Letters from the Habsburg dynasty, part 1: The organ-soul-communication-apparatus

Dear Readers, 

You may not know this, but quite recently, my friend, percussionist extraordinaire, lapsed aristocrat (we suspect) and, last but not least, fellow Mekanic, Arthur T. Habsburg, emigrated to Germany.

A triptych of Lord Habsburg from the rear

"Hello Chucky, ..."

Somewhat saddened by this fact which I learned just a few short weeks before his departure, I requested that he write me letters of his adventures in the country that I myself abandoned some years ago. 

Cut to 11th Septermber 2015. It had been a very long while since I last came home to discover a letter wedged in my postbox that I could not immediately guess the sender of. Maybe I should have inspected the stamp more carefully, but the temptation to rip it open straight away was stronger. 

And there it was, accompanied by a strange-smelling, jauntily laid-out typewritten poem that I have not yet managed to unstick from itself: The first installment of the soon-to-be-infamous Habsburg Letters, sent from Arthur's new, temporary home in Münster, and written by hand in his very own unmistakable vernacular, which I now present to you, transcribed in full and unedited:

[transcript start]

"Hello Chucky,
I write to you on day seven, and when I

say that I am breaking into Heaven it will

not be merely for rhyme's sake! All is good!

Münsterland is awesome in the original, not

overused sense of the word! It's a happy

Pretzel land. Rows of Hanseatic houses, 

ancient trademan's HQ, pocket size towns,

all surrounded by massifs of agriland, well off

farmers, wide cotton trousers, 'I am the emperor

of the cornfields' type, bouncing on street corners

in their super-mario tracktors! And all wear hats

and get burried in them. And the air SMELLS, but

is not polluted! 

I live with my relatives (1+1(8/12+7/100) in a house

that I dreamed I build for       kleine kinder   myself

but I may not ever be prepared to make the 

neccessary sacrifices (Lounge area, bathtub in

the bedroom, music in the bathroom/kitchen/every room,

subwoofers under the couch, automated blinds,

and sauna and cinema is (still unfortunately for me) under

construction). Cat still gets lost in the house 

and contemplates our situation in dark corners. 

We speak in a mixture of three languages, and

I am still afraid of the children.

On second day I bought a bycicle (Conrad) that

comes from the golden era of the bycicle family

(still unspoilt genes, no inbreeding or mental disorders)

and is very well maintained, making it hard not to

indulge in the stereotype regarding ze Jermans

and zeir mashinz. I pimped it out with a 

Japanese speedometer, that has now, unfortunately, 

stop working. During his short life he recorded overall

tracking distance of 127km. He has no name"

[page 2]

"I am yet to say anything about beer, {NOR will I} because

it is so commonplace in my system. I'd rather

talk about gloom as there is no grain sand

of it here. But nor shall I do that. BECAUSE

No condition is permanent!

For the first time in some years I feel

positevely happy (without pharmaceutecal stimulation),

without the feeling being grounded in any

form of achievement. It will not last.

I am still an alien, but the air smells

Good.

And I only miss weed when baby-Tv is on.

(Mad shit! Imagine if all TV was baby-TV,

as opposed to degenerateTV).

On Sunday I went to Lamberti Kirche

for Orgel Nacht. FULL HOUSE (was God

there?...) I came early and sat on the 

praying bench discreetly sipping southern comfort

(inappropriate choice of drink, I know) and

reading Isaak Asimov's essay on heretics

(complete coincidence). The concert was

in three parts plus bonus:

1.   Man-on-birch-mini-organ and 

      Woman-on-shiny-tamed-mini-saxophone.

Review:

Okay, but I suffer from gigantomania.

2.   Sameman-on-building-size-organ-soul-

      communication-apparatus

   Samewoman-on-regular-Santa-Barbara-

   saxophone-tamely-unchained.

Review: Jetpack for the mind, goosebumps

behind the ears and in places I did not know 

I had skin. Only the Santa Barbara made

me think of a staged sunset in Malibu

sometimes..."

[page 3]

"3.   A (German) Choir (singing English religious songs)

  Review: -----------"-------------------

Bonus:

A 1926 silent film Faust with

improvised accompaniment from Sameman-

on-building-size-organ-soul-communicat

ion-apparatus-only-even-louder-and-without

-sex-on-the-beach.

Review: Best of the Best.

The whole audience applauded Sameman for

NINE minutes straight! (And I am pleased to

say that that is longer than Kanye was dipped

into after his 'running-for-president' 'speech'!)

Fantastisch!

On the way back I encountered a distant

thunderstorm of Zeus-in-parties magnitude.

The emperyon was being zipped here and

there many times across, with glorious purple

afterglows! And it was total silence! As that was

a silent film project of gallactic HD quality.

Zip and glow, zip and glow. I stood in a 

field for an hour like a scarecrow realizing

the celestial power.

That day I've spent four hours in a 

place of worship, which is by a long distance

my record (my bedroom does not count here..)

And the clarity of mind I got from it was

unique. I now endevour to do my thinkings

and writing in a church, and use the bedroom

for only going-to-the-toilet purposes."

[page 4]

"Yesterday, a man (Frank) came to fit

in a (second) toilet and we got to talking.

He said, Hey, do you wants to come play

fußball, Ich spl sp bin in ein club? Hast du

shoes? I said yes. It's been 8 years

since I played in a club. He put my bike

into his van and we drove off to Ervinswinkel

(20km). I thought I'd die in 20 mins, 

but I lasted the whole two hours and at 

the end they wanted me to join. The all 

speak German and I try to soak it in. 

Frank invited me to a party next weekend

where he said we would smoke some ............

I said maybe, but it certainly is a dillemma. 

I just came back, with no legs, driving

20 km down interstate bikelanes laid 

thru cornfields in the dark with a 

faulty light. Tomorrow i will buy 

sportsgear and not forget to post this.

    How are your undertakings?

And how is everybody?

Ahrthuhr.

PS

   Attached is a poem gone glooey!"

[transcript end]

I will be soon be composing a detailed reply to herald the start of the Liverpool side of correspondence in this matter, and to request further writings from Prince Arthur.
The poem remains yet to be examined in more detail - a transcript/analysis may follow.

Happily,
Chucky x