ancient_rites_-_dim_carcosa

Translation: ANCIENT RITES

ANCIENT RITES - Dim Carcosa

English Version:

Dim Carcosa

Liner Notes and Lyrics

Indeed, fortunate is the person who is able to travel often and experience the beauty that lies behind the horizon. How often have I not been overwhelmed by breathtaking, exotic landscapes and architecture of an unknown beauty? Places as strange and bewitching as Carcosa itself, according to the myth but that is another story, not to be told…yet. Journeys to other continents are inspiring, educational if you like (any excuse for another adventure into the unknown is accepted in my book!)...When finding oneself abroad for a longer period of time the call of the fatherland seems to be gaining strength. Could it be the curse of the wanderer? Not only the ones who are left behind come to mind more often, one remembers the landscapes, the places one grew up, the local colours, the aroma even, all kinds of details emerge from the subconscious…Thus, the day to answer that instinctive call to return home arrives. One finds the own land awaiting, like an old loyal friend, in its very own characteristic beauty. A splendour, often overlooked because typical human, but negative nevertheless, is the irritating ability to get used to everything, even overwhelming beauty. Naturally I consider myself lucky to live on a medieval location, however despite my initial enthusiasm I take that for granted these days, I definitely should not. Grand is the moment when beholding one’s ancient land and home again after an endless journey…And to rediscover what always was there to cherish, only one was too blind to see and it took a journey to the other side of the world first to fully understand…And here I find myself on the old doorstep. The key still fits…

The Return

No house stood there but straight

Its walls must crack

In full mid-day

The darkness was so grand

And no light was in the land…

Fatherland!…

Home. Entering this place of my lost youth brings back many memories. Climbing the stairs to my old room creates expectations. Lost treasures, more of sentimental value, no doubt. Much to my delight my old books are still there. Ah, Baudelaire! Always loved his masterpiece “Les Fleurs du Mal” which I am holding in my hands, after all these years…”Les Litanies de Satan” inspired me to write “Exile”. How to explain this sympathy for the Rebel Angel I always cultivated, why have I symbolically always embraced the Eternal Outcast? Why are the ones like us fascinated and attracted by Dante’s “Inferno”? Better not go too deep into that…A pity I never had the chance to meet Baudelaire in person. I know he lived in the province of Brabant for a while, not that he was very much thrilled with the bourgeois attitude of the local scenes the man circulated in. Rumours say Baudelaire could relate to only one person in Brussels. It probably is inexcusably arrogant to even think I might have changed his opinion but since Brabant happens to be my place of birth I would have liked to offer a different view on the province to this master of literature. Who knows, It might have made his judgement more mild? Locations are important but to mingle with soul mates is a factor that should not be underestimated to see a land in a different light. Surely more individuals in this province would have related to Baudelaire’s universe, apart from that one friend he found. Unfortunately, success and happiness often depend on three important factors: time, location and being introduced to the right circles. The interaction between these three elements means a difference of worlds. How many chances in life have not slipped through our fingers this way? Taking it one step further: imagine how many lonely souls might have found their mates if only they would have been born in a different place, another century even? From time to time I consider myself born in a wrong “epoque”. During more down to earth moments, though, I understand even the most romantic person must admit that everyone is a child of her/his own time. In the very end at least. Dear Baudelaire, I do not consider my writings of the same level but here’s to you. An interpretation. “Exile” must be a universe you share with many individuals who are reading these lines…

Exile (les Litanies de Satan)

“O Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère!”

Oh Thou, the most savage of angels

God only judges mild

Those who chant songs to his praise

Oh Prince of exile…

To whom in every tale done wrong

(but who) after defeat, always redresses more strong

Like a patron saint of

Heavens’ rejected souls

Distinctively closer to

Humanity Thou art

Connected to

Mother earth more profound

Oh Thou fallen angel of gloom, joyfully I join thy side

Even if this means eternal fire, I embrace thy kingdom of night

Exile, exile!!!!!!

Wandering in Thy wastelands

Far away from the heavenly autocrat

Close to Thee I chose to repose

Liberated from God’s wrath

Exile!!!

A temple raised for the ones like us

With plentiful room for science,

A shelter for creative minds

To dream away in silence…

Oh Thou fallen angel of gloom, joyfully I join thy side

Even if this means eternal fire, I embrace thy kingdom of night

The house I live in is not of this time. Infact the entire area is not as it was a beguinage, a kind of convent, in earlier centuries. The medieval walls surrounding the old church, houses and cobbled streets are like a symbolic keep to protect the environment from modern age. The illusion that time stood still is created here. One would not be surprised if medieval painters like Rubens or Brouwer himself would make a halt in the local tavern where the open fire welcomes weary travellers and traditional plates are still being served. The place has not altered, fine that is. I frequently repose there since the medieval decoration puts my mind at ease, or may be the dark, strong beer does? Not for long my spirit is tranquil though! For not only visions of noble painters, troubadours or other talented artists from the past come to mind while staring into the flames of the open fire. Here dwell the spirits of stout warriors, calling upon the ones who are able and willing to hear. In places like these heroes are remembered, ancient stories told, old tales revealed, history itself relived. Oh, how much I adore the Middle Ages. I am fully aware of the less beautiful aspects of that era. Science was less advanced, poverty reigned, the plague and other cruel diseases wiped out entire villages, endless wars, superstition. In fact not that much has changed from that point of view, humanity still is haunted by all these plagues, only in modern form. Anyway, to each coin there is a positive and negative side. Corruption is timeless and could be found at any court. Still…Certain codes seemed to be more intact in the Age of Kings. Throughout the ancient lands of Europe and abroad one can find examples of bravery, examples to us all. The image of “Knights in shining armour” probably is far away from reality but nevertheless each nation has its known and unknown martyrs and heroes. Individuals who unconditionally sacrificed their most precious possession: their life, for what they believed was right. Fairytales are entertaining but history provides innumerable heroes made of flesh and blood. They could be found on every side. My sympathy and respect goes out to those who had to face fearfull odds. The outnumbered remaining few to whom surrendering did not seem an option. In these selfish, modern times certain people tend to ridicule the ones holding these principles for they cannot comprehend, what do they know? Fallen ones, I raise my goblet to every each one of you…

Victory or Valhalla (last man standing)

Last man standing

Last man standing

Victory! Last man standing!

Valhalla!!! Last man standing!

Shattered and mortally wounded

On the battlefield they lay

Farewell my fellow companions

Thy souls have gone away

(we shall not behold the green fields nor hear the birds sing in may

To defend we have fought and won though with our life we paid)

Victory or Valhalla must again be the rallying cry

Ancient pride restored, let the ancient banners fly high

Broken hilt in my hands, I saw my last break of day

Here and now we found our graves, our bodies vultures prey

If our folk ever doubts or their souls have gone astray

Then lead the way to this place where our bones still lay

Stand strong with clenched fists, withstand with all thy might

Stand strong with clenched fists, until they are silenced right

Let the glory shine on thee, lift thy ancient legacy…into light!

Lift thy legacy into light, so their spirits will shine on bright…shine bright!

Stand strong with clenched fists, withstand with all thy might

Stand strong with clenched fists, until they are silenced…right!!!

Victory or Valhalla must again be the rallying cry

Ancient pride restored let the ancient banners fly high

When the cause is noble and justice at thy side

To hold what is thine and the fight is right

Victory!!! Last man standing!!! Valhalla!!! Last man standing!!!

Victory!!! Last man standing!!! Valhalla!!! Last man standing!!!

Even before I knew how to read I learned about Roland. A Frankish knight in service of Emperor Charlemagne a.k.a. Charles the Great. Now, that was a fine example of chivalry. How Roland and other Frankish nobles and soldiers defended the pass of Roncevalles in Spain against the invading Moors. My father had a card portraying Roland in his last moments, mortally wounded, blowing the horn one last time. Needless to say how impressed I was by so much bravery. Hours I stared at the card. Since Charlemagne’s Empire was huge, Roland appears in history books of many a country. Famous is the anonymous old French epic “The Song of Roland” dating perhaps as early as the middle 11th century. Charles Scott Moncrief translated it to English early last century. Unfortunately, the historical facts are not that “black and white”. Charlemagne’s troops marched through Spain in the year of 778. The ultimate goal was Zaragoza, a city of strategic importance, ruled by a Muslim governor. Charlemagne entered the land of the Basques, a people who had always managed to maintain free from Moslem domination. The Basques, not very thrilled about the Frankish army entering their lands, refused passage which resulted in conflicts, despite the common Saracen enemy. When Charlemagne returned from Zaragoza the Basques had not forgotten about the earlier clashes and attacked the Frankish rearguard to which Roland belonged. The Franks believed they were under Saracen attack but actually it was a battle between folk that should have been allies. Chaotic Middle Ages! This indeed puts a different light on the actual events. Fact remains though that Roland and his companions showed courage and loyalty. Perhaps we focus too much on the “smash and stab” aspect of the epic. Of course the described battlefield is exciting, therefore it fascinated generations, ever since the middle ages. However one should not forget “The Song of Roland” have an actual trial as their central episode. It appears that our medieval ancestors knew how to appreciate a good mystery story as well. May be it would not have harmed them either if they had been less eager for battle but then again, may be less heroes would have emerged if our ancestors had learned to control their temper…Do I hear the sound of a distant horn?

…and the Horns called for War

And the horn called for war!!!

The Franks strike on, their hearts are good and stout

Moors are slain, a thousandfold, in crowds,

Left of five score are not two thousand now

No man on earth has more nor better found

In chronicles of Franks is written down,

What vassalage he had, our Emperor (Charlemagne)

And the horns…called for war!

Marvellous in the battle now and grand

The Franks here strike, their good brown spears in hand

Then had you seen such sorrowing of clans

So many a slain, shattered and bleeding man!

Biting the earth, or piled here on their backs!

The Saracens cannot withstand the attack!

And the horns…called for war

And the horns…called for war!!!!!!!!

No house stood there but straight its walls must crack

In full mid-day the darkness was so grand

And no light was in the land

And many said “We in the judgement stand,

The end of time is presently at hand”

They spoke no truth, they did not understand

‘twas the great day of mourning for Rollant…

And the horns…called for war

And the horns…called for war!!!!!!!

Marvellous in the battle now and grand

The Franks here strike, their good brown spears in hand

Then had you seen such sorrowing of clans

So many a slain, shattered and bleeding man!

Biting the earth, or piled here on their backs

The Saracens cannot withstand the attack

And the horns…called for war!!!

The sun has since long gone down. King Winter reigns. Outside a cold wind howls but inside classical music is warming our hearts. Hit parade tunes would be out of place, indeed. All three of us are withdrawn in our own world. That is the landlady, her cat and myself. Pardon me but animals do have a soul, I count three individuals sharing this cosy winter evening. Mister Whiskers can consider himself lucky for his black colour would have caused superstition in times of inquisition. I do not mind being the only customer. My house is only a street away, a last one for the road seems a good idea. Whenever visiting these medieval pubs or taverns I settle for dark beer, brewed according to the old recipe. After all, blond beer is a later invention and I feel that details matter: everyone is entitled to a little bit of madness. I feel comfortable in my corner, the candle placed on my oak table seeks its own reflection in the dead eyes of the stuffed wild boar’s head which seems to be guarding the wooden back door. Torches create a magical light on the medieval glazing. Portraits of medieval men and women decorate the walls, their eyes watching my direction. Not that alone after all? Fascinating but not really friendly they appear to me. What are their stories? Attached to gloom I am. Another guest enters the tavern. The old man looks like a sailor, the way they are portrayed in books and old movies. The North Sea is not far so it makes sense. The landlady smiles and inquires about his last journey. My suspicion was right, a seaman it is! I am pleased to see that certain clichés are true. The sailor nods. He takes place on a bench near the halberds and shields, at the other side of the tavern. Picturesque still life it makes. Inspiring too. I vaguely recall a tragic story situated in the 16th century about a heroic cabin boy, an event that happened on the North Sea. Some medieval writings are pompous, others are as touching as they are simple. I take a pen (a quill would be more appropriate!) and some paper and write down a few lines. Trying to catch the atmosphere of that story. An attempt to write it down as simple and effective as minstrels would have in their time when they travelled from city to city, castle to castle in order to entertain and capture their audience. It is inviting to speculate that this unexpected fourth guest would discover blood ties with the unfortunate cabin boy, if only he would check out the family tree. From father to son many sailors have passed on their profession and passion for the sea. Remains a fact generations of seamen have found a watery grave, they still do. I know, dear reader, this thought of possible blood ties between both is way too much but I am getting carried away here in this timeless void.

North Sea

Once there sailed the North Sea

The North Sea, wide and cold

A ship heavily loaded

with the world’s most precious gold

The enemy ship was floating

To steal our precious gold

Floating on the North Sea

Our North Sea wide and cold

Our youngest comrade, the bravest of us all

Volunteered to sink the boat loaded with gold

He jumped into the North Sea,

Our North Sea, wide and cold

Our valliant friend, approached the ship’s hold

With his fairest knife he gouged out a hole

Down! Down! And down! Down went the boat!!!

Our valliant friend, approached the ship’s hold

With his fairest knife he gouched out a hole

Down! Down went the boat!!!…

North Sea! Swallowed by the waves

North Sea! They found their seaman’s grave!

North Sea! Swallowed by the waves

North Sea! They found their seaman’s grave!

But not before a hostile archer

Had aimed at our youngest friend

Who got hit in the chest and also down he went

We pulled him onto deck

And on our deck he died

A seaman’s grave became his part

The message (delivered) to his bride

Our youngest comrade,

In his young pride

Now he embraced the North Sea,

The North Sea as his bride!

North Sea! Our comrade young and brave

North Sea! Down in a seaman’s grave…

North Sea! Our comrade young and brave

North Sea! Down in his seaman’s grave…

The old man unfolds a newspaper. I catch a glimpse of the headlines, they bring me back to the 20th century. Or do they, as I read nothing new? Religious wars world wide. Things have not altered that much since the stone age. Many negative aspects from the old world have remained, the more positive ones, on the other hand, are down the drain. Fundamentalists slicing each other’s throat in the name of God, Allah, Jahweh, Jehova…who ever. “Ignorance is bliss” they say, if only it would not be that dangerous, after all in the event also non fundamentalist, innocent people get hurt...Here in the North of Europe mostly older people still hold on to religion. At least they celebrate their ardent faith in God in a less despotic way. I have visited places in Africa and Asia where religion still very much dominates society. Even certain places in Europe are still in a stranglehold. Religious fundamentalism is not only increasing on the other side of the world, it is happening in our back garden. Why do people take it that far? Each group honestly believes to be guided by God’s hand. Being a devoted traveller I have encountered the negative aspects of fundamentalism. Lands that could offer so much beauty to the wanderer are being reduced to places to avoid due to that process of increasing religious insanity. I would be first to respect tradition but it should not be taken too far. Some countries, prosperous in science, art and literature during ancient times, are at stone age level today. Peculiar that is. Because of religion I would not dare to say but their blind fanaticism does not help their culture much to evolve either. Tradition I applaud, regression is another thing. My heart bleeds when I see religious fanatics destroy ancient monuments that are considered as universal heritage. I have seen too many beheaded ancient statues, damaged icons and destroyed temples on my travels. Difficult issue here, from one point I defend traditional ways, from another I praise evolution. Well, I don’t have the answers, never pretended I did. It all is a matter of balance, I suppose…We walk a thin line. What seems right to someone might occur wrong to somebody else. All depends on one’s personal background and views…People decide and hold the power to create or destroy. Therefore we are God.

Götterdämmerung (Twilight of the Gods)

Wir sind götter (we are gods)

Gott ist der mensch (god is man)

Sein ist die hand die schafft (his is the hand that makes)

Sein ist die hand die verletzt (his is the hand that wounds)

Götterdämmerung!

We are gods, God is man

His is the hand that makes, his is the hand that wounds!

As I behold your crucified lord,

It is pity I feel not a sign of purification

And yet it are millions taught by his word

Die götterdämmerung ist hier! (the twilight has come)

Die götterdämmerung ist hier!

A universal message of love,

Lessons for the world to be clear

But I sense megalomania in his word

Dogmatic, based on fear

Die götterdämmerung ist hier!

Die götterdämmerung ist hier!

Like the word taught in that other book

By some other prophet born in the East

Screaming “jihad!!!” Lifes they took

On the non believers corpses they feast

Not that Jahweh offered the other cheek

As he so firmly told his followers to do

Too many sacrifices in His name

Far too many lies not to look through

And here I stand alone in the light,

No god or master above me

Do I suffer from this lack of divinity?

Faith, my dear friend, can be splendid indeed

A force to hold on to when the feeble soul bleeds

Religion served to the masses might be a dangerous seed

Forced down your throat the last thing a free man needs

I walk a lonely path

Am I too blind to see?

But at least I can say my soul is free

And my only God is me…

We are gods, god is man

His is the hand that makes, his is the hand that wounds!

We are gods, god is man

His is the hand that makes, his is the hand that wounds!

I pay the check, say good night, put on my coat and in the stormy night I am on my way home. No bats circling the sky. Not the right season yet for my Gothic neighbours. In order to see those small nocturnal creatures appear again I have to wait until summer. Another cliché proved to be true: they always appear at night, there still are certainties in life. I do not feel sleepy yet. Nothing better than an interesting book to end the day. I climb the stairs to my room. On the bookshelf I find a few interesting jewels! Works of Shelley and Byron, Homer’s “Iliad”, a classic! Bronte’s “Wuthering Heights”, “The Name of the Rose” by Ecco. Ah! Literature dealing with ancient history! Immediately I feel completely awake again! “Caesar’s campaigns in Gaul”, “Warfare in the Ancient World” or “The Celts” to mention but a few, I could be in much worse company, indeed! Knowing myself I will not be catching much sleep tonight. How fascinating the history of our ancient lands really are. If only we could travel back in time to catch a glimpse of the glorious European past! All we have are the remains and ruins to travel to. Sure, splendid they are and true moments of happiness I achieve on these locations but still these ancient sites are empty. Tourists are plenty but the population that gave these civilizations their soul have vanished, forever. To travel back in time and actually communicate with these since long disappeared inhabitants, would be a larger than life experience. At the same time I cultivate this loss and find it appropriate, for what is lost and unknown will never disappoint. I am a seeker of truth, only, sometimes it is better for myths to remain intact, a closer look might spoil things. In the end what matters most are our ancestors’ achievements. They made us what we are today. To Mother Europe I belong. Here’s to the ancestors! Not only to ours but also to the ones of people all over the globe who descend from these ancient lands.

(Ode to ancient) Europa

(from Gallia to Germania)

I still hear the ancient warcry

(Roma to Britannia)

I still hear the ancient battlecry

The great old European heroes, the proud old European names

Like snow now melted for sunlight, today their lustre gleams,

Gone are the great old empires, the proud old names are low

that shed a glory over the ancient world, a thousand years ago

But wandering the medieval cities, beholding our ancient lands

Albion, Saxonia, land of Franks constructed by our ancestors’ hands

(from Erin to Caledonia)

I still hear the ancient warcry

(Ellada to Helvetia)

I still hear the ancient battlecry

(from Lusitania to Hispania)

I still hear the ancient warcry

(Mycenae to Macedonia)

I still hear the ancient battlecry

In the country of our fathers, on the land and sea

Can you hear a million voices? Thy forefathers summoning thee! Summoning thee!

Many centuries ago, beyond the hazy space

In Brittany, Eire and Caledonia there dwelt a mighty race

Celts they were called, like their holy oaks they had a giant grace

(fierce was the Byzantine empire,

Spread over the Balkans, Asia Minor and Greece

Combining eastern and Western tradition

A gateway to the East)

Slavonian kingdoms, empires and tribes

Defending their ancient lands and rights

From invading hordes from the East

Thousands slaughtered (fair) men and beast

(from Byzantium to Phoenicia)

I still hear the ancient warcry

(Etruria to Cymru)

I still hear the ancient battlecry!!!

How fast time travels, I have been away for such a long time…My return also offers the opportunity to reflect on the past, to actually sit down and remember. Persons I truly appreciated come to mind. Deceased or disappeared out of my life. There must be people out there reading this manuscript who share thoughts similar to mine from time to time, for life offers and takes…Should we have done certain things differently? Beautiful life, cruel life. It finally is time for…

Remembrance

Earlier in the tavern I accidentally overheard our sailor had been to Samarkand. A fairytale like city located along the famous silk road, the route of caravans carrying silk and other precious goods from China to the Middle East. Names like Alexander the Great, Ghengis Khan and Marco Polo come to mind. Also Hugo Pratt’s spirit is close now (his spiritual child Corto Maltese wandered around there, too). Samarkand I should visit one day. Attractive to me are the historical location, the splendid architecture surrounding the city square and the strange folklore (in which East meets West). Even the beautiful long haired camels add an extra exotic value. Ever since my trip in the Sahara desert and my stay in Asia Minor I am fond of those tough animals, these ships of the desert have been more than once reliable allies and convinced me of their value…I read religion has a strong impact on the local society in Samarkand. All depends on how big that impact is and its actual side effects if I will travel there or not. On one of my travels I entered a holy place where was kept an important Islamic relic (a part of the prophet’s beard, no kidding!), I did not mind the pilgrims looking at me as if I was an alien. In their universe I was, in a way. Nor was I upset when inhabitants of remote villages touched my hair and skin in wonder. However I would mind having my throat cut while enjoying a beer in a land where the use of alcohol is “rewarded” by death penalty. Believe me, dear reader, these places do exist! I agree, alcoholism is not a solution and to be avoided but death penalty for a sip of alcohol?! Try to enjoy an icy cold beer in cities controlled by the Taliban! I suggest to leave your erotic literature at home as well. Women are not allowed to leave the house. Men performing public tasks must wear a beard! These gentlemen do take fashion very seriously, amongst other things! A drag their punishments are rather final. Once I entered a city where alcohol was prohibited. People did not really come across extremely good-humoured there! On a more serious note: later I heard that alcohol consumption was one of the highest of the country in that particular village. Human like you and me after all but everything had to happen secretly. Honestly, I don’t think it ever was the intention of spiritual and religious movements to stimulate hypocrisy. I should ask the old sea dog opposite my table what my chances are in Samarkand. I must confess to envy sailors a bit. In their dying hour they look back on a rich, colourful life of constant travel. Many civilizations have been created by seafaring folk. Bear in mind such splendid empires like Carthage or Phoenicia to name only two. Seagoing people discovered America, by accident I know, still...Mind you, not all sailors were peaceful colonizers or explorers. Monk Simeon’s testimony of how Vikings performed a raid on Lindisfarne in the year of 793 leaves no doubt. Not a bright day for the Durham monks when they saw the Snake and dragon heads of the Viking warships appear at the horizon! To this very day Lindisfarne is an important spiritual place frequently visited by pilgrims because of the revived interest in early Celtic Christianity. Fair enough, but I am more curious about the meaning of the name Lindisfarne. We know it were the first Anglo-Saxons to live on this fine island in the extreme North-East Corner of good ol’ England who gave the name. What Lindisfarne actually means remains an unsolved mystery. I like that. What would the world be without any mystery left?

Lindisfarne (Anno 793)

All heaven and earth were still

As if God’s paradise never lost

None could foresee the silent (approaching) chill

(in the shape of raging heathens)

Though Durham monks experienced at high cost

Martyrs made Christians fallen in this Pagan attack

No shrine left untouched, sacred loot on their back

Lindisfarne, Odin Rides!

Lindisfarne, down in flames!

Lindisfarne, Odin Rides!

Lidisfarne, down in flames!

Martyrs made Christians fallen in this Pagan attack

No relic left untouched

Hear the sound of the Norseman’s laughter

Behold their rise, sacred loot on their back

Saint Cuthbert lowering the head

The head for Odin’s sons

Lindisfarne, Odin rides!

Lindisfarne, down in flames!

Odin…rides over Nordland again!

Odin…rides over Nordland again!

Desecration of the Holy island!

All heaven and earth were still

As if God’s paradise never lost

Though Durham monks experienced at high cost

Lindisfarne, down, down in flames!!!!

Saint Cuthbert lowering the head

The head for Odin’s sons

As for now the heathen still prevails

Pagan warriors mocking God

Witness their fury, hear the victorious hails

Hear the victorious hails!

Lindisfarne, Odin rides!

Lindisfarne, down in flames

Lindisfarne, Odin rides!

Lindisfarne, down in flames

Lindisfarne, down, down in flames!!!!

Here I find a verse written by Flemish poet Guido Gezelle entitled “Groeninge”. “Groenighe-Kouter” was the place where on the 11th of July, 1302 an event important in the history of Flanders, called “The Battle of the Golden Spurs” took place. I recall discussions about 13th of october, 1307. According to certain sources the actual date when Jacques de Molay and other Templar Knights were burned at the stake, other authorities refer to it as the day when the prosecution of the Order started. Historical events can be shrouded in mist. In earlier times Celtic bards had the liberty to alter historical details a bit in favour of splendour, it did not turn them into liars but accurate details are more difficult to retrieve this way. Concerning the 11th of july, 1302 all sources agree. The lines “Het Vlaamse Heir staat immer pal, daar ‘t winnen of daar ‘t sterven zal, alhier, aldaar aan lange lansen, de Leeuwen dansen, de Leeuwen dansen” are by Gezelle’s hand, lines which I can imagine sung by a troubadour, his voice is reaching me beyond the hazy space of time. These four lines make clear that there was no option but “victory or Valhalla”, now, where did I hear that before? Further more It describes how on long lances Lions are dancing, of course metaphorically speaking and referring to the black lion on a golden Field: the banner of Flanders since the early Middle-Ages. Not a very impressive army they were, though. With no meaning to conquer anyone or anything, to defend was the issue, to withstand the armies of the foreign king who was interested in the wealth of 14th century Flanders. After all Bruges was one of the main harbours in Northern Europe at that time. The majority of the Flemish militia were commoners and artisans with only a minority of noble man and knights in their ranks. Surely no match for the invading opponents consisting of glorious knights and well organised troops. Life is unpredictable, the invaders lost. The Golden spurs of the fallen enemy Knights were gathered as trophies. Hendrik Conscience wrote a romanticised epic entitled “The Lion of Flanders” which contributed to a national feeling. In reality it was not so much a fight between nations, it was the age of cities and as in all wars anytime, anywhere there were collaborators, mainly nobles, who fought at the side of the opponents. I do not point fingers at anyone here, nobles from Brabant for instance could be found on both sides. Everyone had their own reasons to join a particular camp, probably those fighting on the other side believed they were loyal to a greater kingdom, some even blood related as many members of nobility were. It was a complex situation with political and economical interests but fact remains that the lustre of this particular victory reflected on the whole of Flanders. It was not a clash between two monarchs, the most prominent leader of Flanders was already imprisoned in the land of the aggressor. This uprise was spontaneous and inspired by the common people. An interesting detail: it was quite unique that an army consisting mostly of foot-soldiers defeated an entire cavalry. And historical figures such as Willem van Gulik, Willem van Saeftinge or Robrecht van Betune were as equally heroic in battle as the romantic characters from Conscience’s epic. Oh, I know many consider it politically incorrect to celebrate one’s own history. Often those who do are crucified by paranoid masses. Where is written that praising one’s own culture automatically implicates hating another? It is my humble opinion that a folk who renounces its own history has no soul. Period. Burn me for all I care.

On Golden Fields (de Leeuwen dansen)

We ask not the pleasures that riches supply

Our weapons shall regain what betrayers must buy

Throwing back the invaders reigning our Land and waves

And finally teach these nobles what it means to be slaves

Far more large in numbers, better armed, they came

But are it not our cities that these rascals claimed?

A victory rather certain they held within their hands

But courage, craft and justice gave us a stronger stand

Bloodstained flags,

Hear our men roar

But under foreign rule

Bloodstained flags,

Hear our men roar

We shall suffer no more

We shall suffer no more

“Het Vlaamse heir staat immer pal.

Daar ‘t winnen of daar ‘t sterven zal

Alhier, aldaar aan lange lansen,

De Leeuwen dansen, de Leeuwen dansen!”

Oh, land of Flanders

From field to shore

Shall view us as victors

Oh, land of Flanders

From field to shore

Shall view us as victors

Or view us no more!

For victory was ours, against all odds

Truly a miracle in a world without gods

Bloodstained flags,

Hear our men roar

But under foreign rule

Bloodstained flags

Hear our men

We shall suffer no more!

We shall suffer no more!

I close my eyes. A voice from a century buried by time and dust reaches my ears. And the troubadour sings:

“Het Vlaamse heir staat immer pal

Daar ‘t winnen of daar ‘t sterven zal

Alhier, aldaar aan lange lansen

De Leeuwen dansen, de Leeuwen dansen”

En de Leeuwen dansen…

One last book, or a few pages at least, before I blow out the candle. Sure, there is 21st century electricity in this house available but on locations and in moments like these I prefer more atmospherical, ancestral ways to illuminate the pages I read. Here an excerpt from Chambers’ “The King in Yellow”! Never released in Europe. Carcosa. What is Carcosa? Where is Carcosa? My quest for the answers has lead me to the most interesting sources. My first encounter with Carcosa was The Satanic Bible, how’s that for an introduction! No further explanation on Carcosa, only a short poem (taken from “Cassilda’s Song”) referring to this mysterious name. Enough to awaken my interest, though. On my search for Carcosa I came across the fascinating world of Crowley and his occult society, The Necronomicon by Abdul-al-Hazred alias the Mad Arab (the alter ego of H.P. Lovecraft?), Masonry, The Knights Templar, The Rosicrucian Order, The Grand Lodge, Thelemic Orders, Tantric Alchemy. Mystical esoteric worlds. Chambers from his part described a mythical place. Then there is Carcaso, the ancient Latin name for Carcassone, a fortress in the South of France. Once, on our way to Italy, we passed Carcaso at night. Carcassone was drenched in an enchanting light according to my travelling companion who enjoyed the sight, I was unfortunate and in a deep sleep at that time. Historical Carcaso remains unseen by my eyes, for now that is. Mythical Carcosa on the other hand will remain out of reach forever, I’m afraid. Or will it? It truly pleases me when historical facts and mythology/mystery meet. The power of the esoteric yet wordly Order of the Knights Templar was widespread, also in medieval Carcaso whose name strongly reminds of mythical Carcosa. Inspired by or linked to? Who can tell? The circle completed though! Sometimes, only every now and then, myth and fact meet. Those rare and precious moments make life worthwile. With all this in mind I blow out the candle. Through the window the moon shines down on me, on purpose left the curtains open to welcome this nocturnal friend. Always loved the moonlight…

Dim Carcosa

Black stars shine on the ancient fortified town

The sun invisible or since long down?

Over the dismal landscape

Above Carcosa

No sound, only the wind sighed

Behind mysterious moons strange towers hide

But even more distant is

Lost Carcosa

Tales that the Hyades will sing

Vague stories of a Yellow King

Must die untold in

Strange Carcosa

Mysteries hidden by lake Hali’s nebulous depths

A presence of bizarre beauty and dread

Remains unrevealed

In Carcosa

Above the desert high

Twin suns circle the sky

Nevertheless dim still

Is Carcosa

My voice turns weak, lost is my mind,

I see but I am blind

And no sign of life in

Dim Carcosa

I shut my eyes. A beautiful day it was. I have only just returned but my mind already travels to a far away place. Aren’t the most inviting and attractive travels the impossible ones? Voyages to other times or worlds?Restless soul I am! While Sleep starts to embrace me with its silk wings I begin to observe a strange environment. A distant ancient fortified town is veiled in mist. Oh, wish I could behold the secrets which are hidden within and guarded by these walls. Has Hypno offered me through this dream a second chance and brought me in front of Carcasso(ne)? Or do I find myself standing opposite gates I better not pass and have I finally reached Carcosa?

Gunther, winter 2001

Chinese  Version:

朦胧的卡可萨

文/Gunther Theys

译/g

真的，能够经常旅行并体验到置身于地平线后之美景的人何其幸运。我曾多久未能沉溺于一处未知的美妙建筑或摄人心魄的异域风情而难以自拔？如卡可萨（Carcosa）一般奇怪且令人着迷的地方，依然……不得而知。哪怕是根据神话而来但那是另外一个故事。假如你喜欢，到其它大陆的旅程总是富有启迪和教育意义的（在我的书中，进入未知的另一种探索的任何理由都是可以接受的！）……在海外待了一段相当长的时间以后就会发现来自父土的召唤似乎获得了更大的力量。这是被下到游子身上的诅咒吗？不只是被留到身后的那些人愈发频繁地出现在脑海，你还会记起风景，自己成长的地方，当地的色彩甚至还有芳香，各式各样的细节都从潜意识里浮现出来……就这样，给那返乡的本能召唤以应答的日子到了。你发觉自己的土地和它独有的丽致在等待，犹如一位忠实的老友。但是这辉煌却常常被否定性地忽视，因为那是一种对所有事物，即便是对压倒性的美丽也全都习惯的仿效能力。自然地，我认为生活在一个中世纪的地点是幸运的，但是如果不管起初令我获得这些日子的热衷，我绝对不该那么想。在一次没有尽头的旅程后再回到家中目睹自己的古代的土地，并且重新发现总在那里值得珍爱的一切的一刻是庄重的……除非一个人太过盲目而无法看到，而且完整理解它需要一次到世界另一边的旅行……就在这儿，我发现自己已经站在老门阶上。钥匙依旧合适……

“归来（The Return）”

No house stood there but straight

Its walls must crack

In full mid-day

The darkness was so grand

And no light was in the land…

Fatherland!…

家。进入这个我失去青春的地方带回很多回忆。爬上楼梯到我的老房间则创出期望。失落的宝藏，无疑更多的是情感上的价值。让我颇为欣喜的是我的旧书都还在。啊，波德莱尔！我手中正捧着他的杰作《恶之花》（Les Fleurs du Mal），这么多年的钟爱……“致撒旦的连祷文”（Les Litanies de Satan）启发我写下了“放逐（Exile）”。该怎样解释我一直培养的对于反叛天使的这种同情？为何我总是标志性地信奉那“永恒的驱逐”（Eternal Outcast）？为何如我们一般的人总为但丁的《地狱篇》（Inferno）痴迷不已？最好不要过分深入……可惜我从没机会亲身会见波德莱尔。我知道他曾经在布拉班特省住过一阵，也并未被当地他周围人的中产阶级态度弄得胆战心惊。有笑话说波德莱尔在布鲁塞尔只和一个人有联系。或许这缘于不可原谅的自大，我甚至认为自己能改变他的看法，因为布拉班特恰是我的出生地，我倒很乐意提供给这位文学大师对这个省的一个不同看法。谁知道呢，这或许会让他的判断变得更和善些？地点很重要，可是若想在一种不同的光线下审视一片土地，与精神上的伙伴相结合也是一个不应被忽视的因子。当然除了他找到的那个朋友外这个省还可能有更多的人能联系到他的世界。不幸的是，成功与快乐常常依赖于三个重要因素：时间、地点和被引入正确的圈子。这三种元素的互动意味着世界的多样。生命里有多少机会这样就不会从我们的指缝溜走？更进一步：想想假如生在一个不同的地方，甚至另一个世纪，或许有多少孤独的灵魂就能够找到他们的伙伴？不时地，我会认为自己生在了一个错误的“年代（epoque）”。然而，在更多的现实时刻，即便是最浪漫的人也得承认每个人都是他/她自己的时代的孩子。至少是在最终。亲爱的波德莱尔，我不觉得我的作品有着同等的水平，但是它是给你的。一个解释，“放逐”定是你和读到这些字句的很多个体分享的星系……

“放逐（致撒旦的连祷文）[Exile (les Litanies de Satan)]”

“O Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère!”

Oh Thou, the most savage of angels

God only judges mild

Those who chant songs to his praise

Oh Prince of exile…

To whom in every tale done wrong

(but who) after defeat, always redresses more strong

Like a patron saint of

Heavens’ rejected souls

Distinctively closer to

Humanity Thou art

Connected to

Mother earth more profound

Oh Thou fallen angel of gloom, joyfully I join thy side

Even if this means eternal fire, I embrace thy kingdom of night

Exile, exile!!!!!!

Wandering in Thy wastelands

Far away from the heavenly autocrat

Close to Thee I chose to repose

Liberated from God’s wrath

Exile!!!

A temple raised for the ones like us

With plentiful room for science,

A shelter for creative minds

To dream away in silence…

Oh Thou fallen angel of gloom, joyfully I join thy side

Even if this means eternal fire, I embrace thy kingdom of night

我的住所并不属于这一时代。其实整个地区都已不再像它在过去的世纪里一样是一座“beguinage”，一座女修道院。中世纪的墙壁环绕着古旧的教堂、房屋和铺满卵石的街道，好似在摩登时代保护着该环境的一座标志性塔楼。这创造出了那个时代依然耸立在此的幻觉。假如像鲁本斯或布劳威尔的中世纪画家在用火光迎接疲倦的旅人，依旧使用传统餐具的地方客栈小憩当也不会令人吃惊。地方没有变化，很好。我常常到那里休息，因为中世纪的装饰让我的思想舒坦，也许那是强力的黑啤酒的作用？可我的精神不会长久平静！因为在我盯着火光的时候不只有高贵的画家，行吟诗人或者其他天才的艺术家从过去走进我的思想。这里居住着强健战士的精神，召唤着那些能够听见并且想要听见的人。在这样的地方，英雄们得以缅怀，古老的故事得以讲述，旧时的传统得以揭示，历史复生。哦，我多么景仰中世纪啊。我全心全意地关注那一时代不那么美丽的方面。科学不怎么先进，贫穷占了统治地位，瘟疫和其它残酷的疾病席卷整个村庄，无尽的战争，迷信。其实就那样的观点而言没有什么变化发生，人性依旧被这些瘟疫纠缠，只不过是它们换成了一种现代方式。无论如何，每枚硬币都有正反两面。腐败不受时间影响，所有朝代都有。然而……某些法规在王朝之中似乎更为完整。遍及欧洲和海外的古老土地你都能找到英武的例证，给我们全体的例证。“身披闪亮铠甲的骑士”的形象也许距离现实很远，每个民族却都有它自己的知名的或者不知名的宗教与世俗英雄。为了他们相信是正确的事而无条件地牺牲他们所拥有的最宝贵的东西：他们的生命。神话故事只是为了消遣，但历史给出无数血肉之躯的英雄。各方都能看得到他们。对所有不得不面对可怖敌人的人，我多会给以同情和敬意。剩下更多的会给以那些没有选择必得屈服的更少的人。在这些自私的现代时光，有人倾向于嘲笑持有这些他们所无法理解的准则的人，他们懂得什么？倒下的人儿啊，我举杯，为你们每一位……

“胜利或是瓦哈拉大殿（最后一人）[Victory or Valhalla (last man standing)]”

Last man standing

Last man standing

Victory! Last man standing!

Valhalla!!! Last man standing!

Shattered and mortally wounded

On the battlefield they lay

Farewell my fellow companions

Thy souls have gone away

(we shall not behold the green fields nor hear the birds sing in may

To defend we have fought and won though with our life we paid)

Victory or Valhalla must again be the rallying cry

Ancient pride restored, let the ancient banners fly high

Broken hilt in my hands, I saw my last break of day

Here and now we found our graves, our bodies vultures prey

If our folk ever doubts or their souls have gone astray

Then lead the way to this place where our bones still lay

Stand strong with clenched fists, withstand with all thy might

Stand strong with clenched fists, until they are silenced right

Let the glory shine on thee, lift thy ancient legacy…into light!

Lift thy legacy into light, so their spirits will shine on bright…shine bright!

Stand strong with clenched fists, withstand with all thy might

Stand strong with clenched fists, until they are silenced…right!!!

Victory or Valhalla must again be the rallying cry

Ancient pride restored let the ancient banners fly high

When the cause is noble and justice at thy side

To hold what is thine and the fight is right

Victory!!! Last man standing!!! Valhalla!!! Last man standing!!!

Victory!!! Last man standing!!! Valhalla!!! Last man standing!!!

甚至在学会读书以前我就知道了罗兰。查理曼皇帝，也就是查理大帝麾下的一名法兰克骑士。现在，那是骑士制度的一个好例子。罗兰和其他法兰克贵族与战士是怎样在西班牙的朗斯维尔斯山路抵御摩尔人的入侵啊。我父亲有一张描绘着罗兰的最后一刻的卡片，受了致命伤，最后一次吹响号角。毋庸多言此般英武给我留下了多么深刻的印象。我曾数小时地盯着那张卡片。而由于查理曼的帝国幅员辽阔，罗兰出现在很多国家的史书上。古时无名氏所书法国史诗《罗兰之歌》（The Song of Roland）极为出名，创造日期或许早至十一世纪中叶。Charles Scott Moncrief在上世纪早期将其译为英语。不幸的是，历史真相并非那么“黑白分明”。查理曼的骑兵在778年横扫西班牙。最终的目的地是萨拉格萨，一座穆斯林总督统治下的有着重要的战略地位的城市。查理曼进入了巴斯克人（Basque）的土地，而他们一直在穆斯林统治下成功地享有自由。巴斯克人并不惧怕踏上他们土地的法兰克军队，拒绝他们通过而导致了冲突，而不管共同的敌人是萨拉人（Saracen）。查理曼从萨拉格萨返回时，巴斯克人并没忘记早先的冲突而攻击了罗兰所属的法兰克后卫部队。法兰克人相信他们受到的是萨拉人的攻击，而实际上这是本应结盟的民族之间的战斗。混乱的中世纪！这在真实事件上投下了另一种辉光。然而保存下的事实是罗兰和他的部下展示出的勇气与忠诚。可能我们太过于关注史诗“冲刺”的方面了。当然，被描述出的战场很刺激，从而使得中世纪之后的世时代代心驰神往。可是我们也不该忘记《罗兰之歌》的中心情节是一次真实的审判。这显示出我们中世纪的先人同样知道该如何去颂扬一个美好的神秘故事。假使他们不那么渴望战斗，可能就不会受到伤害，但是再重复一次，假使我们的先人学会了如何控制他们的情绪，可能英雄也会少很多……我听到了遥远的号角声吗？

“……而号角在召唤着战斗（...and the Horns called for War）”

And the horn called for war!!!

The Franks strike on, their hearts are good and stout

Moors are slain, a thousandfold, in crowds,

Left of five score are not two thousand now

No man on earth has more nor better found

In chronicles of Franks is written down,

What vassalage he had, our Emperor (Charlemagne)

And the horns…called for war!

Marvellous in the battle now and grand

The Franks here strike, their good brown spears in hand

Then had you seen such sorrowing of clans

So many a slain, shattered and bleeding man!

Biting the earth, or piled here on their backs!

The Saracens cannot withstand the attack!

And the horns…called for war

And the horns…called for war!!!!!!!!

No house stood there but straight its walls must crack

In full mid-day the darkness was so grand

And no light was in the land

And many said “We in the judgement stand,

The end of time is presently at hand”

They spoke no truth, they did not understand

‘twas the great day of mourning for Rollant…

And the horns…called for war

And the horns…called for war!!!!!!!

Marvellous in the battle now and grand

The Franks here strike, their good brown spears in hand

Then had you seen such sorrowing of clans

So many a slain, shattered and bleeding man!

Biting the earth, or piled here on their backs

The Saracens cannot withstand the attack

And the horns…called for war!!!

阳光早已消隐。冬季君临。屋外寒风凛冽而屋内古典音乐正温暖着我们的心房。打着阅兵的节拍不合时宜，真的。我们三个都被拉回到我们自己的世界。女房东，她的猫和我自己。很抱歉，但动物也有灵魂，我数到三个个体正在分享这个温暖而舒适的冬夜。胡子先生可以把他自己视作幸运，因为他的黑暗在宗教裁判所的时代会引发迷信。我并不介意作为唯一的客人。我的家只在一条街以外，街道尽头最后一所似乎是个不错的主意。不论何时造访这些中世纪的酒吧与客栈，我都坐在那里喝着按照古法酿制而成的黑啤酒。毕竟，金色啤酒是后来才发明的，而我觉出细节的重要：每个人都被赋予了几分疯狂。我坐在自己的角落，感觉很舒服，橡木桌上的烛光在似乎正守卫着木制后门的雄野猪头填充的眼睛里寻觅着自己的倒影。火把在中世纪的玻璃上创造出一种魔法般的光亮。四壁装饰着中世纪男女的肖像画，他们的眼睛正注视着我这一方向。压根就不孤独？在我看来，那很迷人却不是真的友善。他们的故事是怎样的呢？我为幽暗所吸引。又一客人走进客栈。这位老者看起来像是一位水手，就像是书籍和老电影里刻画的一样。北海并不遥远，所以它有意义。女房东笑着问起他的最后一次旅行。我的猜测是正确的。他是位海员！我很高兴看到那句老话成真。这位水手点着头。他在客栈另一边靠近枪和盾的地方找了张长凳。画面一样平静的生活。还能带来启迪。我模模糊糊地回想起关于一位十六世纪英勇的船上侍应生的悲剧故事，一次发生在北海上的事件。一些中世纪的作品被夸大了，另外一些则简略而动人。我拿过一支钢笔（一支鹅毛笔或许会更合适！）和几张纸写下一些句子。尽力捕捉到那个故事的气氛。尝试着尽可能简单明了地将其写下，就像他们那个时代的游吟诗人一样，他们曾经一个城市一个城市、一座城堡一座城堡地旅行，就这样娱乐并且聚集他们的观众。暗自思忖只要核实家谱就或许会发现这第四位意料之外的客人和那位不幸的侍应生有着血亲很令人兴奋。众多水手由父及子传递着他们对大海的专业与热情。留存下一个事实，世世代代的海员曾经总是，并且仍然在寻得一座水造的坟墓。我知道，亲爱的读者，这种两人之间可能有血亲的想法跑得太远了，可是我就在这永恒的空虚之中被带离此地。

“北海（North Sea）”

Once there sailed the North Sea

The North Sea, wide and cold

A ship heavily loaded

with the world’s most precious gold

The enemy ship was floating

To steal our precious gold

Floating on the North Sea

Our North Sea wide and cold

Our youngest comrade, the bravest of us all

Volunteered to sink the boat loaded with gold

He jumped into the North Sea,

Our North Sea, wide and cold

Our valliant friend, approached the ship’s hold

With his fairest knife he gouged out a hole

Down! Down! And down! Down went the boat!!!

Our valliant friend, approached the ship’s hold

With his fairest knife he gouched out a hole

Down! Down went the boat!!!…

North Sea! Swallowed by the waves

North Sea! They found their seaman’s grave!

North Sea! Swallowed by the waves

North Sea! They found their seaman’s grave!

But not before a hostile archer

Had aimed at our youngest friend

Who got hit in the chest and also down he went

We pulled him onto deck

And on our deck he died

A seaman’s grave became his part

The message (delivered) to his bride

Our youngest comrade,

In his young pride

Now he embraced the North Sea,

The North Sea as his bride!

North Sea! Our comrade young and brave

North Sea! Down in a seaman’s grave…

North Sea! Our comrade young and brave

North Sea! Down in his seaman’s grave…

老人摊开一份报纸。一瞥之下的大字标题将我带回了二十世纪。或者是我读到的没有任何新鲜事物？世界范围的宗教战争。自从石器时代开始事情就没有变化。旧世界的很多消极方面被保留了下来，而另一方面，更积极的方面已被消耗殆尽。原教旨主义者们彼此杀戮，以上帝的名义，以安拉的名义，以耶和华的名义……以不论什么的名义。“无知是福”，他们这么说，但愿它并不那么危险，毕竟在事件中也有非原教旨主义者、无辜的人们遭受伤害……在这儿，欧洲北部，很多上了年纪的人依旧把持着宗教不放。至少他们是在以一种不那么暴虐的方式庆祝他们对上帝的热切信仰。我曾参观过非洲和亚洲一些地方，那里宗教仍然在相当程度上支配着社会。甚至欧洲的某些地方也仍然受着钳制。宗教原教旨主义不只是在世界另一面得以增长，这增长还发生在我们的后花园。人们为何将其推到那么远？每个群体都由衷相信自己处于神的引领之下。作为一个热爱旅行的人我曾遭遇过原教旨主义的负面。本可为旅人提供那么多美景的土地正在增长的宗教疯狂进程作用下削减成了逃避的土地。我乐于第一个站出来赞颂传统，但是它不该被推得太远。古时候曾富强于科学、艺术和文学的一些国家今天处在石器时代的水平。多么奇怪。我不敢说那是因为宗教，但是他们盲目的狂热也不会对他们的文化进步有什么帮助。我称颂的是传统，退步是另一回事。我看到宗教狂热分子摧毁被视作宇宙遗产的远古碑刻时我的心在滴血。旅程中我已经见过了太多被砍掉头的古代雕刻，被破坏的圣像和被摧毁的神殿。这是个困难的结点，一方面我支持传统，另一方面我赞颂进步。好吧，我没有答案，也永远不会假装我有。我觉得这是个平衡的问题……我们要当心。对一些人而言似乎正确的也许对他人存有错误。全都依赖于这个人的个人背景和视角……人们来决定，人们掌握有创造或是摧毁的能力。由此我们就是神。

“众神之暮日[Goetterdaemmerung (Twilight of the Gods)]”

Wir sind götter (we are gods)

Gott ist der mensch (god is man)

Sein ist die hand die schafft (his is the hand that makes)

Sein ist die hand die verletzt (his is the hand that wounds)

Götterdämmerung!

We are gods, God is man

His is the hand that makes, his is the hand that wounds!

As I behold your crucified lord,

It is pity I feel not a sign of purification

And yet it are millions taught by his word

Die götterdämmerung ist hier! (the twilight has come)

Die götterdämmerung ist hier!

A universal message of love,

Lessons for the world to be clear

But I sense megalomania in his word

Dogmatic, based on fear

Die götterdämmerung ist hier!

Die götterdämmerung ist hier!

Like the word taught in that other book

By some other prophet born in the East

Screaming “jihad!!!” Lifes they took

On the non believers corpses they feast

Not that Jahweh offered the other cheek

As he so firmly told his followers to do

Too many sacrifices in His name

Far too many lies not to look through

And here I stand alone in the light,

No god or master above me

Do I suffer from this lack of divinity?

Faith, my dear friend, can be splendid indeed

A force to hold on to when the feeble soul bleeds

Religion served to the masses might be a dangerous seed

Forced down your throat the last thing a free man needs

I walk a lonely path

Am I too blind to see?

But at least I can say my soul is free

And my only God is me…

We are gods, god is man

His is the hand that makes, his is the hand that wounds!

We are gods, god is man

His is the hand that makes, his is the hand that wounds!

我付了帐，道了晚安，穿上外套，我在这个风雨交加的夜晚回家。没有蝙蝠在空中盘旋。而这也不是一个给我这些哥特式的邻居的合适季节。我得等到夏季才能看到那些小小的夜行生物再次出现。又有一句老话得到了验证：它们总在夜间出现，生命中依然有着确定的事件。我还不困。没有什么能比一本有趣的书更好地结束这一天的了。我沿楼梯上到我的房间。在书架上我找到一些有趣的珍宝！雪莱和拜伦的作品，荷马的《伊利亚特》，一部经典！勃朗特的《呼啸山庄》，艾柯的《玫瑰的名字》。啊！涉及古代故事的文学作品！我立刻又彻底地醒了！《恺撒在高卢的战役》（Caesar's campaigns in Gaul），《古世界的战争》（Warfare in the Ancient World）还有《凯尔特人》（The Celts）只是冰山一角，我本来可以有着糟得多的伙伴！我知道自己今晚是睡不了多久的。我们的古代土地的历史是多么迷人啊。但愿我们能沿时光回行，瞥得欧洲荣耀过去的光辉！而我们唯一能去旅行的只有遗迹与废墟。当然，它们壮观依旧，我在这些地方也获得了真实的快乐时光，但是这些古代的遗迹已经空空。观光者摩肩接踵，但那曾经给予这些文明以灵魂的人口都已逝去，永远。沿时光回行，和这些久已消失的居民取得真实的联络将是比生命更为广大的体验。我培养着这失落同时也发觉着它适当的地方，因为失去的和未知的永远不会令人失望。我是一位真理的找寻者，只是有的时候神话保持未知，不为人所触动会更好，一次近观或许将损坏事物。最终，最有关系的是我们祖先们的成就。他们令我们成为如今的样子。我属于母亲欧洲。这是献给祖先们的！不只是给我们的祖先，也是给整个星球上从这些古代土地上世代相传的人们的祖先。

“（献给古）欧罗巴（的长诗）[(Ode to ancient) Europa]”

(from Gallia to Germania)

I still hear the ancient warcry

(Roma to Britannia)

I still hear the ancient battlecry

The great old European heroes, the proud old European names

Like snow now melted for sunlight, today their lustre gleams,

Gone are the great old empires, the proud old names are low

that shed a glory over the ancient world, a thousand years ago

But wandering the medieval cities, beholding our ancient lands

Albion, Saxonia, land of Franks constructed by our ancestors’ hands

(from Erin to Caledonia)

I still hear the ancient warcry

(Ellada to Helvetia)

I still hear the ancient battlecry

(from Lusitania to Hispania)

I still hear the ancient warcry

(Mycenae to Macedonia)

I still hear the ancient battlecry

In the country of our fathers, on the land and sea

Can you hear a million voices? Thy forefathers summoning thee! Summoning thee!

Many centuries ago, beyond the hazy space

In Brittany, Eire and Caledonia there dwelt a mighty race

Celts they were called, like their holy oaks they had a giant grace

(fierce was the Byzantine empire,

Spread over the Balkans, Asia Minor and Greece

Combining eastern and Western tradition

A gateway to the East)

Slavonian kingdoms, empires and tribes

Defending their ancient lands and rights

From invading hordes from the East

Thousands slaughtered (fair) men and beast

(from Byzantium to Phoenicia)

I still hear the ancient warcry

(Etruria to Cymru)

I still hear the ancient battlecry!!!

时光流逝得多么快啊，我离开了许久的时间……我的归来同样给了仔细思考过去，切实地坐下来回忆的机会。我真正赞颂的人们进入脑海。已故或是从我的生活中消失。一定有人在那儿读着这手稿，不时地分享着和我相近的想法，关于生活带来的和带走的……难道我们该用不同的方法处理事情？美丽的生活，残酷的生活。最终，这时刻该被用作……

“追忆（Remembrance）”

早先在客栈里我偶然地听到我们的水手曾经到过撒马尔罕。这座仙境般的城市坐落于知名的丝绸之路沿途，而那是一条满载着其它来自中国的珍玩到中东去的道路。这时，像亚历山大大帝、成吉思汗和马可波罗之类的名字就进入了脑海。而且雨果·布拉特（Hugo Pratt）的精神现在也靠得很近了（他的精神之子Corto Maltese同样在附近徘徊）。有朝一日我会去参观撒马尔罕。吸引我的是历史景点，环绕城市广场的辉煌建筑以及陌生的民俗（东西方在此结合）。甚至美丽的长毛骆驼也增加了异域价值。自从我去撒哈拉沙漠远足和待在小亚细亚以后我就喜爱上了这些坚韧的动物，这些沙漠之舟不只是值得信赖的盟友而使我信服于它们的价值……我曾读到过宗教在撒马尔罕当地社会有着强大的冲击力。我是否会到那里去旅行全都依赖于那冲击力及其实际的侧面影响有多大。有一次旅行里，我进入一处保存着伊斯兰重要遗物的圣地（不是开玩笑，一束先知的胡须！），我并不介意于朝圣者们看着我就仿佛是见到一位外星人。在他们的世界里，从某方面来说我正是这么一位外星人。当冷淡的村民们惊讶地触摸我的头发和皮肤时我也没觉得不舒服。然而我会介意于在一片土地上享受一杯啤酒时被割断喉咙，只是因为那里使用酒精的“奖赏”就是死刑。相信我，亲爱的读者，这些地方的确存在！我同意，酗酒并非一种解决方式，应尽量避免，但是浅酌酒杯就该判死刑？！试着在一座塔利班控制下的城市享用一杯冰啤酒！同样的，我还建议你把你的情色文学留在家里。女人被禁止离开房屋。做社会工作的男人必须蓄须！这些绅士把时尚看得和很多其它的事一样太过严肃了！他们的惩罚在最后会成为相当的拖累。有一次我进入一座禁酒的城市。那儿的人真的极难有好心情！还有一条更严肃的消息：我后来听说在那座特殊的村庄酒类消费是那个国家最高的。毕竟像你我一样的人只可让事情秘密发生。坦诚而言，我认为不是精神上的意图和宗教运动对伪善起着刺激作用。我该问问坐我桌子对面的老海员我有多大机会去到撒马尔罕。我得对海军水手承认一点。在他们将要死去的时候他们回头看到的是一个丰富的、多姿多彩的持续旅行的生活。很多文明的创造者是和航海有着密切关系的民族创立的。心里想到的两个辉煌的帝国是迦太基和腓尼基。我知道是航海的人偶然发现的美洲……另外提醒你，并非所有水手都是和平的殖民者和探险家。修道士西美昂（Simeon）关于维京人在793年突击林第斯法纳（Lindisfarne）的证言让这一点毋庸置疑。杜汉姆修道士们看到维京战船的蛇头和龙头出现在地平线的那一天并不明亮！时至今日，林第斯法纳是一块观光客缘于对早期凯尔特基督教的兴趣而频繁参观的精神土地。很好，但我更好奇的是林第斯法纳的意思。我们知道是居住在这座老英格兰东北角的优美小岛上的第一位盎格鲁-撒克逊人给它取的名字。林第斯法纳实际上意味着什么依旧是个不可解答的迷团。我喜欢这样。假如没有任何迷团，世界将会怎样？

“林第斯法纳（公元793年）[Lindisfarne (Anno 793) ]”

All heaven and earth were still

As if God’s paradise never lost

None could foresee the silent (approaching) chill

(in the shape of raging heathens)

Though Durham monks experienced at high cost

Martyrs made Christians fallen in this Pagan attack

No shrine left untouched, sacred loot on their back

Lindisfarne, Odin Rides!

Lindisfarne, down in flames!

Lindisfarne, Odin Rides!

Lidisfarne, down in flames!

Martyrs made Christians fallen in this Pagan attack

No relic left untouched

Hear the sound of the Norseman’s laughter

Behold their rise, sacred loot on their back

Saint Cuthbert lowering the head

The head for Odin’s sons

Lindisfarne, Odin rides!

Lindisfarne, down in flames!

Odin…rides over Nordland again!

Odin…rides over Nordland again!

Desecration of the Holy island!

All heaven and earth were still

As if God’s paradise never lost

Though Durham monks experienced at high cost

Lindisfarne, down, down in flames!!!!

Saint Cuthbert lowering the head

The head for Odin’s sons

As for now the heathen still prevails

Pagan warriors mocking God

Witness their fury, hear the victorious hails

Hear the victorious hails!

Lindisfarne, Odin rides!

Lindisfarne, down in flames

Lindisfarne, Odin rides!

Lindisfarne, down in flames

Lindisfarne, down, down in flames!!!!

在这儿我找到了一首佛兰芒诗人高迪奥·赫泽勒（Guido Gezelle）所作的题为“格罗南热（Groeninge）”的韵文。1302年7月11日，在“Groenighe-Kouter”发生了弗兰德人（Flander）历史上一个重要事件，“金马刺之战”。我记得对于1307年10月13日的讨论。据某些来源，雅克·德·莫莱（Jacques de Molay）和其他圣殿骑士是在那天被烧死在火刑柱上的，另一些权威则指出那是对骑士团的起诉开始的日子。历史事件可以被包裹在迷雾之中。早年，凯尔特诗人有一种自由，可以为了华美和辉煌而变更历史细节，这并未令其变成骗子，只是准确的细节由此而更加难以更正。关于1302年7月11日，所有资料都是一致的。这些诗行“Het Vlaamse Heir staat immer pal, daar 't winnen of daar 't sterven zal, alhier, aldaar aan lange lansen, de Leeuwen dansen, de Leeuwen dansen”出自赫泽勒的手笔，我可以想象到这些诗行为一位游吟诗人所唱，他的声音超越时光的云山雾罩抵达我处。这四行诗明确说明那里没有选择，而只有“胜利或是瓦尔哈拉大殿”，现在，我从前在哪里听过？它进一步描述雄狮们如何在长矛上舞动，当然是暗喻地讲述、指认着一片金色田野上的黑狮：弗兰德人从中世纪开始使用的旗帜。然而，他们并非一支给人留下深刻印象的军旅。没有征服任何人或物的意图，自卫才是关键，抵御对十四世纪的弗兰德人的富有产生兴趣的外国国王们的军队。毕竟布鲁日是那时北欧主要的港口之一。弗兰德军队的主体是平民和工匠，队列里只有少量贵族和骑士。当然配不上包括光辉的骑士与装备精良的骑兵的侵略者敌手。生命是无法预料的，侵略者失败了。敌军倒下的骑士是黄金马刺被作为战利品收集起来。亨德里克·孔西延斯（Hendrik Conscience）作了一首浪漫主义史诗，题为“弗兰德人的狮子”，用以献给一种民族感情。现实中国家之间没有那么多的战斗，那是个城市的时代，也正如任何时代、任何地方一样，那里也有通敌者，主要是贵族，站在敌人一方作战。我在这儿没有指责任何人，例如两方都见得到来自布拉班特的贵族。每个人都有自己的原因来加入某一营盘，或许在另一方作战的人相信他们忠于一个更伟大的王国，有些甚至有着血亲，和很多贵族一样。这是个带有政治与经济趣味的复杂状况，但保存下的事实是这次特别的胜利辉映着弗兰德人整体。这并非两个君主之间的战斗，弗兰德人最杰出的首领已经被投入了侵略这土地上的监牢。这次起身的自发的，并且受到大众的鼓舞。一个有趣的细节：一支几乎全是步兵的军队击溃了一整支骑兵，相当特殊。诸如Willem van Gulik，Willem van Saeftinge和Robrecht van Betune的历史形象和孔西延斯的史诗里的浪漫主义形象一样是战场上的英雄。哦，我知道很多人认为庆祝个人历史在政治上并不正确。常常为那些偏执的大众无端攻击。什么地方写着颂扬自己的文化会自动地牵扯到仇恨另一个？这是我卑微的观点，一个宣称放弃自己历史的民族没有灵魂。时代。为我所关心的一切烧死我。

“金色的田野上[On Golden Fields (de Leeuwen dansen) ]”

We ask not the pleasures that riches supply

Our weapons shall regain what betrayers must buy

Throwing back the invaders reigning our Land and waves

And finally teach these nobles what it means to be slaves

Far more large in numbers, better armed, they came

But are it not our cities that these rascals claimed?

A victory rather certain they held within their hands

But courage, craft and justice gave us a stronger stand

Bloodstained flags,

Hear our men roar

But under foreign rule

Bloodstained flags,

Hear our men roar

We shall suffer no more

We shall suffer no more

“Het Vlaamse heir staat immer pal.

Daar ‘t winnen of daar ‘t sterven zal

Alhier, aldaar aan lange lansen,

De Leeuwen dansen, de Leeuwen dansen!”

Oh, land of Flanders

From field to shore

Shall view us as victors

Oh, land of Flanders

From field to shore

Shall view us as victors

Or view us no more!

For victory was ours, against all odds

Truly a miracle in a world without gods

Bloodstained flags,

Hear our men roar

But under foreign rule

Bloodstained flags

Hear our men

We shall suffer no more!

We shall suffer no more!

我闭上眼睛。一个声音，来自埋藏于时光与灰土的声音进入了我的双耳。游吟诗人唱到：

“Het Vlaamse heir staat immer pal

Daar ‘t winnen of daar ‘t sterven zal

Alhier, aldaar aan lange lansen

De Leeuwen dansen, de Leeuwen dansen”

En de Leeuwen dansen…

我吹熄烛火前的最后一本书，至少是不多的几页。当然，这座房子有二十一世纪的电器，但像这样的此时此地我需要倾向于更有气氛，更祖先一样的方式来照亮我阅读的书页。这段摘自钱伯斯（Chambers）的《黄衣国王》（The King in Yellow）！从未在欧洲发行。卡可萨（Carcosa）。卡可萨是什么？卡可萨在哪儿？对答案的探询引领着我去到最有趣的出处。我首次邂逅卡可萨是在《撒旦圣经》（The Satanic Bible），何样的引介啊！没有对卡可萨进一步的解释，只有一首短诗（取自“Cassilda's Song”）提到了这个神秘的名字。却足以唤起我的兴趣。在我搜寻卡可萨的过程中我穿越了Crowley的迷人世界和他的玄学社团，阿卜杜拉·阿·哈扎得（Abdul-al-Hazred），也就是“疯阿拉伯人”（Mad Arab，H.P. Lovecraft的另一个自我？）的《死名录》（The Necronomicon），共济会（Masonry），圣殿骑士（The Knights Templar），玫瑰十字会（The Rosicrucian Order），总会所（The Grand Lodge），旨意社（Thelemic Orders），谭崔炼金术（Tantric Alchemy）。神秘的秘传世界。就钱伯斯而言，他形容了一个神秘的地方。接着是Carcaso，法国南部一座要塞Carcassone的古拉丁名。一次，在去意大利的路上我们夜里途经卡可萨。不幸的是我那时正在沉睡，就我欣赏到它的旅伴而言，Carcassone浸于消魂的光线之中。历史中的卡可萨依然未能被我的双眼所见，因为现在已是如此。另一方面，我害怕神话里的卡可萨依旧永远触不可及。或者也将如此？史实与神话学/玄义相遇真的让我很高兴。圣殿骑士团的秘传却诉诸文字的力量广泛传播，还有在中世纪，Carcaso这个名字强烈地让人想起神话中的卡可萨。灵感还是联系？谁能讲述？但是环圈完成了！有时，只是在每一瞬间，神话与事实相遇。那些罕有且珍贵的时光使得生命值得一试。想着所有这些，我吹熄了烛火。月光透过窗子照在我身上，是我故意开着窗帘以欢迎这夜间的朋友。总是喜爱月光……

“朦胧的卡可萨（Dim Carcosa）”

Black stars shine on the ancient fortified town

The sun invisible or since long down?

Over the dismal landscape

Above Carcosa

No sound, only the wind sighed

Behind mysterious moons strange towers hide

But even more distant is

Lost Carcosa

Tales that the Hyades will sing

Vague stories of a Yellow King

Must die untold in

Strange Carcosa

Mysteries hidden by lake Hali’s nebulous depths

A presence of bizarre beauty and dread

Remains unrevealed

In Carcosa

Above the desert high

Twin suns circle the sky

Nevertheless dim still

Is Carcosa

My voice turns weak, lost is my mind,

I see but I am blind

And no sign of life in

Dim Carcosa

我合上双眼。美妙的一天。我只是刚刚回来，但我的思想已经旅行到了远方。最诱人、最迷人的旅行是不可实现的吗？航行到其它的时空或是世界？我这不倦的灵魂！在睡眠开始用他那丝样的翅膀拥抱我的时候我开始看到一个陌生的环境。薄雾的面纱中是一座遥远的设防古城。噢，但愿我能看到藏在其中并为这些高墙所守卫的秘密。（睡神）Hypno是否通过这梦境给了我第二个机会并且把我带到Carcasso(ne)面前？或是我发现自己正对着最好不要穿越的诸门站立；是否最终我已经抵达了卡可萨？

Gunther，2001年冬