In times most desperate,
fleeing towards safety.
Again and again.
Where are you running at?

Carriages blocking the torn up streets.
Mutilated concrete,
cracked pipes and
shattered glass.

Keep dodging,
faster than a bullet.
You can’t outrun blind cruelty.
Not even in a panic-rattled frenzy.

The city is burning.
But the one thing destroyed,
the most precious of all,
is the human soul.
It can never be repaired.

Mother is shot,
the child trampled,
the soaked doll, filthy and sad,
all laying in the street.


They are everywhere,

please Lord,

ward me from the Poisson flies.

Insects that rob you of your health.


corrupting your brain,

making you sleep the death’s sleep.

Keep them out,

I see mother’s afraid to rid their dying children’s swollen faces of your subjects,

afraid to enrage you, Lord.

Show us mercy,


Two nations astride,

differences collide.

It are some coastal strokes they yearn for,

beachheads of evil,

a pathway to the underbelly of a nation.

Popes battle,

for kings foolishly drive themselves

a wig between the faithful.

Obeying some dark recesses of their soul,

we pay and toil,

become  empowered.

Never enough,

for it’s not the slavish peasant alone,

who is disrespected.

The battle is lost,

yet they feast,

at what cost?


Suzy went in to labor. The contraction first came agonizingly slow. The pain was unreel at first. Soon every sense of time evaporated. Would there every come an end to it?

She screamed, nearly exhausted, pushing like her life depending on it. In fact it did. The soldiers were advancing and the seclusion and protection of the monastery of Saint-Jude wouldn’t protect her. In a world were God ruled supreme only a desperate ruler would violate the Sacred Pact, monasteries were deemed neutral and a safe heaven from prosecution.

How could she have been so stupid. If your job is having horny men have their way you can’t bodge up your cycle. It got her pregnant. So she wound up here, the job she had done from the moment she arrived here as an ignorant redhead farm girl out of Sud-Passage, looking for a better life till now, was over.

She tried to get rid of it, spend three days comatose.

‘You have been kissed by God,’ the old nun said.

‘The child?’

‘It’s in perfect health, our lord wants this child, foolish girl. You should keep it.’

She should talk, Suzy thought embittered. She couldn’t get children.

Her wrinkles on her fatigued face were not from effort or pain, though. Despair ruled her mind and heart.

So tired, the ceiling went spinning and faded.

The funny thing was the only thing she seemed to notice at that time the walls were painted sloppy. She too, wanting to be perfect white, but stained beyond saving.

‘Good girl, keep pushing, you are almost there, I can see the head.’

A burst of pain, she screamed. An odd sensation then a distant crying. From where did it come?

‘Congratulations, dear, it’ s a girl…oh, my!’

‘What’s the matter, is something wrong with my baby?’

‘It’s…no, there is nothing. Get some rest.’

She was holding something back, what could be so bad. Why would she lie?’

‘Can I hold her.’

‘She has to be cleaned first,’ Mary said.

‘I want to hold her.’

‘No, you can’t, get some rest.’

The baby started screaming again. The head nun left the room. Suzy wanted to protest. But she was too tired.



The specter of war is catching up soon.

That’s the basic principle of this disturbingly poor movie.

Propaganda depicting an unstoppable tank in world war 2.

The concept of an unbeatable tank is more believable than the notion that it’s the human condition that breeds war.

If there is a profitable alternative (like global trade) in this day and age selling war to your voters is hard. Their isn’t a just war anymore.

So I get annoyed of this bunch of self-serving scenes, historical incorrectness and sigh in front of a train-wreck that is this strange, lousy story.


For all the beliefs I outlived,

all the hope lost.

For friends felt we weren’t longer relevant,

for you I loved having keeping my bed warm,

in the liberal freezing cold.

My potent happy pill,

it’s still depressing and still,

so chill.

God, I miss you.

I believed in you,

then I got drunk more than once or twice,

I didn’t visit you at church.

Also the family I flocked together with during holidays,

too little too late.

I don’t believe in them anymore.

I think they don’t believe in me too.



old and experienced,

little belittling me.

Talking loud,

foolish self-important dribble.

Just zip it and make me feel


a Goddess.

I confess,

I am tired indulging you

wearing this skimpy dress,

your breath smelling yellow,

does it hurt to wipe the cigarette stain,

under your parchment wrinkled nose.

I am no who-se, Not one of those,

the only thing where women are for,

if I hear you rant and rant,

I wonna run,

just make me go fast enough

sweet adrenaline gland,

now he is trying to make me understand,

what just isn’t more important

what I have to say or feel,

no sir, big words don’t give you sex-appeal.