The Halcyon Days of My Youth

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“Halcyon” is a name for a bird in Greek legend generally associated with the kingfisher. There was an ancient belief that the bird nested on the sea, which it calmed in order to lay its eggs on a floating nest. Two weeks of calm weather were therefore expected around the winter solstice. This myth leads to the use of halcyon as a term for peace or calmness.

Halcion, with a different spelling, was a recently used drug for insomnia that unfortunately was still prescribed, even though banned as it sometimes induced violence while promoting sleep.

SENIOR NAZI: It was a floating nest on a sea I had calmed, and we laid the eggs there though it was tentative what we had done, and eventually one finds out he has ended it, and was mistaken about the premise. How I wanted to get there for you, but I could not find you as you were lost to me. Time is short and my once grand role has slipped through my hands. In the Halcyon Days of my youth, I was selfish and a selfish man, perhaps. How did time slip so suddenly through my still eager hands, with the dull hourglass tipped over, the hands of the business watch stopped in arid time?

It was a steady risk all along to avert the holocaust of our hour’s ending. We must have been boys, not men, as our ideals seem so naive now. We were indeed authentic Aryans, and we were also inauthentic assholes. We were stupid men, not really boys, but stupid men with handsome faces. Some pretended to be boys or at least boyish and were not handsome for what they did and have done, sometimes with us and in our individual names. We were shallow, but so were they. I am not sure if theorists ever become the practitioners of pure theory.

It’s a living contradiction to have perfection in your face all the time while your own sense of self disappears into the thin air.

I was drowning in the immense work of engineering the imagery and even the role of the Golden Aryan which was our ubiquitous creation, perhaps our Frankenstein. Overall, the golden nettle soup was a pot in which they boiled me. It is rich folly, rich Nazi folly, that they all searched for the golden grail and threw her out as a slave.

They were stupid men in their obsessive focus that excluded so much, the Nazis were, and I was one. I put on my wrinkled Nazi uniform jacket with much reluctance today, as it doesn’t fit and suffocates me around the neck as it is too tight, too confining in my middle age.

I was falling when I saw you as I lifted up the gargantuan golden Aryan, the ultimate supremacy, representing and even blinding us to the actual sparkling rays of an innocent heaven, though I have lost the light now. The heavy weight of the beautiful, malevolent illusion has returned passing on to the present, and as I stand before you – we can put an end to the lethal travesty these hardened opium drugs were for humanity.

YOUNG INTELLECTUAL: 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 I could take it off when it became too heavy. They said it was my choice since the golden anvil on my foot broke my child’s feet each time a foot and even my leg and killed me – did it kill you, too? at three years old, the first time perhaps earlier.

I refused the anvil early and they took it from me, bringing it back to me at twelve though I thought I was six, seven or even eight when I took it off my neck forever as the agonizing symbol and the actual racial slavery it was. No better than black slavery was the golden for me, actually it was truly terrifying to be such a lofty symbol of the white race’s beauty and virtue at so young an age, especially while looking at some of the upholders of apartheid.

SENIOR NAZI: The golden river of Aryan supremacy is a river I can still hear and feel flowing over my head. The roaring sound is so deafening that I cannot sleep, and I am drowning under the swollen river above me, walking so slowly to hold the weight of the wet stones and baptismal water cupped inside my strained, burned hands, every day. The horrible weight of the rigid, demanding superiority we all felt as we struck out at our brothers, without thought and beyond all our detailed, but concealed planning for a certain, inevitable success – was only for an ethnic victory that we lost in a familiar ditch along the wayside.

Perhaps it was the cleansing I am looking at today before I leave you to return when I can, and I will help you with the anvil.

We all of us walked in the glory of the white male, lifting him up as an unreachable god when we ourselves felt small inside and needed an exalted man. We still held him, nurturing his great image at least tenderly in our arms, the unreachable, the untouchable tall golden gods that I am not, and I never was the great Aryan… but I spoke daily for him, eloquently. Really, don’t put too much rhythm in it.

I was a big deal, a really big deal – I was the Reichstag. I liked it for this for the import of it, but really I regretted my role as I walked over the lifeless dusty corpses, like a carpet of dried leaves under my military low boots. I regretted all this as I stepped agilely, carefully over the dead images under my feet, the old, scratched and strewn black and white photographs of all our efforts to disappear into the highest air, into the ether space you have defined, originally as the Z Space.

We tried and we failed as leaders. Now it is too late to find our eagles, our brave striking eagles that never soared. We are abandoned wolves searching for a dawn, but even so, lean freedom is better than fat hunger after a horrific holocaust night.

The standard metal file cabinets were ransacked and knocked over in abandoned offices existing in desolation – in devastated pornographic still shots, I stood looking for you! After the porno movies are filmed, the involved individuals walk away from the structure, don’t they? The victims recognize the old porno set movie theater and wait with terror, an agonizing terror that the perpetrators will come back to make another film.

I looked all over the world, raging for your young perspective to help me as I stood in power guarding your tomes written during slavery. I needed your humanity to do this, my friend, to stand over the old tomes, our classics, because I knew you wrote those books. I raged because those are your classics they stole and they were standing on the published volumes, not you, the writer, who still lives without her credit as the author.

For this we will end it all by itself. I am ending the slavery you have been encased in. People are reading, all over the world, these classics without your name attached, and the lies must end.

YOUNG INTELLECTUAL: They said to me as I entered the conference room, “Here comes Ronny Reagan” and I had no choice, like you. I was Ronald Reagan, forced to write in his style while suffering with an induced clubfoot – even though it might be a product override to say this. I had no choice, either, with Star Wars ideology that was only a vision originally that I thought of as a child, and wrote up for the President to use as they insisted. I ended up being the author of Star Wars, and who would want that? Who would ever want to be the creative political writer for the end of the heavens, and the limited options for the remainder?

SENIOR NAZI: It was the strangling vines of apartheid that crawled up my calves, crawling up and hardening into rigid thick rigid stems inside my legs. The vines are forcing upwards and crawling up into my thighs and my penis, please say dick, and I can hardly walk these days or sit down with ease. I am waiting for the end of my hour.

It was the nazai, the armed nazi. Overall, it was the nazai that did me in.

The true work of the Nazi Party is the reduction of the cost of expenses and living, for life itself – as you said. We have to slow it down with the technology out of overdrive. It was golden nettle soup, not the golden ideal we had in mind.

With these words, the Reichsfuhrer-SS stepped away, reluctantly putting on his Nazi uniform jacket, looking down opaquely for a minute at the wooden apartment floor before leaving. In her presence, the gentle and brilliant man became visible as a senior leader and intellectual in the world Nazi Party, with an almost invisible transition to cruelty’s subtle expression. The skin around the cheekbones of his face tightened with a small, quick movement, and his eyes began to wear the powerful leader’s cold gaze as he walked through the door, away from her for the last time.

Nonetheless, the young intellectual knew he would finish it, as he had given his word. He had managed to take the hood off her head just that afternoon, the agonizing suffocating metal hood that was breaking her neck, her weighed down bowed head, and dissipating her will to live. After he commanded one officer on the phone to come immediately to remove the hood, and after that man refused to do it, only making a token effort and walking stridently out of the room as soon as he arrived – the senior Nazi pried it off with much difficulty, it seemed to take hours, but he said he would eliminate the chains around her feet and the metal armor of the crusades around her waist when he returned.

Another senior-ranking man or two came and went without helping, only muttering excuses before leaving. The intellectual remembers them well for their impotent refusal to help with the rigid tightening chains of slavery around her young tender body, a child’s body even now a woman’s body. The hot death metal hood was a shroud in which she had been suffocating. Her bending neck seemed to break while she struggled constantly to hold it up and smile at the senior nazi.

For two weeks earlier, important men who were unnamed removed the politically insignificant symbols of pain on her breasts, although adding their own on her walls. The men were allowed to torture her further in the dry room in which she lay in a state of betrayal facing the pillows.

Only the senior Nazi did it, releasing her from death. A once powerful lesser nazi – who made a token effort only – walked away from the young intellectual’s back as she faced him in torture. She still lives, however, inside the sense of a black shroud of death and breathes with the sound of a death rasp and rattle within a slavery hood – even though she is walking in the cold daylight now and the shroud is invisible to most. Her feet and legs are in pain all the time from the metal anvil and braces throughout the years, the bonds to make her a cripple.

You never forget the shoes of those who betray you.

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