Archive for the ‘Eva the Historian’ Category

R Pipes 2

Well, let’s do our best tomorrow.

Like, c’est la vie, we can’t change history.

But, alas, the historian can.


(To be continued…)









Protest re Demolition 2

(To the detractors and fashionable manipulators of history…)

You disgusting piece of shit!

Tell yourself the lie, if it helps you sleep at night.

Broadcast it in TV programs,

propagate your version of history

into “reality”.

And, furthermore, lie.

While I climb Sverdlovsk TV Tower

and, seeking truth,









Nazi Maedchen Suki

The megalomaniac is a democrat,

he/she/it wants to fuck as many lives

as will choose to be seduced.









Fellow traveler

got lost somewhere along the way.





More than anything,

I “just” wanted the world

to be

a better place.




Remembrance Day, they say, piously,

thankful, pretentiously,

that all is quiet on the Western Front.

The soldier reflects and sighs,

remembering history,

and what followed victory

in the “War To End All Wars”…

Some things are better forgotten.




HMVS Cerberus, Musket Drills

So far, distant and perverse,

hysteria perverts.

Despite oceans of salt and bitterness,

cretins cling to loyalties, hatreds inbred.

Goodness, we never had,

the old days were just as bad.




Birgit Meineke, Daniela Übel


Hope evaporates

like yesterday’s tears of joy

besmirched by those who do not want to understand.

A trace of salt is all that remains.







Samantha Smith said

“They’re just like us.”

And we’re just like them.


I was hoping for something better.




Green Ukraine


Green Ukraine,

there’s a story there,

but it’s probably not what you think.

Recycling, so as to speak,


history, people, land,

all apparently cheap.

Dreams of freedom,

distant east,

realities of time and place,

mosquitoes, blood,

expensive ideas.

Alas, Green Ukraine.





Torpedoangriff mit Heinkel He111


In hopelessness’ bitter embrace

you cling to

the last raft out of


Perhaps you will return one day,

more likely you will sink,

your name forgotten.

Black, and gone.

This is life, 1942,

for this, you were born?