I have no birthday. I don’t know when I was born. New Year is my day of celebration. I treat it as my birthday. It’s the day I can think about how old I am and how much time is left.

I have no name. Only adjectives. And they change. It depends on how I feel at the moment.

I have no creed. I don’t have certain ideas as most people do. I just have emotions and wistful thoughts when I’m well fed.

I have no nation. I’m a fugitive from tyranny of ideas. Unwelcoming wilderness is my home. My triumph is whenever I can find food and mock hunger.

I’m a slave to my adoration of beauty. I have pledged to resist freedom. Everywhere I’m in chain. I flee from one ruin to another dreaming about lost dogmas.

Tales of a Wise Seer

Back in the dark age where thrones were empty and altars were abandoned there was a powerful seer living in the wilderness called Marcellus.

He wore a long wizard hat and had a long grey beard. He was the only thing savages feard and respected. They made loads of legends about him most of which was just nonsense. Of course he couldn’t shape shift and he had no reason to do so. He couldn’t curse young babies and he would never do such a thing even if he could. Theoretically, what was the most important thing about him was his prophecies. But locals often regarded them to be boring and meaningless. Even though savages had mixed feeling about him it is safe to say they behaved better when he was around.

He had this idea that we should do everything in our power to reduce the suffering in the world. If there were animals in pain he wouldn’t just euthanized them but he would take them to veternary and did not care about the cost.

We have a lot in common with the people of that era and that is precisely why we can (and should) learn and use his wisdom. Consider this legend about Marcellus for instance: Once he was riding his moke in the deep jungle that he heard a nymph crying. Marcellus immediately dismounted to investigate. He found out that the nymph was sobbing becuase she had been dumped by a human. Marcellus, in his almost infinate wisdom told the forlorn fairy that it is not safe for mythical beings to have relationship with sons of men. To cheer her up, Marcellus began to invoke Bacchus and his satyrs for a Bacchanalia.

He was not only wise and powerful but also considerate and attentive to well being of all God’s creatues natural and supernatural alike.

Or consider another story: once Marcellus was invoked by a prince to help him with the finance of his principality. He told the prince to cut the public expenses and take austerity measures. It was a painful reform and there was a temporary hiatus in peasants feasts. Many villagers hated him but he saved the prince and fiscal policy of his realm.

He was not just a spiritual leader but also the founder of modern political economy.

Thousands of years later Everything changed. There was no longer dark age. There were lights and laughters everywhere. His supporters become either obsolete or radicalized. People Began to forget about the man who helped the creation in time of peril.

Now everyone curses his name.



FOWC with Fandango — Theoretical

Enlightenment & Sacrifice – Remarks on Joseph de Maistre

The Orthosphere

Maistre (1753 - 1821) Unknown Portraitist Joseph-Marie Comte de Maistre (1753 – 1821)

Joseph de Maistre’s Elucidation on Sacrifices, a late work of his authorship, appeared as an appendix in the posthumously published St. Petersburg Dialogues, one of the towering literary-philosophical monuments of early Nineteenth Century French letters.  Maistre (1753 – 1821) wrote the massive set of Dialogues and its brief sequel during the final decade of his fourteen-year appointment (1803 – 1817) as ambassador plenipotentiary of the King of Piedmont-Sardinia to the court of His Imperial Majesty Alexander II of Russia.  The Dialogues, which saw print in 1821, subsume and amplify the recurrent themes and theses of Maistre’s previous essayistic forays into theology, anthropology, and political theory in the form of a colossal Platonic seminar concerning, as the subtitle would have it, “The Temporal Government of Providence.”  Like his earlier Study on Sovereignty (1794), Considerations on France (1796), and Essay on the Generative Principle…

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Knight Under the White Oak: a bad ballad

A knight was lying down under a white oak. In his massive armor he was meditating on his mistress’ fine figure. Her kind hands, her dark hair, her pale timid feet, and her sweet lips when she was whispering to him “think about me deeply when lying wounded under a white oak tree or else my galant boy, you’ll be consumed by the devil’s offsprings”.

The forlorn knight was badly hurt. His mind went astray. He began to think about his fears. The eastern wind brought him fears about Turks and Saracens with their curved blades and cruel pleasures. The southern wind brought him delirium of dark tyrants with their jaws of steel. The western wind brought him feverish visions of a beast feeding on the blood and flesh of infants.

Soon his fears devoured him from within. His armor remained intact.

An Encomium For Two Princes

There was a Sultan ruling over Asia minor, grouchy and zealot in false orthodoxies of Mohammedan faith. He had a Harem and particularly two favorite wives. One was a European peasant who had been enslaved by Janiessaries and sold to the Harem. The other one was a Negress from Eastern Africa, enslaved in his own country of Zanzibar and sent as a gift by the Sultan of Zanzibar to the Sultan of Asia minor. Our Sultan had two sons. One by each of his favorite wives. One was as white as camphor. The other was as black as dried opium. One liked fencing and hunting. The other liked drinking and collecting wives for Harem. Since the Sultan was so fond of Persian poetry he named the white son Hormazd and the black one Ahriman.

The Sultan was also interested in other Persian costumes to the point that he favored some Persian traditions over his own Turkish traditions. While in Turkey the crown prince had to kill all his siblings to become the next sultan, our sultan ordered his Grand Wazir that when he began his journey to the afterlife the crown prince does not have to kill his brother but he can simply gouge his eyes out the way Persians do. However, it was not easy either because both sons of Sultan were born on exactly the same day and it was not clear which one is the crown prince.

The Sultan declared war on infidel Austrians. He was defeated and was killed by a Polish hussar in action. Then everyone in Asia minor thought a civil war between the two princes was inevitable. They did not know that the two princes were both peaceful and actually very fond of each other. Hormazd was brave and athletic yet he was never happy. Once when he was a teenager he was supposed to write an essay about the happiest moment of his life and then he realized he did not have one. Ahriman was always gay and cheerful. He never liked duties of being a prince but enjoyed the privileges such as stimulating activities of doing drugs and having intercourse with slaves in Harem. He eventually became an anarcho-syndicalist. Since he no longer saw himself as a prince but identified himself with his political ideology, he began to read anarchist books because he saw anarchist apologetic literature not as a defense of a certain ideology but as a defense of his own identity and existence.

But the Grand Wazir was a good politician and a fantastic reformer. He knew that a granting power to a certain bloodline was not a suitable practice in the postmodern era. Since in the east Sultans do not usually share their power with a host of nobles he could not save the sultanate by assembling powerful aristocrats as they do in the christian west. Instead he gathered all notable merchants and bankers of the realm and they decided important matters in camera and behind close doors. They thought a civil war was likely to occur so they made both princes blind and then they divided the sultanate into two smaller Emirates.

One was ruled by a sad, athletic, blind Stoic. The other was ruled by the law of the jungle.


This sad nonsense is inspired by the following prompts:






German Idealism Brew Bar Roleplaying Gang

Despite all our differences we had something in common. We were all living in our parents apartment in our 40s.

The main figure in our small society was Fred. He was an intellectual and a social network activist. He spent most of his time arguing with people on the internet. His eminent idea was that the world became a terrible place after the wrong side won the Second World War. He claimed he had access to government classified information. He believed he was good at history but he barely knew anything about the world prior to the twentieth century. He was a huge fan of Sir Oswald Mosely and thought his father was fooled into fighting for the Jews. Non of us liked our fathers but he hated his with purple passion.

Then we had Richard. Our dungeon master and composer. Compared to Fred he was far less grumpy. He made good music but most people didn’t like his works only because they were too long. Just like Fred he was a pagan but he had some ideas about monotheism which he mostly kept for himself in the fear of being called a Judeophile.

And last but not least we had Ludwig the prince. His father was a catholic monarch. We were all pretty excited that we had someone of noble blood in our community. He was exceedingly wealthy, shy, and friendly. He was different from the rest of us since he actually didn’t care about politics, race, religion, and wars in Europe. He was often bullied by all of us. Even by me because even though I always admired him in my heart, I feared I would end up being bullied if I didn’t join others in mocking him.

We gathered daily in a brew bar to discuss philosophy and theology and politics and also to play Dungeons and Dragons.

Our discussions usually followed a fixed pattern. First we talked about degeneracy and things that were wrong in our society. Then Fred related the degeneracies of our society with the result of the Second World War and Judaism and then everyone except for Prince Ludwig said bad things about Jewish theology and then we began role playing which were designed by Richard’s brilliant and creative brain.

This could have become our daily routine but our small society split up.

It began like this: One day Richard came up with a fantastic idea about role playing: he wanted us to play in the setting of a medieval Spanish legend about knights of holy grail. Fred was astonished and called Richard a race traitor. Prince Ludwig who was obviously fascinated by the idea tried to calm the Aryan intellectual by saying the historical fact that medieval knights too were against Jews and usury but Fred called him a papist (which Ludwig didn’t find offensive). Since we all wanted to play the medieval role playing, Fred for the first time saw himself in a situation in which everyone was against him. He finally accepted to play but we all knew that our group would never be the same. Few days later Fred told us that he would stop playing with us and wanted to write a book about Zoroaster. We stopped seeing each other ever since. Nevertheless our fame made us know about one another after we split up.

Ludwig’s father passed away. He became king (only a figurehead). Richard became a famous composer and changed the course of european music. He made enough money to leave his parents house but he didn’t know how to keep money and it made him always in debt. Fred lost his mind and died shortly after writing his masterpiece. My fate though, was humble. I began to think about our parents. Men and women of selfless devotion to their country and to their “one God”. Men who took arms each time they were asked to. Men and women who never questioned authority. This thoughts made me overly sensitive and to some extent doleful. I was no longer thinking about politics. Instead I became a dervish and adopt a cat and tried to practice the sort of selfless love our Victorian era parents were so fond of.

I converted to the Church of England and ended up being a liberal and a utilitarianist. Since non of us were actual Germans I never felt I was betraying anything.

This meaningless story is brought you by following prompts:




Heathens in the Highlands

Mr Umar was a respected man among his fellow heathens. His grandfather fought under the banner of the great heathen army and conquered the Caucasus: the country in which his family have lived ever since. He never drank or smoked, he was deeply faithful to his Saracen, heretical religion and he was a true patriot of his newly founded country. One day he went to a musical show that everyone talked about for months. And he was accompanied by her daughter.

Her daughter, Zara, was overly sensitive. Everyone saw her as a rebel even though she hated to be seen as one. For most people it was obvious that her interest in the life of highlanders (or Freemen, the way she called them) couldn’t be a mere coincidence. Under her Niqab she considered herself a psalm singer Puritan and a devoted believer in God. Regardless, she was as promiscuous as any Saracen woman.

Mr Umar wished he could leave the amphitheater when the show began. He hated highlander dramatic fashions and eccentric music. He often teased the sound of Tanbur, their revered instrument. After no more than ten minutes he stood up and left his seat. It made artists and musicians a little distracted and people turned their head and quietly babbled.

After a few seconds everything went back to normal. The show was actually very successful. But Zara was still crying soundlessly. The show was everything she could ask for: highlanders playing their glorious music in their elegant customs. But she still felt the crowd was looking at her with an accusing stare. She felt embarrassed and wished she could leave too.

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New age has begun

I don’t write this to explain my ways nor to justify what I have become (because at this point what difference does it make?) I don’t feel any shame or guilt any longer. The old order of things are gone. A new age has begun. 

The cursed started when I was 9. I saw an actual demon beside my bed. It looked like a short, bald, naked, ancient man with sun burnt, wrinkled skin. He didn’t cast a spell nor did he say a word. He just cackled shortly with an unbelievably loud noise. I was paralyzed by panic. The sound of his short ugly laugh was loud enough to wake up the whole neighborhood but no one was awaked. Or no one cared to come to my help. He vanished. Then it all began. 

First I began to see vague visions. About a lovely gentlewoman in extreme poverty. And about being jailed in a small birdcage. And about torture. And about the eternal sun. Then visions occuring in real life. First of all the sweet lady came about. She was far away from his troubled family. We lived and walked together for four years of pure leisure. To be honest, the next two visions actually never happened. I was never locked up in a birdcage or being tortured. Though these things could have made my story sound much more plausible to many of you, I’m not a dystopian novelist or anything of that kind. I’m just here to tell you about certain common unfortunate experiences in my life and there is basically no point in portraying myself unrealistically hapless. 

Then the last vision came. The eternal spiritual sun. Age of reason and enlightenment began. Men became gods and good gods abandoned us. The evil and mean-spirited ones tantalized us with false prophecies. Sun never set. All people on earth gradually turned to short, bald, ugly, ancient men. Sun burned our skin and made it wrinkled. The women of the world were no more. No queen reigned over heaven. No queen brought us the night. There was only an infinite sleepless day and infinite wisdom and short, bald, grumpy men. The God was no more. For the first things passed.

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Dryad and I

We first met in a forest and it was as unexpected as one could possibly imagine. I had been there to see wether I could find a speaking animal or a walking tree or an elf. Then I heard a female voice warning me in a language I couldn’t understand. It was an actual dryad and she pointed her stunning javelin at me with a threatening posture.

That was it. I had the opportunity I hoped for my entire life. I was seeing an actual tree nymph. Something that John Milton, Homer, and Blizzard Entertainment Company could only dream about. All I had to do was to say something nice and make a good impression. Then I could just walk home and be proud of myself for the rest of my life thinking about what I achieved today: the respect of a dryad.

She muttered something in that incomprehensible, probably elvish language and then put her javelin down and rhetorically asked me in fluent middle eastern “you’re a Calorman aren’t you”

“Typical” I said to myself “Now she probably thinks I’m a hookah smoker who read Franz Fanon books and make enslaved elves do all my chores”

“Well I am… technically… a Calormen… but I’m actually a paratrooper from the French Foreign Legion.”

“No you’re not you dum dum. You’re a hunchback. And too skinny.”

“So much for the best experience of my life!” I said to myself. I could have made my best memory. A memory I could recall every single day for the rest of my life (and eventually change the whole details by doing so). Instead I embarrassed myself. I wished I could run away and stop making an even worse picture of myself in her mind. But then things developed quite differently. Far better than what I could ever wish for.

“Well, you’re too shy and apologetic so you must be bullied when you were in kindergarten. Therefore, you are probably planning to go to a Canadian Law school so you can turn out to be a corporate lawyer working for Royal Dutch Shell. I like that! What’s your name? Mine is Gazelle”

It took my breath away. How could she be so smart and kind at the same time?

We actually spent lots of time together. I took my socks off and we swam in a lake nearby. Then we took a bus and went to a pub and drank apricot beer in a weizen glass which looked like a vase.

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