THE HUMILIATION OF HITLER'S BRAIN
Mein Führer, these days, is a rather peaked pinkish grey, wrinkled and rumpled in a lump, resting quite nicely, nestled on or in a dish, not a deep bowl nor a flat plate, something shallow but with a bit of a lip to it, around it, to keep the slopping juices from sloshing over if accidentally disturbed. Which in turn is set upon an exceptionally ornate handmade lace doily. Him in that on that, in turn, on top of a machine, electronic in nature, of utmost German sophistication--to bypass all in between, he is on that, at appearance tethered to it by an elaborate network of wires conveying and relaying complex signals from Hitler's brain and translating them, via the machine, into speech. What? Forty years after his purported demise, he talks once again? Not only that, he hears, and more, holds a conversation, holds court with honored guests.
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quite so indeed, mein EFer, your views on Art do appear most extraordinary, your sheer knowledge equally astonishing--what are your profoundest declarations concerning the watercolor/oil comparison?
um.Unquestionably oil endures, can, for a couple ages or so at least, but it is the watercolor that is closest to the fundamental secret qualities of life--it is pure, ephemeral yet ethereal life itself, pure as the purest flowing stream, stream of . . . stream of . . . stream of water of the purest of purities: the colors of water, that is exactly it--take a watercolor picture and slip it into a tub of pure clean water and it's the culmination of the life cycle, at once a total washing away disappearance and at the same pace the wafting rebirth of an utter pur . . . posely change the subject, let's talk about beer.
I would first need to know your all inclusive opinion on the matter.
Well that is indeed hard to say, so to start hard there's no denying the value of a good stout, though there's some heed to pay to that old drink song
one stout two stout
three stout you're out
or was it
one stout two stout
three stout four
five stout six stout
puke on the floor
Then again, what can you say about a cool stein of porter
porter porter
where's my porter
porter porter
forgot to order
I am infinitely grateful to be allowed the honor to once again return to your presence, be graced with your conversation after all these years. All these years, and what they've boiled down to, for you, I can't help but be curious, your profoundest regrets.
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"You know, you know what I really most miss the? Nein, not the power. Ach! The glory? The attainment towards godhead, the ultimate of all Übermenschen anywhere, ever, of all time, Handel wrote "The Messiah" for me--never heard it myself, not one to carry much regard for all them festivities of the season of that Herr Jesus' birthday, oh ultimate unimportance to my All Mightiness? No. I will tell you. Now time will you be to the tell. What I ache for. Just between us Jungen, ho ha ho, I do so truly miss having the resources, man might say body, oder Ich wurde sagen, meinen Weinerschnitzel. I do miss having a good hard raging hard-on. Blitzkrieg one of them schönen Fräulein, take a toss in the old way, in the old hay, nicht wahr?!!"
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Eva Braun finds herself unable to contain herself any longer, take not one second longer of anymore of this, there sitting pretty on the couch in her own, very special way; legs crossed delicately, deliciously, sheathed in the very best of silk stockings, rotted away decades ago like dust-worn cobwebs, her legs divine, thighs slimming and crossing one over, maybe through, the other dangling lazily, legs as pleasing as any legs crossed woman and just as true man, cat, dog, anything really, a horse lying down though that means they're sick or dead, cows if they could cross, sort of the way the roots go in a balled tree, usually small, that wobbly old table that finally collapses one night, cracked legs sprawl; she places her hand, many hands, akimbo on every hip imaginable, turns her heads alook atem, "'Dolf, dahlink, they always talking about the Battle of the Bulge, but ever since I know you, I know it had been the Droop."