The Spirit of Dictators Past

Like voodoo ghosts, dictators rise from graves unlocked despite good riddance.

Their magic is, like always, lies and hatred; on bitterness they feed and feast.

The revellers find soul through ecstasy: no more ‘their proper place’, no more the unfair justice of the fairly minded.

The music, dance and trance will go and go as long as night will not betray them, delectable delirium the only destination – the doll of the dictators full of pins.

The spell will break with morning light. The faithful pray that darkness stay forever!

I knew……

Not just about corona:

 

When history will judge the tragedies of our time,

say not, how could I know,

say, as is true, I knew.

The serpent’s egg was there for all to see.

It could be crushed

but envy, greed and hatred made it hatch,

and inner exile made it grow.

We put false prophets on the throne;

they made us handmaids of calamity.

The currents of the past should save us, so we thought,

yet we refused their helping hands with indolence,

and put the fragile ship upon the rocks.

Oh yes, we knew, although of wisdom most deprived!

 

The Visit of the Fourth Horseman

The horseman of the apocalypse, the fourth of that immortal breed, shows off his skill – the others are impressed. What pestilence, what satisfying suffering.

 

Despite his might, this is, not yet, the time for pandemonium; just testing the potential is aim of these, the grimmest riders.

They gallop through deserted streets, across the frightened fields, inspect the brooding forests. The horses’ hooves resound on country roads not safe for any country.

They still resist, says number three, they are not ripe, laments the knight of war, no conquest yet, sighs Antichrist.

I fear that my experiment has made the humans obstinate, says bold Thanatos. How long we have to wait?

No worries, my impatient friend. Complacency and egoism will soon regain their throne – that’s when we strike again. But next time all together!

The Boomers’ Last Dance

There is something beautifully melancholic watching the old folks dance under the Moonlit sky; the whisper of the waves adding a second beat.  A ray of light shows faces, and we see they are familiar, Bernie, Joe, Elizabeth, Mike, Amy. Of course, we say to ourselves, these boomers would never leave the dance floor without a nostalgic and sad set of last dances. And a dance contest it is, too.  The tired bones seek the honour of the ultimate square off with their contemporary from the opposing group, the reigning champion. They all condemned Pete as a greenhorn interloper not worthy of the contest, although Pete, in fact, is a crypto-boomer. Not for boomers to leave the dance floor to others, though, and now he is gone. (I know, I know, I am being kind to Bernie, Joe and Mike. Technically they do not even qualify as boomers, although their mind-set does).

It is hardly news that the boomer generation is egotistical through and through. From the time its denizens could throw their first paving stones the generation has been setting society’s agenda. Many years ago someone said that when boomers become old designer cemeteries will become the new craze. We are not far from that.

The songs the boomers dance to are pre-boom ‘As time goes by’ and ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ – all forgotten is ‘I hope I die before I get old’ although the refrain ‘talkin’ ‘bout my generation’ still goes straight to boomer hearts! Boomers celebrated their youth, and continue doing so, and, of course, the youth of succeeding generations is of miniscule interest in comparison. The accusation of ageism is a beautifully self-serving boomer invention designed to neutralise any suggestion that their time is up.

But up it is! What we experience is last gasp boomerism, and it could thus be ventured that we should not worry too much about the next election, because it is, after all, only about the next four years. Yet, four years is a long time in politics and the danger is that the destruction that has taken place apace over the last few years will continue and will lay waste to the foundation of the society that following generations will want to build – not to speak of the possibility of incompetent or negligent triggering of the apocalypse. As the boomers slow dance into the dark it must be made sure that they do not take the future with them, although it would be so boomer to go out with an ‘après nous, le déluge’!

Springtime Requiem

‘Eternal spring’ will not be understood by future generations,

only summer will exist for them – and dreary winter.

‘Awakening’ as season, all promises and carnal dreaming, will be a thought of distant past,

as will the melancholic transport into hibernation, the role of autumn heretofore.

The warming Earth kills nuance, not just many species,

we live in polarising times whilst poles are melting.

It may be happenstance that the diverse is welcomed less by nature now –

an epoch of humanity when conflict is the valued asset and gentleness recedes apace.

A fallen angel’s master plan

Last in the Beelzebub series:

‘ The end is nigh’,

the credo of the centuries

of those who longed there and those who felt despair.

But ‘end’ is gracious, is truly not my style.

Eternal repetition, each cycle new and cruel,

that’s more a Devil’s script.

I shall not spare the world –

and humans are too foolish

to frustrate my design

when true to nature I have drawn.

I love the naked beauty of misery’s domain,

to witness the extravagance by which benevolence is thrown aside

and malice is allowed to reign supreme.

With such material my plans will never ever fail.

Beelzebub’s lullaby

Next in the fallen angel series:

 

Sometimes when I dream I ask myself

what could have been, what would have been, what were I truly meant to be?

Yet, when awake I never doubt my greatest choice,

to be a fallen angel.

Why hesitate when blessed with all the love that only hatred brings,

when all the wild commotion, the killings and the passion,

is my most stunning work, the product of my deepest instincts.

No God without the Devil, that’s what they say,

but they are wrong, when things are well considered.

All that is ever needed

is me, is Beelzebub, is my resplendent soul.

My power is delight as well as sorrow,

a fallen angel carries light and shadow in his breast!

 

Beelzebub’s birthday

First in a fallen angel series:

You humans dream of good, but long for bad,

you make it much too easy.

Time gave you peace and property –

yet that was all too boring.

Like moths you seek my flame,

devour you, I shall, since that is what you wish.

My hope was, though, for greater gift,

for stiff resistance and at last surrender,

for valiance and need of all my cunning.

Where do I find a being

who is, if not my equal, then a noble challenge?

To win a human is the triumph of the easily impressed,

but I am Beelzebub, the conqueror of strongest hearts.

I merit better than such trifling, drooling human wreckage!

I want a Faust who does not seek my help, who spites me, not co-opts me,

who seeks the sacred moment and wagers all to win immortal soul.

Politics and state

The defining feature of our times is that everything has become politics. Although the state is much more than politics, we are being led to assume that politics is all-pervasive, and that the state, in all its functions, must be an expression of politics! This is wrong, of course.

For three hundred years most societies, and all democracies, have given effect to some form of division of powers. In this fine logic, the legislative is the domain of politics, but the executive and the judiciary are not. Admittedly, the executive power has always had a brush-stroke of politics, of law-making, since legislative proposals often come from the executive, and since ministers issue decrees that are frequently based on political considerations. The political function of the executive is only residing at the highest levels, however, and hence it would be good to talk about the ‘legislating executive’ as distinct from the executive that, true to its name, only executes. We mix up the two things at our peril.

The ultimate safeguard for citizens reside not in their voices being heard in politics, but in their voices not being heard in the execution of legislation and in the judgments of courts. When President Trump talks about the ‘deep state’ it is because he wants the whole state to belong to him. Although he is the head of a civil service that must execute, not legislate, he wants the civil service to bend to his will even when it is its calling not to do so.

The politisation of the judiciary that also erodes the rights of citizens is not a Trump invention, to be fair. It was always there in the United States because of the discretion the Constitution is understood to grant the courts. It took flight under FDR, and became a hardball political game with the nomination by Ronald Reagan of Robert Bork to the Supreme Court, and the resulting rejection of the nomination. It is this politisation that is being perfected by President Trump and Mitch McConnell. Candidates for the judiciary are selected purely on their readiness to give effect to the political will of their patrons.

Those who do not fear this politisation of all state functions, those who do not recognise that the state brings immense benefits exactly because it is not always a knee-jerk expression of the politics of the day, are helping reopen the floodgates for autocracy and inhumanity. It should be obvious that the rule of law is a good of the highest order, and that the elimination of checks and balances is the path to perdition, to ‘might makes right’. Creating law is politics, yes, respect of law is not. Upholding the law is not a question of deep state, it is a question of state. May we not forget!