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In the iron bunkers and at the far sawmill
In the fields of despair and in the madness' den
Among the ruins, in a forgotten ancient temple
I ate a bitter hallucinogen
...
Streams flowed upon the terror ragged rocks
Star of the North called us into the eternal battle
The Glory swirled in the height, and there boomed the shells
As a forest twisted virgin screamed and rattled.







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[Rhetorical] dramatic epic.
See
here



1946.
Wild bleak steppe somewhere between Siberia and Kazakhstan.
⚔ ⚔ ⚔ ⚔ )



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I fell asleep, I woke up. I lived as I didn't live. So we've been taught in a Spec-Ops school - to live as gold cast butterfly, and flying over nests should sprinkle we all around with pollen of wisdom incredible. The detachment of the Big Ballet leave it's light dance, and women from the Guild will suddenly become the feathers of the Fire-Bird, all full of flames and vigour. I would be cleaned by the Eighth, Ninth Cleansing, already six I passed, and five Anathems - clean! Clean like a drop of dew and light-transparent! And there's heresy, just think! My skull was measured ten times, they drilled my teeth, a tube inserted into my brain, large Psychoskopes almost burned my eyes, and they ransacked my heart and soul down to the farthest corners - not found vile sedition. Mystery, help! Run. Veer. Scry, win.






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[Rhetorical] dramatic epic.
Prologue is here

U977 pop-ups on the surface to charge the batteries.
On the bridge stands Heinz Schaeffer, the commander.

✠✠✠✠ )
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Moles and Machine.
[Rhetorical] dramatic epic.
 
These evil creatures have deprived us of death and glory,
But it's not the Veche just right now, and is not the last parade
The Triglav body, forged by Arkona's blacksmith
Spiraling down from Heaven will utter us: It's time!
("Interlocal smuggling" ©)
 
PROLOGUE.
Istanbul, 8 May 1945. Old Galata Bridge
Characters: Adam Glauer aka Baron von Sebottendorf, founder of the Thule Society, an adventurer
Heinz Schaeffer, commander of submarine U977.
 
Glauer:
- Here, in the lands of Asia Minor, in the center of the world, The the Path of Knowledge I began
With cunning tricks of the Kabbalah. Here my good Turk, my old Hussein Pasha
Helped me to comprehend the wisdom of the Sufi. And the first lesson of the Runes cold mystery
Von List taught me himself, still healthy at the time! Oh, Lords, how blind I was!
I cried, sweating, and I fell before the muzzle of the boiler, roaring hell of heat, exhausted,
On the dirty old steamship, I reached to the very depths of humiliation and a terrible thirst for knowledge at the same time.
But Sign of Mole kept me in the sands of Egypt, near the Pyramids, under the gaze of the Sphinx, in the Australian mine,
In Mexico, where bloody shamans fed me that mescaline, where the Ice Angel showed me the Eagle
And I tried, like Faust, to give the wings myself and grasp the fundamentals of the Universe.
And yet, the first hint of a Path of the Mole I got in the far Australia. With strangest pattern
Drown on the sand a naked aborigine told me: The rumor are there, that Moles will compete with Beast
And after the decisive fight, they will come here, tired,to our world. In cities and countries I gathered bits of knowledge
Of devoted, by pieces, dust particles, words.
And all these years I was forced to be just silent about the Path. Who I could say to? Blunt stormtroopers? Loose amphetamine doll?
Cursed poultry farmers? They would've understand me never. Thanks though I was not killed, whether now I hardly can be grateful.
Despicable Yasha Blyumkin, a spy and an adventurer, who asked me here in Turkey, for help
Is gunned down in Moscow, in stinking basement, by some Barbarian's hand, and his finale was more worthy than I have.
Georgy, cunning Persian, or Gypsy, or Georgian perhaps lives in his castle in Neuilly-sur-Seine, near Paris, horsing around with his women.
And me?...
Today, the only and unique, the only mine secret of the Mechanism, of the Machine of Moles, will be covered by these dirty waters forever.
Like idle Torpedo useless I'll fall down to the bottom of the of the strait of ancient Argonauts, I'll be food for fish and crabs, and sea worms.
The Eon ends. The greatest Gods died before the Ragnarok - they died of fear! Moles are coming!
[Throws himself into the water and drowns]
 
Istanbul, the next morning.
Schaeffer: [rummaging through things in the room of Glauer]
- ...a rope with knots, a mole paw, an owl claw, a glass bead, a dried plant. Old bastard really went crazy. Better it would be if he continued to plant nuts. The nut kernel, as you know, resembles the brain. Why would I come into the room of nothingness? The boat is waiting. My nice guys, my crew, all of you will be awarded with medals. I'll gather it all and I'll take it. I'm not alone in this room, stuffy as after the attack with depth charges, when our glorious shark remained for days under the surface. We are like Jonah in the belly of the whale, the sound of the hatch shut is not the most pleasant, but we tremble, when we are in the top of the square wolf pack. Old mechanic Franz, the one that stands on the eighth tap, predicted that some day they will write the play about it and will perform it in the houses on the tiny screens, such as our radar. Well, is this eccentric Franz! Goodbye, dirty Istanbul, cold water of Antarctica should wash wrinkled old lady's sides . And these belongings of the unfortunate crook I will take with me.
[Leaves]



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