Right & Left

In Fellini's world the bad always win, in Pasolini's the good always loose. The Right and the Left.

empty and isolated

isolation

deliberate isolation no doubt

but still hurting

every day

it hurts

every day

internal misery

pull yourself out, man!

i scream at the mirror

with art, your amazing shit

or maybe another round of unhealthy autoeroticism

sometimes the mirror listens

sometimes it don't

and still it's alive

and still something is moving

you always got what you wanted

the master of your realm

so many times you doubted

what was already certain

you are a god

a creator

a celestial

climbed Olympus more than once

frowned upon by whole cities

and still fucked the actress from your favorite movie

scorched timberlands of invasive plants

yet still managed to create a sanctuary 

sadly again you are lost to fear

lost to unconstructive reflection

talking down on your achievments

listening to alien and stucked-up opinions

of all people, especially you, should not

you are a transformer

you transform even without trying

made the worlds in your head a physical reality

again and again

and here you are filled with anxiety

a faggot around the uptight

an incel around woke

a nazi around the blacks

and a commie around the whites

boring

bored

uneducated hump or genius mage

a little bit of everything one would think

you do run, run run

away from them

and you do run, run run

away from you

run some more, maybe

run until you transform

transform again and again

until there is no telling what you are no more

a new essence

a new monster

hopefully one you can trust

Ooglor, The Scholar

A somewhat distinguished Orang-Utan Scholar, though at a spry 238 years young, is barely more than a teenager by his people’s standards. Raised amidst the steamy chaos of Delthrak’s jungles, Ooglor honed his intellect under the enigmatic Master Banook, the infamous Tamer of the Lesezeichen Tribe, within the hallowed, and slightly overstocked, halls of Bibliotekopolis.

Growing up in the lesser-known, and slightly questionable, Keep of Ostebrem (which, incidentally, has yet to be found on any respectable map), Ooglor developed not only his wit but also an uncanny ability to stretch his arms to remarkable lengths—mostly to snatch books from under the noses of local riffraff, occasionally resulting in the odd scuffle where he found himself having to administer a few well-aimed paws, against the sort of unscheduled parade of things that go bump, rattle, and grumble in the night - a group of friends you’d only keep if you had a necromancer on speed dial. So, Nothing too serious. Before taking root in Bibliotekopolis, Ooglor journeyed across Delthrak, meticulously mapping its verdant splendor. Having completed this grandiose bout of exploration (which involved less mapping and more enthusiastic drinking than he might admit), Ooglor now keeps his eyes wide open, constantly aware of any new knowledge that might cross his path—or any foe foolish enough to disrupt his studies.

This venture, apart from improving his cartography skills, left him with a somewhat suspicious knowledge of magic and an unhealthy obsession with the board game known as Life’s Great Feasts. Having left his wild baby steps behind, Ooglor now leads a rather reclusive hermit’s life in the grand library of Kreuzhügel, never far from a dusty tome or two.

His magnum opus, The Houses of Ill Repute in Delthrak and Delara,, remains a bestseller in the Delthraki travel community. In his spare time, when not deciphering occult pasta recipes or pondering the culinary uses of rare herbs, Ooglor can be found writing scathingly accurate OoogleMaps reviews, much to the delight of local shopkeepers.

He takes great pride in being a well-read Delthraki ape—unlike some other characters who might feel differently. He looks down on those visiting so-called “heroes” sometimes, scoffing with light loathing disdain and thinking, “You barbaric sewer crawlers! Shhh! Read a book for once.” Though, to be fair, he does have a soft spot for the elf—one of the few who understands the importance of well-preserved scrolls.

Starting Equipment:

• Self-Published Book of Wisdom: Detects traps and secret doors in a room or corridor.
• Recipe of Life e Olio: Once per battle, adds 4 Body Points to either the Scholar or an ally.

Abilities:

• Manic Simian Impulsiveness: Once per battle, the Orang-Utan Scholar can completely dodge an enemy attack.
• Streets of Delthrak: Once per battle, Ooglor can roll 3 attack dice instead of 2.

Character Sheet:

Attack Dice: 2

Defense Dice: 2

Body Points: 5

Mind Points: 5

There i was again

Again feeling lost

Again not enough

Again chasing instead of creating

Another tumble, another large-scale coin flip

Will I again convert this life into new satisfaction

As I did before with youthful gusto

Do I still have the vigor of days past

Or am I nearer the burnout than the explosion

As I comb through my howls of 12 years ago

I see the same person still withstanding the same wraiths

Muscles expanded beyond the secular, tho

This friction be like gains

I fought and won

I doubted and overcame

Nothing new, mate

I tell myself

As I ponder if I should throw this day away or use it

Time flies when you live

And I lived

Not yet there, sharing the caelum with the divinity

But touched so many Numina—

You can call me seraphic

I got what I desired

And I will get it again

My dominion is my creation

For decades now

That never altered

Thank the universe

And will never be swayed

I’m proud of that

I can say I did it my way

And I will go on like that

I tell myself while I ponder if I should throw away another day

Or use it

You did it, my g

Don’t forget

You’ve been here before

And will be again

Lost in loathing

Pondering the orb

Instead of finishing up

But do not dismantle yourself

Raise your vital force tall

Treasure you

Outstandingly in times of distraction

And you will find control

As you found mastery

Which will lead, like before,

To foreseen and hard-earned bliss

use your world

 Everything changes.

Every move we make shifts something in this world.

Every action, we take as a community, a society, or as individuals, leaves an impact.

Things change.

Nothing ever changes, is a nihilistic lie.

Of course, some things remain, or patterns resurface,

constantly.

But to simply shrug it off and say nothing changes is a Miscalculation.

People die. They do.

And new ideas are born every day.

Every scream, every breath and every thought, changes things.

Often for the worse, for children and their parents, but mostly for the best.

The world is on the up and up. Never before have our bellies been fuller.

We look for Cures daily.

Some to steal more, some to give back.

Some answers rape, some heal.

And still, we strive and prosper.

Still, we are not done here.

Still, there are more of us.

Still, we are blind, ripping for the last piece of cake.

We don’t have enough. We want more.

But not to lose the thread—

This gift,

God’s paradise,

Lush and breathing,

Black Friday, every day.

It’s the prime time, baby, the best in recorded history.

So why bicker?

We need to use this galactic tin foil as a receiver,

a hearing aid for the wonders of the universe.

As we did, before the records, I believe.

All we forgor,

we can find again.

The connection is out there.

Let’s plug in,

And we will use the world we are born into as a beacon, not a warning.

for as long as it takes

one winter evening elevated to hell
i sat down nearly lifeless for a think
a glass with transparent punch in hand
and an angel or banshee howling in my head

there are devils out there
with torches in their hands
screaming for legs and arms
of other men
scattered all around
you only find chit
little limbs
severed and cursed
some prayed for,
some prayed, then cursed
and prayed and raped some more

i turn my face away
and dream of you
dream of yesterday
all the kids were singing
we kissed
and danced
what a pity
i could have been someone
well so could anyone you say
my mind is battering me
you took my dreams from me
and still cant make it out alone
even built my dreams around you
you cheap bum
you dopey slut
you commie faggot
you looser hippie
now you wanna spend your money on girls who forgot you
i love guap more than you
pair of teary brown eyes
talking to the walls
nobody wins
another future slain

pain and sorrow
darkens every street
where is the promised solace
i reminisce
of free poison
and foreign lands
orgies in frankfurt
the jazz in 'dam
and syph in 'arcelona
good times
never ending gin bottles
paid to be there
paid to be fun
and germans happy to pay
no rattling death trains
to poland anymore
and me
still waiting at the station
all i wanted is to suck cock,
eat pussy and get high
even the black shirts didnt curse the yids anymore
to have it all we thought
spewing on their churches
freedom to finally be
and never grow old in this loney hell

not for long tho
they hate the liberated child
they torture it out of you
they have laws against you
they get promoted for enslavement
and god is in their heaven
judges and coppers are just another tool
innocent rot in man made hells
all for the whores of the empire
infants kicked down
and shot in the back of the head
for stability
and peace

will the grass grow over these graves
will the rare old stuff flow again
will the pagan, christian, muslim or jew
hunt or receive me
a revolutionary without a psychiatrist
no master above me
on point like a dot
no pills or doctor can relieve thee
only love
the ghost that haunts us
publicly executed,
hung and crucified
overly dramatic
and still alive somewhere
it belongs to all
and none at all
pass it on, pass it on
till all is felt
until every eye is filled with wonder
like the eyes that my mother gave me
a rainy cloud for a barren dying land
it is a river that runs all day
cling to it and the wave will heave you out of here
all is well i say to myself
for as long as it takes