by Ronald C. Kaiser
Portugals
image was complete after the Porto: bleak, slippery and in the end:
deadly in a dark pile of faeces in small forests and attacks from
fascists with police in their backs. Braga was worse by the way, it
was really destroyed as they, the AOI, destroyes Rhine valley
catholic tradition villages. It was under siege from unknown forces
to the public, known to me as AOI but I was not in the mood to wage a
war for traditional catholicism Braga style. Arms, legs and heads,
hearts and fetuses made out of wax sacrifized to saints in dozens of
dark churches, just like Hindu temples. Braga in the 80's. As the
ultimate heart of Portugese catholicism. They had too much shit on
their side, especially in Portugal and Spain, so fight your war by
yourself. I will never forget what they did and how slippery they
are. I tell the same in Germany, no pity but I understand that
compared to the AOI they offer some comfort to the soul of the needy
if they still have some. But no real solution for the Other Ones,
they bite as bad as you can imagine in some dungeon of the
inquisition, just watch Alatriste with Mortensen for a soft
introduction tom that world that is still there under a very thin
surface of globalist mediocricty.
I
left Porto with my lifetime memories that it was a place of real
interest before and moved north to the border with drilling and
stinging stares at my back at the railway station. They off course
knew about my little expedition at their foremost tourist attraction:
the wooden sidewalk at the water leading to the anal explosion of
your lifetime, if you have time for real men like this. I hadn't, as
explained, but as watching it with increasing interest like an insect
collector watching mantisses eating their spouses. There was an
ultimate barrier, the absolute border between me with the human
species of the old times, as they called it and them. Whoever created
them did it well, it all belonged to each other, even the rectangular
stone structures, as sterile as possible with the halogene lights
above the rectal wooden slideway. The problem is: the human species is
diminishing and fading away, so they are having a momentum alt least,
I thought in the train to Spain, to Galicia.
Again
a promised land of the 70's and 80's, beside the fact that it isand was the
homeland of the fascist Caudillo Franco from El Ferrol and so fucking
remote that it rained always but not so much in July and August.
Pirates and fishermen and imagined Celts, that was their way and
bonehouses near their homes where the bodies of the dead are stored
until today. Everybody was talking about Muros at the coast and we
were there in 85, with my mother back home who suspected us of buying
loads of cheap cocaine from rusty banana boats or stealing it,
harbouring there and crashing at the cliffs of Galicia, with myriads
of cocaine packages floating in the bloody rough and cold sea around
Muros. „Again the fucking shit with you and your fucking travel
destinations“, my parents said. Here it is son: „Large rusty
boats, gangsters and cocaine by tons, you asshole and that girl
around it“, my father waved a newspaper around. „we dont have no
money for cocaine and we are just students“ I said, „this is high
crime there, we are not connected to that“ and it was right. My parents
didn't believe one word but had to, since it was a truth and a world
they could not understand. Nobody would have ever invested one look
in us from the criminal underworld of the 80's in Spain that is gone
completely today and replaced by the government in form of the
Guardia Civil with the fascist King. So I decided to leave the train in
the last village before the border and sleep outside n the wilderness
that is an unspakable crime these days. I had to since Faro, I could
not stand the frying mood of them after the second or third day, so
fuck that generally. „When do you leave again and where you go?“
were the first words of the shopping girl when I bought bread in that
village, so the set was made for my disastre. Portugal of the AOI and Germany in 2018
with firefighters who were searching me in the night and then switched
on their radio to create at least some disturbance and discomfort to
annoy us.
Vigo
was cleaned up as a mother is taking away all interesting toys from
her boys and hiding the fishing gear and the guns from her husband.
So I moved to the other side, to Cangas with a ferry in between. At
least something I always connected with the old travelling of Human
League: march march march across Red qaure, do all the things no
never dared. : ferries and the feel of the ocean and transition
about it, but that was it, just a remain, not even a remnant. But I
had to learn that decay, since Cangas displayed still an image of
remote northwestern Spain village scenery I liked. The Off-Beat is
different in each country the AOI had moved in before. Our
predecessors learned the beat in any country they travelled and
bathed in it everywhere they went. We are the Off-Beat of the remains
and traps the AOI is leaving all around themselves. And Spain is
different, it housed one of the most vicious fascist regimes in the
world from 1939 to 1975 and before the most vicious inquisition, but
missed the bleak black magic thrilling moody dull atmosphere of the
Portos at the sea. That makes it more dangerous since it comes along
a different trail: everywhere the same superficial friendly intro
with all th same tapas bars that bare a danger in itself since they
can garantue a painful and slow death with poisoning often. And the
Guardia Civil everywhere, the master poison of the Spanish system,
the inquisition of our time. Nobody was there off course in Cangas,
of the travellers and freaks of the Old, but many Gallegos and many
bars but nobody wants to write about it, even not about Galicia,
because of the inqusition in Spain and the lack of any nature and
magic. Flatness remained all over Spain and no real nature except in
Galicia, it has some nature, so I went for it and many before. There
is nothing to write about in Spain, even if it looks nice and the
folks are decent. That is a miracle. Because it does not look nice as
well, except Galicia maybe, it looks as if a giant idiot has burned
everything down, flattened it in great parts with a giant bulldozer
and called that Spain and we love it since then. But only that part
of Spain: the destructed Mediterrenean coast for Germans and Brits
and the completly beautiful Andalucia...Spanish caravan..Andalucia
fields full of grain....I want to see you again and again...by
magic boy Jim M. that no one ever has seen only giant olive
plantations in a completely destrcucted landscape made by a giant
idiot with a bulldozer we never met but who is always around in
Spain.
But
just remember old WSB, the Burroughs, who said to another writer, a
Spaniard: „Spanish literature belongs on the rusty nail in the
shitter“. That's it, WSB has got it since he knew the evil as he
knew that the Danes are the worst lame and boring assholes on the planet and no good
ever comes out of a Dane. So he gave their officials a kick in the
ass when they were after his luggage in Denmark and took the next
ferry out. I did the same in Copenhagen with a chubby Danish police
cunt, after destroying my life there for the German Nazis of the AOI,
calling her country a fucking shitter of the Germans and that it is.
I
understand now why. You can't write about Spain, not much, maybe
somebody could write Alatriste well and the history trail about it,
that was at least something with some colour and the glory of the
past we all like to imagine. What fucking glory? Their disgusting
army with their disgusting king, spreading the most disgusting form
of catholicism imaginable in he whole world, roaming around in South
America? Glory was there indeed, and that was the Hombre culture,
these men with honor in Spain and a straight back who in the end
always had to work for the decadent king and cardinals that are
unspeakable. Nothing esle ever worked in Spain even in the 15th
century when wild gangs of robbers and gypsies roamed thru other
parts of Europe, when culture was so diverse in Germany, in its Holy
Roman Empire of German nation and changed every 30 kilometers.
Everything else misses any colour in Spain when you try to write
about it. But even Alatriste had just one topic, was one theme:
destruction of the world, the little world of Senor Alatriste
by the inquistion and the royalty, its disgusting goons, the church
with its disgusting cardinals and a slimy king plus a bigot virgin
whore taking him apart. Escaping the inquistion just meant: take out
a sharp knife and slit your own throat, that was the best an hombre
could do for himself in Spain when they came. And they came always
suddenly when you did not expected them: Antonio Flores, the Holy
inquistion has opened an investigation against you, - bang, the
hand went to the belt, and the knife went into his own throat when
they were smart. Except you became a Grande of Spain, meaning
to leave the Hombre an exchange it with a slimeball of the
king or the cardinals and slaughtered down the people they demanded
without any inner emotion about it. Just look at the bored,
arrogantand weazle like face of King Phillipe – it is all there:
Spain, and nothing else except Syphillis. And that's it, that is all
you can write about Spain since today, just a bit modified for today
but it is all the same and makes my ballsack shrivel.
They
had only eradicated anything else completely after 1939 when just in
Spain people like me and the Other Ones ceated a real Life for
anybody after 1936, and got away with it. Much more then the Germans
even if that sounds weird and unfamiliar, being born in Germany
myself, because in Germany there are still remnants and even active
parts of magical worlds and strange people, also a bit in people and
humans you meet, but nil in Spain. Something came back in Germany,
also after 33 percent Hitler, even some jews and gypsies came back,
impossibe such a thing in Spain, no matter when, it's all sealed down there. But the Germans are
keeping up now with Spain, they always have some monsters who do that
there. Even the catholicism is not on par with the dark and cavelike
but exquisite church horrors of Braga in Portugal and all the black
magic around there. It did not give a real chill and thrill at our
backs, that Portugese mysticism in the 80's but there was other
worldliness and groove in it – never in Spain, they even killed the
last little nature ghost in an old spring, creek or fountain or made
it evil since he had to work with some perverted monks. Spain is
always one set: look above with he Alatriste and stays like that. You
have to write to find that out that bit is empty as the Syphillis
faces.
So
I spare me the horrors of the „independent Catalania“, a creature
of the German AOI with all the backpacks and sleeping bags of
deceased freaks an travellers cut to pieces in the hills around the
French border area. I spare me the disgusting Pakistani AOI crews
everywhere in all the same shops in Barcelona sneaking after
„anarchists“ and running after me for hours and talking me down. I spare you the AOI
rebuilding of Bilbao with only actors running around just as in Bonn
at the river Rhine as were te giant radiation towers around Bilbao
that fry anybody who dares to stay in nature of the hills there as in
Bonn at the River Rhine. I spare me the coast in Andalucia, where the
Guardia Civil spotted me in a small shop by surveillance camera and
harassed me for two days until I was out of town. I spare me the once
cool bus rides in the very south of Spain where the Guardia Civil
ordered the driver by radio to stop at a remote bus stop where four
blacks then tried to rob me – I escaped and then the Spanish
inquisition send two German junkies to do the work for the crown, the
cardinals an fascism – they failed with me, I kicked them away
calling them asslicking cunts. I spare me the Hostals in Madrid where
I was watched and harassed like hell as anybody else now and then in
town, with assholes walking after me calling me names in shopswith my
diarrhea from some poison in my coffee.
And
I just tell about the Green Hell of Galicia, that the inquistion, the
Guardia Civil who is living in barracks in Cangas as the hunters of
the church lived there in Spain under Phillipe and ordered some goons
to catch me at night because I was sleeping in a forest there. They
tried to run over me by car outside a village and I jumped into the forest and was hiding out
there til morning. Before that the Germans send two of their agents
to a small bar in Cangas, watching me until I had to clean my nails
with a pocketknife and theys pissed off then – typical German agents, lame, arrogant,
slim, unfriendly, staring with pale small faces with underlying agression I
could never understand. They had to watch that nothing, nothing is
left of the old scene of Galicia from the last twenty, thirty years,
it was taken apart some years agao as after the fascist takeover in 1939 by the
Guardista monsters. And the Germans went there to learn how this is
done to the very end, just like in the inquisition they both started
moved alomng with. They deserve each other, the Germans and the
Spaniards and the push each other into evil. Spain does not deserve
any writing, it belongs on the rusty nail in the shitter.
Copyright:
Ronald C. Kaiser, 25.January 2020
