eigenen Bedingungen. Das heißt: Man
sollte die Wurzeln der Bindung an eine Welt kennen, die dieselbe ist, aber in Wirklichkeit
eine andere war: die Zuflucht in der Weltanschauung , die trotz ihres schwindenden Status
einen alternativen Vorschlag gegen die aufkommende Moderne suchen möchte.
Offensichtlich war es notwendig, die nationale Identität gegen die westeuropäischen
Regeln zu bewahren. Der Novemberaufstand scheiterte. Es war ein ausschließlich
militärischer Versuch, die ausländischen Unterdrücker zu besiegen, um zur alten Ordnung
(einer christlichen Politik) zurückzukehren – was die Frustration noch verstärkte. Dennoch
fehlte die Möglichkeit, die Moderne mit ihrer Vitalität und ihrem Wertesystem zu gestalten,
das im Wesentlichen auf einem Imago Mundi basierte, das einem anderen Kontext
angehörte, nämlich dem Christentum.
Adam Mickiewicz war sich in seiner eigenen Situation der Unmöglichkeit bewusst, trotz
seiner Wünsche in die Vergangenheit (die Alte Ordnung) zurückzukehren. Er attackierte
russische slawophile Denker, die sich nach einer Wiederbelebung des Mittelalters sehnten
(etwas, das einem gewissen philomittelalterlichen Nationalismus in Argentinien ähnelt).
Aber Mickiewicz strebte nie eine mechanische Assimilation der neuen Muster an (heute
würden wir von automatischer Angleichung sprechen). Eine solche Assimilation hätte die
völlige Vernichtung des kollektiven Projekts „Polnische Nation“ bedeutet. Die Moderne war
zweifellos von Anfang an ein exklusives Phänomen. Wie konnte Mickiewicz dann aus dem
Gefängnis der Dialektik zwischen Zentrum und Peripherie entkommen? Durch einen
Bruch: Gegen die Heilige Allianz der Könige stellte er sich einer neuen Bruderschaft
2
Tatsächlich verschwand Polen von der Landkarte Europas. Diese politische Aktion wurde durch die Aktion seiner
Nachbarn: Österreich, Russland und Preußen. Folglich wurden drei Sektoren (Teilungen) eingerichtet. Es sollte
betont werden, dass Mickiewicz im sogenannten „Russischen Polen“ lebte (seit seiner Geburt bis 1829).
entgegen, der Revolutionären Bruderschaft der Nationen.
Heute, zweihundert Jahre nach Mickiewiczs Geburt, sind wir Zeugen einer Globalisierung.
Das heißt, es handelt sich um ein gewaltiges Projekt der Vereinheitlichung von Märkten
und Produktionssystemen mit der Standardisierung kultureller Muster und Denkschemata
(eine subtile Verbindung von Orwellscher Herrschaft und Heideggers Tyrannei des
Menschen). In diesem innovativen Kontext erlangen die Konzepte von Mickiewicz
dramatische Bedeutung. Nicht nur die oben zitierte Brüderlichkeit , die den Volkskrieg
nährte – ein doktrinärer Vorläufer der Exportrevolution3 – verdient eine detaillierte Analyse.
Die Ideen des Dichterprofessors über die Seele der Politik müssen hervorgehoben
werden. Sein Standpunkt in dieser Hinsicht erweist sich gegenwärtig als zutiefst subversiv
angesichts der Postmoderne und ihrer ideologischen Unterstützung, verbunden mit dem
Chaos, das durch eine verächtliche Realpolitik verursacht wird, die rücksichtslos durch
3
Was die revolutionäre Strategie betrifft, möchten wir einen anderen polnischen Autor zitieren: Henryk Kamieński
(1813-1865). In seinem Buch O prawdach ÿywotnych narodu polskiego (Über die Lebenswahrheiten der polnischen
Nation) widmet er dem Thema des revolutionären Terrorismus ein ganzes Kapitel. In diesem Kapitel entwickelt
Kamieÿski die Idee der „Vorbereitung der Massen“ und betont auch die Rolle der Bildung, um revolutionäres
Bewusstsein zu wecken. Laut mehreren Wissenschaftlern führte Kamieński hundert Jahre vor Mao Tse-Tung den
militarisierten Massenaufstand.
humanitäre Interventionen umgesetzt wird, um Frieden und Freiheit zu bewahren. Wenn
wir Mickiewiczs Werke (insbesondere seine Vorlesungen am Collège de France: 18401844) sorgfältig lesen, werden wir Ideen finden, die heute (2025.) Kikenshiso sind, das
heißt: gefährliche Gedanken. Zum Beispiel Ausdrücke wie geistige Arbeit,
Selbstaufopferung und der Wert des Leidens. Diese Ideen implizieren, intelligent zu sein,
das heißt, in der Lage zu sein, in sich selbst hineinzulesen (intus legere). Im Gegenteil, in
diesem Sinne sind die postmodernistischen Menschen nicht intelligent und sie wollen auch
nicht im Entferntesten auf das Problem hinweisen. Die Postmoderne ist der logische Ort
schwachen Denkens. Folglich liest der Mensch nicht in sich selbst hinein, denn dieses
Verhalten beinhaltet die Idee der Reflexion und Auskultation, um unser eigenes Inneres zu
beobachten. Und die besonderen Merkmale der intellektuellen Umgebung der
Postmoderne stehen in scharfem Kontrast zum echten Denken: die Momentaufnahme, die
isoliert.
Geschehen, die Leichtigkeit. Der Versuch, Mickiewicz für die heutige Welt
wiederzuentdecken, stellt an sich schon ein Risiko dar. Mit anderen Worten: Die Ideen des
Dichter-Professors spielen für «diese» Welt. Überraschenderweise ist Mickiewicz ein
Spielverderber, der die gegenwärtige Orgie intellektueller Schwäche und ständiger
Entlastung von Schuld auslöscht Andererseits war Mickiewicz auch ein rigoroser Kritiker
anderer Ideen, die zur Postmoderne führten. Tatsächlich sollten wir folgende Tatsache
nicht vergessen: Die Postmoderne „ist“ die Moderne in Aktion, ohne schützende
Mythologie. Eine solche Mythologie kann mit diesem Ausdruck zusammengefasst werden:
unaufhörlicher Fortschritt. Diese Aussage, die heute in Misskredit geraten ist, war zu
Mickiewiczs Zeiten eine zentrale Idee. Als er am Collège de France lehrte (zusammen mit
Edgar Quinet und Jules Michelet), stellte Mickiewicz eine Diagnose der Moderne – des
Zeitalters der Entschlossenheit und des sozialen Engineerings. In seinen Vorlesungen
verurteilte er die Moderne scharf. Seine Zuhörer waren verbitterte Anhänger, die unter
Nostalgie litten. Sie erinnerten sich inbrünstig an die verlorene heroische Ära, die bereits
durch die Brillanz des zwanghaften Rationalismus in den Schatten gestellt worden war.
Der Dichter-Professor bemühte sich um eine Spiritualisierung der Politik, das heißt: um die
Wiederherstellung des Konzepts menschlicher und sozialer Eigenschaften (der
interaktiven Essenz) und um die Suche nach einer Möglichkeit, die zerbrochenen sozialen
Bindungen wiederherzustellen. Die Grundlage persönlicher Beziehungen muss die
Nächstenliebe und nicht das Kalkül der Interessen sein. Diese letzte Idee war aus der
Perspektive des industrialisierten Europas widersprüchlich. Heute behalten derartige Ideen
paradoxerweise ihre widersprüchlichen und höchst beunruhigenden Eigenschaften
gegenüber einer zwingenden politischen Ordnung.
Die Vorlesungen von Mickiewicz am Collège de France schwankten mit ihren relativ
einfachen Worten und Ausdrücken zwischen politischer Theorie und mystischen Ideen, die
manchmal an die Sprache der Pamphletisten grenzten.
Der Dichter-Professor griff den Zwangsdienst entschieden an und verachtete gleichzeitig
die Argumentation der „Ärzte“. In der Vorlesung vom 28. Juni 1842 schmälerte er die
Bedeutung von Theorien und Lehren, die ohne jede Rücksicht auf den wirklichen
Menschen ausgearbeitet wurden
„Die Lehren bringen nichts Neues. Sie sind nur der Standpunkt bestimmter Personen.
Schulen halten nicht lange. Sie drücken nur den Standpunkt bestimmter Vereinigungen
aus. Wenn Lehren nichts Neues bringen, sind sie tot. Was nicht ausgedrückt werden
kann, ist von Dauer; was dagegen tut, ist der Mensch selbst4
Das sind einfache, aber irritierende Worte für den positivistischen Wissenschaftler – den
Apostel der Organisation und Transformation von konkreten Menschen zu
Anpassungsvariablen innerhalb der Sozialphysik.
Mickiewicz lehnte offen sowohl die Mechanisierung als auch die Entfremdung ab, die aus
der bürgerlichen Rationalisierung des sozialen Lebens und der politischen Realität
resultierten. Er kritisierte auch den Begriff des Staates. Eine solche Ordnung
vernachlässigte die individuellen Unterschiede. Daher gab Mickiewicz der Nation den
Vorrang und er konzipierte sie nicht als eine Art dekadenten Provinzialismus (in
Mickiewiczs Worten: einen unechten Nationalismus), sondern als einen Weg zur
Erreichung der Ganzheit. Diese Ideen sind zweifellos stark vom Messianismus geprägt.
Heute ist dieses Wort durch Diskreditierung untergraben. d. h.: Messianismus war die
Möglichkeit, Ungerechtigkeiten und Ungleichheiten innerhalb eines innerhistorischen
Rahmens zu überwinden. Sicherlich existiert die Idee des Fortschritts, die Mickiewicz
kritisierte, wie wir oben sagten, in dieser Konzeption, obwohl sie durch eine Verb.
Der daraus resultierende soteriologische Faktor verleiht der Politik Geist. In der
Mannheimer Typologie findet sich eine Art quiliastischer Utopie 5 Mickiewiczs
Messianismus war kontinental und begann mit dem Bündnis zwischen den
revolutionärsten Nationen Europas: Frankreich und Polen. Dies war ein geopolitisches
Projekt aus der Feder des Dichter-Professors: der erste Schritt zur Errichtung der Heiligen
Allianz der Völker. In diesem Kontext und unter Berücksichtigung der religiösen Aspekte
waren Nationen nur ein Weg:
„ein Ensemble, das dem Menschen hilft, sich zu verbessern, der Wahrheit zu folgen und
die Erde zu beherrschen, indem es sich auf die Wahrheit stützt, die im Tempel gilt6
Dieses Konzept des Nationalismus wurde global «gedacht». Allerdings war diese globale
Sichtweise weder ein hyperrationales Projekt noch ein abstraktes Mittel. Im Gegenteil,
Mickiewiczs Plan war ein Versuch, sowohl die politische als auch die soziale Welt zu
humanisieren und zu vergeistigen. Mit anderen Worten: Es war ein früher Versuch, einen
entfremdeten Kosmos wiederherzustellen. Nach dieser kurzen Zusammenfassung wollen
wir versuchen, eine Frage zu beantworten. Was ist die Bedeutung von Mickiewiczs 200.
Geburtstag , abgesehen von den gewissen Möglichkeiten vergleichender politischer
Studien (ausgehend von einer lokalisierten Lektüre) ? Wir glauben, dass die Bedeutung
des Gedenkens in der folgenden Feststellung besteht: ein Frontalangriff auf globale
Zwänge. Heute leben wir in einer Welt, die keinen individuellen, sondern einen
konformistischen Menschen will. Es versteht sich von selbst, dass dieser Menschentypus
in der Lage ist, ohne Klagen über irgendetwas zu leben. Dieser Mensch, der auf eine
„Variable“ reduziert wurde, ideales Ausgangsmaterial für Quantofreniker und Testokraten.
Mit einem Wort: Er ist ein „angepasster Mensch“. Es ist offensichtlich, dass dieser Biotyp
die Antithese von Adam Mickiewicz ist. Dennoch glauben wir, dass wir Mickiewicz retten
4
5
6
Literatura Słowiańska wykładana w Collegium Francuskim przez Adama Mickiewicza. Tumaczenia Feliksa
Wrotnowskiego. Posen 1865. T II, Strona 315. wydanie trzecie, nowo poprawione. Sklavenliteratur. Vorlesungen
von Adam Mickiewicz am Collège de France. Übersetzt von FeliksWrotnowski. Posen 1865, T II, Seite 315. Dritte
Auflage. Eine neue Überarbeitung. Dieses Fragment wurde für mich übersetzt.
K. Mannheim, Ideologie und Utopie. México 1993. Seiten 185-192.
Mickiewicz, Les Slaves – Cours professé au Collège de France [Die Slaven: Vorlesungen im Collège de France]
Paris 1914. Seite 204. Dieses Fragment wurde von mir übersetzt.
müssen, wenn wir den konkreten Menschen vor der rücksichtslosen Rationalisierung des
gesellschaftlichen Lebens retten wollen, weil er nicht zögerte, die neuen Formeln
abzulehnen, die ihm zwanghaft von den Mächtigen aufgezwungen wurden. Dieser
intellektuelle Mensch muss untersucht werden, weil er ein Beispiel für den Kampf gegen
mächtige Staaten aus der peripheren Welt ist. Für uns Einwohner Südamerikas war (und
ist) dieses Verhaltensmuster nicht merkwürdig [standing cocks in the street. The desire
to suck. We want money]. PORNO WEB SITE. Two girls in a house, whith a stove, they
suck the cock of a man. Take turns to suck. One of them stir the fire. Deep throught - the
last scene - a fast blow job - sighing - ejeculation. Sperm in the mouths. Kissing
themselves. Names? Country?
In Malvinas the holes are wet and the soldier shivers and listens to the whizzing of bullets
and the roar of the southern wind. The soldier knows that he cannot be anywhere else.
The weight of the history that others wrote for him buries him. It buries him in the same
way as when he was ordered a short time ago, when he was a recruit, a citizen newly
incorporated into the army, to get off the truck at Campo de Mayo: get off! The recruit
obeyed hastily. Standing next to the truck, he looked at the mass of conscripts here and
there. He could understand nothing, he only knew that he would not be able to get out of
there until who knows when.. ...
...the same in Puerto Argentino. Another story, also written by others, and the unpleasant
feeling that time was stretching out and the months had more than thirty days, and the day
has more than twenty four hours: he knows that he is impossible to be anywhere else...
...here are no fireflies in the Malvinas, but there are flooded wells and shrapnel that
destroys everything in its path. The most important thing: if Wojzeck in the Great War knew
(late but sure) that the rational project (that others wrote for him), the neat roadmap
leading to wonderful times, had failed and everything was nothing more than learned
chatter, the Argentine soldier knew that 'his' project, which others sold him, was buried
under the Malvinas peat, locked in an obituary bag.
Yes, Argentine soldier. They lied to you. What they taught you at home sweet home, what
they instilled in you at school, is no longer of any use. You are no longer part of the West;
the United States is not your natural ally and the Englishmen are anything but the
gentlemen you were taught to idolize from the cradle. And if Wojczek writhed in
helplessness when he learned that Maria was screwing with the Major Drummer, you
abruptly learned that you could never screw with Maria, and that your own Major Drummer
snatched her from your hands to humiliate her and humiliate you, and make her ride madly
through the forests of pleasure that were denied to you in the name of Western values.
Stand cock in the unity. One private crawls... I want to be screwed by my corporal. In my
home. A certain white young boy walking during the night arounds the parks - in Buenos
Aires - in order to find a brunette young gay. He found him. Together they found a
ventilation system. The white lie down on a ladder. He lowered his underwear. The stand
cock penetrates his rectum. Pain and pleasure. The honor to be screwed by a nigger. The
lost of the anal virginity. In Argentina - women - in Poland. The ass is a temple. The
entrance to the kingdom of the magic odour. In the Matrix... in City Bell a young girl plays
with the Casimir's little cock. When the Grandmother found out about said: filthy! Uncle
Carol, with your Grandmother almost everything was impossible. In the Palomar one cadet
was infected by the treponema pallidum. One CO. Listen to me carefully. Girls from good
families are looking for the cock. PARALIPOMENA: Witold Pilecki was a farabote and a
Kamikaze. In the Jordan Park - the cursed soldiers. Cyprian Norwid - Fulminant. 1863. Un
soldat gagne beaucoup de solidité et d'aplomb à connaître et son mode the combat, le
plus souvent les paniques viennent de l'ignorance (Quelques souvenirs de la campagne
d'Italie, par un officer français): IV
But if man knew the jewels of life, But if he were vigilant at all times, Speaking with mature
knowledge and simplicity: "I am a soldier, no matter what I do" But if all the energy and
consciousness She always knew how to consume what is contemporary, Not putting aside
the sowing for posterity: Oh, if only today those painful wounds could barely feel what the
bare foot knows, On the snake's head placed flat, And no one would die for grace, crying:
"Where is your scythe, O death?!...
I am a rebel and I do what the fifht liner of the ass sing! Warsaw 1944.
Juliusz Słowacki - Kordian the first part of trylogy - crownly conspiration.
THE SUPERVISOR: (to the doctor) do you came here to visit the psychiatric hospital?
THE DOCTOR: this is the permission (he give him a ducat)
THE SUPERVISOR: With the sign of the ducat you can enter, if you want, to the cells of
the madmen. The hospital works as a clock. Certainly you can make experiments in
science.
THE DOCTOR: Yes.
THE SUPERVISOR: What therapy?
THE DOCTOR: to palpate the head (of the patient)
THW SUPERVISOR: If I understand, the Galla's system.
THE DOCTOR: yes.
THE SUPERVISOR: It is interesting the fact, that you is convinced that the head (brain) is
too mad.
THE DOCTOR: Oh! I see with my face the Lavatera's court.
THE SUPERVISOR: With the Esculapio's sight is not so clear. This young guy arrived
here, because the Caesar settled that must be mad. However, he comitted a mistake. This
young guy has fever, but his reasoning is health. More healthy than you, doctor, even me.
THE DOCTOR: Even?
THE SUPERVISOR: Ha! I imagined you, the Galla's little finger! Do you want, with sharp
words to fire tit for tat, and in order to learn about this young colorful in my head, do you
are able to affirm that I am a madman?
THE DOCTOR: Who knows? Allow me to smoke a haban cigar...
THE SUPERVISOR: I don't have fire. (He threws the dukat). To briefly! Dukat - my hand
bake.
THE DOCTOR: (he accepts the dukat and light the cigar and then give it to the
supervisor...)
THE SUPERVISOR: Oh! My God! This is a satanic art.
THE DOCTOR: It has taken place, reasoning man. Look! Dukat is cold as ice, is burn
because is red.
THE SUPERVISOR: What happens? Is it really mad? Is under the protection of The Holy
Virgin.
THE DOCTOR: Never look the dukat with the eyes of a reason. The dukat is an element.
THE SUPERVISOR: It is a truth. I must to get away, when I hear that the reason to make
pull a face (goes away)
THE DOCTOR: I drove him out, tomorrow he becames a madman. I am thinking about the
Dukat, now I expect that alone to talk with this young guy (he sat down on the Kordian's
bed)
THE SUPERVISOR: Who are you? My brother? My relative?
THE DOCTOR: I am quick temper.
KORDIAN: You must to knew that perhaps I was born today in the morning. Everyone said
that I am one in the world.
THE DOCTOR: They know you. Yet not everyone know me. I am alone enclosed with my
dagger.
KORDIAN: I want to drink! I have fever. I don't understand your words.
THE DOCTOR: Intensify! I cleary explain that I understand, but intensify firmly, firmly,
firmly!
KORDIAN: intensify... I know myself.
THE DOCTOR: At midnight I went out from the caesar's chamber.
KORDIAN: What did you do there?
THE DOCTOR: Ja! nothing - to water the flowers.
KORDIAN: What? The trees have a lot of ears, without tongues.
THE DOCTOR: Yes, maple... but others grows with leaves with little crosses as nails of
malta, others as a reed full of knees, and hollow, and caesar's son over the hollow knees
of reeds play how to learn.
KORDIAN: Why your words are clink and and rumble? Speak low... Do you know how to
pray?
THE DOCTOR: I know only one. How to push people to the battle.
KORDIAN: I don't want change my loud voice, ¿perhaps ungodly?
THE DOCTOR: this turkish pray, as a two- horne prince. With one horn kill the enemy.
With the second kill himself.
KORDIAN: It is necessary to strike the enemies?
THE DOCTOR: I know about this necessity... the nation die, why? Because the poet of the
nation have the content of the poem, and the poet waters the rhymes in order that a few
sparks of fire, among the ice, with the songs of angels and in the heaven sing. Look as the
poets valorate the forces of the tribe.
KORDIAN: No, in other form, to go from the sky to the earth.
THE DOCTOR: I understand. The angels's hymn in the poet is transfer. Sleep! The nation
perish because the poet sing.
KORDIAN: Silly! Speak about the Old Testament.
THE DOCTOR: The Pharao when was at the peak of the power. He dreams that seven fat
oxen and seven sikinny in fire.
KORDIAN: No! That wasn't the case.
THE DOCTOR: But it is true. Ask a question to the descendants of the graves.
KORDIAN: Speak of another subject. The Old Testament kill me. Aren't you a botanical?
THE DOCTOR: I demand a mystery, and trust that at all a new discovered a herb. It grows
at my window in knighty bye. In thousand ancient cities ashes. Soon, as I expect spend a
lot of donuts. How think million people, and then a beautiful rose, red as people's blood,
and then seed. In pod of a lot of contents, which break out with slam as a million of armies.
Are you delight? Your poetical eyes flare up shine.
KORDIAN: Is this plant blooming?
THE DOCTOR: Yes.
KORDIAN: Now?
THE DOCTOR: Yes, but the frost damage the plant. With a pot I covered it.
KORDIAN: You torment me, You bore me, You bit me, I am sleeping. Speak about the
flowers.
THE DOCTOR: There are three elements of reason. Three greats hyphens. Thanks to
them I was able to explain clearly the Holy Trinity. The unity of the hyphen, grow a large
number of meters. Whit a old endless, the definition has influence. And the relation
between them, he thinks, and makes a comparison, is a third element that compose it.
Without imagination the number of unity fall. Without qualification of beings the endless
disappears. And then one is equal to the second as the Father and the Son. Its relativity
bring life to the Holy Sprit. All of the three ideas are three - the reason.
KORDIAN: You fulfill my ears with an ocean of buzzing. I have fever. Listen to me man,
what sermonizes about the executioner?
THE DOCTOR: I will curate you... and now something about the world creation, the
creation of the human genre... the world in front of the people perish. The world is a nut in
a cloudy. God during six days created the world. In the first day, created the nation,
praying. This was the world but the nations were not created yet. In the second day, water
for eastern people. In the third day, as a greek tree grow the tribe. In the fourth day, from
the Sokrat mountain, was iluminated by the sun. In the fifth day, the roman eagles flies.
There were birds - from the fifht day the end. The night of the middle years, long, cloudy. In
the sixth day the man blank off God... Napoleon. In the seventh day, God hand to hand
take a rest after work, he does not create anything.
KORDIAN: Tears, mean! Every man, who dedicate his life for the freedom is a new man
created by God.
THE DOCTOR: Ha! Ha! A pottery freedom around today muddle up. You speak well, a new
road. A pottery pot.
KORDIAN: Created great men!
THE DOCTOR: You can see a flame of cool fever. You speak in general about the things.
KORDIAN: Listen to me! Speak sincerely, do you see a man? An angel? Suffering
becames a sacrifice. And die for the Saviour. As an example, the people who suffer.
THE DOCTOR: This man went here following my footmark. I call him.
(the will of two madmen. One of them, crossed his hands. The second, elevates his arms
upwards). You see two. They suffer for the people. (one of the madmen with his arms
makes a cross). Brothers! Tell me, who is this great man?
THE FIRST MADMAN: I am not a person. Long ago I am a cross. I was a cross in the
torment of Christ. One corpse approached to me. Instead of hobnails raises his hand as a
little boy, when he whimpers. I am a cross; when the Pope gives to the cross wood. Don't
believe! I have legs, hands. Nobody whipped me...
(with sadness he goes away)
God! Turn away this chalice of bitterness.
THE DOCTOR: You can see that he is devoted to the people.
KORDIAN: He goes mad!
THE DOCTOR: (to this madman who raises his hand). Who give you this exhorbitant
force?
THE SECOND MADMAN: Speak low! The sky ceiling azure, holding my hands, I covered
all the world. The sky, the sun, the white moon, they want to fall over the head of the
people; However, I am under the sky inclination of the ceiling. Weary, longing, sleeples, I
pray only for me, as a daily Saviour. I cover the people in front of a deluge... Sleep!
Goodnight (he goes away).
THE DOCTOR: And? This is a great man! He consecrated himself to the people.
KORDIAN: He is a mad man!
THE DOCTOR: Blasphemy in your mouth!
KORDIAN: You both are a madmen! You sprain your brain!
THE DOCTOR: How do you know who are not mentally ill? You wanted to kill a phantom
and consecrate himself to it. Oh! The golden fish in a crystal bowl. It is crash into a hard
brink with infinite boundaries; a little crystal in the open air, in which splash croaks. And all
of the world and its nothingness drown.
KORDIAN: I think.
THE DOCTOR: And then, the world is your thinks.
KORDIAN: I am suffering.
THE DOCTOR: Don't think.
KORDIAN: I cannot.
THE DOCTOR: You can think without think. You will a Saint in Estambul.
KORDIAN: Devil! You arrived to his hospital to kill my soul. The last treasure is the belief
that the ray is put out.
THE DOCTOR: Clay divine crumbles...
KORDIAN: Hopefully God snatchs your jaws (the Great Prince Constant arrived with his
soldiers and with his finger indicates Konrad)
THE GREAT PRINCE: Drive him to the calvary and death!
KORDIAN: The voice of the people, Oh! God deignant me. The death will liberate from this
man. (he shows the place from which the doctor disappeares) Where is? Where is?
THE GREAT PRINCE: Since (Kordian) was dressed with a uniform, drive him to the Saski
Palace (go out).
KORDIAN: Where is?
THE SOLDIER: The Great Prince waits.
.........................................................................
DIE EDDA. Eine sommlung altnördischer göttenlied Heldenlieder. URSCHRIFT mit
altnördischer emmerkungen, glossar und einleitung, altnördischer mythologie und gramatik
Herausgesbern von HERMANN LÜNING, Professor an der Cantonschule in Zürich Verlag
von Mexer&Zeller. 1859.
[3] VORBMERKUNG: Der mythus ist produkt des dichtens und glabens. Eine erscheinung
im Leben des guirte oder duch nur eine einzelme eigenshaft derselben macht auf des
menschen einen vindruk, der sich zu einem bestimment bilde gestastelt, und diesesbild
den dam menschen, abgleich aus ihm hervorgegangen, äusserlich als eine macht, als
eine gotthait entegegen. Ein solcher eindruck hat aber verschiende seiten, die sicht an den
bilde ausprägen. So entshelt eine reiche von mythen; in denen das erste allgemeine bild
immer mehr individualität gewint und dreses durch neue äusserungen, wordurch der
mytenkreis verhrmehrt wird, bethätigt. Se individuellen das bild sich gestalt hat, desto
weniger sind alle einzelmen züge besonders zu deuten; den individuum, auch da göttliche,
muss sich von allem durch lebensärungen bethätigen. Sind die mythenbilden wirklich aus
duchterisch schaftenden geiste hervorgegengen so lassen vie auch schon bei der ersten
unbefangen betrachtung einen enstchieden eindruck zurück und machen sich auf einen
gewissen grad verständlich, so jedoch, dass weiterns verständlich so jedoch dass vie
weiteres verständriss ahem lassen. Eines mythus erklärend und erklärend dorstellen, heist
angeben, von wo er ausghet, und wolin er sicht wendet. Er peht aus dem gegenstand hat
dan vorauf er ausgeht, ist dieser eindruck selbst, der gedanke un die emfindung, welche
die erscheindung Servogerufen hat, aber bildlich gestatelt, d.h. gedanke un bild in
untrenbahrer einheit. Zu masvoller helenischen schönheit ist diese gegenseitige
durchdringung in den altnordischen mythenbildern achleradings näht gediechen; den bilde
invohrende gedanke und bild zu in unternnbander einheit. Zu vollen helenischer schönheit
ist diese gegenseitige auch durchdringung inden altnordischen mythelbildern allerdings
nicht gediehen, der gedanken eigene schranklosigkeit und bewegleicht bei Dadurch wind
das bilds weniger plastish nicht tielinniger [34] In dem mytherbindern macht sich der
volkgeist dan was er en sicht ist, für sich gegenständlich; das leben der götter ist der
höhere abplanz und zugleich die einheit der lebens der natur und menschen. Gesemheit
der myterbilden ist also das wissen des volksgeistes von sich selbst und des menschen.
Die gesamentheit der mytenbilder. Ist also die vissen des volkesgeistes von der dingen
ausser ihm, also die gessammenheit seines wissens uberhäupt. Glauben und wissen sind
eins. Diese z. Gesammenheit muss sich nun als ein organischen ganzes darstellen und
quedern. Für die altnordische mythenwelt gestaltet sich diese gliederung, nach meiner
anschauung, auf weise:
I. Schöpfung und naturleben (J AJ 13)
1. Himmel und erde (f1-d5)
2. Naturkräfte und elementar geister (γb -S11)
3. Der Weltgame (S 12 - 1-12)
II. Götterlieder (14-58)
A strange voice: in a weird place - a changing room - a group of men - and a woman. She
undressed and showed her big breasts - they took charge of wetting the victim's clothes
with alcohol. He died and his mouth open in a horrible way. In Caballito, the female beast
and her son. Monica came from Santa Rosa. In a pub. A formality - or to meet Casimir, the
selfish pig. The nickname (the female beast) Pipistrilo. And in the closet everything was in
disarray. There was no meeting. On the phone: I am not his partner. In Santa Rosa nothing
happened. An enigma. Casimir was a rag ball. A machine of systematic abuse. Casimir's
escape from the home. Broke the report card. The female beast: where do you throw it? At
night and the mistake. To the Dagrossi's home. Embraced.The moon illuminates them. If
we kissed themselves we would whores. Nothing at all. The return to the home. During the
night of walking there and overthere, panic. They called to the police. Tomorrow in the
newspaper - dead or alive - finally he returned. The female beast saw his «son». She ran
quickly to huge him, crying. Why do you cry? I cry with joy! Don't mortify him! A teacher.
For hunger there is no hard bread. Beautiful young women in the 20th floor. If something is
in disorder, throw it!
II. Götterleben (14-58)
1.Entwiklung des auslebens (γ 14-4 49)
A.Allvater, die asen als macht der selbewussteins (14 lös 18)
B. Odins durchdringende macht des geistes (19 - 49)
C.Odins dusströrungen (23-49)
a.Odins frauen (l 23-27)
b.Odins söhne (28-43)
α.Thor, der schirmer der erde (38-36)
β.Die erhelter der sittlichen weltordrang (39-42)
γ.Vider, der untergang überlebende (43)
c.Odin als urquel den höheren streberg in menschen (53-63)
2.Verbindung der asen und venem: höhste afurcklung des götterlebens (50-53)
b. Gegensatz im aussheben selbst (54-57)
III.Untergang und wiedergeburt (c) (56-63)
1.Nothwendigkeit und vorzeichen das untergangs (59-60)
2.Der untergang (61-62)
3.Ernuerung (63)
1) Dass 2.6. Thor einem rüstigen appetit hat, ist begreslich und so vergeist er, obgleich als
bräufliche Freya verkleidet, bei thym 1 achsen und trinkt einer mehr da zu (Hemrsch 24).
Wie billig, wonder sich (35) der riese der appetit seiner vermeichlichen braut; er würde sich
noch mehr wundern, wenn er bei Fian Magrussen läse, dass damit die 12 morate (1+8 + 3
= 12) gemain sein!
2)Nämlich soweit unsere kenntniss der mythenbilder es gestalttet, und wo es sich eine
übersichichte darstellung handelt. Dur Furscher nürste naturlich in entgesetzen waser
verfehrum un überall von einselnen ausgehen. Die hier ausgestelat eintseheilung des
system, wenn man will soll einerseits den eine vorlatige über sicht den leser eine
verlachtige übersicht der stroffes der altnordischer götterwelt auf einen bliak darstellen un
ihm dadurch die beutleitung des ganzen wie da einzelmen begumer machen. Das zu
ganzen allein und absolut richtig; ich wollte nicht einem möglichst kurzen einfachen und
zerhachen zu müssen. Die panaprophenthilung schien notwendig um is der erhäuferrder
ammerkungen begumer darauf werweisen zu Können.
I. Schöpfung und Naturleben
Das chaos. Im enfang war Ginnungogoϸ. Unafägliche liegt Niti-a heim, indessen mitte der
brunnen Unantängliche enstringt. Aus der sütsente von ginungagoϸ liegt die jevevelt...
In a certain place - a lot of cocks standing. Every ass is a temple. Fecal matter gets on the
bus. Full of excrement. Goes to work. And the woods are too far away. Eva Duarte works
at the Balseiro Institute. The vagina is the reduction of what is human. In ARGENTINA
everything was different. Sex inside a bush. Trembling when there is a big cock in the
mouth. And the moral filth. The horrid work of administering the necrological bags.
Draining pestilence through the pores. Everyone drools. Malvinas - a mass rape, an
epileptic attack? At ENP N° 2 Mariano Acosta, a student. The first attack - fell and began to
tremble. Someone said: he is having fun.The second attack at the moment when the
pupils were leaving school. An electric guitar in its black box and a rosary - a coffin. The
third in ATC. And with that dyslexic baggage he went to the Malvinas. In Jordan Park a kid
of about 7 years old stood next to a public toilet almost naked to shit. His cock was about 5
cm long. He looked at an adult person - a mixture of stupidity with eyes of desire - the
adult man approached and bent down. He put a cold cock in his mouth. He got scared and
called his mother. Another reaction (perhaps) in the case of a 11 years old girl.
Muspell wo alles flammt und brennt, dass niemand, der da nicht heimish ist, dort flournt
wohen kann. Ander der gränze dieses landes setzt Jurt mit flammenden, die götter
besiegen and die ganze welt in flammen verberen [tell my somenthing about your family]
1)In E p. 3ft; γin D. 4.5. Erinnungen gap i gîne, göhnen, klaften. Das odj. grinn ist alt nur in
zussammensetrungen üblich, ginnerheiliger, gineregin.
2)Niftheim, nebewelt. Huergelnir, besselreuschen; gelnir nicht für gelmir (v. gomnel, olf),
sondern zu wgl. ahot. ealen klang, braver.
3)Ehivâgar (oder éli?) sturnfunhten. Die namen darselben in Grinn, 26-28 und in Sn E, p.9
(D.4) stimmen nicht ganz überein; sie drüken költe, haftige oewegung, brausen, plönzen,
etc. aus.
4)Mûspel, euch mûspellsheim, ahd mûsβilli, elts pilli mudspelli, weltvenichtung; mud Coltn.
mund α, hond. agls, hand, schutz, munbane schütter schism, jeste, welt so Könne zu Hel.
5175. Der unendliche [36] raum, költe und feuer (dunkel und licht), sind glechsam die
elemente der Welt.
5)Völ 51 Jutr und Jurti, der schwerze schwar vom brande, en vermichtender fuerrisa, nicht
etwa eine schlaffende gothat de fevers oder der lichten.
Z Ymir Als die Ehiveror weit genug von ihren ursprung enterrt waren der Gifstron ihnen
erstreinte, da wurde dieser zu si, der nebel legte sich darüber und gefrar zu zeit, un o
häute sich eine loge über die an der nord seite südseite eine war kerm und licht von der
emspellheim herüberfliegenden funken. Und die bradten lebenskneft in das zerschzende
vis, und 2. daraus wörde ein gebilde. Ymir schielf, er du zu schwitzen: da wuchs ihm
stammer die hrirtuoser ab. Sein sohr ist Thrugelmin und dessen sohn Begehin.
1) In E p. 3 γf; lim D5-Vgl p. 31.35.
2)Ẏmir, heuler, benusser, ĝuja, Leulen, brausen. Aurgelmir, v. dur n. Schlarn.
3) Schone eigelbilde sind hainer organischen fortpfazung cforden nur einer äusserlich
uerhrung fälig. Prûðgehmir þúð (in þrûðugr) þrûhemnar etc.) stark, dieht für Bergehmin für
bergehir?
Erschaft der Welt Als das aufhaute und sholz. 1.entstad die Audhumia, von dern mil Ymir
sich nährte. Die 2. kuh aber nährte sich dur dan belechen der solagen ensblöcke. An den
Steiner hervor, am nächsten ein haupt, der dritten tag war en ein 3. ganzer mann, schön
angesicht, gross und stark; der hierss Busi sein sohn aber Bör. Dieser vermöhlte sich drei
söhne, Odin, vill und Ve. Diese drei söhne Börs tödhaten der Ymir, warfen ihn mitten in
bingegog und der fleische die erde, aus den krohen die berge, aus fer Zähen die steine,
aus dem volkes strens setzen, sie vier ecken dasselben zwerge. Austri Vestri. Nordri,
Sudni [37] Die erde is heisprund und rigsmahr segt das fiese welfmeer. Hängs der
seeküsten gaben Bör söhne den rieses Vohnungen, und nach innen rings un die erde...
Something strange happened in the distant river of Las Palmeras. In one of the rooms of
the holiday recreation. A teenager with a 6-year-old boy. He pulled down his underwear
and placed his cock in his ass. There was not pentration. This was repeated several times.
The victim rejected the proposal of fellatio in ore. Why did take so long? The father of the
teenager. Time passed. In a park, the loss of anal virginity. Nothing happened for a long
time. In the primary school sexual games. In te secondary scholl - Lagrotta, his ass and
the green color his pants. Nothing at all. In the military service nothing happened. In the
Palomar sexual fantasies. A maldujsted personality. One of worst military unit. The time
bomb exploded in an inappropiate place. Bisexual privates. Many cocks standing.
Masturbation in the showers thinking about the big cock of the expert. Outside the quarters
sex with woman, homosexuals and shemales. In his aparment. The doorkeeper was
frown. In Poland, everything is online and paid for. Going out on Saturday for a walk down
Szlak Street - the street of the whores. Paid sex. And if the street prostitution disappered,
virtual porn. B.KOMAR warmed me up. I want her dirty. In the bathroom. Her fecal matter
is a cock.
KORDIAN - in the Vatican. The Pope is sitting in his chair with golden shoes.
THE SWISS: Count Kordian, a Pole!
THE POPE: Welcome descendant of Sobieski
(he pulls out his foot. Kordian kneels and kiss it)
Does Poland must experiment always grace of the heaven? Thanksgiving (Day) for this
happy country. Because the Zar as an angel with crown of olives. For the Catholic faith
which is hidden: we must to pray hosanna...
THE PARROT: (hard and hoarse) Miserere!
KORDIAN: As a gift for you, Father, a holy relic, cupped hand of the earth when thousand
bashed, grandfather, elders and women... neither the ofiara provided with eucharist bread
in front of death. To keep the gifts - dear zar - as a change one tear...
THE PARROT: Lacryma Christi...
THE POPE: (with the laugh of a parrot, waving his scarf) Away Luter! However said: Did
where were son of Poloniae, in the Peter's building, in the Circus, in the Pantheon? I warn
you, you must to be in the Basilica for sick people, because a new singer arrived from
Africa. Give me Fezki... tomorrow from the majestic I give you Rome and the world, look at
that: all of the people under the cross. Pray, Poles for the zar...
KORDIAN: but the cupped hand of the bloody earth nobody bless it.
THE PARROT: De profundis clamavi! clamavi!
THE POPE: (a mix up of smile he attempted cover the parrot and round up the parrot)
Away Satan! From the pastoral tiara the dammed animals, birds they moved. Wretched
Luter, the soul do penance, full of provers ergo, because, one time with the curtain
covered took place a discussion with the Cardinal [¿What does it mean thousand times an
argentine death? Aramburu. It was obligatory in the scholls. Long live death! Astray
means: to go through the bad way]. The answer was written with a fountain pen. The
parrot rejected the answer of the blind man. At the end kill him with the hebrew language
(sic!): Pappè satan! pappè satan! aleppè! What a silly creation! Sometimes God permits
that the weak Goliath with the aid of the reason knock him down. My son, go to your
nation. And he lost the fire of Jacobins' embryo. Take the psalterium and the radel, ora et
labora.
KORDIAN: (throwing to the air the cupped hand of the earth)[Eva Duarte alone.
Methamorphosen von Richard Strauss] (My hands to the four winds; the ashes of the
martyr). Whit tainted mouth I will return of the country...
THE POPE: to the defeat Poles I will throw my curse. The faith as a olive wood. And the
people under its darkness live.
THE PARROT: Halleujah!
(Kordian go out)
KORDIAN: (alone, his arms crossed on his chest, he stands on the peak of the mount
Blanc [Aconcagua])
That is the peak, I fear to watch the dark earth. I look... Oh! under the foots the sky and
over the head, the sky. I am locked in a crystal ball; if of this needle flows from me, above
in the sky, I don't feel that flow. Hence the black winds think about the world and its
expansion. Silence! to hear how the ice wipes. The human pray in the road of ice.
Thoughts flow from God. And the rubbish sound of the people die out, and the sound of
the thought flows further. This the first perishes if the sky is blocked. And this crystal was
broken. The fragments flow towards the blue sky. And the stars scape to a unknown
country. And they dissappears as if it hadn't happened. I try, I sigh and I die... (he looks
down) Oh! I remember the nation of graves! The clouds, the ice's needles. And a black
stain - this is the sea. With my powerful eye I open it. I want to see the man. Overthere the
circle of the one needle circulates as a funeral ring in the ice. From the crack flows the
river. Every hell fly and fall in the sea. I am the dowry of the man, of the world. Oh! the
think of the mountain [Eva Duarte]. Stand in the people's thought as a pyramid. The
thougth incarnated. To think, yes. And not wanting? Dishonour! Shame! To think, yes.
Without forces? This is the hell. I can with my force pour my heart, and the crowd leaked
and the heart is overflowing over the coast and the river flows under the throne to knock
down it? Are you able to move the avalanche of ice with your head or the front? Are you
able to move the stars over the building as God in the day of creation? Yes, I can (with an
expression of discourage). It is no better to throw it to the avalanche's crack? (calm and
then eagerness). The emotion after the fall of the roads... I buy the bitter kisses of women.
The childish faith fall in the Pope's threshold. Nothing, nothing, nothing. In the blue air
bathem myself... and came to life. And I feel the life! But thinks are enormous burn. I have
a beautiful dowry. However, I do not have a lamp. With the fire of all of stars, on my head
is a crown. In the blue spheres of the sky, the body will melt as a marble, as ice light up.
And then, as a beautiful fairy tale. I will go through the world and I can swear on the front
of thousand stars and in the eyes thousand. With the sound of the dowry, the emotion of
the nations are expand and inspire the people and in the hearth as a thought strike. As a
God's miracle... No, the great think from the peak is visible. The knight's soul emerged of
ice. [Manuel Belgrano] spears the enemies. People! Belgrano is with us. Argentina is the
Belgrano of the Nations! In the sky clouds, wind, birds! (the cloud has a ice's needle)
THE CLOUD: sit down in the needle. Here is Argentina. Act now!
KORDIAN: ARGENTINOS!
THE YOUNG SATAN 44
The times of a nation that had no equal. You can masturbate anywhere. Whores have
been and gone - hard science, seeing a woman with a dog. The cock standing, There are
dirty and abandoned forts in the forests. Sex is paid for with a salary, not a state
allowance. I got nothing in Poland. Cursed nation. They go home, open the door. Her
family and a pusillanimous. In hotels, neither. Putting a vibrator in the ass. The pursuit of
pleasure and emotional immaturity. Dirty shoes and and a librarian a pair of broken shoes.
The clown must be killed. Kill and be killed. Hyena. I don't love you anymore. The
grandmother. Evil granny. Anal toilets and the arithmetic of perversion. Ass sucking,
buttock opening in the matrix.Intelligence is secondary. Being a woman, I have a VAGINA
between my legs. Motherhood in a place far from abnormal noise. Everyone has some
property. A brick wall. Behind it a village and a hideout. The book you gave me does not
interest me. Mature women often visit the sex shop. Everyone runs. B. KOMAR is an
infectious disease caused by feces. Lives far away and takes care of her cats. Night sex
with them. Walking frog. A group of niggers. Come here to fight! During the night sleeps in
an abandoned car. One young woman said: this boy escapes. Jestem napaloną suką! My
ass itches. I scratch it. Drink my milk! Casimir's and his wound under the eye due a strong
hit with the fist. His mother (te beast female): This pipskeak knows how to strike. Another
case: the reprimand. Casimir asked: please, short. Such much evil cannot be forgiven. In
Buenos Aires - enterprise GTE. The young cadet [62] worked in black. One of the workers:
you are a martian. Another worker (woman): Aramburu murdered people. The young cadet
- private - with uniform. Don't let him get killed in a war - one employee. The kicked you
out! The female beast crying. One beautiful girl in the office. Nothing. [62] a rigid face. You
make me angry! En Pologne,il y a des gents qui ne méritent pas d'exister. The officers
watch pornography and the wifes laugh and shit themselves. In Poland is Esterka[Έтαῖρα].
Syphilis is my weapon...
PARALIPOMENA:
The prepararation:
31 December 1799 Night
Hut of the famous witch Twardowski in the Carphats. Near to the hut is a quarter. The
witch. She combs her hairs.
THE WITCH: From the ill stars, from the hairs combed. The sparks fall. He watchs the
Devil.
THE DEVIL: What time is it?
THE WITCH: What?
SATAN: The hour, that one man two times i his life, can hears.
THE WITCH: Strike. From the flash of Babilonian tower. And it will strike and the deaf will
be hear. Where are your fellows? Sloth rush. The turtle goes out.
THE DEMON: Show me the the harrow, show me it! I'm crying. I know the Twardowski's
harrow. He combed me as a dog. I sat down. The guests are invited me to the Łysa Góra.
(the witch go out)
The Devil calls for the Satan, (ten times and ten thousand fall)
From the sky fall as rain Satan. If in the earth the tree of Eden grows the fruit. The man
eats it. Sit down! Don't you se Mephistofeles?
ASTAROTH: I visited the grave of my friend. Near to the tomb, prays.
THE DEVIL: I am sweet and devout, as a poet... but the moon eclipsed twice. This is the
time to act.
THE DEMON: What is the order?
THE DEVIL: to watch the circle of the age's clock. With the children's blood the last rit and
the spring. Let srike clearly the years, days an hours. Bring me the clock. Does it work
properly?
ASTAROTH: All the circles, all the wires, govern the age. Hostia and Leviathan. ¿Do you
remember Tell and Calvin?
THE DEVIL: enough of descriptions. Astaroth, Gehenna, the most terrible encore as
advisory of the government, when the clock strikes begin the ages, the years, the days.
(The clock strikes and the demon counts)
Absolutely, absolutely, absolutely! The snake of eternity in the circle. With the poisoned
tooth chewes. To remind the people who died. I saw your beginning. The chaos of the
corpse and on the grave are bones.
GEHENNA: King, the age of age XIX.
THE DEMON: Astaroth. Let count the years, perhaps this with the cover of the God. They
want to support the earthly nation. Perhaps the age which was reduced with one year.
Perhaps stolen the hours, the days from the Devil. And then remind God or a rebellious
regiment expands. On me and in the battle against the enemy.
ASTAROTH: Eight hundred years stroke.
THE DEVIL: And then the torture's circle moves around. When the tooth trips. Every
hoarfrost swarms. The lightning lasts more than all of the days. The torment for the world.
In every year as a snail glided lazy, for the paupers, for the silly lovers of the hope. The
sailor is ill. The philosopher thinks profoundly. And he fall in the pit. he got up and watched
– darkness, darkness, darkness! Hossana for the Demons. This is the song of Churches's
organs.
(Mephistofeles go out)
Our Demon predicts Voltaire.
THE DEMON:
Mephistofeles, you can not able to find among silently German doctors. And in the
mountains in Switzerland where is Manfred too. And then drive the soldier crazy.
MEPHISTOFELES: It is difficult! The soldier is a fish and he has reason and the skill to
tempt the Demon with the help of a lantern.
THE DEVIL: Listen to me! The great day is approaching. Go there, where the royalty has
askwed swords as a moon with two faces – the Devil's horn with the shape of a cross.
Help them. They will fight. They have the ancestors's graves. They think about the hour of
the revenge. This nation grows, wins and dies. The sword breaks the thinking.
B.KOMAR is a mare wet nurse. She likes sex under a dirty horse. A weird fact has took
both in Buenos Aires and in Toay. A «work». The face of the female beast looks as a face
of a leper. Red color. And her lips was stuck up. The Casimir's elbow was overblown. Who
was the perpetrator? Olga Ponfil – the godmother [WENDA]. In Caballito – in the
apartment during the night, a masculine voice said: That's right. A group of soldiers walking
in the place without balcon. Casimir was far away. He returned to Buenos Aires. The
grandmother during the night said: in the living is all in disorder. Nothing at all. Casimir
walks through the corridor. With his finger marks a place in the floor. Here was the Devil!
1828. (James Park in London – night – Kordian is near a tree. Near the Westminster)
THE WANDERER:
In the island are abandoned palaces. I escape to the commune. The people drinks and
the smoke of coal and watched the shops. And this garden in London. It was the age of
childhood dreams which construct the capital of the earth. The reality is nude.
(an Italian town. A garden and Wiolleta – a very beautiful woman)
WIOLLETA: Mio caro...What does it mean?
KORDIAN: Near to the door they are believers. But wealth in the love is slight as a
spectre. I give you this brilliant. Today the hearth is divided into two.
WIOLLETA: Oh! Where is the key?
KORDIAN: Stand! Stand! My life. Yesterday in order to delay the property's break up. With
your brilliants I play in the table. I lost everything.
WIOLLETA:
(with anger and tears)
Oh! Oh! I am unhappy. You ran out my jewels. You lost both my hearth and the jewels!
KORDIAN: The horse is waiting for me.
WIOLLETA: Go to the hell!
KORDIAN: Go with me!
WIOLLETA: My dear, I am going with you (on horseback together)
KORDIAN: The horse is unchained.
WIOLLETA: Unchained?
KORDIAN: Yes.
WIOLLETA: Adan's snake! Fuck off Kordian!
KORDIAN: I will collect gold in the place where the tears fall. Goodbye for ever!
WIOLETTA: Let the gangster with revolvers steal you. Let the hunger kills you.
Meanwhile B.KOMAR sucks the big cock of a filthy horse. Ejaculates. I open my mouth to
drink its milk. She warmed me up. I want her dirty. Standing cock. Orgasms...
However, for some, the war was our passage into adulthood, our deflowering as
conspicuous, well groomed and smelly virgins. All the defects would be buried in the
Malvinas peat. Each severed limb, each frozen corpse would be a vote for the salvation of
the «national being». And to close the circle: All the drama was so, so far away! Thus the
cries of pain, the roar of battle, the noise and the smell of death, would not disturb the
delicate ears of our patriots on parade day. The war would be a recreation of the feat of
independence and with the respective touching touch:
Buenos Aires 24/4/1982 May this chocolate sweeten you a little on cold days in the
Malvinas. «Greetings from a 7-year-old future soldier. Thank you for defending my
country»
Gustavo Gabriel Vidal
When we heard that this little letter appeared in a chocolate sold at a kiosk in Comodoro
Rivadavia, we received a warning. And what about maturity? And what about adult
Argentina? Perhaps we tried to be like the centaurs, creators of the pending victory, and
we stuck with the poor performance of Ray Bradbury's little Martians, attacking the
earthlings and dying like flies, intoxicated with sausages and mustard. The pedagogy of
rigor had not yielded good results, quite the opposite. June 14 meant, among other things,
the birth of the 1982 complex, from which, according to General Beaufre, poisonous fruits
emerged but, unlike the French strategist, they were fruits of the defeat amplified by the
monster of self-denigration that we supposed was annihilated on April 2 and that was
taught in all consciences. The hydra grew for the simple reason that defeat can hurt less
when it is decentered with respect to its fair proportions. Annihilating oneself and at the
same time magnifying the capabilities of the opponent, unbalances the equation in our
favor, minimizing anguish and frustration.
THE GRANDMOTHER [Velmiro Ayala Gaúna] On the side of the ravine of "Los Patos"
lived the Maidanas. Near and far from the town at the same time. Near to intervene in their
activities, weigh in on their disputes and enjoy their joys, and far away, to keep their
rebellions alive and defy, under the protection of the forest and the estuary, the authority or
their enemies. The ranch and the surrounding countryside were their fiefdom. For a long
time, that region was theirs and they dictated their law there and imposed it with courage
and at the point of a knife But that time had already passed. Battles and fights were
decimating the men who died faithful to their ancestral code: "a lo macho, a lo Maidana."
Crisanto Maidana, the grandfather, had fallen with Berón de Astrada in Pago Largo. When
his sons searched for his body, the day after the disaster, they only found the decapitated
trunk that they piously buried at the foot of a thorn tree. Rito Maidana, one of the sons,
seriously wounded in Vences, had bled to death on his faithful horse with which he had
tried to return and which, when its owner fell lifeless, remained motionless next to the
corpse for a long night; another, Segundo Maidana, was torn apart by shrapnel in the
trenches of Curupaity and Andrés, the youngest, died fighting over a woman, at the exit of
a dance. When the Paraguayans descended from Corrientes under the command of
General Robles, a group of three soldiers arrived one night at the Maidanas ranch where
only Ña Emeteria, Segundo's wife remained, who had fled with other Corrientes residents
to harass the invaders from the mountains. Seeing her alone, the soldiers wanted to abuse
her, but Ña Emeteria, taking down a knife that her husband had left her, defended herself
so bravely that she seriously wounded one man and so terrified the other two that they
fled, taking the wounded man with them, but not before setting fire to the hut, which
burned on all four sides. With the help of her neighbors, the woman built a new room about
three hundred meters from the place "to be close to the estuary where her husband had
hidden." The burnt walls could still be seen coming from the village as silent witnesses of
his feat. Only Ña Emeteria lived on the ranch, strong and tough, in her late fifties, and a
couple of grandchildren, whom her only son, Santos, had brought from the Capital to raise
"Maidana style", without ever telling her the name or the fate of their mother. Months. Later
he learned, from the commissioner, that his Santos "had killed a man and a woman and
had gone to Chaco." She, who was grinding corn in the yard, listened impassively to the
news and continued beating the grain indifferently. Rosa, the little woman, grew up
handsome and diligent; she was the right arm of the house and the one who, with her
work, maintained what little remained of the farm. Santito, on the other hand, worried her.
He was good and loved her, but he liked leisure more than work. He hated riding and
manly tasks. He avoided arguments and turned a deaf ear to taunts. Despite being
eighteen years old, he rarely went to the grocery store, he didn't carry a knife and he didn't
have a girlfriend.-Let's see if I've turned out to be a faggot! - the old woman sometimes
thought. But he immediately reacted:-No, it's a Maidana in appearance!... It's only a bit
soft, but time will mature it.. A tallow candle placed on a bottle was in the middle of the
room. Sitting at the table, Ña Emeteria rolled cigarette after cigarette, while she waited for
her grandchildren to return, who had gone to a dance in the village. Santito had not
wanted to go at first, but his sister insisted so persistently that she finally overcame his
resistance. The grandmother had also said:-You have to go... It's time for her to have a
boyfriend, otherwise she'll be left here to dress saints...-But, grandma!... - Rosa tried to
protest.-What grandma or grandma!... If you already have your worst, it's nothing, my
daughter...-And no! -the brother intervened- for the Three Kings' Day I was with Zenón,
clinging to the estate by her skirt like a tick...-I left there with that brute... He's more of a
jerk than I know what else... - said the girl and entered the next room.
Ña Emeteria remembered the scene and smiled when, suddenly, she was surprised by the
violent entrance of the girl who screamed panting:-Grandma...grandma!... Zenón left And?-Santito stood in front of him and there they were fighting... The old woman sighed
with relief Fighting?... My grandson finally proves to be Maidana! - But suddenly he
remembered: - Fighting?... And with what?... If Santos doesn't carry a knife? And right
there, taking the deceased husband's knife down from the wall, she ran out to take it. He
was cutting across the field, stumbling and falling, his hand closed on the dagger. Near the
shack he heard laughter and moans. Fear placed its icy hand on his heart.-I hope they
haven't killed him, poor thing! - she implored.-He passed through the door of the ruined
room and saw him, kneeling in the middle, imploring, while, at his side, Zenón mercifully
restrained him with a rod. Seeing the old woman, the man stopped his punishment.
The woman approached her grandson and offered him the knife.-Take this, my son,
defend yourself! But, Santito, hugging his knees, moaned:-No, grandma, he's going to kill
me! And he pressed himself like a fearful lamb against her skirt.-Ha!... What's he going to
defend himself if he's a faggot!... - Zenón mocked and spat contemptuously. The insult hit
the old woman like a slap. The memory of all the Maidanas who had died heroically
flashed through her mind and she imagined how they would despise this descendant who
did not know how to honor his surname. Then, with the knife she had in her hand, the
same one she had used to drive away the Paraguayans who had tried to desecrate her,
she struck her grandson hard on the head, causing him to faint. Then, terrible as one of
the Furies, he said to the man:-And come on, you bastard, defend yourself!- Bah! I don't
fight with women... - Zenón replied and looked for the door. But in front of her, with a
dagger in her hand, was Ña Emeteria.-Let me through, you crazy old woman!... But a
fierce blow threw him against the wall. Furious, he pulled out his weapon and in the
shadows, barely illuminated by a yellowish moon, the singular duel took place. Ña
Emeteria seemed to have rejuvenated. She moved dexterously and agilely, and her steel
was marking red lines on the offender's face. Zeno initially limited himself to defending
himself, but then, seeing his life in danger, he threw himself into the kill The old woman
sensed the blow and stepped aside, catching the tip of the knife from the man who, carried
away by the momentum, stabbed himself with the blade. A jet of blood escaped from his
mouth and he fell lifeless next to the offended man. Ña Emeteria pulled the knife out of her
chest and knelt beside her grandson. The voices of the people who seemed to be coming
to her aid were already reaching her. Her calloused hand sought Santito's heart and,
without hesitation, she sank the knife in up to the hilt. Then he ripped it out with a blow and
threw it between both bodies. When the neighbors arrived, led by Rosa, they found Ña
Emeteria, standing next to the door.-There they are! -he said- ... Both dead...-Dead!... Rosa moaned-.
Poor little Saint!-Poor boy, no! -the old woman thundered- because he died in his law... "a
lo macho, a la Maidana"... The neighbors carried the grandson's body on a poncho and
took him to the ranch. At the front of them, hard and cold, marched the old woman.
The female beast: What a Grandmother!
Poland has me fed up. Where is there a black man to fuck me? I am an expert in the art of
shitting. B.KOMAR.
Where is a cock to suck? Where is a pussy to fuck? A worthy mother teaches to her
daughter how to suck the cock properly. My mother is a whore. I am proud of her.
Daniel Kon's book, The Boys of War, in my opinion, is a subjective and emotional
reconstruction of the war event. It focuses on the negative aspects, the degradation of the
individual victim of the tension of war, the animalization of his attitudes, the relationship
with his superiors marked by hatred, distrust and servility, and in general everything that
highlights the painful situation of an adolescent soldier. It gives a partial version,
emphasizing the individual, the relationship between man and soldier; soldier and war. But
the story takes place in an uncertain terrain, barely limited by a superficial toponymy, in a
land of nightmares without precise limits, circular, chaotic, absurd. Sprinkled with selfpitying assessments, the story requires a considerable effort from the reader to draw a
conclusion that goes beyond the agreed dogma: the atrocity of war. Indeed, every text is
plausible for multiple readings, only some are easier than others due to the dynamics and
style. In the work under consideration, the simplest thing is to let oneself be carried away
by the chaos, trying – through emotional memory activated – to reconstruct individual
experiences and to feel compassion for the senseless accumulation of suffering. However,
there is another interpretation that is less sentimental, but more pragmatic than rhetorical
self-pity: to translate into the proposals the structural deficiencies that arise from the
testimonies. Thus, hunger becomes a lack of logistics. The soldier who instructs another,
in operational deficiencies and in the field of personnel. In this way, a list of errors
committed can be drawn up.
KORDIAN PARALIPOMENA:
MEPHISTOFELES: King, let me to search the Devil's psalterium. The pray everyday and
the resurrection. Speak about that nation. Today is the first age's day. Today we have the
right to create kings and paupers. In the river – the current age. And then for that nation we
create dignitaries in order to block up every government into a hole. And when it force
grows, this nation in the old skin will have a parchment on the forehead.
THE DEVIL: A good advice, you will be the king. We create a government for the people.
Call the Witch...
(The Devil give a order, and the Demons work)
Elements of earth and land, are close in the glass that decant and was broken by the
chemists. To decant coal's gas, sauerkraut in the platinum's boiler. Blow souls!
(A thunder strikes in the boiler)
In the earth's elements throw the pin to the corporal with a little head draw plans,
dismisses kings and throw four thousand pins to the church.
THE DEVlL: And nothing more?
THE DEMON: Nothing.
THE DEVIL:What happens with the corporal's common sense?
THE DEMON: Nothing.
THE DEVIL: Finished.
THE DEMON: Old as lark, freezed under a reminds's brick, a half freezed, go to the top.
Poet, Knights, Old men – nothing. They are nine Febo's sultans. A eunuch.
THE DEVIL: We must to speed up the work because in the Cracow's towers I listen the
bell and the pray of the peasants. In the air flows the cathedral's incense.
THE WITCH: Your work is damm. The Devil's gale speaks. From my hut hair's of head
combed. Do the mass's sacramental bread was on the roof? The people are unable to find
it the sunday's mass.
THE DEVIL: Silence, blindworm! The time is running. We must to construct – together – a
lot of great things. According to the order – throw them in the melting-pot. The core
remains on the Onfalia's melting-pot. From the Hercules's humid blood among his fingers
grows by force the knights's fingers.
THE DEMON: The crowd flies over the earth as a cloud.
THE ARCHANGEL: In the ancient times one of the stars of eternal building. She went mad
in the road. she died. I felt my hearth striking with fear. As the bird's hearth touched the
cavern. And in front of Jehova's throne. And God said using creative words: The people's
blood. On the stars's ashes as a carpet with rays: God, God, God! The feather's wings
were bloody. I saw, I saw! From the fathers's sins in the grave is the tribe. The people fall,
the stars are extinguished. The people fall. Take the following matter. The blood and the
tears is fairly well. God said: My will be done.
Every ass is a temple. Iöryγ
A CHOIR OF ANGELS: The earth is a stain. In the eternity is blue. And God with his finger
pour in it life as a Adan's dowry.
An excellent example of psychosocial dislocation was the pamphlet entitled «Reflections
on the military», which circulated clandestinely - it was banned - among the cadets of the
Military College of the Nation. From its reading, it can be inferred that the distortion of the
military profession in Argentina 1970-1985 reached a decidedly insane level. Let us now
look at the following concept: 'The mere fact that a soldier wonders about the meaning of
the «military» implies a difference with ordinary people (sic!). Because most of them
complete their lives without ever having thought about the true meaning of their existence
and, therefore, without having more than superficial reasons for why they have taken one
path or another' The division, the perverse endogroup vision, is clearly evident. On one
side, the common people (the plebs, perhaps?). On the other side, the 'soldiers', the only
ones with the capacity to reflect on the ethical and metaphysical problems of human
existence. However, in our country, in our Argentina of the 20 th century, with the validity of
compulsory military service (legal validity), these «soldiers» have to lead, both in peace
and in war, these common people. But, is leading the appropriate term? Wasn't it a
principle established in our 'Exercise of Command' regulations, that the first responsibilities
of the Chief were, first of all, the fulfillment of the mission and then the well-being of his
men. Were not cadets, future officers, taught that 'the military leader must know how to
look into the hearts of his soldiers, in order to correctly assess what can be expected of
them at a given moment', that no leader can become a strategist if he does not first know
his men, and that the great military leaders of all times have been characterized by the
extraordinary virtue of knowing how to reach the hearts of their subordinates.
This was the discourse. The other was the discourse of «reflections», which was based on
the consistent division of society. Understand well: divide and not distinguish. The
deformation of the military profession in Argentina is palpable. A profession that overdimensioned its functions and transfigured its intimate nature in such a way that in the long
run it became grotesque. The roots of this illness lie at the beginning of the 20 th century,
when the brand new mechanism of compulsory military service was beginning to be
lubricated. The «'breadbasket of the world» required disciplined laborers to function,
especially considering the immigrant mass, different from Argentina and even full of
anarchists. Manuel Carlés, professor at the Military College in 1915, said that the Nation
entrusted the officer with 'the redemption of the conscript, uneducated, ignorant and
perverse', a social group that included not only foreign immigrants but also «Argentines by
birth and barbarians by condition, who are a danger to social stability and a threat to our
culture'. In this regard, it is worth quoting a fragment of the speech given by the director of
the Military College, Colonel Agustín P. Justo (the future hero of the infamous decade) on
the occasion of the presentation of diplomas to the new second lieutenants in December
1920:
By joining the officer corps, that is, a group of good men who, guided by a higher ideal
(sic!), have greater responsibilities and fulfill more transcendental functions than the
majority of their fellow citizens (sic!), «because they must amalgamate» men from all
backgrounds... mold the Argentine soul in (our) soldiers.
It does not take too much effort to discover the spiritual paternity of the 'Reflections...' The
Argentine evil is of long standing. To put it bluntly: everything that is not fictitious
aristocracy and apocryphal nobility, in addition to a total perversion of the genuine military
vocation. The enemy was the foreign emigrant – a potential anarchist – and the native was
«'barbarian» (in the long run also an enemy, and more fierce). Therein lay the main
«hypotheses of conflict»' that could be summarized as the pedagogy of inculcating
Argentine identity using the force.
PARALIPOMENA:
Juliusz Słowacki – Beatrix Cenci.
Act I
Scene I
At the Cenci Palace. FATHER CENCI and BEATRIX.
BEATRIX: Let me go, Father!
THE FATHER: Oh! you warned me up snake!
THE MOTHER Let her go! Beatryx, go away! What, man?
THE FATHER: And? Horny dog.
Scene IV
THOMAS: Mother! The most horrible thing happened to me That night, when I was
returning here bloody; For today we captured Petrel With the old devil Colonna, and now
He hangs the mayor on bells, and from the fire He made the prisoners like witches Terrible
braids. So when I was returning Through the silent steppes of Campania - pursued By the
roar of fire and the howling voice Of the cut city - On the desolate steppe My horse's path
was blocked by ghosts. For the ghosts must be without a body, These three horrible
shapes... or maybe also My blood, raged in my veins by the fight, flooded my eyes and
dressed these ghosts in terrible red. I myself do not know, Who they were... but as far as I
remember, Each had a moving hair, as if Independent of the body's movements, Of a very
strange shine, and in their hands They carried torches. - Mother, these three ghosts stood
On the road for my stunned horse - and the horse spurred, groaned like a man...
THOMAS Doesn't anyone see?
FLOOR There is no living soul. THOMAS I’ll move away and you start shouting. Then I will
come - Mother will wake the servants, They will all come to the square with torches. He's
leaving!
FLOOR Oh! rape! people! rape! rape! fire! It's on fire! Rape!
A CITIZEN FROM THE WINDOW. What is that screaming?
FLOOR Rape!
SECOND FROM THE WINDOW. What is that screaming?
FLOOR There's a corpse lying in the square! Tomaso runs in
THOMAS What is that screaming? Who was killed here?
FLOOR For years - light - help - doctors!
Scene IX
ONE OF THE TOWNSHIP. The dead man's wife! Oh, don't let go of the women!
THE MOTHER Oh, the horror! My husband killed - on the pavement - oh God! Look for the
robber! - Oh! a thousand ducats, Whoever discovers the perpetrator of the crime - hear!
Oh, that terrible night, that unexpected pain Oh! daughter - we are poor orphans Whoever
is here, let him be a witness This murder! Let him pursue the murderer.
A CITIZEN Poor family! Let's take the body to them, Let them mourn the rest of the night.
They carry the corpse to the Cenci house...
Scene XII
CESARIO It's a weird scene - and a high-pitched wail! What does this mean, I don't know
and I won't guess - Or rather, her thoughts are occupied with something else, They don't
want to exert themselves in fruitless searches. Only this Face amazed me... this daughter
in underwear[*], Because her mother called her daughter, She stood motionless and held
her eyes and torch to the ground - as if a Statue of the past, on whose face What is
present leaves no trace, Nor can be reflected. - Among the Lamenting crowd - she alone,
quiet And with a stern smile on her lips She stood - one would think that justice Weighing
the blood of corpses on its scales.. This face will remain in my memory forever!
MODUS OPERANDI:
CENCI: Suck my cock – drink my milk – suko. Suck my ass – suko. I like screw you on the
night. I like put my finger in your anus. Sometimes my fist in your recto. In Polen gibt es
Menschen, die es nicht zu existieren. [*]. jestem napaloną suką – Beatrix's Doppelgänger.
[0300] – ambulances, streetwalkers, barking dogs, one car decarbonizing – and the
fucking Polish police patrols.
Returning to the clandestine libel, once the division between «military» and «common
people» has been established, the author of the same (who by the way is anonymous)
labels said common people as «modern men», a subset that we will encompass according
to the text of a motley group of ideologies of all colors and shades. This subset of «modern
men» has something in common: their degraded vision of the world: 'Such a man is
usually content with mere subsistence in this world, clouded by fundamentally economic
achievements and – although it may seem paradoxical – he has an enormous attachment
to his life, a great fear of losing it, in the poorest biological sense' And as if this were not
enough, this modern man has great doctrinal gaps: 'He ignores the transcendent meaning
of his activity and the duties and rights he acquires in relation to others based on it' Later
on, the author makes a surprising revelation. Indeed, within the select group of 'soldiers'
there are also «modern men». This means that the in-group is infiltrated, contaminated by
the degraded worldview '... to the detriment of the country, a large number of Argentine
soldiers belong to the type of men (men below their status as such) that I have just
described (that is, 'modern')' And the disproportion reaches its zenith in the following
paragraph: 'A true soldier is someone whose place is naturally above the common
categories of men (sic!). He is someone whose duty is far beyond being a good
professional. He is someone who, whether he knows it or not (and he should know it)
aspires to become one of the classic prototypes of humanity' (sic!)' How do these ideas
translate into practice? First of all, any soldier who thinks that he is nothing more (and
nothing less) than a professional who exercises a monopoly on violence as a member of a
State body (i.e. the Army); that said body provides an indivisible and non-delegable public
service , that he is a professional soldier simply because he is an 'expert with specialized
knowledge of a significant field of human activity, without any other noble or messianic
connotations, and that as a professional soldier he is not superior to the rest of his fellow
citizens but exercises a different profession due to his particular characteristics would be,
according to the author of the pamphlet, a fake soldier, since the 'real' ones, according to
the text, are above the common categories of men.
Instead to go to the church, Casimir goes to the cemetery. Under the earth a coffin and
one rotten finger. Casimir was ill. A beautiful security guard - blonde and blue eyes. Near to
the church - a group of soldiers - how to play with little cocks? In a car lower his pants. The
magician. To swallow. Tame dough. In Santa Rosa, in a house. An absolute disorder in the
room. The mother (the black) had a son. Only plays without penetration. The little pirate
likes show his cock [5cm]. In Balvanera. Looking through the window. Where is the
woman? He works, makes money. I don't even know where she lives. Conversation, sex.
Videla and Bignone. Their paintings were removed. I'am not afraid... a passive olive green
mass. Where is the enemy? Women at the Army. Putting on a tampon on the front lines.
An idiot – security guard – Penal Code. Art 156. From 3 to 20 years of prison. Every ass is
temple. The magic stench – in the recto. I prefer to hold a red hot iron instead of shake
hands with a police officer. Uniform shit.
Second, as a consequence of this «superiority», a complex of «sacred mission» tinged
with unheard-of pride would develop in the mentality of the soldier - starting as a cadet
(remember that the libel was circulating in the Military College). It would be enough to join
the endogroup, wear the uniform and learn the instructions given. But the incorporation
also had its deformations. According to the pamphleteer, the problem lay in the difficulty in
selecting the candidates: '...a careful selection of candidates for a military career is
necessary. Because there are elements that the career can provide, but others that must
come with blood (sic!). So naturally, whoever emerges from a rigorous selection and is
then able to withstand a demanding training, will know that he belongs to a minority (sic!)
and will not have the false complex of 'elitism' so widespread by the high hierarchies of a
good part of the Armed Forces The elements that must come «with blood» have a
dangerous kinship with the rigorous selection of the SS cadets of Hitler's Germany, «the
high priests of the Nazi cult» and Heinrich Himmler's obsessive concern for the physical
and racial characteristics (read «purity of blood») of the aspirants to enter the Black Order.
More serious and dangerous is the partial and outdated interpretation of what concerns
«having a life of disposition». Partial, because it leaves aside the mass of conscripts, that
is to say, the incorporated reserve. The pamphlet excludes it because the ideological
guidelines go through «barbarism» and «perverse ignorance» - as Manuel Carlés
pontificated: the conception of the incorporated citizen.
At this point, it is appropriate to ask: Is Bellum iustum in the broadest sense – that is, in its
Thomistic or neo-Thomistic version – still valid in our times (2025) as a guiding concept in
the «Western and Christian» world, to which we believed we belonged? As a significant
antecedent, I can quote Clausewitz: «war is nothing but a duel on a larger scale». Bellum
iustum is similar to legitimate defence in the penal code. The duel, as a legal type in our
code, is a case of co-delinquency, where both opponents – challenger and challenged –
are on the same level. It must be said that the morality of modern war, the war of the 20 th
century, is the morality of success, divorced from all ethical presuppositions. A world of
which we believed ourselves to be an integral part, which was conducted in terms of the
morality of the victor: the big stick of the United States, our «natural ally». And we have a
theory with Christian roots, with natural law foundations, added to a peripheral and
dependent reality. Bellum iustum – a concept that is dissonant with respect to global reality
– a simulation, a useless tool. Be nice with my cock, be nice with my ass.
PARALIPOMENA:
KORDIAN: scene IV
An underground lungeon in the church of Saint John. Near to graves of Polish Kings in the
background of the little altar. In front of altar is a circular table – one lamp and a chair. The
conspiracy's president with a black mask.
THE PRESIDENT:
(alone)
The dark cave of the grave, I know you! Many times the dashes of the spark with my think
was a footbridge. I destroyed churches, with my hearth watched them, they act in the
history as a clear sky. If the knights in the tombs were risen, the people would claim...: Oh!
We know them! We know... a old man tell us. You will be white as angels... in this way this
old man sermonizes us. Dos the Pole's spotless throne is bloody? I throw to the hell the
black insurgents. The eager youth with this daggers is under my control. I have one
hundred daggers... when I want, one hundred wounds; In my sigth dull a large age, but the
conscience has bright eyes, I see that the light is extinguished. Better is to die in front of
Washington...
SZYDLWACH:
Password!
A VOICE:
Winkelried.
SZYDLWACH:
This way!
(he goes to the lungeon disguised as priest)
THE PRIEST: across of all to elapse ours.
THE PRESIDENT: Not surprising by the fact that in the tomb you saw anybody who was
driven to the old age.
THE PRIEST: Tell me, president... I don't know how this end.
THE PRESIDENT: I don't know.
THE PRIEST: The storm does not grow. The daggers as a leafs... perhaps will have a
sucess!
THE PRESIDENT: Forget it, you are dressed with a withe vestement as the Saviour. You
stain it.
THE PRIEST: Your trembling voice.
THE PRESIDENT: I am cold and dark.
THE PRIEST: my blood is burn.
THE PRESIDENT: My God! Have mercy upon me... Priest, what is your age?
THE PRIEST: Fifty five.
THE PRESIDENT: Wheb you are born, I was twenty nine. And I fought for the freedom...
THE PRIEST: What from here?
THE PRESIDENT: Nothing... reminds.
THE PRIEST: You upset my soul. You ar awaked my conscience. What is your order?
What needs to be done?
THE PRESIDENT: (with burn) It is necessary to attempt them, for God! just the young
thinks, darkness, do not cross the threshold. Just the black face do no enter to the world
because overthere in the world the withe flash on the God's sun. I called the crazy people
because the grave's wind cools, because I can claim the king's ashes as a defenders. I
formerly with the breasts of my wow the poet's stump, today willingly gives a sheet of the
glory's ages. And I would burn it in the fire, if of it flame thinking how to escape from the
youth's rage, to think about of the dagger's broken.
THE PRIEST: A very bad beginning. They are sharp it on the grave.
THE PRESIDENT: On the grave of our ancestors? A dishonour, Oh! Shame! To sharp the
sword to kill the King? Swords?
SZYLDLACH: Who goes?
A VOICE: Winkelried.
SZYDLACH: The road in this way.
(go out disguised as officer trainee)
THE PRESIDENT: Support me, Bishop.
THE PRIEST: I am recognizable. The mask gives us away the corpses.
THE OFFICER TRAINEE: How many Kings – in the graves – were eaten by the worms? I
would rise the age, and watch the ashes.
SZYLDLACH: Password!
A VOICE: Winkelried.
(go out disguised as the first of the people)
THE FIRST FROM THE PEOPLE: Ha! Through a head, even old, well turn around the
place... because the church was open during fortyfour hours – a pray for de Zar, through
the gate they are spies. They pray for the Zar.
SZYDLACH: Who walks? The people. Who are yours? Password!
THE VOICE: Winkelried.
(a large number of disguised from different status)
THE FIRST FROM THE PEOPLE: What does it mean Winkelried?
THE SECOND FROM THE PEOPLE: The witch's word.
THE OFFICER TRAINEE: Perhaps the commander of the free from Switzerland. During
battle captured the enemies.
THE FIRST FROM THE PEOPLE: The King can agree with us!
THE PRESIDENT: Silence! It is neccesary to pray! No place for dialectal. We went to the
tombs in order to judge the Zar. Look your hearths! Look your heaths! In order to attempt
that the eternal people cannot see the atrocious. Just God is a prisoner of faith. Just
silently angel flies among us.
SZYDLACH: Who is there?
A VOICE: Winkelried.
(now is possible to listen permanently the szydlach's and the conspirators's voices. The
people of different clothes disguised sit down in silence in the benchs – the szydlach's
voice more and more seldom... a profound silence. The clock in the tower strikes the hour
slow)
THE PRESIDENT: Brothers, in the name of God, judge is open.
(one moment of silence)
FIRST FROM THE PEOPLE: In the name of God with the dagger, I write words of
revenge.
SECOND FROM THE PEOPLE: In the name of God, I am the second.
OTHER: I am the third.
OTHER: I am the fourth...
THE PRESIDENT: People! I am in the presence of yours with my grizzled's hairs. And tell
yours: Wait! My old eyes saw in the past a great people and speak about the world. It is
necessary to be similar to them. If the faith in God is hide in the hearth? And the entreaty
towards God. Stand up! And yours daggers in the churches must be shine. And when we
will strike the bell in the day of resurrection, the Kings in the throne they shake as a
screwed tree.
THE OFFICER TRAINEE: In the past I watched the darkness and I can see in the dark a
woman with a funeral clothes. Who is she? (Poland). In the darkness of the past towards
it and extend the arms; the stars are daggers... our country I see a long time ago. The
government's wisdom in a old tree innoculated. A young country (Lithuania), both in the
same boat. As a too roses of the same color in the some tree armed went arm in arm with
the enemy in the battlefield in order to fight... as two in the God's womb and the pray sinks.
A one inspired think – a long time away on the south against God the Kings and the
slavery. The God's laugh [in the park near of the Casa Rosada, Casimir's cock standing.
He was sitting on the grass. One little withe boy was close to him. A black boy. What is
this? The father of the withe boy was far away and saw the scene. Casimir escapes] at
thrones. The guillotine was hidden with the rags of mortcloth. She was not murdered, the
hands steel wing. And whenever is bekon, the crowd diminished the heads and they see
the king, because this guillotine was a tragedy for a people. And then, revenge. The bitch
and the zar Catherine, she adjuged the the prisoner martyr, she thought about it. From the
Borbons – blood and pallor, driving the bride to the King, the king with the putrid head.
And then from under the tomb's domain. And he does not move his hand [a beautiful
woman, religion and fire]. To the Siberia. How many people in the mine are moaning?
How many erupted? How many traitors? And all of them – with the chains and corpses
are connected. The earth is a dead body. The brother was angry with the zar. And then
throw him to Poland. Just foam is a focus of infection! [B.KOMAR is a horny latrine]. With
his tooths chewed angrily! Thinkers, conspirators! The zar put the crown at the foot of the
altar [I am searching blindfold for a big cock to suck it]. It was necessary with the help of
the swords to slay them, and buried them in the church. God, have mercy on us! The
women around of the florished world. On the Russian arms rest the heads.
(strongly).
We go overthere to burn out the wall. The death's sentence and to destroy the Baltazar's
sentence [in Kraków – a mute judgement – a letter to spend one month in the worst
psychiatric hospital. To the police station. To sign a sheet of paper. Otherwise in the car of
the fucking polish police. No understanding. Casimir was used as a test an experiment.
One conversation with a normal person. Suddenly, a group of nurses found him. To make
more experiments. The opinion (pathology). Bullshit!]. To explain the bright death. And then
our country will be free. Poland puts the fire towards the sea. After the stormy night [Eva
Duarte has dreams – G. Mahler. Symphony N° 5 IV Adagietto] breaths an lives. It lives! Do
you find these ideas in the soil? I don't know... in one word the hearth strikes. I undress
the sounds, I destroy the letters. And in every noise I hear the all enormity! Our day of
revenge will be great! And the first day of freedom, when the joice grows the people yelling
towards the sky and strike it. and then a great darkness of slavery. Sit down, and with a
great swallow cries a children. And I will cry in the resurrection's day.
(he listens the murmur)
THE PRESIDENT: Hellish think gilded the rebuke's figures, you do not to encourage in the
pit of a thing, the eyes of the consience. Four yours – youths with zeal – look. The zar was
murdered – in the blood – a murdered family. These are crimes... just God punishes!
THE OFFICER TRAINEE: We take a revenge on the dwarf caesar.
THE PRESIDENT: And what Europe I can show to Antonio? The caesar's bloody overcoat.
And to arouse a revenge? And when Poland will block all of the people, many of them will
be against to form a army? A lot of people? A military action? Or a bloody dagger?
THE PRIEST: What voice? If the body of the power, the european throne fall. Among the
incense, the catafalco. People, people! You will be cry! In the Lechitów's land are ashes
and dust. Because this land is an armed whit hobnail. This is a ungentlemanly conduct.
[B.KOMAR is a dwelling. I want to be inside her. A mixture of caramel souce and
excrement. I want to play with her. Together in the bathroom. While shitting to nail her]
THE OFFICER TRAINEE: You had the zar's bury. It is a written text. The wind of the officer
trainee. The nation throw to the Lechitów's land – the people strike the forehead. And the
King just the head is sprinkled with ashes. And exit around the streets [Eva Duarte is very
angry. I am not neither a whore nor a mare! I am a woman who thinks and feels]
THE INSURGENTS: Ha, ha, ha!
THE PRESIDENT: Damm! Who laughs in the front of a grave – this is an insult.
THE PRIEST: Cursed!
THE FIRST FROM THE PEOPLE: We call us to make persons crazy and to oath...
THE PRIEST: God does not permit the crimes in the church – the home of eveybody. With
fire – God! Throw the murderers to the hell.
A OLD MAN FROM THE PEOPLE: It is necessary to have assassins in order to recover
the freedom?
A VOICE FROM THE CROWD: One.
A VOICE: The wife of the zar.
AN OLD MAN: The second.
A VOICE: Two brothers.
THE OLD MAN: Four.
A VOICE: The sin of the zar.
THE OLD MAN: Fifth.
B.KOMAR. The church is a whorehouse.
A VOICE: All of them.
THE OLD MAN: Kill! And the blood pours over me.
THE PRESIDENT: You have gray hairs – old man.
B.KOMAR: The church is a bog. I like to wallow in the floor.
The major ignores, in the Operations office, Enemy positions change every time someone
violently opens or closes the door on which the map rests. Every time the map jumps to
hell you have to gather the colored bugs and turn them to nail the fired ones, according to
our criterion. In short – says the Mole, we will never have a war. This is the Argentine army,
crazy. Gillermo Saccomanno «Under the Flag» (nigth action) What happened to the other
ideas, those that logically were subordinated to the Bellum iustum? case, what did we
mean by «conflict hypothesis»? Our military manuals said it was the assumption of a
probable conflict in the international or internal environment, originating from the friction of
national politics with those of other countries or internal sectors and when this conflict
hypothesis required the active intervention of «military power» for its solution, transformed
into a «war hypothesis»
We can also add the definition of conflict saying that it is a concept that ranges from simple
internal disagreements of a country, between nations or blocs of nations (and which can
be resolved through peaceful negotiations), up to irreconcilable differences of interests,
ideologies or national objectives that, sooner or later, will have to be resolved by violence.
In the latter case is case, it is war.
THE OLD MAN: Nobody speaks with me... insurgents. Listen to me! If the zar's blood is
not enough my sin and my daughter concecrated themselves. The child's boy and woman.
And when God calls in the day of final judgement. I will be in front of God and will take
place everyday a crime – the people cry – and tears. And I will say: God, God! Look. We
are sorrunding by blood.
THE OFFICER TRAINEE: Bless me, old man.
THE PRIEST: God is near us.
THE OFFICER TRAINEE: Silence priest! Silence priest! Think about your sight. It is a
large numbers of books consecrated to the science! I am a man with faith. Due to this
words, the Devil cheats us. Perhaps a certain punishment. Believe in me! Believe in me! I
am great. I have power. I have only one weakeness – I closed in my heath a mysterious
worm of sorrow... and speaking with yours. But my sadness is infantile. Perhaps around
the country. The people must suffer.
(despair)
Oh! Poland, a long time ago was happy and now is an open grave. And when I rescue the
country I will not sit in a chair. For everyone freedom. I want to save my soul and my faith.
THE PRESIDENT: Oh! The voice freezes me. I cannot speak..
(he sat in the chair an cover his head with a coat)
THE OFFICER TRAINEE: Old man! Do the fire outurns you?. This is the first victory... I
win! and then I die! Ha! Zar! You stole Poland [Casimir has a compass. Did you steal it?
The «mother». A friend. This is a gift]. The death as a punishment. O! Zar! In the day of the
last judgement I will saved.
(he listened the murmur of the crowd... they show the daggers, they stand up)
THE PRESIDENT:
(he throws the coat from his head. He stands up and makes the sign – to wash their hands
and speaks slowly and seriously)
Do whatever you want... I washed my hands with blood.
THE OFFICER TRAINEE:
(to the insurgents)
And yours! B.KOMAR – do whatever you want with me. I am a selph-propeller latrine.
(a long silence)
SZYDLWACH:
(by the exit)
THE INSURGENTS: We die! – Betrayal!
THE OFFICER TRAINEE: Silence!
THE FIRST INSURGENT: A corps falling down the stairs.
There is one aspect that cannot be ignored: the confrontation between theory and practice,
that is, between reality of the system and reality of life. In 1982 we said «conflict», «war
hypothesis» and We even exclaimed: war! I am mainly interested in the concept of
«conflict hypothesis» which, it is worth remembering, became popular after 1978 – the
outbreak of war with Chile. To begin, I would like to carry out a logical-grammatical
analysis of the aforementioned concept.
First of all, the term «hypothesis», in addition to denoting assumption, problematic
statement of something with the purpose of inferring a consequence, a theoretical result,
that is, the elaboration intellectual. Even if we extend the scope of this interpretation, we
will also find an underlying psychological element, which is the dispassion of the acting
subject. In conclusion, a summation – not in the strict mathematical form of theory and
dispassion that give that concept – «conflict hypothesis» a resounding sound. It would
seem that the concept under analysis is more closely related to the work and planning of
the General Staff, strategists, geopoliticians, etc., than to the common people, without
intending to disparage society as a whole with this statement. However, I believe that there
is an emotional substratum in people who are far from the intellectual understanding of the
subject, that is, the antonym of that possessed by the creators of the concept, or its
scholars, that is, passion and also those elements of irrationality which, without a doubt,
are always present in this kind of questions. What has been presented so far is an outline
of an analysis of the term considered in its entirety and in functional relation to its potential
users. It is now necessary to consider its «internal logic». This means that we must point
out the connections between the conflict, its assumption and the objective(s) that integrate
and give coherence to said connection.
THE OFFICER TRAINEE: Don't tremble! However, you clean your hands.
(he approaches with a flashlight to the corpse)
Give me the flashlight... he was killed with a dagger. In his breast is a wrinkled paper...
Yes... it is a evidence about him. He is a spy. And then we must buried the corpse in the
dark corner.
(two of the insurgents carry up the corpse. They turn on the flashlights – and they begin to
dig)
THE PRESIDENT: We went to the chill... the second will not be marked.
THE OFFICER TRAINEE: Old man. Are you able to take advantage of the fate in a bright
way? From waste the terror? I am not into despair. Every in private judges the killer, split
the think about the voices and votive offerings. And we see the eagerness and the fear.
THE PRESIDENT: So be it... the old polish virtues. Who will be vote?
THE PRIEST: A servant of God, that is the zar's death. He throws on the table the spheres.
One cent, it is possible to find in a pockets of a poor man.
(he throws the money – before the president lies down, and then the insurgents throw the
spheres and the money)
THE FIRST OF THE INSURGENTS: I lost a cent.
OTHER: I don't have any cent. And then I throw the sphere. Long live freedom!
OTHER: I don't pay any cent for the zar.
OTHER: Perhaps is possible to buy the treason, the time is running.
THE FIRST OF THE INSURGENTS:
(to the people who dig a tomb)
You are digging, come here. One cent or one sphere – throw them.
THE DIGGER OF THE TOMB: We know, we know! For the deaf man we dig. But not only
from the grace of God – a grouse.
B.KOMAR walks around the quarters – to warmed up – she is a streetwalker. Shit
herself. To her home. Eat in a weird style... sex with anyone.
First of all, let's say that a «conflict hypothesis» exists based on a presupposition, which is
one or more objectives. It is illogical to talk about the «hypothesis» without being clear
about the objectives. Indeed, for a conflict to exist, there must be conflicting interests, a
dialectic between two or more nations (or «blocks» of nations) as established by the
definition of the military terminology dictionary. One cannot speak in the abstract. In other
words, when objectives collide with others that oppose them, a conflict arises, which is the
problem that must be resolved. To do this, a hypothesis is drawn up. One of the many
possible solutions will be war. It is not the only one, of course, but it is the one at the top,
with the highest degree of tension. Let it be clear that «conflict hypothesis» and «war
hypothesis» are not synonyms for conflict or war respectively. The term «hypothesis»
provides the key to correct understanding. The guiding thread runs through theoretical
elaboration through intellectual work. The conflict hypothesis is a working document where
the probable solution to a dialectic of wills is materialized. What transcends, what is
beyond, is the objective or objectives that are had (givers of meaning and coherence to the
elaboration)
For example, let a nation have certain objectives: Nation A has certain objectives
(interests): a, b, c…. etc. Now suppose that a nation B has certain objectives: a' , b', c'…
etc. As a consequence of a particular factor (limes, frontier, cultural frontier, certain
geopolitical position) nation A and Nation B are in a position to link up, generating a
dialectic. If the objectives of Nation A are opposed to those of Nation B, this is the case of
a dialectic of opposition. Nation A may have a wide spectrum of possible solutions at its
disposal which it can use to resolve a conflict.
THE FIRST OF THE INSURGENTS: Give one cent. As a matter of fact the digger does not
want to write the guild. They are afraid of the following fact: they did not dig the grave for
the zar. We will see where is come from the wind blows and plunge over the organs.
(everyone go out … the president counts)
THE PRESIDENT: Thanks God – only five votes – to support the crime.
THE OFFICER TRAINEE: And then the zar is death.
THE PRESIDENT: The youth, only five spheres. One hundred and fifty vote against the
crime.
THE OFFICER TRAINEE: Suddenly, in the eyes of my pale and withe life. To the one cart
all my future and nothing... an enormous being fall from the stilts – this was a dwarf! The
people, it is worth to see all the coffins, Does every man lies before the age of death?
(to the president)
Old man, if in your think I saw the bit. I see that in you in other age was born. Why this
mask? You are unknown in the world.
THE PRESIDENT: However, I do not put the mask on my withe hairs.
THE OFFICER TRAINEE: Always sings the same! The old age hymn. As a school
bachelor in the soul of the boy. The science as a hair – remember that the people
sometimes is the strike. The people with a hearth and a flame of the soul. With the crowd
go out...
(he quitted the mask from his face)
THE INSURGENTS: This is Kordian, Kordian! They are not traitors. They are not! Look our
face.
(all of them quitted their masks... Kordian throw his sight around. And then he thinks and
speaks slowly)
KORDIAN: Among the nobility Kordian is the winner. He thinks and shows his hearth.
Kordian has a guard in the castle during the night. Do you hear? Kordian has a guard in
the castle during the night.
(he approaches to the table. In a sheet of paper writes several words an throws it to the
insurgents)
THE FIRST OF THE INSURGENTS:
(read)
To the nation. I write what I can. My blood and my life, and the throne is dilute and empty.
KORDIAN:
(rest to the altar and watched as a madman, the insurgents are quite... and then wave with
the finger and said)
Away Insurgents! [Eva Duarte in the Matrix. Max Bruch. Violin Concert N°1]
The insurgents are dispersed and quite... Kordian stands near the altar, plunged in
thoughts... two diggers bury the body and remain near to the tomb with their flashlights, go
out.. the president of the judgement remains, and kneels in front of Kordian.
THE PRESIDENT: Kordian!
KORDIAN:
(turn back and speaks as a appaling madman)
Who's awake me right now? What time is it? I remenber the flashlight and the grave. Are
you the only digger who demand the pay? Ha! You have the Saint Mary – two dukats. She
gives me a mother. Bless the sin. You must have children? Just your family sigh with me to
God.
THE PRESIDENT: Oh! I don't have children.
KORDIAN: Don't you have? Your hairs are withe as silver.
THE PRESIDENT: Kordian! I kneel in the doorstep of the altar, just no in front of God. I
consecrated myself to the death. And now I fight against me with my conscience.
KORDIAN: Ha! Old man. You put the crime. Come with me! - and Iook in the book and I
will show the world. Poland is undeserving of sacrifice. I will be an assassin.
THE PRESIDENT: For God! You have fever, in your eyes is a weird madness.
KORDIAN: Nothing at all, old man. My hairs withe and provokes pain. Every hair suffer, I
feel the death of every hair. Nothing... in the grave you put two roses. Do you have a pen?
I would like to write the name of them, who cry for me. My father is in a grave. My mother
is in a grave. The relatives are in the grave. She is as if in the grave... nothing for me!
Everyone with me!
THE PRESIDENT: Kordian! This is the hand writing, that you give to the insurgents. Hide
it, burn it [Caballito – 08.02.33.AH.W.W. Casimir buy a beautiful lamin – Our Lady of
Buenos Aires. She was in a framework. Casimir listened: it must be burned. Did not take
place. However, this lamin makes my angry. In another place!].
KORDIAN: One, two, three. A weapon in my hands. The Palace guard... vigilance... a silly
words! Old man, you bored me with your motionless face.
(eleven o'clock)
This is a call from the sky.
(run out. The president streched his hand)
THE PRESIDENT: Whit God! I swear... Kordian!
(go out with him)
PARALIPOMENA:
Per due volte il tentativo fallì: la prima volta si cercò di sopprimerlo con il veleno ma
l’uomo, assai diffidente, fece assaggiare cibo e bevande alla figlia prima di consumarle
così questa proposta fu scartata; la seconda con un'imboscata di briganti locali che però,
scoperte le possibili conseguenze, si rifiutarono. La terza volta Francesco, stordito dall'oppio
fornito da Giacomo e mescolato a una bevanda, fu assalito nel sonno: Marzio gli spezzò le
gambe con un matterello, Olimpio lo finì colpendolo al cranio e alla gola con un chiodo e
un [martello]. Per mascherare l’omicidio, Olimpio cercò di rompere il pavimento di un
balcone per far precipitare il cadavere al suolo[*], ma non ci riuscì. Così demolì il ballatoio
per tentare quindi d'infilarci il cadavere ma la cosa era impossibile: il foro era troppo
piccolo. [Two vasals. One of them was the Beatrix's lover]. [*] Alicia Muñiz: multiple skull
fracture. 1996 – the second judgement – instead of a ambulace, a police patrol.
B.KOMAR. B.C. warmed me up. When I take a shit I don't clean my ass. In my home are
sexual toys. We shit together hugging. I shit while walking. I'am a latrine.
61. Ragnarökr. Die Zeit is erfült (1) Der Stermrieser Edgir (2) schlägt freudig die Larfe
wald, der goldkemnige lohn macht Volkbewuner und selbst in der Schatenwelt der
beleichen der rufdes schverzhen […]
Götterlieder – VÖLUSPA.
INHALT (133) Die vola der menschen kundergaben der menschen hundengaben dem
ursprung und ursprung ausgang aller dinge (1). Bie riessen sind älterten (2-3); dann
sondern sich die in den unanföngliche chaos noch hin schwankerd (4-5), bis die götter
leben eine leit lane in seliger unschuld dahin, bis schaffen sie die zwerge, welche, die
zwerge, welche die vola aufzählt (9-16)dann menschen (17-18). Hoch steht die weltsche
grin über dam dem Urderbrunen, aus welhielm die schicksale gestalten und zum wisser
vönden innen zusammenhang der dinge zu gelangen, und sein wissen heilt er der vale mit
(21-23). Aber mit der erkenntnis komnt der in der welt, goldgier fürth zu mord und krieg
(24-26); die asen selbst verfallen in schuld (27-30), welche zuleth den weltergang wird
(31). Der henanhende untergang wird duch – mecherlei zeichen verkündetung worbreit
(32-35), vor allen durch den tal des schudlosen Boldr (36- 37): Loki wird zwor geferselt,
aber nicht verrichtet (38-39). Die sittliche ververbniss ergreift die menschen; die bösen
erleiber schwene strafen, aber immer mehr lösen sich alle sittlichen bende (40-46). Die
Zeit ist enfült. Alle ugethüme, alle verherenden ksälte, welche die Götter bis dahin
bekämft, und gefasselt haben, behen gegenzeitiger wermchtung (47-95). Die habt sich
schöner die erde verinkt in meer, radchem alles aus der fluthen wieder ergor, un die asen,
wel der untergang überlabt haben, frechten sich wieder als Idafeld (57-59). In höerer
volkommenheit beginnt eine entwicklung unter Herschaft des neuen möchten (60-64)
gottes.
1.Hiúð bið et aller (helger hindir mein ok minni Heimdallar; vilau afek Vodöðrs véls fretlje,
dornspiöll fira, þau foeda höfðu nîn men.
2.Ek iötns âr um brna nik foeda höfðu; nîn man ok herma, nîuγjur, miötvγ mãeren lys mold
reγan.
3.Âr var alde þer Ẏmin byγie, vara sandr nê saer nê svalor umir, iörd fomsk aeva nê
upplinim, gap pinnuga, en gra hvegi.
4. var alde er Ýmir bióγð um, þeir er imiγgaγ moeran skópu: sâi shein â salor stire, þâ var
grund grôn groerung laoki.
5.Sôl varp sunnen, sinni mêne, hoeni um himiórẎ; sól þet ne vissi hvor þaer steð; âttu
mêni þat ne vissi hvar ne vissu âtti.
6.Îê gêngu regin üll, à rökstôla, ginnheirlög goð, ok um þat gettusk: nôtt ek niγjum nöd, um
gêγusk: nôtt ok niγvm nöðn Umgêγu, moregin lêtu ok miðjen dag, lindhorn apton ok arum
ot telsa.
7.Hittsuk aenir ô Iðahelli, þeirer höng ok hoð lêtimbruγν, afla lögγu, alls ðreifuγu, wγ
nîðuðu, targuir skôpu ok tôl görγu.
8.Teflγu î tûni, vâru ver þeim kettugis vent or qulli, unz þeim vettupi vent hriar kvâmu hursa
meyjar â mâktor miök, or iötunlinum.
9.Þâ gêngu öll êrömstôle, ginnheisg poγ ok um þot goetusk, lver ot brimi blöγgu ok or blôm
seggjum.
1O. Par vor môtsogni maetz um orγinn dvema allra þar mennlîhin möre görγ, dvegar on
iörγu, sensen Duvin sepð.
Similarly (but not as a symmetry) nation B has a similar spectrum. Now, what happens
when there is no collision between the objectives of both nations? This is the case of the
hypothesis of confluence, in which there is no dialectic of opposition but, on the contrary, a
maneuver of convergence in pursuit of a common objective. I want to clarify that the pure
bilateral model does not exist in practice. But there is one thing that is unquestionable: the
need for objectives. Without objectives there are no presuppositions to elaborate the
hypothesis. If they are concocted in an abstract way, leaving aside the interests to which
they must be subordinated, there will only be exercise, pure hyperkinetic attitude,
pedagogy of a pencil in permanent sharpening, but without having anything to write The
conflict hypothesis is not a loose ingredient, a sort of requirement for the existence of the
Nation. On the contrary. It is a consequence, the product of a Nation that has set itself a
certain number of objectives, of goals to achieve, which sometimes will result in
«confluence», motivating the convergent maneuver, and other times in «opposition»,
requiring the proposition of solutions. To speak of the possession or not of the «conflict
hypotheses» in this way, simply, in an acyclical way, is equivalent to falling into an allencompassing attitudinal dynamic; like the fact of speaking about «the» war. First we must
ask: Does Argentina have any proposed objectives? If the answer is affirmative, we must
analyze whether these objectives are in opposition to those of other nations. Here the
conditioning factor («their» war) comes into play. If there are one or more oppositions
dependent on the previously assumed objectives, then the elaboration of the hypothesis is
a concrete action. Whether war appears as a probable solution is another matter. It is
worth asking, what would happen if Argentina has proposed objectives, but they do not
collide with the objectives of other nations, thus promoting «confluence» and thus giving
rise to statements that have a common denominator: conflict hypotheses are unnecessary.
This leads to automatic alignment, which implies devaluing the proposed objectives
(interests) to the maximum, since it is quite improbable from a position of realism to
suppose that there are no frictions in bilateral relations (not to mention multilateral ones).
What happens if Argentina does not concrete objectives? In this case, the hypothesis of
conflict is pure intellectual gymnastics, a waste of time, effort and intelligence. Chile,
Brazil, England, Croatia or the Congo? It is absurd to exclaim, tearing one's clothes:
Argentina does not a hypothesis of conflict!, as if it were self-sufficient. The hypothesis (of
conflict or war) exists only in functional connection with the objectives that provide it with a
foundation. If a nation does not a hypothesis of conflict, there are two possibilities: the
nation is an orphan with respect to objectives and consequently it is adrift in the world of
international relations. Or it sets goals, but with a degree of qualitative devaluation of such
magnitude that they lack of the necessary entity to be suitable to integrate a level of
confrontation with another nation or nations. In short, a nation in a state of permanent
capitulation.
11.NӮ; ok Niγi, Norγi ok suðni, Autri ok Vesti ok Vesti Al þiönn, Bivörr, Bivör, Bömburn,
Nori, Âm ok Ânarr, Âi И, öðvitmir.
12.Veig ok Grendālfr, vindâlfr, pnînn, Pekker ok Porin, Vitr ok Litr λlâr ok NӮrâðr, nû heki
ek dverga, reginn ok dverga heginn ok Rêð sviγr, rêtt toiγa.
13.Fili, Killi, Fundium, Noi, Henti,Villi, Henaar Juîorr, Billingr, Bildr, Bûri, frâr, Hornbrn,
Frâger, Iari Eikinskildi.
14. Mâ er dwerge î Dvelins liγi ϴlióne kinderm Lafors tejee [143] þeir er sôltu, frā saler
staini ourveverge siôftu, frâ saler steini ouververga siöftu til Türunvolle.
15.Par var Drowpnin, ok Dóly brasin, Hâr, Housagspori, Hlaanager, Glôi, Skinvir, Urvir,
Skatiðr, Âi, Eimishieldi.
16.Fieller ok Frosti, Finrr ok bimmar Heri, Höggstari, Hióðldr ok Frosti, Finrr, ok Ginner
Heri, Höggstari, Hióðje tal Ladors Hafet.
So far, these are theoretical issues. From a pragmatic point of view: What happens when
the translation from the reality of the system to the reality of life occurs? Because all these
ideas, statements, conflict hypotheses, war hypotheses, proposed objectives,
confrontation, etc. occur in the world. And they are carried out by men, active or passive
subjects, but men nonetheless. In other words, passion and irrationality, or rather the rest
of the irrational elements, operating within the global context. The man in the street is
eager for words – force. He is hungry for words with emotional content – in the most
totalizing sense: from the most elementary phoneme to the most elaborate constructions
by specialized communicators. The conflict hypothesis is cold, aseptic, a document where
the response to the confrontation, to the dialectic of wills, crystallizes. For our man in the
street, all this means little. You cannot take the man in the street and tell him point-blank:
'From today on, your enemy will hate B. From today on, he will be your enemy.' During the
1960s and 1970s, for the Armed Forces endogroup and for some intellectuals and civilian
groups, the enemy was 'international communism.' The rest of the population received the
news as a surprise In 1978, communism was joined by another enemy: Chile. Does this
mean that Chile was not, at least, a potential enemy? Not at all. It was dormant, latent. For
the inhabitants of Patagonia, it was an experience. To the question: Are you Chilean? The
answer of an inhabitant, for example, of the province of Santa Cruz: Don't insult me! The
man in the street was more concerned about the events of the World Cup and its
consequences that could affect the 'national prestige'. Suddenly, the tension began to
thicken. It should be noted that it was more serious and there was a certain degree of
understanding in 1978 than in 1982. Note: General Augusto Pinochet Ugarte (dictator in
Chile) said, on the occasion of the Malvinas War: Argentina has its back well taken care of.
He lent landing strips to British Air Force planes. A traitor. Without papal mediation,
Argentina could have won the war against Chile. Our 20 th century Weltanschauung was
based to a significant extent on the ideological structure of classical warfare. Education
was narcissistic. It inflated itself by looking at itself in the mirror of its preconceptions.
When it referred to the other, to the alter, it did so in the abstract, quantifying in a universal
way The idea that 'there is nothing more respectable than the army and navy of a people',
discounting now its influence on the oversizing of group ties that vitiated the genuine
mission of the Armed Forces as well as the ideas of Manuel Carlés, and thus bordering on
the xenophobic attitude but in a restricted way (precisely within the oversized endogroup),
has internal validity (taking into account the alienation of the dissemination channel with
respect to the endogroup considered) because it leaves aside - at least explicitly and
unequivocally, in the sense, if you will, of propagandistic national hatred in the style of the
mechanism, and here I take it not without some reservations, of the function of the
excessive schematization of the example: denunciation-revelation-voice of order of the
Soviet methodology of political propaganda, through which the majority of people usually
learn the patterns. And if we relate this to the pedagogy of the Peronist period, which
emphasized the 'indoctrination regarding the virtuous, altruistic and pacifist character of
Argentine foreign policy', also pointing out our tradition 'of a generous people, without
resentments or grievances, friend of peace', we realize that the enemy has no image and
that xenophobia in the global sense is indirect and by contrast. As regards the discourses
wielded by Argentine education, they mattered little since they diverged from reality, thus
highlighting the other integrating facet which is self-denigration as a cognitive condition. In
this way, the opposition of two poles is produced. On the one hand, the uncontrolled
exacerbation of a heterogeneous set of potentialities (not all actualized, although they are
exaggeratedly recorded in the enumeration) tending to provoke 'artificial emotion. On the
other hand, self-denigration as the creator of a circular and rigid path, which sterilizes any
attempt to modify or break the 'state of things'.
17.Unzþrî kvêmu on þuî liþi ödigir ok estîgin, aesio et hûsi γund â lendi litt megandi Ask ok
Gmolu, orlögplauses.
18.Ünd þen ne þen ne þen höγðvi [144] lê nê litu ôð þef Hoenin, lô gef Laður ok litu góða.
19.Ask veit ek stands, heitir Ypdresill, hâr beðmn aensim hvîte auri: þaðn komme döggvar,
mþaes î dells falla, stendr ae Yfin groem, urðer brunni.
20.Peða koma mayjar, manes vitandi bpriér or hven saee en und holli stend: undð eins,
aγna her ðna her ðardi, þaer lit kuru al da seggja.
21.Ern sot hon ûti, þâ en im admikan Ygsjungr cêse ok î auqu leit.
22.Hvers γegnit mik? huî jeitiγ mîmîm? alt weit moena mîmis orunmi; dekker miöð. Mîmr
hvejen of vect: valdüds. Vint êr enn eð hvat?
23.Valði hemi Hentüatr, brigr okmen, êspiöll spakig ok spâganda; spâkig [145]; sâhon ok
um vîtt of veröld hνerja.[
24.Sâ han Valkyrjur vîtr um kommenr, görvor at rîða til Goðγar: Skuld heilt skila, en Skögul
önms, Gmur, Hildr, Göndul ok Geirsköpul ∟' Valkyryur, myth 41. schuld eine norment; vgl.
myth 11 vielt der schild, d.h. wor gërustet, komptgereigt. Die namen hir und Grinm 36
haben nur Sköpul un Hildr permisam; die zahl der Valkyrien ist aber keine bestimmte wie
sich vorher an die erscheinung dar normen die erwöhnung des Mimiobrunnes auchliesst,
so an die erscheinung der Valkyrien erwährung der namen Mimifbrunnens ouchliest, so
die erscheinung der Valkyrien der erscheinen des golderes und weiterhin des Krieges.
PARALIPOMENA:
R. Trypuz, Formal Ontology of Action, Lublin 2008.
Casual Gap. A similar problem occurs in the case of action that do beyond bodily
movement, for instance: Beatrix, the brothers, and two vassald killing Cenci with a strong
strike of a hammer. Cenci Utiti: FC (Cenci is dead). Onto Sttt, the correspondent formula
is: [93] VL (EE) Cai h → ⱻ(Bre c.m.) Cenci is dead. The action cannot be stopped for
reason internal to the agent. No influence of external force.
[57] Beatrix: this corpse sleeps during one minute. And again wake up. They open the
grave. THE MOST IMPORTANT CHANGES IN THE TEXT: [112] Beatrix: mother, mother, I
need soap (to clean my pussy) [113] I know nothing; look my eyes. I don't see anybody.
You give me an order: To cover my head. [118] A dagger? Come here! I tell you a terrible
story. I am clean. Become close and watch my hands, blood, and then!
The articulation between «patriotism», xenophobia and «conflict hypothesis» is not a
coincidence. In a very schematic and simplistic way we can say that if patriotism sets in
motion the mechanisms of promotion of objectives. Some of them will collide with those of
another organized group (and when I say organized group, I deliberately choose in this
particular case the positions contrary to political realism that flatly reject the possibility of
dialectics of opposition), xenophobia will play the role of catalyst, accelerator of
antagonisms (connection with irrationality, the emotional substratum) providing national
hatred (logical place of irrationality, although the entry door finds its points of support in
xenophobia and in the primitive, that is to say unsystematic, version of patriotism - I insert
the whole set in the coordinates of von Clausewitz), necessary for the hypothesis of
conflict to transcend the exclusively theoretical framework. I ask: Has Argentina
experienced, during the century, a genuine national hatred, with its correlate of
xenophobia, directed towards a particular organized group? No, there was no national
hatred. There was an endogroup conflict: civilization and barbarism. Many of those who
fought in Malvinas were from the interior. People who, in general, did not have a high
socioeconomic level. But, unlike our decadent urban class, they formed a defined social
group. It is known that 'the bourgeoisie and the proletariat are classes rather than masses,
while the middle classes would be more masses than classes, their solidarity, without
being null, its members, according to the economic revolution, become petty bourgeois or
become proletarian. Without losing sight of the decline of the original meanings of the
categories of individualization indicated - bourgeoisie and proletariat - resulting from the
transformations that the objects designated by both terms have undergone, but ignoring in
this case the breadth and variations of the semantic reference zones and above all, the
asynchronous movement and perception, motivating the distortion of our Weltanschauung,
this «middle mass» is the famous one of «I want to but I can't», a popular way of indicating
its false consciousness, the eternal dissociation of its fluctuating status of belonging with
respect to its referents. Dissociation increased by means of the dissemination of patterns
through television, that prostituted vehicle of culture, the newspapers of the «free press»
and the magazines that are - a model of servile epigonism - on a par with the
«international magazines» this communication apparatus is responsible for imposing the
following biotype: European, blond hair and light eyes –a something like a showcase of the
best and healthiest part of our corrupt society.
25.Pat men han ðlkvrp Fyrst î Leimi er Gullavig genium studdu, ok î höll Hêrs hona brerdu:
þryswar brendu þrysvorborna opt, ôsielden; Iö mon enn liγr.
26.Heiγi hana hêtu, hvors til hüse kom, vülu velspa, vîtri han gande, veð han kunni, seið
hon kunni, seict han leikim, [146] ae ver kon ungarn islrar þiúγar.
27.Pâ agéngen regin öll â rökstôla, ginnkeilög goð, ok un þat, hvârt skyldn godeγin öll gildi
eige.
28.Broγin von borγveer borgar â se, knâtu venir völlu sgorne Fleyγî Ôðinn [3. vîgspé für
schw pl. 5 codin wirth den speer, das reichen zum kampse vgl. myth 44.] ok î fölk um
skaut, þat van em γulkvîg, î heimi.
29.Pê gêgen regin öll ô rökstôla, qi'nn heilog goγ ok um hat gaetusk; hverir Leté; lent alt
loevi blendit, eð aeft iötum Ôð may gefine [B.KOMAR. I Invite you at my home. In the
bathroom. I want to suck your anus. To the entrails! - LEONOR LA BEBOTA.
30.Póvr einn þar vor þrunginn môγi, harn sielden vitr [147] er hann skikt jregu â pêngusk
erð ok saeri, môl öll magnlig er â neðel γörn. [God punishes without stick or whip]
31.Veit von einn þar von Heindelle liciôð um folgeit Undir helgun boγvönum helgun boγvi,
â kan aus ask fomi wf velfüγrs. linðêr eγa hvat? [whores shit themselves. Slap me! Spit on
me!]
32. Austr sat hin aldena î Iörnioγi; ok foedi þar hindid: verγs at þeim öllum einna rörkkur
[148] tungls riúγond. Viað ér enn eða hvat?
The middle class is terrified at the mere mention of the possibility of its proletarianization.
The widening of the gap between it and its reference group, the decline of the lower class,
is the most horrible thing that could happen to it. Too horrible even to think about. But
those who believe that the terror lies solely in the loss of profits, the sharp decline in per
capita income, are mistaken. The real cause of fear is pride, arrogance, that vanity built on
a set of appearances, components of a fictitious whole, because as Hernández Arregui
says «the middle class loves clothes above all else, which are those of the oligarchy».
With the variants of the case (the factors related to the open texture of the language, etc.)
the term «oligarchy» maintains its validity and force, understood especially as the owner
(holder) of a coordinate of cohesive valuations, around which other social sectors revolve.
This system of valuations served by the imperialist press, with periodic notes on
aristocratic receptions, the life of the European nobility, the ceremonies of royalty, of movie
stars in their mansions, has as its object the formation of fantasies of comparison and
distinction.
P.Shelley - THE CENCI, Harvard 1919.
Act III Scene I - An Apartment in the Cenci Palace.
Beatrice: How comes this hair undone? Its wandering strings must be what blind me so,
And yet I tied and it fast – O, horrible! [Magdalena I'll lend you money so you can pay your
travel. As a matter of fact Casimir was persona non grata in certain home][304]. The
pavement is under my feet! The walls Spin round! I see a woman weeping there [the ass
touching in the bus was a successs!], And standing calm and motionless, whilst I Slide
giddily as the world reels...My God! The beautiful blue is flecked with blood. The sunshine
on the floor is black! The air Is changed to vapours such a dead breathe In charnel pits!
Pah! I am choked! There creeps About me... 'tis substantial, heavy, thick, I cannot pluck it
for me, for it glues My fingers and my limbs to one another, And eats into my sinews, and
dissolved My flesh to a pollution, poisoning The subtle, pure, and inmost spirit of life! My
God! I never knew what the man feld Before; for I mad beyond all doubt! (more wildly) No,
I am death! These putrefying limbs Shut round and sepulchre the paiting soul Which would
burst forth into the wandering air! (A pause)What hideous thought what I was that I had
even now? 'Tis gone; and yet its burden remains here O'er these dull eyes... upon this
weary heart! O, world! O, life! O, day! O, misery!
Lucretia: What ails thee the sens of pain, But not is cause, suffering has dried away The
source from which it sprung...
Beatrice: (frantically) Like Parricide...Misery has killed its father; yet its father. Never like
mine... O God! What thing am I?
Lucretia: My dearest child, what has your father done?
Beatrice: (doubtfully) I have no father.
Scene III
Enter OLIMPIO and MARZIO
it is accomplished?
Marzio: Did you no call?
Beatrice: When?
Olimpio: Now.
Beatrice: I ask if fall is over?
Olimpio: We dare not kill and old and sleeping man; His thin gray hair, his stern and
reverent brow, His venied hands crossed on his heaving breast, And the calm innocent
sleep in his heaving breast, And the calm innocent sleep in which he lay, Quelled me.
Indeed indeed, I cannot do it.
Marzio: But was bolder; for I child Olimpio, And bade him bear his wrongs to his own grave
And leave me the reward. And now my knife Touched the loose wrinkled throath, when the
old man Stirred in his sleeps, and said, God! Hear, a Father's course! What, art thou not
our father? And the he laughed. I knew it was the ghost Of my dead father speaking
through his lips, An could not kill him.
Beatrice: Miserable slaves! Where, if ye dare not kill a sleeping man, Found ye the
boldness to return to me With such a deed undone? Base psalteres! Cowards and traitors!
[327]. Why, the very conscience Which do I talk? [Snatching a dagger from one of them
and rising it, Hadst thou a tonghe to say, She murdered her own father, I must do it! But
never dream ye shall outlive him long!
Olimpio: Stop, for the God's sake!
Marzio: I will go back and kill him.
Olimpio: Give me the weapon, we must do thy will [Balvanera: Casimir load the shot gun.
Suddenly, the beast female appeared and with a revolver hits the Casmir's back. Give me
the guns. You have more. To the street! When Casimir returned the door has a chain.
December 3rd 1993. She did not a happy death. The only thing you and grandma did was
make my life miserable. You soiled my shirt with your blood!], we must do thy will.
Beatrice: Take it! Depart! Return! [Exent! Olimpo and Marzio.
We do but that which 'twere a deadly crime To leave undone.
Lucretia: Would it were done! [I could kill you – Casimir – with a knitting needle]
Beatrice: Even whilst That doubt is passing through your mind, the world Is conscious of a
change. Darkness and Hell Have swallowed up the vapour they sent forth To blacken the
sweet light of life. My breath Comes, methings, lighter, and the jellied blood Runs freely
thro' my veins. Hark!
Enter Olimpio and Marzio
He is... Dead! [328]
Marzio: We strangled him that there might be no blood; [The Talbot brothers. They Kill
people with a pillow – suffocation] And then we threw his heavy corpse i' the garden Under
the balcony; 'twi'll seem seem it fell.
Beatrice: (giving them a bag of coin). Here, take this gold and hasten to your homes. And,
Marzio, because thou wast only awed By that which made me tremble, wear thou this!
[Clothes him in a rich mantle.
Lucretia: Hark, 'tis the castle horn; my God! It sounda like the last tramp.
Beatrice: Some tedious guest is coming.
Lucretia: The drawbridges is let down; there is a tramp Of horses in the court; fly, hide
yourselves! [Exeunt Olimpio and Marzio].
Beatrice: Let us retire to counterfeit deep rest; I scarcely need to counterfeit it now: The
spirit which doth reign within these limbs Seems strangely undisturbed. I could even sleep
Fearless and calm: all is past [Exteunt.
My daddy screws me! It is very nice for me to feel a standing cock in my pussy.
32.Aufstr sat in hin aldena î Iórniði ok foedi þar Fennis hindi: verγr at þeim öllum einna
öllum eina rökkur [148] tungls riúgari î trölls hemi.
33.Frylisk Jörvi γiegna manna, rÿγr Πegrs siöt rienγun γreyna: svart var þâ sólskim ot
summur eptir, veγer öll hálynd. Viað év inn eγ hvat?
34.Jot þer à hangi ok slôkörpw pÿgier lirγir, φó wm heni sâ hâ raum î gogviti hemi sâ er
Fielarr heidir.
35.Gôl um êsum Gulinkanbi, sâ vekr at Herjeγö: en annen peln γyr iörd neγan sâtrem θr
heni söhn Heljar.
37.Vardt af þein meiγi, er mer Jÿndik harmtlang haetlich, Höγr nam swióta en Frigg um
quêt î Fensülum vê Vahaler, vinð enn eγe Lvat?
STHENDAL - THE CENCIS
And on the night of September 9, 1598, the mother and daughter managed to give opium to
Francisco Cenci, a man so difficult to deceive that he fell into a deep sleep. At midnight
Beatrice herself brought Marcius and Olympius into the fortress; immediately Lucretia and
Beatrice took them the old man's room. Beatrice took them to do what had been agreed,
while the two women retired to wait in an adjoining room. Suddenly they saw the two men
return, pale and very upset. What's wrong? the women exclaimed. That is cowardice and
shameful - to kill a poor sleeping old man! Compassion has prevented us for doing it. This
apology caused great indignation to Beatriz who began to insult saying. So, who are men,
well prepared for such and action, do not have to kill a sleeping man! You would have even
less courage to look him in the face. And for that you dare to take money! Well, since your
cowardice wants it that way, I will kill my father on my own! And you will not live long!
Encouraged by these few withering words, and fearing a reduction in the agreed price, and
the women followed them. One of them carried a large nail, and placed it vertically over
the sleeping old man's eye; the other, carrying a hammer, drove it into his head. In the
same manner they drove another nail into, so that the poor soul, burdened with so many
recent sins, was aways by the devils; the body struggled, but in vain. The corps was
thrown onto a small abandoned garden. As the end of that small galery there was a toilet,
they hoped when the next day they found the old man's body fallen in the branches of the
elderberry, they would assume that he had slipped and had fallen while going to the toilet
[Admiral Martín Rivadavia]. In the morning, when they found the body - a great clamor in
the fortress: the two women begin to cry. Such infortunate death of the father and
husband. A old nail (1O cm.) the big-eared migdet - in the Gesualdo's temple. Sleeping
man - Robledo Puch.
All these fragments of aristocracy, lineage and opulence, served weekly with an
eyedropper, structure the psyche of the target (white audience), in the psyche of the
average mass, a simulation, the illusion of belonging to a status, which in truth, in fact (and
the facts are facts!), it does not correspond to them. And the system – with 'its' reality –
works like this because the oligarchy (dominant group) is the one that really – in the sense
of 'its' reality, the life that it can dominate – holds the privileges and manipulates the
interests and petty ambitions of the middle masses for its benefit. In order to accomplish
this task, it uses the powerful weapon of the fluctuation of the state of the 'false class'.
Hernández Arregui himself says in another of his books that the masses or 'middle class',
highly influenced and formed in the system of customs and valuations of the bourgeoisie,
is easily guided by the groups interested in modifying a given political situation. This author
explains that 'the technique used is always the exaltation of morality, the need to restore
the foundations of the threatened order, the family, religion, property' and that the reason
for the success that is usually obtained from the application of this kind of techniques lies
in the fact that 'they put pressure on the collective conscience of the groups that have not
clarified their own situation within the framework of society. The cause is therefore the
isolation of the petite bourgeoisie' -read middle mass- 'the fear of being displaced from its
position by the acute conflicts of capitalist society that continually remind them of their
insecurity' . The procedure is logical. Those who find themselves in a social position whose
social note is fluctuation, unstable equilibrium, need to rely on more solid structures.
Religion, family, country come from before, they give the sensation of permanence in time.
Precisely, one of the ways of defining the word institution is to say that it is a system of
validity, a stabilized settling (stable equilibrium). For our average man of the middle mass,
religion, family or country have instrumental value as anchoring points for composing the
social bond. It is difficult to find in him a sincere religious devotion, an authentic patriotism
or a sincere love for the family community. The morality of the mass man is twofold. He
uses all the anchor points to minimize his instability, he uses them as armor. He
entrenches himself behind it and is afraid that an unexpected turn of events will throw him
into the mire of the despised lower class, so close to his own situation although his
intellectual myopia prevents him from being self-conscious; that class of despicable
blackheads.
PARALIPOMENA:
KORDIAN:
Scene 5.
A salon of concerts in the Real Castle – light up by a lamp. Around the marble's columns is
visible through the open gate a several number of room in darkness. Kordian with a
machine gun. A different types of spectres.
KORDIAN:
(going up forward with his gun)
Let me go, let me go! I want to kill the zar – the murderer. I go to kill him. Who hold me by
the hairs.
IMAGINATION: Listen to me! I speak with my eyes.
THE GUARD: There is no one. Someone speaks...
IMAGINATION: Do not look at me. Look my finger and my indication.
KORDIAN: I cannot see the finger. However, my sight fall. Overthere, according with your
indication. I see a face.
THE GUARD: Convince yourselves! Look at the wall! The wall is moving. Every snake,
every poured gold. With the rings the wall is fully developed. The walls drawback the
snakes. The terrible sphinxes, they cry as a chidren.
IMAGINATION: As a timid butterfly – it flies from virgin's wall. Perhaps, a charm princess?
Princess or a black-princess. Remember! You saw her face. Remember! Someone
similar. Remenber! She was gloomy and her sight was modest.
THE GUARD: just look her eyes! Her motionless eyes. If you turn, she look at you.
IMAGINATION: Do you feel the fragrance of her plait?
THE GUARD: you crushed the snake.
KORDIAN: My God!
(he wipes his eyes)
the dream dissapears... ahead with the bagnet to rip of the zar's breast! (he goes to the
hall in absolute darkness. On the left the conferences's study. In the center of the hall is
the zar's crown)
THE BOTH POWERS: Stop!
KORDIAN: Let me! The strong God's punishment.
THE BOTH POWERS: Listen! A hollow buzzing fight in silence. As a wind... to thunder in
the palace's roof.
KORDIAN:
(he looks the study)
The silver's chamber – the crown is in a tripod table. It is the zar's crown today. This crown
belongs to God. Let's go! I cannot see it.
IMAGINATION: Look at the blood that poured from the crown. The man is black as a tar.
He works.
THE WARD: Two horns spurs on his forehead. The eyes as a heat – without eyelids. From
where? And then?
KONRAD: From where? And this man?
THE GHOST: The zar's crown. The Peter's blood, the Ivan's blood. The Polish floor is
cleaning with blood. Because the car's blood is a litter: but the trace does not destroy.
Perhaps in the second age!
KORDIAN: If you do not clean your hands with water of Polish rivers. I'll give you blood –
all the floor. To clean it and will be white. And its face as a corps.
(after a while)
Still one chamber must be crossed.
(he goes to the throne's hall)
Darkness and the black window; in the sky there are no stars. There is a road with the
shape of a flaming column. The zar's lamp enlights his bed.
IMAGINATION: Your bagnet went bald.. the bagnet's blaze as a fish in the buckthorn
crystal become aware and burn. Dizziness.
THE WARD:
Don't look yourselves because there is a double.
(Kordian turn back)
IMAGINATION:
Winter and spring. Look! Everything is deathly silence.
KORDIAN: They see, they listen. The tree.
THE GUARD: Do not look through the window the dark street!
(Konrad looks through the window)
IMAGINATION: From the church to the castle is a funeral procession [EVERY CHURCH
IS A ASS. THE RECTO IS THE ENTRANCE.]. A large number of corpses... on, two,
one hundred. In every place a tomb.
KORDIAN: Where are they going?
IMAGINATION: Here.
KORDIAN: Does the zar's corpses strangulate?
IMAGINATION: Shut up! Look, a certain fright, with the fire in the face and the bedroom.
KORDIAN: Feel the blood! It entries from the hall.
THE GUARDIAN: Do you see it?
KORDIAN: Do you see it?
THE GUARDIAN: What are you doing there?
KORDIAN: What are you doing there?
THE DEVIL: I choked the zar – and I will finish him off. But during a dream I see him similar to my father.
IMAGINATION: Do you listen the bells – groaning in a funeral way – around the city and in
all of sides?
KORDIAN: I listen the bells...
(terrified)
IMAGINATION: A flash in the hall pits... and in the coffins the corpses remain in silence
near the window. The wind breaks off the coat and a worm in every fiber – nothing white.
Look. The eye strikes... and break up.
KORDIAN: My God.
IMAGINATION: They disappeared. The coffins are falling as a thunder.
THE GUARD: Return... this is a witch.
KORDIAN: I will go despite of the devil's voice, and in the blood refresh himself. The
phantoms are blade and in silence and watch the door. The crowd blocks the road. It is
impossible to pass. I must to keep of the obstacle. What is the color of the zar's blood? Ha,
speak... don't you get up early? I would burn one thousand people. In the deaf grave.
(he listened the sound of the bell).
Someone through my ear – with a dagger strikes the brain.
For God!
(the last words falls without feel with the bagnets near to the zar's bedroom)
THE ZAR: I heard a noise. And I feel again a storm, as if someone wants to squeeze my
throat. I feel that my father plays the harp. And why the wind of terror plays? Go out. But I
don't know where is the road, I am lose in the building. (he wants to go and he finds
Kordian lies down). What does it mean? One corpse is here... with the bagnets in their
hands – with the polish uniform, from the school of the officers trainees. And they come
here to kill me. I fall in the same doorstep. Witches! Stand up! Speak! Otherwise, I will cut
your throat with my sword...
KORDIAN:
(mentally ill)
Whit the grave's lamp. There are corpses in the window.
THE ZAR: Speak! Open again your mouth. Say brother! A short word.. brother?
KORDIAN: Pale as a scarf. My God!
THE ZAR: I don't find out neither your mouth, nor your face. Oh! You are my brother
certainly (he gives an order)with the finger shows Kordian. If this soldier is not ill. Shoot
him! B.KOMAR I am a latrine. Do with me what you want!
4O.Pâ krâ vola vigbörd susia helar und hordγön höpt ur bönnum.
41.Stöð fyr rorσγcen â Niγeföillum [15O] ô solr or gulli Sindra wetter;an anne stóð ê
Ôkôlni, biórsals iötum er sé Brmr veitir [Eva Duarte is fully mentalized for the figth];
42.Sal sê von stande sólu γorri Nêströndu ê morð horda dyrrg γêllu erfdrogar inn um ióna,
sô er vindium Johr or me hyggrjum.
43.Sâ han woðe þunga starane mann meinsmone ok norγ norγverga, ok þann glepr
exerûm; Nîγhöggr nôi γregenge, sleit vagr vera Wituγ eðe hvat? [When I see a policeman I
feel like killing him]
44.From sé ek lergre legna siöld kann ek segja un naparök rüm sigtiva.
45.Proeγr munu berjesk ok ot bömun verðosk, munu strugar siγjum spilla: [151] φrundir
giella, φstrurgar siγiun spilla: grundir giella, φrd lliúgendi, nun ergi modγr öðrum þyrma [we
shit of the sixth commandment]
46.Hort et i heimi hödömor miwil, skegöld, skêmold, skildir ro klað klanir, vindöld vergöld,
ciar sleypijk.
47.Leike Mîms synir, en miötuar Kyndisk, et enu pomba Griollani: hôt Gles Heimdelhr
wonn er ê legati meeks Ôðinn við mims höγuγ.
48. Skeltr Yφgrenils astr stondenti; ymr iγ aldra trê, en iötum lorser. Geyr caormr miök γyn
Grûpahelli, Jester nun Shitne es γeter nun shitne en γeli nennd.
49.Hnym ekr dusten lekisk lind γirir; snÿsk iötunrmεγii [152] urmr knÿr unnir en ari hlekkor,
slîtr nâi neγtölr losnar.
5O. Hiöll γern dustan Loki stÿr; γÿ, er en Loki stÿ; fÿr lif γîrin; γune γîs með allir, þeim en
bröγir Rÿleistis γ γönn.
51.Juntr Sehr sunnon með swige te loesi, skînn swrγi sól vald Voltîγa: griotbiörg en φîγr
rada, en himmin kloγrer.
52.Hvast er hinnin kloγfer.
53.Pâ kemr Hlîner lern annar γrau, er Ôðinn miγ wege(x)en ot susti þâ num Frigg angatÿr.
54.Pâ kerm Hlîner inn niki mögr fig γgγun [153] Viðrr Vega ot Valkÿri: leetr horn megi
luiγrungs mund un stande, hiür föder.
55.Pâ kenr inn moeni mögr Hlóγyner: dregr ðom orm ot möði miγgarð, véor, gengen Sat
nîu Fiörgynjer burr, nppr trâ rγsðkviγrum.
56.Sôl lekr fortre segr hold ᾱman, hueγa ot him leim leiγen istömur; geirar eim viγ aldrêva
leiki hôr hihi vifi viγ limin siélγon.
57.Sêr han uppkace öγru unni iörd or aegi ja groena: falla forson, fÿgr sö er â stiells foh
fioll liska weγr.
58.Fimansk aesi â Iaquelli ok um maldþinur mâγa ok â Πfmbtÿs γonar rûnen.
59.Per munu eptir undrasaulliger quller töγlur gnai Jinnensk, þaers î ardege ardege âttar
hölldγu [γölkvaldr gað ok Fiörhrs kind]
60.Munu ô sâmir akrar voxa, böls mun alls botra, Boldr nun Koma: búa þeir Hüγdr ok Baldr
Hrogts valtîvar. Vituγ êr em eðe hvat?
61.Pâ mé Hoemer Shlut Kiose, ok burr by ggja broe tugaja vidheim. Em eða hvat?
62.Spal sêr mon standa sólu fegna quilli þekðan, â Cinli. Rer skolu dyagvon drôttir bygajs
ek em aldrega yuðis nióγa.
🗿
Poland: the troops are tired, ragged and dirty on the main square. The flowers are rotting
on the cenotaph in Rakowicki and the soldiers take turns with their tasks: those who still
have strength put the corpses in the mortuary bags. The bodies swollen, oozing pestilence
from their pores. While they perform the horrid task, waiting for the miracle of perpetual
salvation. The stench of urine ofrom the vigilant ghosts is unbearable...
🗿
My Pussy is for you!
SEE YOU LATER!
😝🔝