The Life Review of Robin Ludd—An
epic of a sort
By © Anton
Vendamencsh, 2017
9 Teased Out Of The Wood
When tsarina
Katerina I
Let generalina Magdelina
Keep the pension of
Her husband
General Hallert (d. 1727)
She may
Or may not
Have done it
Imagining
She could thereby
Become1729
Together with Magdelina
the grandmothers
Of a community
Of Latvijans
(From whose
midst
She, Katerina
And Magdalena,
Removed by war
Both
Were forced
by the events
To become whores)
Would 200 years later1918
Come see themselves
In profile
As the Sun
Stamped and renamed
Goddesses of Fortune
Today
After an endlessly
repeated
Fake history
Such hope is
dead
And few remember
Either
The enabler
Tsarina Katerina
I
Or her
executive
Generalina Magdalena.
Instead of folk songs
Taught by nannies
To children
A language emerged
That no longer sings
But speaks
Through the written word
Sponsored by government
Redacted news.
A coterie
Of
parlamentarians
With a 51%
majority
‘Lawfully’ erases
Katerina and
Magdalena
From history.
A post-Soviet
‘renewed’ Latvija
Has taken their place
And speaks
A language
As sullied as
only
An endearment
can be
As pathetic
As a baby’s
rattle
In the hands
Of politicians
becomes
Almost as lost
As the language
Subjected
to taxation
And
imprisonment
If alimony to the
state
Is not paid
Latvians are
‘Democratically’
Faked up
By a military
cabal
Acronymically
Known as ‘n-a-t-o’*
(*North Atlantic Treaty Org.)
For a fake
New world order
NWO.
The faked up
Latvijan is forced
To become
Of a state
That denies
It is formed
Of a people
But owes its
existence
To an elite
That lets
Amvitious
Cityfolk in
Riga
(a sought after
prison
Filled to the
brim
By Latvijan and
Russian
Freeloaders)
Make a fetish
Of life for ‘free’.
Instead
Of healing
The land
And its people
The cabal
Writes a new
New Testament
And blows money
On fireworks
Military parades
With Abram tanks
Made in America
And posts
Advertisements
Calling for
A UNITED LATVIJA
STIPRA VALSTS,
And increase taxes
Every year.
Every year, too,
The pseudo
state
Celebrates
A 100th
Anniversary
On behalf of
A post-Soviet
version
Of Freemasonry.
If a hundred years ago
There still remained
Some recognition
That Latvijans
Had ancient roots
And for commonality’s
sake
every child knew
100 verses
Of folk wisdom
Encrypted in folk songs
Today
(become
subjects of
A faked-up
European Union)
There are
No such
Latvijans left.
History has been
Assimilated to
A comic book
That celebrates
The aftermath
Of memory dead
And God killed.
No resurrection
Or investigation
Needed.
Nine tenths of
The Luddies
Who once lived
Where I live today
Have been driven
Off the land
Into Cities
Where pornography
(A rainbow screen
In every bedroom
Soon)
Has Adam say to Eve
Or George:
I love you,
I need you,
I want you
To sit on my face.
Such is the commonality
That sanctifies
The lives
Of ever more
Fucked up children
By fucked up
Teenagers
Seeking to discover
Love
On the screens
On the ever ready
For a fuck
internet
While ‘blessed’
and
Propped by
propaganda
Violent men
and women
of government
fame
Curse with
Passionate intensity
All that is Russian
Including
Tsarina Katerina I
And tsar Peter
Who took her
From general Sheremetev
And (to restore her dignity)
Took her
To the altar.
Among the dismissed
(By the post-Soviet
Renewed Latvijan
City bred ‘democrats’)
Are my greatgrandfathers
And greatgranmothers
To the 6th generation
All necklaced
To the stake
Where on the order
Like that of the Pope
Jan Huss the Ludd
Is burned alive anew
While a fictitious
Holy state
(Muttering
Legal nonsense
As once the Pope
Muttered Latin)
Listens to them
Scream.
Latvija has many hills
(p-auguri)
Where on Summer solstice
In holy groves
The future
Was once -augured.
The holy groves
Were
Like the hair
On the head
Of the legendary
John the Pagan
Who used to herd
Wild pigs, bison, and elk
In the eternal wood.
The last holy wood
On the head of YanJohn
Was a grove of oaks
That grew atop
The Blue Mountain
(A site near Wolmar
Where augurs met)
Was swedded (axed)
By the Swedes
Whereafter
The Latvijan luddies
Ran deeper
Into the woods
Whence they
would not
Be removed
By any kind of
Sweet talk.
It took
The example
Of Christians
From Moravia
(who
Distantly loyal
To Jan Huss
The Ludd
Presumed
To take
Upon themselves
The fate
Of the terrorized)
And persuaded
The luddies of the wood
To rejoin the realm
Of the living dead
By working
Shoulder to shoulder
with their cousins
still working
the barons’s estates.
Yet when all was said
And the last
Of the true populists
Had come from the wood
The Moravians
Failed to find
In themselves
The courage
To fight on behalf
Of the ones
Newly converted
Who again were driven
Into hiding
When the counter attack
Of the barons
And Lutherans
Came.
The German ‘brothers’
Led by a sentimental
German graff
Retreated to America
Where they founded
Bethlehem
Which, too,
Failed to take hold
And became known
As headquarters
Of Bethlehem Steel.
Before a decade
Was out
The newly
Traumatized Christians*
(*God must die
If He is to
become God
Which is why God
Comes of the dreams
Of dying men
fearful to death
fearful to death
of death)
Became
Tomorrow’s bolsheviks
In the city
Where instead
Of gathering mushrooms
For sauce
They gathered coins
That reek
Of carion.
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