That was cute.

Good.

>>2

Since that cold Christmas Eve oh how lengthy a span
Of seasons have passed without old Cracky-Chan
Deigning ever again to show hide or show hair,
To the stalkers and Crackyfags. Does she not care?

Perhaps. Or perhaps that’s to quite understate
Her reasons for vanishing. Maybe it’s hate
That calls itself love and takes love’s name in vain
That’s made sure you will never see Cracky again.

No matter, though Cracky’s been seen here no more,
You still come to these websites to kneel and adore,
To worship each other and slap on the back
All the shits who have seen to it she won’t be back.

You wink at “Old Schwilly” and coyly allude
To Camel, refraining from posting a nood,
And bounteously accord to each namefag their due,
On condition, of course, that they give YOURS to YOU.

And so it goes onward in “cuteness and light”
In the ‘Crackyverse’, just as if that fabled night
The OP’s rhyme speaks of had really occurred,
And as if the reality weren’t such a turd –

A turd made of vanity, ego and spite
And of everything else that made Cracky take flight,
Atop which sit enthroned that same small, ugly set
That our rhymester portrays like cute kittens to pet:

Some stammering wannabe poetes maudits
Who ‘an hero’ on video so everyone can see
They were edge-y and cool and amazing and all
(And still are, cos they didn’t ‘an hero’ at all).

And a pair of ‘best girlfriends’ who think that this week
Talk of ‘gender oppression’ will make them sound chic
Holding court midst a circle of dull Faggot Goats
Who wouldn’t know ‘gender’ if rammed down their throats.

This real Christmas Present to a false Christmas Past
I oppose in the hope that you’ll make it the last
And acknowledge what shits and what liars you are
From whom Cracky, like all decent folk, stays afar.

>>5

Heh, that was a more accurate portrayal.

Although I don't believe those would be the reasons why Cracky stays afar.

>>5

Well done! I like it.

>>5
I had this thought a while ago,
"My darling cannot grasp aright
What I have done, or what would do
On this blind bitter site.'

And I grew weary of the sun
Until my thoughts cleared up again,
Remembering that the best I've done
Was done to make it plain;

That every year I've cried, "At length
My darling understands it all,
Because I've come into my strength,
And words obey my call';

That had she done so who can say
What would have shaken from the sieve?
I might have thrown poor words away
And been content to live.

If all decent people stay away from here, what does that make you, who only comes here to shit his pants and call it genius?

>>9
It makes you a shithead as well.

The Alex hated Cracky! The whole Cracky spirit!
Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be that his head wasn't screwed on quite right.
It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.

And the Alex, with his Alex-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? She came without ribbons. She came without tags. She came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Alex thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Crackymas, he thought, doesn’t come from a whore. What if Crackymas, perhaps, means a little bit more.

I meant what I said, and I said what I meant. An elephant's faithful, one hundred percent.

What I mean, that's what we mean. Bishop, the faithful, 100%.

This is what I have said, I would say, "he said. Elephants and 100%.

Say I want to say. True, but 100% of the elephant.

Actually the real reason Alex became the Grinch is significantly more disturbing- in every sense- than his heart being two sizes two small.

Alex is educated. But what are his actual public achievements? What is he publicly known for?

Take the Quiz:

1. Inaugurating a new dawn of analytical literary criticism with "The Athenaeum.'
2. Developing the polio vaccine.
3. The Emancipation Proclamation.
4. Paying a fat girl to let him jack off over her on the internet, and co-moderating a message board dedicated to stalking a British teenager.

HINT: the answer is 4.

>>14
Wow. Top marks for choosing 'The Athenaeum' - as opposed to some pissy little modern (or even, God forbid, post-modern) theoretical periodical written in 'lean, unlovely English' - as one of the many achievements that I CAN'T lay claim to. If you know and appreciate the Schlegels, then you're surely an educated man yourself.

But on the other hand familiarity with such generally neglected and near-forgotten cultural-historical terrain should also make it easier for you to recognize the limitations of the thesis you propose here.

The accusation of 'sterility' and 'inability to bring anything to completion' was one which was often flung against the Schlegels themselves, particularly against Friedrich, the more brilliant of the two brothers. He was frequently unfavourably contrasted with Goethe in this respect (sometimes by Goethe himself). He was a decidedly minor poet and even as a critic he was a man of shreds and fragments. His one novel, 'Lucinde' is famous for being an utter failure as a novel: a text which can't make up its mind whether it is indeed a novel and not rather maybe an essay or a philosophical tractate instead. It may not be 'tl;dr' in comparison to huge tomes like 'Wilhelm Meister', but it's certainly been 'dr' for 99 per cent of the reading public throughout all the two hundred years since its publication.

Schlegel, in short, very arguably 'achieved nothing'. The Romantics, indeed, as a whole symbolized and incarnated fragmentation, failure and disaster, as opposed to the aspiration toward serene integrality and palpable worldly success represented by the Classicists Goethe and Schiller.

In this respect, one thing I CAN lay claim to is being one of the 'last Romantics' (I think my 'fat girl' senses this, which is why we still have a very close relationship even though I've been able to pay her absolutely nothing since I've moved to Paris).

You're right about the factors that 'grinch'd' me yesterday - to the extent, at least, that it was a very bitter dispute in the CH Tinychat about 'Romantic' and entirely 'un-Romantic' values in this sense that left me so down on the Crackyverse in general and on Camel, Dolly and their pitiable Faggot Goats in particular.

In that debate as so often before, I found myself confronted with that fundamentally un-Romantic nature of the typical /b/tard that contrasts so oddly with the implied iconoclastic, indeed suggestedly 'revolutionary' nature of 4chan culture.

Again and again in my dealings with the Crackyfags, I'm forced to recognize how totally lacking you people are in that Romantic spirit that was the deepest and most nourishing of all the wells that Marxism; Anarchism and all true revolutionary movements have drawn on. The /b/tard type - with whom Camel and her FGs can certainly be classified on the strength of THAT 'conversation' at least - cannot brave or tolerate the risk of total failure that every true rebel must necessarily take. In your hearts, despite all the symbolically patricidal shock-tactics of your boards, none of you can wait to flee back into the bosoms of your salary-drawing, condominium-owning papas. And you ALREADY - at age 18 or 25 - feel the same contempt and fear vis-a-vis someone like myself - a homeless, ally-less outcast fighting on broken barricades against odds everyone sees must inevitably defeat him utterly in the end - as is felt by these well-appointed papas at age 45 or 50.

>>15
I remain as obsessed, however, by the Schlegel's Romantic dream of a life-project geared to failure and fragmentation as one or two of you may be genuinely obsessed by Cracky. Perhaps it is no coincidence that RavRav bears such a remarkable resemblance to Anne Brochet, the actress who played the role of Roxanne in Jean-Paul Rappeneau's 1990 film version of perhaps the last great European work of Romantic literature, Rostand's 'Cyrano de Bergerac'.
I still draw regular spiritual comfort from the speech that the blind and dying Cyrano delivers in the garden of the nunnery where his eternal love Roxanne has retreated for love of a man she never knew, while he was still alive, was Cyrano himself:

It is useless, I know.
But who fights hoping for success?
I fought for lost causes, and for fruitless quests.
I see you now, old enemies of mine:
Falsehood, and Compromise, and Treachery...
Oh you are ten thousand against one alone!
I know that you will lay me low at last...

Rostand's is a cruder, more picturesque and vulgar version of the Romantic life-project than the Schlegel's, though, and it is really more to the latter that I stay true. Perhaps the last great disciple of Schlegel in European literature was Walter Benjamin, another notorious 'failure' whose dissertation on Germa Tragic Drama was refused by his university and who spent the rest of his life on the run from country to country before finally poisoning himself in a remote valley of the Pyrenees.

Benjamin's 'One-Way Street' begins with the exhortation to the intellectual to leave the secure and established forae of intellectual activity and to dare to confide what he has to say to the fragile and misregarded media of pamphlets and posters and leaflets. The Internet - and above all regions of the Internet like the 'Crackyverse' - represents a present-day equivalent and intensification of the dirty, disregarded, fragile and insecure realm that Benjamin exhorted his fellow intellectuals to dare to descend into. To write poetry and philosophy HERE - where as good as nobody listens and where the risk of total failure is so extreme as almost to be a certainty rather than a risk - is in many ways the ultimate Romantic Act.

Refreshing to see you in good humor Alex, so Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Don't forget about the much lesser known Jewish brother "Bagel Schlegel."

Werner Herzog certainly hasn't forgotten about the Schlegels, and he's not without an audience today, though his greatest work is now behind him.
"I see a long line of Pilgrims, walking slowly up a mountain, but the dream always ends before they get to the top"

--Kaspar Hauser

>>18
You bet your ass his greatest work is now behind him. It's hardly to be credited that the director of such exalting masterpieces as 'The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser' and 'The Land of Darkness and Silence' is the same man as has been responsible in the last ten years for such jingoistic sub-'Deer Hunter' claptrap as 'Rescue Dawn' and the attempt to fraudulently cash in on Abel Ferrara's reputation 'Bad lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans'.

BTW (your) pic-related:

Bruno S. constitutes the sole, extremely tenuous claim that I can raise to having a 'Cracky connection' in my own life.

Poor old Bruno, after his brief season as a cultural 'cause celebre' in the mid- to late 70s, was back making his living in his formerly accustomed manner as a Berlin street- and courtyard-musician, pretty much as in this clip from Herzog's 'Stroszek', by the time of my stint in the city from 2001 on

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2HzKrBd3BR8

It is as such, perhaps - rather than as the lead character in that movie and in 'Kaspar Hauser' - that he is commemorated in a song by one of Cracky's favourite musical artistes, the talented but batshit crazy Elliot Smith, whose 'Color Bars' contains the lines

'Bruno S. is a man to me; You're just some dude with a stilted attitude, That you learnt from TV'

It was on the strength not of Smith's song, however, but of Herzog's masterpieces of the 70s, that I first invited the considerably older and even more dilapidated Bruno into my modest Friedrichshain apartment one winter's day in 2005 or 2006. In the course of the following four or five years, he often stopped in to drink a tea with me on his musical rounds of the district of Friedrichshain - where he had in fact been born some years before WWII - or deigned to receive a visit of mine in his own extremely deranged-looking, and inconveniently entirely chairless, apartment in the Kurfuerstenstrasse.

He died in the winter of 2010-2011, shortly after I mentioned my irregular contact with him to Camel (and she Cracky's fondness for Elliot Smith to me).

I now realize that the two events were not unconnected and that this fine old gentleman expired by reason of some vague extra-sensory intuition that his name and person were henceforth present alongside various emergent unprincipled get-rich-quick schemes, and dull emotionlesss recollections of an almost innumerable series of broken and trampled hearts, in the head of one of the most despicable (though unfortunately at the same time one of the most compellingly attractive) human beings ever to paddle in the Caspian Sea or walk the streets of Asbury Park.

Remarkable that you in fact enjoyed tea with Bruno S. Given how luminous he was on screen, I can only imagine how that effect must have been even more compelling in the flesh. You've reminded me of "Heart of Glass" now, with the inspired idea to shoot film landscapes in a way that recreated Caspar David Friedrich paintings in "real life." Yet another of Herzog's successful immersions into the horrifying beauty of German Romanticism, where the understanding that the goal is impossible is actually the starting point of the quest. I suppose that's relevant to the Cracky cult as well, now.

>>20
"...the understanding that the goal is impossible is actually the starting point of the quest. I suppose that's relevant to the Cracky cult as well, now."

Yes, that, of course. Much more importantly, though, it's relevant to the fact that, even though I didn't get into Oxford and that slutty-looking Jew bitch with the turquoise hair did, I'm still much, much cleverer than she'll ever be....

But all self-irony aside, I'm very happy to see an actual intelligent discussion emerging in the Crackyverse for once. The aesthetics and ontology of Romanticism - from Jean Paul and the Schlegels through Friedrich and Eichendorff, Wagner and Rostand right down to Werner Herzog - would indeed, I imagine, provide a much more appropriate and authentic basis for a religion and philosophy of the 'Cracky experience' than is provided by the infantile mechanical pastiching or defacing of randomly-selected Christian and Hindu scripture that passes for 'religion' here at present.

It's getting late here now, and I'm not up to pushing on with this demanding theme at this hour. But maybe in the morning we can disinter this thread from under however many layers of idiot Cracky-spam Pinky Newfag or some other Child Soldier will have buried it with by then.

To this extent

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRd_vZT6zPY&feature=player_embedded
Fix'd that foe you Alec

>>21 Yes, it seems a better match for a Cracky religion mythopoesis, as you say. This, from "Lenz," also relevant to that:

"What is this terrible screaming that
men generally call silence?"

No need to pull references from 18th century literature or elsewhere, as Lord Trentacles has already perfectly summed up the entire "Cracky Experience" back in 1992 on the Broken album with these two simple lines:

"Wish there was something real, wish there was something true
Wish there was something real, in this world full of You"

>>24

The world is "full of Cracky"? This shit doesn't make sense.