The happy days of my youth
Arts Entertainments“Halcyon” is a name for a bird in Greek legend generally associated with the kingfisher. There was an ancient belief that the bird nested in the sea, which it calmed down to lay its eggs in a floating nest. Therefore, two weeks of calm weather were to be expected around the winter solstice. This myth leads to the use of joy as a term for peace or calm.
Halcion, with a different spelling, was a recently used insomnia drug that was sadly still prescribed, although it was prohibited, as it sometimes induced violence by promoting sleep.
OLDER NAZI: It was a floating nest in a sea that I had calmed, and there we laid the eggs although it was an attempt at what we had done, and eventually you find out that he finished it and was wrong about the premise. How I wanted to get there for you, but I couldn’t find you because you were lost to me. Time is short and my once important role has slipped from my grasp. In the Halcyon Days of my youth, I was selfish and a selfish man, perhaps. How is it that time slipped so suddenly between my still anxious hands, with the opaque hourglass overturned, the hands of the business clock stopped in arid time?
It was a constant risk the entire time to avoid the holocaust at the end of our hour. We must have been boys, not men, as our ideals seem so naive now. In fact, we were real Aryans, and we were also inauthentic idiots. We were stupid men, not really boys, but stupid men with pretty faces. Some pretended to be children or at least youthful and were not handsome because of what they did and have done, sometimes with us and on our individual behalf. We were superficial, but so were they. I am not sure that theorists ever become practitioners of pure theory.
It is a living contradiction to have perfection on your face all the time while your own sense of yourself disappears into thin air.
I was drowning in the immense work of designing the images and even the role of the Golden Arius, which was our ubiquitous creation, perhaps our Frankenstein. Generally, golden nettle soup was a pot in which I was boiled. It’s a rich madness, a rich Nazi madness, that everyone sought out the golden grail and threw it away as a slave.
They were stupid men in their obsessive approach that excluded so much, the Nazis were, and I was one. Today I put on my wrinkled Nazi uniform jacket very reluctantly as it doesn’t fit well and it chokes me around the neck because it’s too tight, too confined in my middle age.
I was falling when I saw you as I raised the gigantic golden Aryan, the supreme supremacy, who represents us and even blinds us to the true twinkling rays of an innocent sky, although now I have lost the light. The great weight of the beautiful and malevolent illusion has returned to the present, and while I stand before you, we can end the deadly charade that these hardened opium drugs were to humanity.
INTELLECTUAL YOUNG MAN: I was forced to let the weight of the heavy golden anvil fall around my neck. As they tied it around my neck, the second group told me that I could take it off when it got too heavy. They said it was my choice as the golden anvil on my foot would break my son’s feet every time a foot and even my leg would kill me, did it kill you too? at three years old, the first time maybe before.
I turned down the anvil early and it was taken away from me, giving it back to me at twelve, though I thought I was six, seven, or even eight when I removed it from my neck for good as the dying symbol and the actual racial slavery that it was. No better than black slavery was the golden thing for me, it was actually really terrifying to be such a lofty symbol of the beauty and virtue of the white race at such a young age, especially while looking at some of the apartheid advocates.
ELDER NAZI: The golden river of Aryan supremacy is a river that I can still hear and feel flowing over my head. The roar is so deafening that I cannot sleep, and I am drowning under the river rising above me, walking so slowly to support the weight of the wet stones and the baptismal water cupped inside my burned and taut hands, every day. The horrible weight of rigid and demanding superiority that we all felt attacking our brothers, mindlessly and beyond all our detailed but hidden plans for certain and inevitable success, was only because of an ethnic victory that we lost in a familiar place. ditch along the road.
Maybe it was the cleaning I’m seeing today before I leave you to come back when I can, and I’ll help you with the anvil.
We all walked in the glory of the white male, lifting him up as an unreachable god when we ourselves felt small on the inside and needed an exalted man. We still held him, nurturing his great image at least tenderly in our arms, the unreachable, the untouchable high and golden gods that I am not, and was never the great Aryan … but I spoke daily for him, eloquently. Really, don’t put too much pace on it.
I was a big problem, a big problem: it was the Reichstag. I liked this for its importance, but I really regretted my role as I walked over the dusty lifeless corpses, like a carpet of dry leaves under my low military boots. I regretted all this as I walked agile, carefully over the dead images under my feet, the old, scratched and scattered black and white photographs of all our efforts to disappear into the higher air, in the ethereal space that you have originally defined. like Z Space.
We tried and failed as leaders. Now it is too late to find our eagles, our brave battering eagles that never flew. We are wolves abandoned in search of a sunrise, but still, lean freedom is better than fat hunger after a horrible night of the holocaust.
Standard metal filing cabinets were looted and torn down in abandoned offices that existed in desolation – in devastated pornographic shots, I kept looking for you! After the porn movies are filmed, the people involved move away from the structure, don’t they? The victims recognize the old porn movie theater and wait in terror, agonizing terror for the perpetrators to make another movie again.
I looked around the world, furious at your young prospect to help me while I was in power by saving your tomes written during slavery. I needed your humanity to do this, my friend, to be in front of the old volumes, our classics, because I knew that you wrote those books. I was infuriated because those are your classics that they stole and were standing in the published volumes, not you, the writer, who still lives without their credit as an author.
For this we will finish it all by itself. I’m ending the slavery you’ve been locked in. People are reading, all over the world, these classics without your name attached, and the lies must end.
INTELLECTUAL YOUTH: They told me when I walked into the conference room, “Here comes Ronny Reagan” and I had no other choice, like you. I was Ronald Reagan, forced to write in his style while suffering from induced clubfoot, although it might be a product override to say this. I also had no choice with the Star Wars ideology which was just a vision that I originally thought of as a kid and that I wrote for the president to use as they insisted. I ended up being the author of Star Wars, and who would want that? Who would want to be the creative political writer for the end of heaven and limited options for the rest?
OLDER NAZI: It was the strangling vines of apartheid that crawled up my calves, climbing and hardening into stiff, thick, stiff stems inside my legs. The vines are moving up and up my thighs and my penis, please say penis, and these days I can hardly walk or sit with ease. I am waiting for the end of my hour.
It was the Nazai, the armed Nazi. In general, it was the Nazai who killed me.
The real work of the Nazi Party is to reduce the cost of living and expenses, for life itself, as you said. We have to slow it down with the technology out of gear. It was golden nettle soup, not the golden ideal we had in mind.
With these words, the Reichsführer-SS stepped away, reluctantly putting on his Nazi uniform jacket, staring dimly at the apartment’s wooden floor for a minute before leaving. In his presence, the gentle and brilliant man made himself visible as a high-level leader and intellectual in the worldwide Nazi Party, with an almost invisible transition to subtle expression of cruelty. The skin around the cheekbones of his face tightened with a quick little movement, and his eyes began to carry the cold gaze of the mighty leader as he walked through the door, away from her for the last time.
However, the young intellectual knew that he would finish it, as he had given him his word. He had managed to remove the hood from her head that afternoon, the stifling, dying metal hood that broke her neck, her head bowed in sorrow and dissipating her will to live. After he ordered an officer on the phone to come immediately to remove his hood, and after that man refused to do so, he only made a token effort and strident out of the room as soon as he arrived, the tall Nazi rank took it from him forcefully. Much difficulty, it seemed to take hours, but he said that he would remove the chains around his feet and the metal armor of the crusades around his waist when he returned.
Another or two high-ranking men came and went without helping, only muttering excuses before leaving. The intellectual remembers them well for their helpless refusal to help with the rigid chains of slavery around her young and tender body, the body of a child, even now the body of a woman. The hot death metal hood was a shroud he’d been suffocating in. His bent neck seemed to break as he constantly struggled to hold it up and smile at the older Nazi.
For two weeks earlier, important men who had no names removed the politically insignificant symbols of pain in her breasts, although they added their own on her walls. The men were allowed to torture her further in the dry room where she lay in a state of betrayal in front of the pillows.
Only the greatest Nazi did it, freeing her from death. A powerful minor Nazi, who once made a token effort, backed away from the young intellectual’s back as he faced him in torture. Yet he still lives within the sensation of a black shroud of death and breathes with the sound of a death screech and rattle within a hood of bondage, even though he now walks in the cold light of day and the shroud is invisible to most. Her feet and legs ache all the time from the metal anvil and the braces over the years, the ties that crippled her.
You never forget the shoes of those who betray you.