Der Zuschauer

A Journal of Essays and Reportage on Drama, History, and Literature

Archive for February 2009

Grabbe on Bra Metaphysics

with 3 comments


Grabbe, here, Well, one thing that is being bruited about in the editorial offices heeeeeeeeeeeere on Guam Island at Der Zuschauer, is why do so many suspension-bridge engineers so often collapse into bra construction and design as a way to keep body and soul alive? Can Fichte help us on this question?

Dear Readers, We ask for your help? Christian Grabbe.

Written by herrdramaturg

February 22, 2009 at 4:23 pm

Max Klinger on the Lay of the Land

with one comment


Dear Reader, every now and then after an editorial breakfast of ashes, Asche zum Fruhstuck, I take a Joy through Travel tour to a little Fischzucht resort in the Marianas Trench, seven and a half miles below the surface of the shark-infested waters around the Phillppine Islands, where I like to commune with the gigantic-microscopic, incandescent, luminious monsters of our very deepest-sea oceans. The heat of the hellacious inner core of our cooling planet (think entropy) warms the frigid waters and produces an aquatic life, a Walpurgisnachtwelt, of swimming demons, devils, Confucianism, and haiku. Bosch couldn’t stand the place. I love it.

I always take Bach, Wagner and Mahler with me and a few books: this time Celine’s Nord, Turgenev’s Virgin Soil, Pound’s Jefferson and/or Mussolini, and always Holderlin. Not too much for a weekend.


The beer is good; rheinisch wine flows straight out of knotholes in the wooden tables; if it lands on the table it catches on fire; I, therefore prefer Cote Rotie or Grange-Hermitage. The food is also good. The beaver and buffalo. We avoid shellfish and red snapper, most swimming fish in fact. But hedgehog, porcupine, reindeer rump, all good stuff. The best joint is called Tobias Smollet’s. Their jellyfish infusion on veal cutlets is challenging indeed. The jewel in the ear is Dante’s Lobster.


There are tennis courts, plasma-diving,, and vigorous ping-pong. I prefer the libraries.

What I really go to the Marianas for is Bathospheric Bowling. One enters a sphere of glass in complete darkness and wait for the goldfish ghouls to appear, the sucking carp-nasties, the dragon seahorses, the Bolshie seaworms; they are all actually outside, and they catch the light in your eyes; they want to eat you alive. Wolfen blood-hounds of the deep. They are in fact philosophic hogs of the dirty deep. They are the stars of interstellar inner space. This is no superbowl; this is Aligheri on a Guelf/Ghibelline burn.

“The ant is a centaur in his dragon world.
Pull down thy vanity, it is not man
made courage, or made order, or made grace.
Pull down thy vanity, I say pull down,
Learn of the green world what can be thy place
In scaled invention or true artistry,
Pull down thy vanity, Paquin pull down!
The green casque has out done your eloquence.”
EP, From the Pisan Cantos

When I come back to Guam, what do I find? Lesbian pornography from Ekaterina Degot. Christian Grabbe trying to teach sea turtles and gooney birds how to march in goose-step.


I found a note from Stanley Richardson describing a pigeon in Union Square trying to eat ice and snow for water, and the ice was slippery enough that the neck-snapping idiot couldn’t keep his balance and kept sliding, falling, pecking, and finally, flying off, like that Hudson River airbus that was able to flly back out of the water on its own exhausted spiritual power.

There was also a note describing a Richardson sighting in Praha, at a cafe table arguing with a red-headed woman about whether she could fly over the city on a pig. She said she could. He said she hadn’t.


Then, there was the smell of the oceans, the reek of the guano. Everyone was wearing little or nothing. The Stealth-bombers continued to take off and land. Someone told me his pet skunk, Fruity, had escaped. There was concern of a miscegenation between Fruity, and datenut bat he was in love with.rosie

I read the Toronto Globe&Mail.. Someone brought me in a Roderick Random Boston Dock Rhum. I thought of endless war and needless death. I smoked a Camel. I went to sleep to white noise and the sound of the ocean. My best to you. comrades.

Max Klinger

Written by herrdramaturg

February 9, 2009 at 1:51 pm