the generation that lost
the classics are long past
erudite talking too
jumps in the primordial soup
and their embellished unadorned
then came a new way of fighting
of beating lines of pox
piles of rocks
open roads in enclosed streets
elites of masters
all is past
they all lost their vibe
the last of which
against present vibrations.
now facts not feelings
post facts not facts
feelings and nothing more
Lenore and other angels
remember without thinking
or think to think of deeds.
a sour land loved
voices from every corner
each a wanderer.
a lost generation
with or without nation
breaking grounds anew
already old marked
coming out of the ground
and retreating with
Student (hereafter: S)
Professor (hereafter: P)
Setting: The professor’s office. The professor is sitting behind the desk reading through some papers. A knock on the door is heard.
P: Come in please!
A man and a man in a room with a name unknown.
Some people call it a house of terror, some
they say it’s a place of fun, of drug and liquor,
of smoke and needle. Then he’s come, alone,
from far away to feel the frenzy. – What?
– Away! Away!
– May I help you, sir?
He asked while opening the door – he had no right
to ask, the Smurfs this time were close to get him.
– I thought there was a bar, here around.
Dee doo dee doo dee doo dee doo duh
– There’s none. Now come. You’re mine. – he shut the door.
– Come out! – We know you’re there! – Show yourself!
– I do not wish to come.
– I don’t wish to come!
– Come out! – We know you’re there! – Free him!
Unharmed a man and a man from a room unknown
came out. Unknown what might have happened inside.
The side of right, the side of wrong, unknown
to all involved.
The situation resolved
in nothing still, still in nothingness,
uneducated paths of fullness.
A format mistake
opens to etymologies new and false.
This is no matter of State,
the state of things being matter,
peoples and nations.
Combinations of figures,
in deeper imaginations.
Be it Mont Blanc, Plato’s cave,
a haunted house or an armchair,
these lines project shadows, thin air,
cautious delineations of uncomplete projects.
Images on images, not yet imagined,
not fully consciously integrated,
form not forms, not shapes, but lines,
thoroughly forming nations.
By Natalia Messmer
Until recently I was a fan of typical “women” series such as Desperate Housewives and Grey’s Anatomy. Yet a couple of months ago I joined my husband when he started to watch new series on cable TV. The first episode was quite shocking and I was not sure I wanted to see another one: there were crime scenes with lots of blood and a young creepy forensic technician who looked pretty much excited when it came to blood pattern analysis. However, that was the first impression. After the third episode all I wanted was more of Dexter.
By Alan Mattli
WARNING: This review contains major spoilers.
By Gabriel Renggli
There’s a tall building. Some people live at the top. Some at the bottom. Do you get it?
If you don’t get it, don’t worry, director Ben Wheatley has you covered. Before long, the people at the top will dress up as French aristocrats for a party (and where’s a guillotine when you need one?). If that’s still too cryptic for you, there’s an excerpt, at the very end of the film, from an actual speech by the Iron Lady. Which is silly, because very few people will be moved by this of all films to exclaim in genuine surprise: “You know, I think Thatcher may actually have been wrong! Well, I never!”