00:00:00 English
1:45:15 DEUTSCH
1:57:03 CASTELLANO

Recording Date: 26 June 2023

My claim that Ukrainian doesn’t have a lot of vocals was wrong of course, it has many vocals. The difference to German or English lies in the fact that there are no long vocals, they are all pronounced quite shortly.
In German, for example, we have the different words Miete (rent) and Mitte (middle), which can be differentiated by the long pronunciation of the i in the first and the short i in the second case.

See here: https://www.schule-mehrsprachig.at/fileadmin/Redaktion/Sprachensteckbriefe/PDF/ukrainisch.pdf

Vulvatheorie: Boy = Vulva

Die antike Göttin Diana war die Schutzpatronin der Frauen, außerdem Göttin der Jagd, des Mondes und der Geburt. Ihr griechischer Name ist Artemis.

https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diana

Roberto Arlt: El amor brujo
Les recomiendo muchísimo ese libro, chicas y chicos. Ese episodio será el último por el momento en castellano porque siento la necesidad de enfocar mi energía mental en mi adorada de Ucrania y no darle ninguna razón por sospechar que no esté fiel a ella; pero algún día volveré.

Arthur Rimbaud: Städte

Was für Städte! Was für ein Volk, für das sich diese traumhaften Mandalane und Libanone aufgebaut haben. Sennhütten aus Kristall und Holz, die sich auf unsichtbaren Gleisen und Rollen fortbewegen. Die alten Krater, gesäumt von Riesensäulen und kupfernen Palmen, brüllen melodiös in die Feuer. Liebesfeste erklingen auf den Kanälen, die hinter den Hütten hervorschauen. Die Hatz der Glocken gellt durch die Schluchten. Korporationen riesiger Chorbrüder reisen an mit flammenden Hemden und Fahnen, als wärs das Gipfellicht selber.
Auf Plattformen inmitten der Abgründe klirren Rolande mit ihrem Mut. Auf den halsbrecherischen Stiegen und an den Dächern der Wirtshäuser flaggt die Himmelsglut ihre Masten.
Das Einsacken der Himmelsgrößen schallt bis in die Gipfelregionen, wo sich engelsgleiche Pferdfrauen zwischen Lawinen tummeln. Noch höher als die höchsten Bergkämme, ein Meer, gärend von der ewigen Geburt der Venus. Befrachtet mit orphischen Flotten und dem Rumoren kostbarer Perlen und Muscheln.
Bisweilen verfinstert sich das Meer unter tödlichem Klatschen. Auf den Hängen muhen geerntete Blumen, so groß wie bei uns Räder und Tröge.
Flapse in Fuchs- und Opalfarben schwärmen aus den Felshöhlen. Im Geschling des Sturzbaches stehend, ziehen die Hirsche dort oben sich die Zitzen Dianas herüber. Die Bacchantinnen der Vorstädte schluchzen und der Mond glüht und brüllt. Venus betritt die Höhlen der Schmiede und Eremiten. Himmelhoch jauchzt Völkerverbindendes von allen Bergen.
Schlösser aus Knochen verströmen unbekannte Musik. Alle Geschichten sind im Umlauf und überschlagen sich in den Marktflecken vor Begeisterung. Das Paradies der Donner kommt ins Rollen. Die Wilden tanzen ohne Unterlass das Fest der Nacht.
Und dann bin ich irgendwann hinabgestiegen in den Trubel eines Bagdad-Boulevards, wo die Freude an der neuen Arbeit aus vielen Kehlen klang, in einem zähen Schwall trieb ich umher und es verließen mich nicht die Berge mit ihren Fabelwesen und den Orten schlafwandlerisch sicherer Begegnung. Welch gütige Hand, welch schöne Stunde versetzen mich wieder in jene Region, der mein Schlummer entstammt und meine leisesten Regungen.

—

Mein eigenes Material:

Die Vulvatheorie {Auszug}

Ja, die Leere ist die einzig sinnvolle Ausgestaltung des Symbols des Phallus, sodass man versteht, was mit diesem Symbol gemeint ist. Die Leere, ein Platzhalter. Diese Abwesenheit von fester Struktur zeichnet die Vagina bzw. Vulva aus. Oder auch die Kombination von An- und Abwesenheit von menschlichem biologischem Gewebe. Es wäre verlockend hier schon aufzuhören. Die Vagina- die Leere, hmm, nichts zu machen, tja schade. Und tschüss. So wäre ein leicht bekömmliches ende für alle erreicht. Doch die Vulva brilliert eben dadurch, in der Leere ihre Funktion zu finden. So lockt sie das männliche Element, welches nun begehrend nach ihr stiert und sich vorstellt, seinen Pimmel in ihre Vagina zu stecken, was ihm die größtmögliche Befriedigung schaffen würde. Dummer Kerl, ist die Befriedigung der Frau doch zigfach größer. Doch sie muss sich zieren, so tun, als wüsste sie nicht, wie sehr sie den Sex begehrt und mit ihm vollziehen will. Denn sie ist gehemmt. Fragt sich, ja der Mann, wenn der einfach so simpel gestrickt ist wie es scheint und man aus seinem großherrschaftlichen Auftreten herauslesen kann, dann hat der ja auch diese sexuelle Gier auf mich (aber wohl nicht die gleiche Scham, die ihn hinderte, sich anderen hinzugeben…die Monogamie bezieht ihre Munition aus unserer geschlechtlichen Ungleichstellung seit Jahrtausenden, dass die Frauen beschämt und die Männer belustigt und stolz auf die geschlechtlichen Dinge sein sollen) und wie steht es dann um ihn, würde er sich in jede beliebige verlieben? Also muss er mir zeigen, wie sehr er mich speziell will und sich daher noch dämlicher und männlicher anstellen in seinen Versuchen, zu beeindrucken.

die Vulva, die Leere, die Fülle des Ideals scheint in ihr auf. Sie ist diese große hoffnung der Menschheit, dass eines Tages doch noch das Unverständliche verständlich werde, die schwarze Dunkelheit sich lichte, man neue geistige Horizinte erschließe, die großen physikalischen Theorien vereinige etc…. Ja, das klingt lächerlihc, bgrint jedoch vollsätndig die läcerliche männliche position zum Ausdruck. Der Mann ist die Vulva. Leer, reines Symbol der Person, autonom, selbstbestimmt und frei, manchmal gar verwegen, tollkühn, selbstverblendet… Das ist das männliche Ideal. Für heute haben wir genug gelernt. Wir haben Lacans Fornel umgekehrt: Girl = Phallus, dann folgt logisch, dass Boy = Vulva.

Die Mädchen fragen sich: ja, was bin ich… gesellschaftliche Normen, Konstrukte verweisen sie noch immer in hintere Reihe hinter "Jungen". Aber: was sind eigentlich diese Jungen, was stellen sie dar? Das wissen weder sie, noch diejenigen aus älteren Generationen, die weiterhin die Stereotype befolgen und im Alltag mittragen als kognitiven Ballast unserer historischen Geschlechtertradition. Aber es schleppt sich weiter: die Jungen haben stark zu sein, und wollen dagegegen rebellieren, indem sie schwach werden - Delinquenten, Drogenabhängige, Rechtsradikale. Die Mädcehen haben schwach zu sein, damit die Männer weiter herrschen in den Aufsichtsräten und Gremien, das ist der stille uneingestandene Wunsch einer vermutlichen männlichen Mehrheit.
Aber gegen diese Erwartung wiederum rebellieren die Mädchen und werden stark - Klimaschützerinnen, Wissenschaftlerinnen, Soldatinnen.

SN 161

Here I leave two poems as a trail of my convulsive thoughts, the theoretical battles stirring me up.

27.6.
Eiertanz

Yes, I know
Other writers claimed
One shouldn’t write about a love
One is living actually in the very moment
But I’m only preparing myself
Don’t want to exploit my feelings
But have to
It’s so stupid romantic in love nowadays
What is the highest good,
The most fascinating love story?
I mean, you, Liliya
Are worth of the most unthinkable inventions
So I hope the love story between us
Can be up to your expectations
But a woman like you
Creates the commitment in me
To always go further
To explore what is left to see
What hasn’t been discovered yet
And my discovery is this.
That love isn’t even that good, no
Love is the darkness, the relentless
Need to feel intrigued, curious
About that supposed love queen or king of your heart
But what is better than the dark romantic
Sentiment
Is talking to you, seeing your eyes twinkle, all the wrinkles
Around your eyes and everywhere
Winter, you, Liliya, my star
You’re so precious
Couldn’t compare you to any other good on earth
But somehow it needs to be complicated,
Double-knived in love
This I need to demonstrate to you
That there is no simple way,
We are programmed like this
To search the drama
Without escape
Facing this dilemma
The eternal dialectics
The fight between lust and pain
And the long journey towards a synthesis,
A come-together of the opposing poles.
I can produce good words, handy expressions
Once I get moving
I produce stuff, that didn’t occur to me
This was lingering somewhere in the back of my mind
Especially this joy and lust for living
Enjoying every day and hour
It seems like the natural flow of things
To let everything happen, all is superb
Hilarious and joyful
Once you start talking or writing
Or producing in some other way

So Liliya, just know
That you gave me the greatest good on earth
Our conversations, our talks and looks
Of course I have loved other girls
And love is never a lie
These were all good experiments,
Steps on the way or on the latter
But right now
I see only you
On the top of the mountain
So luring, attracting, yet frightening, too
Infinity, let this be reached
Through our union
Once you receive me there
Where you stand
At your place
The mountain top
The peak
And let this develop slowly
Naturally
Although I’m not sure what nature is
As we are very alienated today
As Marx used to say
Everything is foreign, is weird
When you look at it
And think about touching
And whether this could really happen
You and me, building a bridge
Establishing a connection
But let it develop anyway
Our communion will be the wholy sacrifice
The church service
It will set our very own standards
And noone else needs to know
What this standard is
What you are to me
You are in my eyes
A very bright and charming
Ukrainian peasant girl
You live with your family
On the land you grow
Or cultivate
The fruits and grains
Of beautiful Ukraine
This enticing land
I want to visit
And learn its language
Once the fog of war is cleared
And you have teached me
All I need to know
To understand you
In your maternal language
Whcih would be so important
So I can understand your thoughts
And lines of your associations better
Once I get a feeling for this language
But you have to be patient with me
And write all your letters
Like you once did on your keyboard
When you switched it somehow
To kyrillic letters and by magic, it seemed
Wrote something in Ukrainian
This felt like a spell
It was so unexpected
To see these foreign letters pour out
Of your hands
And demonstrating to me
The very unique appearance
Of the Ukrainian culture
Please forgive me for my pro-Russian stance
In politics
Which is a hard and complicated field
Not that pleasing as love
With you, it has been always ideal
The love I felt, the one I imagined
Everything about you and us
Was perfect, unique, meant to be
But this war is also a big occurence in my life
It forces me to think anew about my political standpoint
And attack the coward pro-imperialist opportunists
Going with the flow of the hegemonial opinion
And painting Russia as the enemy, the aggressor
Which it is not, not the main one
Because that is the US and its NATO allies
If we look at the facts
But forgive me
For bringing in politics
Just know, that politics is also a big love
Of my life
And I like to dedicate my time and thoughts to it
But nothing compares to you
And the occurrence,
The strike that your arrival here meant for me
You are a shot
That parts my life in two
And that is so painful
To acknowledge you’re so central, important
To me and everything I think and feel about myself
You have infinite power
You make me a better man
Already now
Nothing needs to be added
To my side
But you
Then the mixture is complete
Your a divine being
Although strictly speaking you are also made out of material
As a materialist should say
But you seem so light
So dancing in the clouds
Passing by the gravity,
The necessity to be grounded
You resist any force
I just like you
And always will want to tell you
That yeah, this is a big deal
Therefore I perform this »Eiertanz«
As we say in German
A dance on the eggs
Dancing around the crucial part
Not getting to the point
I’m waiting for you to tell me,
What the point even is
This is not so easy
What happened to me
Or to us, if you join me
In our love bubble

————————————-

5.7.
Vulgar act

Liliya
You, Ukrainian shooting star
Catching my eyes
And everything else
I'm yours
Wouldn't want to commit a single act
Of brazenness
That could upset you
However, as a man
It seems to be my role
To commit acts
Like the one in the vulgar act
Where you have to move… and so on
This is traumatic to think about
I'm not so special, don’t expect too much
From me in this vulgar act
But in theory, in speaking
I can give you as many glorious acts and words as possible
Inventing even more and more
Terms unknown and never thought of before
For you I pull it out of myself
To lure you, attract you

Please forgive me my erotic talks about Zoryana
This was also an act
I felt compelled to
Maybe you understand
That your gracefulness and worthiness
Gives me a clear feeling
Of having to do more and more
Losing myself in the flow of action
And talking
But there slips out this vulgar desire
The sinister fact that other individuals like Zoryana
Could be also attractive, entangling to me?
This mustn't be!
Because you, my shooting star
Determine me
Without you
I have nothing
Am no-one
No identity
No home land
No thoughts
Nor language
To wrap them in it
But today you relieved me
You seemed relaxed
Although maybe a little uneasy, shaken
By the vulgar discourse of last episode
But you will forgive me anything,
I read in your face
You are waiting for me
To end this stupid "dance on the eggs"

No-one will ever be enchanting to me
The way you are
This word I reserve for you
Because it was so vital
To speak up back in November
In my first English talk
And demonstrate to you
That you fool me, bewitch and enchant me
You unwrap every hidden talent in me
Everything I was holding back
For the day a girl, a Ukrainian peasant girl
Would come to me
And enchant me, use her magic on me
And transform me, make me a new being

But how to communicate to you
What I am, and what I need?
I am totally lost
And need you for my mental stability
To achieve wholeness
Spiritual calmness and equanimity
I felt so naked
When talking first in English
I wanted to be brazen
To express the desperation
In my heart
How could I tell you
About my position
As a communist
But more importantly, as a worker
Who feels so oppressed
And so unworthy, uneasy
Having to fulfill the demands of Porsche
Almighty company
Ordering me and devouring my mental energy
Every bit of physical and mental force
Productivity and capabilities
I need to surrender to them
As a tribute
Because as a proletarian, I'm enslaved
At their mercy
So fearful
To be left without a job
Standing there on the streets
Useless, Superfluous
Like so many millions are being made
In this vulgar capitalist system
Where the big capital possessors use their violent,
Vile, ferocious force of the symbol
The money, the dollar
Against us workers
And they always win
We have no chance, it's no fair game
Because the state is an oligarchic, bourgeois organization of class rule
Always watching their interests
Guarding their needs
As if they, the bourgeois, needed it
But politicians are corrupted
By the smell of money
By the power of purchase
The might of the carefree consumer
Enjoying his savings account numbers
That he earned rightfully - at least this is the narrative
The "right", justice, the laws and moral inside this bourgeois society
There is no other possible reality
Than the one created by the almightiness of capital
It's the dream, the blinding we all live
Money is vital, is vivid, is moving
And we merely are its devout servants
We all need it, are relying on food and drinks
To survive
And, more importantly, love
To love you, how could this be possible
While I'm so tied up by the bourgeois principles
That rule my life, even inside my head?

Sitting on a filled table, enjoying breakfast
With you, my winter flower,
After a long fulfilling love night
Would be the highest good,
The encarnation of happiness
And fullness, abundance,
Everlasting harmony and peace
Yet this material bliss seems unreachable

It's not possible to love a girl like you
A perfect being that demands perfectness in me
Inside this vulgar society with its aggressive class structure
So alien to our human nature
Because it would be logical to cooperate
Rather than to compete and compare
But somehow it must be possible
Because you also tie me up
In a much gentler way
Through your eyes, your gaze
That reverberates in my head
No matter how much time passes
Until we meet again

Therefore I tried to be determined
When starting to talk in English
I must reach you with my words
Must show you
I can be strong, could be manly
Not for myself, but because you demand it, my Queen

Maybe I didn't realize until now
How shy you are
That you are like me
You open yourself up and effervesce your bubbles
Of cheerfulness, curiosity and compassion
But only when stimulated, provoked by me and my »first steps«
You are so incredible
I want to be frozen
And stand still
Not moving a centimeter
To not upset you
Not muddle you
Lamentably, my words, once they come out
These ambivalent "acts"
Might be muddling, confusing

—————————

You are very welcome to me
If only you’d tell me
In which way I may touch you
Whether to nestle with my body
My unworthy masculine being
Against yours
To cuddle up
Or to snuggle
»Sich anschmiegen« in German
Or whether I may serve you in any other way
Teaching you German
Or simply talking
You know that I’d do anything
For only one glance, one minute spent with you
Even use all my toxic male power
I’d like to ravage And incite revolution
Around the world
»Ich sehe rot«
Because my eyes are filled with fury
For my body is separate from you
And not glued together
As it ought to be
At least if you ask me
Ask me, if I want to be your boyfriend
Of course I’d say yes
And surrender to you under your conditions
Whatever they might be
Capitulate unconditionally
I’m powerless, only you will charge me again
Until then I furiously rage around the globe
Trying to find some solace
And to ease my desperation
By denouncing the savage rule of capitalism
And agitating the masses
So they finally revolt and rise up
To challenge the bourgeois power
That is strangling my mind and body today
And is responsible for all the alienation
I feel at the work place
All the inhibition
To approach you, my violet in the wheat field
Therefore I will have no mercy
With the bourgeois
Once we win the revolutionary war
Because I will remember those gloomy days
When the capitalist rule
Made me feel so far from you
Although we were so near
But it’s forbidden to love in the office, isn’t it?
We must work like a machine
Relentlessly, without asking questions
For what and for whom are we working?

So let me finish this desperate poem
By pointing out something vulgar
As vulgar as the bourgeois force used against us all
Namely, that the male sexual organ
Somehow symbolizes power
Or even violence,
While women and their organs
Seem to represent gentleness
And ok, if it really has to be
I can speak that vulgarly
I want to puncture you —
Please be my peasant girl
Will you let me be your Nazi?
It has to be said
That there is really nothing special, unique, singular
About this weapon
Us men carry between our legs
It’s only an ordinary biological structure and no reason to be intimidated, Dear women
Because you always seem to ask yourselves
What it is like
To have the permit to carry this thing
And perhaps you are devoured by the burning doubt
What this gives to a man
How this must make you feel
To be part of the circle of the initiated
But don’t puzzle your head over this
It’s only what it looks like
Nothing more behind it
And of course, the power of the symbol
At times burdens us boys
Therefore easier and more beautiful
Is the female vulva and to explore its philosophical implications

The imaginative source of power and inventions

It shouldn’t be that hard to face you
Stand opposite you, shoulder to shoulder
As man and woman
Because this has been going on for centuries
And milleniums
Only today the burden of history
And alienation in the production chain
Makes it so weird
Unexplainably strange, foreign
Like an unknown language
It’s like as if these organs
Were part of another country
Outside myself, out of my grasp
But you, Liliya
Are within my reach
I know, because you’re already inside me
Since your eyes punctured me
And you seemed to let yourself fall into me
This was so wild and daring of you
My brave girl
Let’s step over those historical, political problems
And finally find together
As these siblings that we are
Will you be my peasant girl
And let me be your Nazi?

—————————————

Acá les dejo un poema escrito hace un año que podríamos titular:

El amor bruto

Hay una cosa pues, y es que: quiero penetrarte –

Para alcanzar mi propia grandeza

Soy el máximo

Pretendo ser el colmo de la humanidad

¡El colmo!

Como un preservativo metido en un sobre

Y mandado a la Casa Rosada

Una especie de protesta pseudo política

Que broma, che

Pero al menos he dejado mis huellas

Al menos no moriré sin que la Presidenta de la Nación

Haya tenido la chance de recibir mi semen

Y procrear la especie humana con la ayuda de

La tecnología moderna, la fecundación artificial

Qué lujo, que barbaridad.

Podría llegarse a pensar que no hay esperanza

Sólo hay miedo, asco y un sentimiento de repugnancia

Y la voluntad de ser aniquilado por los poderes

Que me amenazan, pero nunca llegaron a tocarme

No sé por qué será, será por mi sexo, soy hombre

Pertenezco al sexo “fuerte”

Aunque ya ningún hombre hoy día es fuerte de verdad

Quien se atrevería… a concederse el placer

De expresar sus ganas inexorables, inagotables, inaguantables

De tocar una mujer

Muhh- cher

Me recibo tal cual – ella me recibirá

Elle me merece o yo ella – estoy confundido

Es gibt nichts außer dem Schreiben,

Aber um es zu tun müsste ich flüchten

In eine andere Sprache

Señor Poeta.

Una pregunta.

El tamaño de sus huevos…

Nos quedamos incrédulos tras leer su penúltimo poema

Que hablaba acerca de su anatomía personal

—¡Basta! No escribo de esas cosas chanchas.

Me habrá plagiado algún cabron…

A ver

Veamos bajo la chapa del auto

A ver donde queda el motor—

Estará atascado, sale humo

Uhh que asco, que sé yo, dónde meter mi dedo…

A ver, en este lugar debe haber un mecánico

Pero no. Soy masculino.

Tengo que encontrar por mi mismo como funcionan las cosas necesarias

Las cosas técnicas

Técnica mental – problema resuelto.

Che, cada uno puede aprender como funciona esto,

Hombre o mujer, un auto es un auto,

Algo colmplicado pero al final resulta que nos mueve, nos lleva

Y todo bien, nada difícil.

Todo tranquilo, aunque me siente abrumado

Mareado por esas indagaciones meta-físicas

La patafísica. Meter mi pata. En una médica.

Sería sexy recibir un examen de una médica vestida de blanco

Y por azar llego a plantearme la idea de meter mis manos bajo su abrigo

Sería prudente, sería medicinal

Este es la “intención” del poema:

El amor es algo medicinal, nos cura

Cura toda depresión, nihilismo y embotellamiento interno

Es algo técnico, nada metafísico.

No te plantees la pregunta, si ella

Es la mujer acertada, la una de cien,

Besando mi sien

Estaré en el cielo del cielo,

En el más alto –

No, basta de metas altas.

Acá abajo existe el amor físico, el amor voraz—

Aunque solo sea físico un par de segundos

En tu cabeza, mientras las neuronas se mueven

Y ella finaliza su examen, mirándote con

Lástima? Apuro? Deseo?

Callarse es virtud, gozar de las miradas-palabras.