queer spring time
My feelings – as usual – we will slaughter them all.
Maams, Sirs, ain’t it great, this weather?! No need for winter coats (until tomorrow, brrr)! This is so beautiful! Not posting here was beautiful, too. Mainly, because I was away nearly all the time, strolling around in towns like this and this and this (although this is a much nicer website), and, yes, this (forecoming).
Meanwhile, Vienna Metblog editor Philipp kind of “convinced” me of posting one more of my silly, still famous and (both in style and content) unrivalled blog posts. Aaaand here it is! Now, all I need to do is to give you an advice: Go to a certain cinema and spread the message You Can’t Win! They show the greatest “film noir”-movies ever. Tonight, for example, “White Heat”, yeah!
I have yet another importantly stupid remark. Today, as some of you might know, is also a great day of sorrow, and I have already been crying and mourning all day. Vienna is still shocked of what has happened and still is happening in Rome. We cannot wipe our tears without crying new ones. To give at least German speaking readers a little impression of how deeply touched we are, I would like to read you a lucid and moving poem. It has been written by Wiglaf Droste a long time ago, but time is going slow in matters of the church. This very day, the poem seems even to be prospective:
Ratzinger will Christus werden
Nicht erst im Tod, nein, schon im Leben
Doch ich sage nur: Wohlan!
Ratzinger, geh du voran!
Du willst sein wie Jesus Christus?
Nimm den Hammer, und dann bist du’s.
Vergiss die langen Nägel nicht!
Denn du bist kein Leichtgewicht.
Vorbildlich für alt und jung
Ist die Eigenkreuzigung.
In nur drei Tagen bist du schlaff –
bis dahin grüsst dich Drostes Wiglaf. (Und ich auch)
Honestly, this is the only poem I always remember (except one time, really only one time when I was not able to recapitulate. It happened yesterday at 3 a.m., I was starting my mourning session, sitting in Cafe Bendl and fairly close to an actor called Klaus-Maria Brandauer. Declaiming the whole poem could have been the chance of my life; but I failed. Damn.)
Anyway, , folks out there, until I am back keep in mind the very true essence of our being. As it follows:
We slaughtered them and we will continue to slaughter them. God is grilling their stomachs in hell.
(Muhammed Saeed al-Sahaf)