Lisping the Lucid Light

THE TRUTH ABOUT THE AMISH

The boy just delivered the Daily Local News. I see the OTHER forgot to cancel the subscription. But it was distressing to read:

AMISH BLAME RECENT DISAPPEARANCES ON DEMON

I couldn't bear to read the rest.

This morning, when I woke up, my hand was covered with what I suspect is Shoo Fly Pie. I don't really want to know. I am NOT responsible...but could it be beginning again?

Months ago after my trip to Germany I found this tucked inside my signed Yvor Winters chapbook (Very rare!)

Amishmen ambled Nude beach near Nurmberg
Grim was their visage Gormless their Grinning
Grimly grinning mocking our manners
Feignlings from Lancaster in far Pennsylvania
At midnight I seized them Made of them scrapple
Fed to the swine and sweet did they find them.
Kann ich dei Pikder nemme asked I that night
Ambling Amishman and I asked In Amish
Cunning was I Canny and cruel
Cunningly creeping with Speedgraphics camera
Now it is known Oh Hard was my heart
But hot was the jazz and jumping the joint
Rare was the reefer where laughing I lured them
Good jazz, bologna and big butted women
Promised I them and primping they perked up
“Great are the Germans and Awesome the Amish
We will go watching the big butted women
We will waste not the blessed bologna
The comradely kindred Amish and German.”

Now sorely my sadness speciously sighing
Lament I the murder malicious and mad
Young men of sinew! useless the eulogy
Somewhere near Lancaster laments an old mother
Asking for surcease anguish awakened
Mirthless in Millersville on a miserable morning
An old Amish man phones his brother the news.


Is this a fantasy...or....?

I don't want to know!!!!!

Nietzsche wrote:

"What, then, is truth? A mobile army of metaphors, metonyms, and anthropomorphisms—in short, a sum of human relations which have been enhanced, transposed, and embellished poetically and rhetorically, and which after long use seem firm, canonical, and obligatory to a people: truths are illusions about which one has forgotten that this is what they are; metaphors which are worn out and without sensuous power; coins which have lost their pictures and now matter only as metal, no longer as coins".

If only I could believe this. But then what would I be?... perhaps I only believe this

WHEN THE WOLFBANE BLOOMS

Yes, you my readers, my only friends, you are thinking murder oh murder.

But the truth I fear is worse.

I fear the OTHER is, one Stolzfus at a time, turning the poor Amish into Post Avant Bohos!

Why do you think "Hat" is called "Hat?"

I need another drink. I need to read some Alfred Noyes.

posted by & @ 1:29 PM