In Person-B

Then he sprang into life and became a man in one night.  He never thought about seeking out some position, solidly convinced that he would never be able to satisfy any employer.  He was never able to work for hire. If he wanted to be at the top he had to start at the top. He felt that very strongly. He had nothing to call his own, except two large clear eyes that could see. But that had to be enough.

He went to the races. He knew many people at the turf and soon understood how the odds lay, which tips were good and which one to throw away, the ones that were only words. He bet and he won.

He played on the stage. He made trips for cigarette manufacturers and for travel books. He was a competent representative and had a solid feeling for organization.

But money did not attract him—only life. He won fortunes and threw them out the window again. He rode in all types of saddles, and all doors opened wide for him. He really felt that he was a gentleman.

But there was something else, something that always kept him an outcast from everyone else. It was a longing, a great untamable  lust for the impossible, an eternal red hot dreaming for the stars.

Off Beat

(novel of the twelve)


He ran around the world and no one ever knew where he was. But then a post card would come from him, from somewhere, from Cochinchina, Paraguay or Rhodesia.

The Last Will of Stanislawa d’Asp


There are people who travel to find themselves. Others travel to do business and still others because it is fashionable. I travel because I must, because I am driven away from where I am, because I am a stranger everywhere—even at home—everywhere.

I must travel, like I must eat and drink.

And perhaps that is why I see things much differently. I will not say better, not more perfectly, just differently. I see—with my own eyes.

With My Own Eyes


Everything that he was, he had become in a constant battle against others, just to be himself, just to remain an individual. The others? Well, they were people everywhere, most especially the Germans, the masses, the folk, the herd.





My ancestors have

 Never spared their blows,

Hard headed Titans,

It is the right way!


We have seen Mount Pelion

On top of Mount Ossa,

Yet have never seen the walls

Of Canossa standing before us.


Even though Olympic gods

Threatened us with flames,

It is we mockers that are immortal,

And the gods are long dead!

Moganni Nameh

It had taken many long years to learn how to live, but now he had mastered that great art, which now gave him more than many thousands of others. He lived fully and strongly, stood on the summit and really enjoyed the world and all of its delights.



Since then he had ridden many days through the savage forest of the inscrutable, waded deeply through the sweltering, fever infested swamp of the incomprehensible. His soul had breathed many hot poisons there, been touched by pestilence and the smoke of many cruel burning sins.

Oh yes, it had hurt a lot, tormented him and ripped open puss filled ulcers–But it didn’t throw him. He always rode away healthy under heaven’s protection–



His head was a good property room, all the mummified entrenchments of history lay there, piled up in pretty heaps, beautifully organized according to peoples and centuries.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice


His brain had always been a fertile planting place for all kinds of foolishness and abstruse fantasies.



He is good to all the animals—but he torments the people. When he sees a caterpillar on the path he picks it up and carries it to the grass so no one can step on it.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice


Come, be honest Ali! Tell me, how do you get all the people to be good to you? You see, no one is good to me. They all step on me. They all beat me.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice


I collect remarkable people—it is a hobby of mine.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice


My virtues are my worst sins and my greatest sins are always virtues—Ah, if I only knew the difference!

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice


I hardly ever drink anything—I only feel like it every couple of years.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice


I don’t like a clock in the room, no clock or no calendar—always knowing the date, always knowing the hour—no, I prefer to live differently.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice


I place no value at all upon the propagation  of the human race. That my fellow humans appear to place great value on this is because they are asses.



The fire devours and is insatiable. But give it more and more to eat and it will live eternally. Such a fire burns somewhere in my brain. It is insatiable.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice


Heine! How often he had reflected while dreamily contemplating his portrait. Some puzzle lay in the style of his work, some curious mystery.—But now he grasped it—it was his own style, his own—

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice




This entry was posted in Anarchist World, brevier, German authors, Hanns Heinz Ewers, Joe Bandel, Literature, philosophy, Translation, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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