Tag Archive: Renouveau Catholique

you will have to go to YouTube to watch it.
This is a pivotal scene (one of four ) of a novel by George Bernanos*, title being : Sous le soleil de satan.
In this scene a French Country parson 😉 tries to imitate Jesus Christ bringing back to life a child.

Mark 5:41
καὶ κρατήσας τῆς χειρὸς τοῦ παιδίου λέγει αὐτῇ Ταλιθα κοῦμι ὅ ἐστιν μεθερμηνευόμενον Τὸ κοράσιον σοὶ λέγω ἔγειραι. (scusi for the ugly Koine Greek of “Mark” (Koine Greek by itself is of course NOT ugly.)).

talitha-cumi ivritstill not! the real Thing, but closer.

In Peshitta Aramaic , not sure Iesous could have read that, despite his human brilliance. 😉

tal pesh

talitha kumi is Aramaic, Jesus’ assumed mother tongue, and means: Girl (lamb) rise!

For one blink! this Little Boy in the movie is alive again. But not because of God. we are – you recall – under the sun of satan. — 😉

talitha kumi

And now, if you please, skip this tale of le renouveau catholique but just concentrate on this remarkable French child actor who so pefectly, intuitively, I think, grasps the whole scenery.

This is where I, serge, come in, because, in 1993, my then Lover and I photographed each other and I posted my photo of her as snow” (for reasons to be explained later, and if you look closely! into her eyes, you will see death.

So now I  can “update” for the public that post.



* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Georges_Bernanos




listen to it

The devil in me

Don’t come closer
Because I promise danger if you do.
You ask me why I smile?
Because I knew you’d give a shit on my warning.
So sit down, sip wine and listen
And now know this:
I used to be a peaceful man
Before I came to this place
But what attracts you now so fatally
Is just a mask,
That the demon has put on my face.
That demon’s name ‘s Dionysus,
The king of elegance and terror,
And I am his sparkling bait.
Help yourself with wine, please,
And while you’re at it,
Why don’t you take a cigarette from me.

It will somewhat ease your pain
On our fun ride…

She asked for the bathroom,
And while she was wasting
The last free minutes of her life,
I stood up and walked over to
One of the wonderful windows
Made of Butzenglas ,
And watched the landscape
(Through a Bull’s eye pane that is,)
Beyond the castle freeze in agony.
And suddenly the floating in of memories:
Bohemian Krumlov on a cold February day
In 1608… Gore at the castle…

But she returned
And I smiled her into comfort
So that she might find
Delight in the stories
I was to trap her with
Which went like this one,
Which was the first:
“One day past or future – it matters hardly -when
Dionysus tightens his grip on me once more-
He leads me in paths so wrongfully dark
Off the Bourgeois track
And through the snowy sideways of
A pretty city close to the Alps.
For you are with me in that valley of death
And I surely will dwell…
In that house of booze.
Amidst those present
-Gamblers not boozers btw
Except this one
Grayed-in-the-wool guy
Who’d stomp his left hoof
With annoying loudness on the floor-
Stood ostentatiously
Our landlady ,our barkeeperette
Body yummy, nose crooked though
(Though this being no obstacle)
But a plenitude of blond hair
Enough –to cut it short – to distract me
from keeping strict attention to my glass.
She would not take a drink
But as I applied this technique:
Pretend to be fascinated by whatever
She seems to find worthwhile to share
And be assured: her sweet little
Subconsciousness will tenderly start to vibrate for you…
Alas, she kept me from drinking seriously,
Which alone would have saved me
From committing what
Evades me now.
Because the rest of the night
Faded into a blur –a mere smear of time-
At least
And while taking the cab
Next noon to the next exhibition
Of … grandeur
And equipped most orderly with
Emotional painkillers
I – with earned concern – could not help to notify
Numerous police cars heading at
A place I could only
Faintly remember.


listen to it

We pass the gate …. our path  emerges for a while (Ernest Dowson)

One summer night in 1989
You will find me spread out
All over the marble-floored,
Ample parlor of my parents’ house
Who are spending their holidays
On an arbitrary Mediterranean shore.
The moon is not yet out when
I take a step outside on the patio
Smoking my cheap strong tobacco
And not the heavy Cubans
Oh so presentably resting
In the teakwood humidor
But at least sipping (no: drinking)
An unbelievingly expensive red wine
With grimly anarchistic delight,
While I let a most majestic massacre
Of some Straussian waltzes
Namely: Ravel’s La Valse
Burst out into the extended neighborhood
And let it beat a couple of horny tomcats
Deep into the dark bushes
On the brink of les jardins de mes parents.
Nice people by the way
When off.
And finally when bored enough
Of the splendid view, evening breeze, smell of flowers
In short: the luxury
I take a cab downtown
To get dirty…

I only don’t spare you the smelly fact
That I molest the cab-driver by farting
So much that as soon as we hit the city limits
He stands on his brakes and tries to throw me out
And only decides otherwise
After I have stuffed a big note
Between his bad excuse for teeth
Because you, my sweet lady,
Might be inclined to think that I am
Bragging with my huge knowledge
Of cultural history when I blether
That when I hit the second or third bar
This night I happen to meet
An ugly Frenchman
And very relaxedly get into
Discussing the most important 400 years of French literature
Starting with Villon, ending with Rivarol,
And a short outlook, even
On the Renouveau Catholique
Which I will try to acquaint you with much later.
I end up here with confirming
To this funny frog  in heavily broken Creole
That I don’t like Le Breton
But mean Le Pen, what an ugly mistake!
Anyway, I don’t find anything resembling a bathroom here.
So when I move myself further complete with full bladder
To the next nicely decorated filling station
I hint out to my new friend
Who just happened to squat along my path
Most innocently
The wonderful cream-colored old-timer
Waiting opposite an Irish bar
With – because it is summer-
Open windows.
I smell the fine leather while peeing on the seats
And I don’t become aware early enough
Of the owner both of bar and car
And it costs me a lot – including money –
To appease him.”

It is most appetizing to watch you chuckle over this,
My sweet guest,
Let me serve you another glass, bottle, gallon if you please, of
Шампанское  (Crimean Champaign)
And take some oysters if it helps.
How soft your cheeks feel!
I’m not a vampire, you must know,
I prefer things to end
When they end.

And now and i know you won’t mind this
Let’s get into a slightly dreamier, bluer state of mind.
How lovely your head rests on the purple cushion
While your lips and tongue and lungs make love to the shisha!

“ Nowadays I prefer Miles Davis
But back then  exploding in this discotheque
is Jeff Healey RIP
With “See the light”
The guy was blind
And quite the groover.
So I dance along and fall over
A stout G I’s feet.
This Joe or whatever  is a bit aggressive tonight
Or maybe the rest of us is, hard to decide in hindsight.
And so we fight back to back
Not sure why but we win
And earn us a taxi back home.
And it feels good to ride home,
The 2 of us sweating musketeers
On the back seat of the cab.
I confess that we two don’t look too polished on this early pre-morn
And black eye staring into black eye
I all of a sudden have this absurd idea
To show him, show his ears , make him listen to
Ravel’s La Valse
And while I force the neighbors to listen again
I will admit to you
That he didn’t care,
Well, how depraved can you get in one single summer night!
I hand him I don’t remember what it was – some filled glass
And our Joe, he thinks he is at his shrink’s
And makes this confession:
“Buddy, didya know that Ah Am a murderer…”
Grins the bastard.  “Of coazze not, but it’s true…
Ya know: I cut off someone’s head.”
I just nod and switch records,
Put some relaxing BB King on the stereo
And blow some reefer smoke into his, this
Dangerous bull’s, nostrils.
He takes it all in
I am so glad when Joe relaxes
Well, his time is up soon anyway
So I listen:  She (he hands me a photo)
Was my girlfriend back then.
When I had just returned  from the battlefield.
And that bitch, ya know had been cheatin on me all the time
While I was earning our living by risking my life any second out there..
And I come home and call her and around
The corner I see them
And my baby has his dick in her mouth
And I guess it was then that I kind of lost control
And drew out my machete and…”
But I will spare you the details of that somewhat
Some may say inappropriately gruesome slaughter
my new friend had committed
back then.
I cleverly refrain from inquiring of him,
My sweaty stony Jim,
We are bro’s in arms, mind you
What had happened to his girlfriend.
And it is not yet dawn
And I excuse myself for a pee
And when I return I am full to the brim
With holy anger some evil angel of the old bible must have blown into me
And do you see that knife, where did it come from?
And in the Lord’s own name
I slaughter the sinner
And cry over his bones
As any decent Christian would do.
But over a decade later
When I happen to stroll into
Strassburg’s murky Cathedral
Our Lord speaks to me thusly:
My son you err. It was Dionysus back then.
And I am so filled with joy
Because I had only been possessed
By that filthy, outlandish Thracian demon
When I did the abominable.”

I end there
And as I have foreseen
You have fallen into a warm somber slumber.


listen to it

Markéta Annapúrna

A pretty sentimental interlude

It is long past midnight,
It is that wee hour of 3 am and the fat blue moon
Is firmly nailed above the winter forest’s silhouette
I supply our lungs with some chilly December breeze
Then close the man-high windows and I cry.
You rest and sway
Within a satin dream.
I nervously watch over us.
The demon has left me for tonight.
But Zágreus will return on New Year’s Eve
And will as surely penetrate your soul
As he has once pierced mine.

You don’t even know where we are right now:
Inside these walls a princely madman once has raged
And killed a daughter of the town
And slaughtered her so cruelly that even
His father,  Mad Rudolf II from Habsburg ,
The Holy Roman Emperor himself,
Henceforth completely neglected
His despicable bastard.

As candles melt in front of goblins
I sigh a bit. I light my cigarette
Then turn towards your face
And to your soul within your dream propose
Let’s fly, let’s float away…
Did you know
That your red fair hair
That close to me
Whips my mind
Into arousal
And your lips which I
Hardly dare to touch
Are of a crimson darkness that
Devours the shiver that is me?
And so we fly.
You are so soft inside
And outside and everywhere.
All of a sudden
I see red-eyed hares chasing foxes and
Roebucks hunt their hunters
And we ever so slowly
Flip and flop and
Float upside down
Over this little Bohemian town
And I press your head against my chest
Because I don’t want you to see
Madman Don Julius d’Austria
Stumble across main street
Spilling his rabid terror
Into the faces of terrified passers-by
And so we fly to the East and far we fly.
And we come down hard
Inmidst the 天山 tiān shān, the heavenly mountains
Next to the little green Buddha’s hidden grotto.
Who will heed, feed and save us
Or so say the folks.

IV /1

listen to it

Two arts

You awake from a whirlwind
Of enticing emotions
I can see that you suffer.
Let me offer you help.
You need, I think, to be taught
Two arts urgently
In order to stay alive somehow
After Dionysos has taken
Possession of you:
The first one is how to
Get over your hangover
In such a way as
To keep you craving
For his venom and
Always craving for more.
The second will then enable you
To make your mind
Hover loftily above
The hard depression
That sure would hit you
Had you stayed
With your heart
At the ground.
Take this smoke first
And then a pill
Before you down
Your breakfast glass
To hail our master
Still – as of yet
Oh, you do feel sick?
I promise not to watch.
See, you even already cackled!
Turning around now.
Sir? – Yes, the lady wants
Tea … with rum,
2 shots of it
Wait: make this
Rum, tea-flavored.
My sweet, I love it
When you smile.
You are not hungry I suppose? Ok,
I’d like to show you a photograph now.
Yes, she is, should rather say: was beautiful.
This is her story, her and mine:


listen to it

How Petra died

You see me entering the town
On a slow train bound to the West
I’m definitely suffering from
A kind of drug-induced amnesia
But I sure know
Where I’m going to
Got his address penciled down
On cigarette paper
Plus some money and dope
And even entertain an
Admittedly queer kind of hope.
There was this friend of mine
Old-timer junkie
Quite clearly already
Very much over
All edges and me
Conquering this incredibly
Tiny city apartment.
Our friend, who never showed up
Had left us with his keys.
We did some qualified boozing,
My junking friend got us needle stuff,
But was not used to the smoke anymore,
Gave quite his very peculiar Hamlet one night
At the downstairs of a station
And earned his place
Most valiantly in
The town’s loony bin.
Holy loneliness. It was time
To fall in love:
For once Mr.  Mushroom, the friend with the keys,
Had reappeared from his psychedelic woods
And on my leave he asked me
If I’d join him for a party
And it was there where
I fell in love with
His friend’s girlfriend
So deeply
I almost did not feel
The joy of liquid morphine
Rushing through
My veins anymore.
Her emerald eyes sucked me
Into the very core of her being.
We crash, unite, the world
And all its pain is gone
It is just us beyond all misery,
The bitter stench of death
And  sweet decay.
But after all this carnival
We start to leave each other
Slowly, smoothly
Disappearing more and more
And there’s no way
To hold her back:
Her soul is bound to die
And mine is forced to watch.
5 years later I find you dead
You’re curled up closely
On your bed. You are so tiny,
My love, as you hug
all this messed-up linen.
I see drops of dark blood
Staring at my unbelieving eyes.
How only could you go that way?
Later your mom and me,
We’re cleaning your room
I’m wondering about
The color of those latex gloves
That I find in your dust-bin
Pink, green, yellow
Kinky stuff?  But no:
It’s just forensics.
The crime scene unit
Did their job.


listen to it


4 minutes ‘till the shops will open.
I had almost fallen asleep. Cigarette?  Sure take one
Your body is so warm.
Loud Sun!  Even the sun is showing up today!
Birds! There may be land in sight!
I dream of you besides me. It’s a crucial day.
Hope is always what it could be like.
Will we ever set sails to cross this dismal drunken sea
Against those waves of joy and horror?
And both of us, we watch that glass of booze,
That’s still half full, we will not die right now.
It’s either risky life or some kind of comfortable death.
We’re circulating round our headaches
But know of ways to fix this.
Your eyes glitter warmly at my crotch
But that’s long-past luxury
Only blood and heroin will flow
Through our wounds once bodies.
After the fix I lose myself
In your weak bleak arms
And we stare for hours
Into our long-lost future:
And we stare into death
Suddenly  after 5000 light years
You bend your face to me:
And I applaud you trying
to make it to the bathroom
Only  a couple o’ hours later
You reappear somewhat fresher
Citrus  in the air
You snuggle up at
The curious skeleton
That used to be me.
You want grass. You talk:
We’re not gonna make it over the weekend
And long before I catch the meaning  of your song
I am into purple dreams again; Birds twittering
Love into my ears.
So we have just 4 grams for 2 fucking nights left now, you fucking asshole!
I show her the “reserve”…  the beyond– h- stuff
Fist-big eyes of hers:
Great Church Choir plus Organ
Relieve Toccata
All in her eyes.
And we smoke gruntingly
Like Vietnamese water buffaloes
There is no escape

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