Siberia. An armored flat wagon. Herringbone light machineguns. Definitely, a bed: my own bed. The one I wear out with insomnia, not to sink into nightmares. Albeit always with grace,
Here they are, altogether. Rust iron plates as a paraphrase of the Philosophical Conversation by Giò Ponti. I don’t like some of them, for sure. For instance, I don’t like
I was introduced to them all, someone seemed inappropriate, some other moved me for his graceful pureness and elegance. Book pages, from Lernet-Holeinia to von salomon. From Ernst Jünger (who
I saw her dancing, you did too – I presume. A night long gone, a memory never fading away. She’ll always taunt us, our ancient fault. She unsettles us now
Leo Strauss. Ein Held. A Hero. His prose is enough to understand. An Old Marburger. Every single word makes sense. Nothing redundant, not even marks. Nevertheless, different stratified meanings unveil
I was looking for armored trains in Russian civil war. I stepped into this photograph. They were young men, just out of their boyhood. They ate their rations on a
At the beginning it was the Czech Legion’s armored train “Orlik”, active in Siberia from 1917 to 1921. At war, armored trains cut through the limitless lands from Ukraine to
I was looking for images of wolves. No pictures, no calligraphic etchings. I met wolf-warriors in their archaic Roman, Anatolian and Old Norse declinations. Symbols, Beasts, the transformation that yields
This is the Warrior King’s counterpart: Peace. The safety of the square, whose left side is open to let evil go away. On the back, Yehuda Halevi’s poem on holy
