Monday, December 4, 2017

yet... they still call me a fascist..

but of course I am not... any one who knows me knows that.

I am a right-winger (I think).

I believe in conserving and preserving the traditions and culture of my people - the white European side and the brown native side... I believe in the natural order and struggle to maintain and preserve it for the sake of all humanity... I believe in my lord and savior and sweet creator and  his will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven... I believe in borders and the separation of races and religions - each can have it's own place in this world - if you don't know, I am a product of multiculturalism... and it sucks... I believe there are only two genders - because, there are only two genders (dumb ass!)... I believe in small government and personal responsibility and self sufficiency... I believe in the right to bear arms - that it is my God given right to defend my life and my family and my property by any means available to me... and I believe in free speech and my right to an opinion... but the new world faggot keeps saying that makes me a fascist... oh well... I got shit to do...

good luck to the rest of you.


Friday, November 3, 2017

Volume One

Welcome readers of the Deringer Files and unsuspecting travelers.

This is a personal journal and within these digital pages are contained the private thoughts and writings of one Victor L. Vogt – known to some as Dash Deringer, and it is important to remember that this is a personal journal when reading - though I have chosen to make these writings public they have nothing to do with the reader – the voyeur, the spectator... you - the outsider looking in to my thoughts, ideas, theories, poetry, art, and the tales of my failed romances... of which you can be sure there are many... your letters are welcomed... but unlike a blog – this journal does not care about the offended...

The Deringer Files never has had any corporate sponsors or taken advertiser dollars (but if this project is successful enough you might see some here), so I have always been able to say as I please without fear of someone pulling out my income – I am self employed (self sustained I like to say) and make money while still being able to state my opinions - as contradictory to the herd as they may be, without fears... I don't actually deal with the public any more... (kinda).

In deciphering this journal – which some may have to if you are new to these writings, understand that many times I am addressing some one in these words – for example you may come across a sentence that says “my sons” or actually addressing some person by name – I am talking to them – Veronica... my unborn sons... friends... tribe... and you my dear reader...

This journal is raw and many times it will be absolute chaos... unedited and random... as personal journals tend to be... there will be short stories here – things I always wanted to post at DF but for whatever reason (lazy) did not post on-line... much of it will still be in the development stages and unfinished... these writings are from my digital journal mostly... and maybe pages scanned from pen and paper... doodles and drawings and such...

Your opinions and feelings mean nothing to me – if you choose to look inside another's mind you do so at your own free will... I curse... I howl, and I growl... I spit out racial slurs without concern for those who are not there... do you censor your own thoughts? Are you afraid of the thought police... Is the thought crime squad after you... maybe... but I don't care...

Some of this may and will drift off to the fringe and to the dark side... and topics that you may not want to read about – again... this is my life – though I state many times that my life is actually quite boring... some days the demons catch up to me and my mental state tilts a bit... and some days I just stumble into a mess already in progress... and when I say mess... I mean the shit gets totally fucked up...

So here it is for your sick voyeuristic pleasure – The Deringer Files... do with it what you will.

You can download it here - though you know how I feel about these people:

or get it here:

or here:

Sunday, October 22, 2017

ten against one

“Je suis un catholique en pèlerinage sur cette terre ancestrale qui s’est battue pour le catholicisme, à dix contre un, et qui a pourtant fini par gagner, car certes, à l’aube, je vais entendre sonner le tocsin, les cloches vont sonner pour les morts.”

 "I am a Catholic pilgrim on this ancestral land that fought for Catholicism, ten against one, and yet ended up winning, because certainly, at dawn, I will hear ringing the tocsin, the bells will ring for the dead. "

Jack Kerouac

 American Pilgrim: Catholic Kerouac On the Road

A Deringer Files Update

A couple of long time Deringer Files readers have come up with a solution to satisfy their Deringer Files fix...

He said: "you used to publish the Deringer Report as a monthly news letter, why not bring that back and put more of the writings of Deringer Files in it"

"I would really like to read more of your writings for the legion, that stuff is really good and gives a lot to think about, as far as the direction I want to take my life in and the direction we are heading as a race and people and society".

She said: "maybe you should publish the Deringer Files as a news letter like the old Deringer Report---  I still have those and the old  paper 'Troubled Times' news letter that you put out a long time ago, that is how I first started reading you."

"you are a good writer and have a unique style in telling your life stories"

"I am sure I am not the only one stalking this site, is stalking the right word? Lurking, I mean to say lurking these Deringer Files, it would be nice to have something downloadable to open up and read on a lonely night, I have my favorite pieces that I open up and read over again, it is comforting, and to know that Dash is out there--- somewhere."

Dash Deringer says... sure, why not.

Look for "Deringer Files Volume I" to be out sometime in November, a downloadable journal for the readers of this site, I don't know where to put it up where you will be able to get it but I will look around and I am still thinking of putting up a web site For Deringer Files - not on a google site.

Thank you.

Saturday, October 21, 2017

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

give me strength

thank you to all the visitors and subscribers from Latin America and Europe... I do appreciate your views and messages as well... I need to check my stats more often, instead of only checking when I get high numbers from just one country... I didn't realize just how many people were actually reading this site... but I thank you all... I am looking for a new home for this journal but for now... looks like I will have to give The Deringer Files it's own site.... 'till then... revolt.

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

and this is where we are...

Well now that I have had time to sober up and time to shake a little of the insanity off me...

In all honesty...

I like Dags – I have for a very long time – but the situation...

That word – “situation...” what the fuck does it even mean – every time I think of that word I think of Elsa – see... after she married and she called me crying about what she had done... she used that word – I wrote everything down back then - that whole damn relationship got recorded in note books that are packed in a box back home... but anyway... I tried to get some fucking honesty out of her (Elsa) and wanted to know why and she said to me that I did not understand her situation... her exact words - “you don't understand my situation” - I never asked I just let my imagination do what it had to do... I wonder if this person claiming to be her in this last e-mail knows that... I threw away everything that had to do with that chick except for my notebooks about her – kept those to torture myself with... that's a joke – they are there to remind me of what to do and not to do and it has worked so far... after I came to terms with the truth about women, your cousin Dash has been balls deep in fine young pussy – crazy, but fine... I am an ass-hole and contemplated that fact about myself over the last two days... I am a serious first class prick...

But my intentions have never been to hurt Dagmar – that, my friends and good readers (that are cheering for her, as you have said in your messages) is the honest truth.

As you know I am friends with her father – not only friends but the man took me in and tried to teach me some things to help me navigate my fucked up life through this fucked up world... I admit to not always having been a good friend to some, but I never hurt any of them nor did I ever stab anyone in the back... but many sure did to me... and I know revenge is a terrible thing to waste ones time and energy on... but some of those fuckers have it coming... so I know what it is like to have friends betray your trust and I cannot and I will not do it to Dag's father... so I have kept her (tried to keep her) at a distance – I am told that the old man is staying out of it... but still... that is my situation... I owe the man my loyalty and in many ways my life... and I have tried when I can, to repay his favors and I have tried to look out for her but it turns out many times that she is looking out for me... but then I go and do things that hurt her and betray her trust... even though she has proven her loyalty to me time and again... see... I'm a prick.

Was it a year ago – or two... I can't keep track of time. I had met this Northern European looking Mexican girl and we had a little fling and she had invited me to go down and see her in Mexico City and we had spoken about taking a trip to a beach further South... this was when I was having a hacking problem with my google account and I figured it was the same person as before because there was once a person causing problems for me on-line pretending to be me and other people – just to be a faggot... I had Dags fix that problem while I chased that girl. I got an e-mail from some one claiming to be Elsa – and if you have read the babble then you know that chick was my only long term relationship but really there is not much to say about her other than that... once I was locked up in my room for four days and I was not coming out, but Dagmar coaxed me out with a fresh bottle of Johnny Walker... and we drank and I told her about Elsa – it was the first time I ever mentioned that girl to Dags and it was a mystery to her why I never did before, but as I said, there is nothing to tell as my life began after Elsa... so I got that e-mail but I never read it as I was in transit around Mexico... and I told Dags to delete it... anyhow... and Dags had used everything I had told her about that relationship and how it came to an end to deduce that it could not be who they said it was from... and I concurred... the Nordic Mexican girl flaked and I went to catch up with Cris and Jan – they were in Guadalajara and making their way to Cris' ranch – When Nic (Dom) passed away, he left Cris his property in Mexico – it could be a ranch but it is just a big empty space with an old adobe house on it... I did not tell Dags where I was going – she assumed I would be with the Nordic girl but then I would be heading home... but I never made it when I said I would... she panics – as she does, and left for Juarez to find someone in the tribe to go after me... I had let Tommy know (he is the one I used to refer to as young Tony Montana) where I would be, and he put Dags on a plain back home and he went after me... Tommy and Jan hit it off as friends from the start – they are the same age and Jan convinced Tommy to go to Asia and help him work some hustles there... and I left Cris to go back home but I was side tracked - Panama... Colombia... oh Colombia... and it was when I was in Cartagena that I let Dags know where I was and she started to let on about her feelings and that it would be best for me to just get my ass back home so I returned to her... and we tried to figure out what was happening between us as I also had feelings for her but kept it hidden as best as I could though she says I did a poor job of it... but her walking around in those skirts of hers and those silk shirts... may also had something to do with me not being able to disguise my growing lust for her... yeah...

We have been dancing that dance in circles ever since...and I have pushed her away and she has ran away and I have chased her and she has returned and I have pushed her away again and again... but she kept coming back... and I found myself not wanting her to leave and I began to have struggles with this whole thing – because of my friend – her father... but I did, for a time, try to do everything I could to keep her from leaving me... though... I knew this should not go too far... but I want(ed) it to go far... see what's happening here – that struggle... I want her... and she wants it too... but we both know the reasons why we can't... yeah... fuckin' hell is right.

I think it was in August of last year – yes, a year ago almost exactly that I received another e-mail from this person claiming to be Elsa and I responded but never really believed it was from her – it was just a short response and I never heard from that person again - because it just makes no fucking sense or logic to me why she would ever want to contact me – but a few years back some one was trying to find me under her name and I figured it was that person that was causing me problems – so why do I not believe this person to be Elsa – because I saw that chick in Houston many years ago – looked right at her and there was no reaction. Saw her again at a Carl's burgers in El Paso one night, she had walked in with a couple brat kids... again I looked right at her and there was no reaction... so why would she try to contact me through e-mail... but maybe it was not her that I was looking at... as my memory of her is hazy... I don't have any pictures to use as a reference and I don't think she ever had any pictures of me either... so it could have been that we just are different people than the ones we were when we knew each-other... I know I sure am... and plus, my face has taken a beating and parts are not the same... or it wasn't her... but I am convinced, as Dagmar has tried to tell me – if it is her, she just wants attention... don't waste my time.

A few months back I had come home (Juarez) and Dags was on the floor crying and she was going through some of my papers and I stood there not knowing what to say or do because I had never seen her like that before... and I take a step closer and she looks up at me and screams - “you said you didn't love her!!!” and I had no idea who or what the fuck she was going on about until I got closer and saw the papers on the ground, she clutched one of them in her hands and that old bruised heart of mine sunk a little bit... and I was furious that she had found them and started reading them... and she repeated with one of those letters in her fist – “you told me you didn't love her...” and she let out a scream.

I knelt down and took her in my arms and tried to calm her and silence her... but the only thing that did anything to calm her was to say things I should not have said... I did not lie to her – I did not lie to you and you know that... but I should not have said all those things... but I said it and it was real... and despite of my philandering ways... my feelings for you are real...

She had found letters that I write to Veronica – it is what I do... another exercise in therapy (like this blog). And in those letters are the words I never said – dreams I would have liked to share with her... another life – that could have been... with her... I always have and I may always write letters to Veronica's ghost... insane... maybe... but it actually keeps me sane... but... I can't love a ghost for the rest of my life and I can't chase after the ghost of Veronica - now that it seems that even the ghost of her has abandoned me... I know... but... it was always a comfort to know that the ghost of her would be there for me in those times when I would lose myself in my solitude... and no matter how many girls come and go... she would be there... but... I keep thinking that - Veronica's ghost came around less and less when Dagmar came back into my life... I don't know what that means.

And Dags left – again, only to return again... but I had to go back to the states... and I left her behind... again... and then she left... and then we come to last week when I got another e-mail from this person and I wanted to have Dags track it back to its source because you know these modern kids know how to do all that computer shit... but she got angry at me and even accused me of writing it myself and doing this all just to make her jealous - what the fuck... I was pissed and she stopped responding to me and stopped answering the phone and all I wanted was to find out who this ass-hole is... I know the spammer is from France... but I know that is a different person entirely.... and then, as you know, she wrote that letter... which I thought was worthy of sharing with you all – but I kept the second one to myself as it really went off on some crazy shit that had nothing to with me or our feelings for each-other – women bring up the craziest shit when they are mad... that makes no sense and it took me a while to even figure out what she was even talking about in many parts... 'cause, hey... I wasn't there for that... and that wasn't me... and really... this is all my fault just to let her have the last word... but she cut me off and I have not heard from her since...

So I got drunk and went to places I should not have been and did things I should not have done... but This guy we call the Roman found me and dragged me out and sobered me up.

And here we are today... (he shrugs his shoulders at his own reflection and stares at his cold coffee for a very long time).

Thank you all for your messages – thank you Russia and all of Asia for your visits and messages and to all those loyalists – I truly do appreciate your views and letters.

No – I will not stop writing but I am looking for a new home for these Deringer Files – screw google and blogger – this will be the fourth time DF had to find a new host... but I think I will publish this journal of mine under a different format entirely... this site will stay up as is and I am looking to submit writings elsewhere so keep an eye out for those – but all this personal junk that you voyeurs seem to like will go someplace else...

Thank you.


Friday, September 29, 2017

Filed Under - her side of the story

There is not enough tequila in the whole damn country to help me forget these last twenty four hours.

And just how much of this disaster am I responsible for - probably all of it... probably all of it...

When I fuck things up I really fuck things up... talent.

This may very well be the last post I make at these Deringer Files - it was fun while it lasted - but I can't deal with other peoples insanity when I have my own to deal with -it is just not fun any more and what started out as an experiment in therapy may have turned into a complete disaster - someone has it out for me - but I will still be around... lurking and you can always find me here rifling through these files.

We close it all with this letter that the girl we call Dagmar sent me today - since others claiming to be who I believe them not to be are giving their side of the story - and many of them just don't make any God damn sense whatsoever... She decided to throw hers into the damn hat as here it is a little bit of crazy, from the only letter I know to be genuine...

Drink up amigos... I am way ahead of you.

When my father first brought you home you were a mess, your face was still swollen and bloody and cut up, you could not see out of one eye, your jaw was busted, you walked like an old dog from the street that was run over by a car that destiny kept alive for her own perverted amusement.

And you freightened me. I hid behind my oldest sister and my mother, but you don't remember that because you could not see well. I looked at you through the small space between them and hide my face from you.

You looked like a monster. You were broken and I remember my mother saying that night to my father (when my parents thought I had gone to sleep but I could not, because there was a strange monster in the house), my mother said you were beyond fixing, that you were too lost in your hatred and anger and that you were a ghost in the world that death did not even want.

I did not know then what my mother meant about all those things because I was so young but I truly do remember those words she was saying.

I would not understand them until many years later when I would find out how true it is that you are damaged beyond the help of the shamans you go hunting for.

But I think they are all just too sad to tell you the truth my love – this bitch of a life beat you good and hard and no matter how much you try to pretend that you are over it all – you are not, and you do not belong here among the barely living in this shit world of ours

But here you are always a step ahead of the reaper, but maybe like my mother says, he gets close enough and realizes that it's you and he throws you back.

I know I am not the first person to tell you this and I will not be the last – you were not made for these times we are in.

Your dreams are beyond this worlds understanding. Your soul is lonely for a time that may never had existed. Your heart breaks for a love that can never fill you up, because it is something you simply do not believe in anymore

And I know that and I accept that, but I do not have to like it.

But here is what I think, my lovely dreamer, and it is the truth that every one knows but you.

You have to empty your heart of the love you did not get to give before you can fill it with the love I want to give you............................ I said it. But you already know.

Querido mongolon, I know the truth. I have spoken with Frankie, and everyone who has met him and heard the true story of that romance you scaled down to just some passing affair as you made your way back home, some little fling with another young girl - sick and lonely and afraid – that you crawlled out of the depths for only to stumble back down into it when she was gone. It was more than what you make it out to be.

And the way Frankie tells it – that was a love that only Russian poets could dream up and the city of Asuncion has the scars and scorches of that romance on it still as proof of the love you made, poeta, as you said – “where is the proof I will leave behind for the love I made”
It is there. Cris knows it, Jan knows it, Tommy knows it, and Dom knew it. My father knows it – the whole damn tribe knows it. And you know it. But you wish to deny it.

She is the one that broke you – not that Elsa. And that girl Carmen, stupid girl, is just another poor victem of the passion that you scoundered on the slow train into hell. You damn stupid fool.

I want to tell you.

I like the way you remember me and the way you tell me the stories of when I was young. You remember it all different than the rest do, but you were always watching me as a stranger from the shadows even when you were in the light. You were always distant from the family, from the crowd. Watching over me like a guardian angel – that one outcast trying to buy his way back home by looking after some spoiled brat girl – you were that wounded dog in my fathers house... that is what we called you. My mother started that, she was so cruel to you, but I imagine all mothers have been cruel to you.

The wounded dog in my fathers house. That loyal dog that sat at the masters feet waiting with dignity and pride for the scraps from the table. To proud to beg and to broken to run away. And that mean little girl tugging at your broken ear and teasing you and calling you names and sticking her tongue at you.

But you were there to chase the other monsters away and you watched over us in the night, sitting in the dark looking out the window at the night - I watched you many times just looking and listening for other ghosts and monsters and you never slept until the sun started to come out and then you would close your eyes and pretend to wake up.

But I knew you did not sleep. Did you know that I watched you. Did you know that I knew your secret.

I have been collecting and uncovering your secrets since I was little

But I do not want to know them all because I do not want to know the whole truth about the wounded dog in my fathers house.

My father never told me about what happened to you and how he found you and all the things that really led to how you came to be that broken dog from the street. I have never asked him and I have never asked you and I never will – but will oneday the truth I uncover, and then learn something that should have stayed unspoken and undcovered?

I'll tell you when I knew.

It was when I had gotten mad at my mother and sisters and I said I was going to run away and I ran away into the fields with only my bag with a notebook and a markers and my hair brush and I was out there all day until it started to get dark and when I came out of the field you were sitting in the middle of the path just looking into the direction of where I wlked out... just sitting there waiting for me and I started to cry and you carried me back home.

You did not say anything you just let me cry and I wanted to say I was sorry for being mean to you all the time but then I thought you might think I was weak if I did tell you but you let my cry all the way home and you did not say anything and you put me down before we got to the house and let me walk in on my own.

And I walked past my mother without saying anything and I walked past my father and went to my room

But then I stopped to look back at my father and he looked at you and that was when he knew that you were going to be part of our lives forever.

That is what he said.

And my mother knew it too. But honestly, I do not really know why my mother has it in for you... well maybe now because she hates that I feel the way I do for you, but for back then, I could not figure it out, but once we were at church and it is one time when father was worried about you that my mother lited a candle for you and she said for you to be safe (so that father could stop to worry about you)... did you never expect that to happen my love.

You were right about saying that you were the most worse student of my father. He did say it too, but his love for you was always there and you are with the most favorite of people in the world for him.

My father is getting old dear, and I hope that you will returnsoon to see him.

Do you know that my father always knew everything you were doing, where you were and when you were in trouble and that when you joined up with Cris and Dom that he always followed you and what you were up to – I know that you know that but when we are sitting at the table eating and my father would look upset (it was the only time he would get upset or worried was when it was about you, because my father is a strong and smart man and you know he does not worry about anything) but when he was upset everyone knew that it was because he had been given news from someone in the network about you.

And my mother would look at my father and he would shake his head and raise his hands the way apologetic fathers do trying to find and excuse for their bad sons and say “Victor... I just don't know” and he would look over at me and shake his head and he would say “That boy never learns” and he would say the grace and we would eat and my mother would start to talk about something and I would ask what happened to Victor and my mother would yell at me and my father would just make something up that was nothing about you.

But he did then and still does today keep track of all these men but there are some that everyone knows are his favorites and they seem to be the most broken ones like you.

My father says that you are chasing after the phantoms of disaster and the world will destroy itself without any help from you if you just let it happen it will – but father refuses to see that the anger of the young boy has flourished into something more fierce now in the man.

Let the world fall apart my love as we watch from the mountains or far off from the shore – like you have said before. It does not need you but to put out the flames on the final night when it is time for those better men to rebuild it all... and then you must slip away into the shadows again, because that new world will have no place for the men that did the slaughtering, the way the world casts away broken soldiers and what else do you have to give this world and what else is there for you to take from it but my love.

And now it is my turn to tell you

Yes I am afraid.

I am afraid of the anger that you keep at bay for my sake when I am around. I am afraid of the hatred that still grows that you will never get rid of. I am afraid of that pain that still burns inside of you because I know it will never fade. I am afraid of the ghost that you chase – Veronica, because no woman will ever be able to compete with her. And I am afraid when you go chasing after the ghost of her in those dark places in the night and in your mind and in your soul, because darling maybe one day you will not come back and maybe up to now you have been lucky... but that devil wants his pound of flesh... I know, you already made your deal, but I know you too well, my love, you still have debts that need to be paid in those dark places on the run.

I am afraid that I can not give you what you need or want and I am afraid that you might not give me what I need and want and I am afraid that maybe what this is is not love but something more simple and less expensive and that it is something than can be easily discarded or forgotten and left behind in some closet... like the way you tried to forget Veronica.

Who will you find to guard that shoe box of the memories of me Victor?

I am afraid of the things you will write about me when I have lost you to the ghost.

I am afraid that you will not abandon that road.

But I want you to abandon that road and we will lock ourselves up in Valparaiso or run away to the Black Sea and you can write poems and stories that no one will ever read and seduce me with your lies and leave me a broken mess – wreck my mind and crush my soul and drive my passion into madness... give me the love you would have given Veronica – I am afraid that if you really gave me the chance, I would crush all that is left you you my sweet monster, because yes, I have always been crazy but you did not ever help the situation - I would crush what is left of you and cut out your heart and build a new alter to the Godess of Blah Blah Blah and all those mad poets and wandering souls that the world abondoned, those dreamers and the fools for love that could not hold back the pain and the fury of their desire that only had the options of love or death – can find a place to rest under that alter that I will cover with the words you hid from this bitch of a world - what better way to go out my love.

I am afraid that I may never know the ghost of love the way you chase her.

I am afraid that maybe I too will ende up marying a man I do not love.

But maybe this is not love at all

You do not have to love me and I do not have to love you - isn't that what you said once to another woman? You don't have to love me to sit in silence with me and breath in the same moment with me.

This is true.

All of it and maybe I did not say it all the right way.

But there.

And I am afraid that one day I will lose this feeling and I will not come running back to you when you call me.

And I am afraid now that this letter is over that the moment I was running to and that you were running from has passed.

Because now

I can't do it anymore.



And then she wrote me another one telling me off like no woman has ever told me off before - it was absolute gold... and on that note...

he found a girl and they danced out of sight...

the madness and the memories

How disappointed would you be to find out that the world you think is real is nothing more than the twilight left behind from a magical experiment gone wrong... and you are, for the time being, trapped in the limbo between the dream and the consciousness of a sometimes lonely poet... who only wanted to slip back in time for a moment... and just a moment... a long time ago... to say the words that should have been said... to  look into her eyes for just a little bit longer... to find a glow of eternity and to find the truth of love in that last kiss... that ended too soon...

I am sorry for the inconvenience the hunger of my soul may be putting you through - but in my defense, I am no master wizard... nor where the men that  thought could help me find my way back to that girl... that left me when I was just beginning to come to life... and those wayward spirits... they play with ones emotions when it comes to negotiating their bargains... for they too wish to slip into the physical realm for reasons only they would understand... a bunch of jokers they are and really worthless in the affairs of love... if it is love that I was trying to go back and find... maybe not... she did not love me... but there were moments - in between the madness and the cries... when the city darkened and the voices out side the window faded away to where ever the whispered lies of unfaithful lovers disappear to... there were those moments when she was in my arms and I sang her songs I wrote for another woman... and the light came in through the cracks in the window that cast shadows on the walls and floor like light reflecting from a lake in the night... and she would let out her lazy moan and needed me to carry her to bed... and lay her down like a child... that moment... when I thought she would drift off to sleep... and I would try to rise from the bed with out disturbing her... when she would grab my arm and open her eyes and ask me if I loved her... and I would - with out hesitation lean in closer to her and say - "who else would you imagine that I could love..."

and her lip would curl just a bit in the corners and her whisper would tremble in a subtle way  - the way some notes sound out of place in your favorite song - but only you can notice it and can actually appreciate the awkward subtleties of a masterpiece... that my friends... and passersby... was the moment I was trying to get back to... when the hopes and dreams of other wandering fools clashed with mine and we ended up drifting in this chaos... chasing after the loves we lost and the moments that slipped away - that had they played out differently... my friends... you would have never come to know this wandering fool of a man and his ramblings...

When I tell the story of the one that got away - it is not you... nor are you the one for whom I spilled my blood for on the alter of Qamal... for one more moment in time with the one that slipped away to some other dream realm with what was left of my heart... and the scribbles I call poetry that suffocated my soul... and the words of the man I wanted to be for you...

Saturday, September 2, 2017

lost poet wandering

I do, very often, lose myself in my dreams... in the middle of a conversation or a prayer or in the madness of my love making... I will drift off into another world – which I sometimes confuse for reality – as that other world is so much better than this chaos I have been thrown into... but... said the master... in a dream or a letter or channeled through the ether... “the dream is the reality...”

I have spent the majority of my life chasing after magic – in poetry and art, in books and structures and kisses... in hidden places and the passing glances of beautiful strangers... magic is what my soul yearns for – the mystical, the mysterious... the mythical... the illusive and the spiritual.

There is an empty space inside of me – that part of you that is the bridge between your heart and your soul... the passageway between the ego and the mind... for me there is emptiness and I have wandered around the world and floated through the astral realms and even cloaked myself in the shadows of the occult and let myself linger, perhaps longer than I should have, in the libraries of madmen in search of meaning and reason and some simple philosophy that could ease the anger and hatred I have carried with me and carry still... a spell or a curse to pull the whispers of my creator out of the smoke and the fire... something to reassure me that I will not go out of the world the way I came into it... but... perhaps that is the best of all possible ways to go out... covered in blood... screaming and cursing the God that gives... and takes it all away...

I have gone down paths, in search of the eternal fires and forbidden waters, that angels did tell me “we will not go after you if you cannot find your way back from that temple in the dark”.

I never abandoned my God... though I feel many times... my God may have abandoned me... and I wonder now, as an older man (but not much wiser), was he watching me through his spyglass all along as I stumbled and crawled and bartered my way back home from those places I knew I never should have gone looking for to begin with... the strange thing of it all, is that the magic was there waiting for me to stumble upon when I returned from the abyss of my heart and the maddening stillness of my mind.

I wake from the dream – or fall into it – at destinies will. I come out of the cloud and find myself in a book dealers holding some delicate grimoire in my hands or I'll materialize in a crowded corner of an antique shop caressing a pocket watch or some old mans spectacles searching the details for a trace of it in my memories... I whisper words to trinkets in hopes they may remember me and call out to me by name and reveal to me those secrets I left behind in a far away place when we wandered the world together in search of the same magic... I still have boxes filled with all those trinkets – pins and watches and tools... old picture frames and cigarette cases... stamps and postcards and strangers journals... on shelves in a closet in a place the world will ignore as it rushes toward the apocalypse...

I had to stop and think of the restless dreams and hopes of old cowboys... do they get carried off in the dust and come to rest on the wings of butterflies... only to be shaken loose as they fly into a storm. What of the sad stories and lies of solitary sailors that no-one will ever hear... is there an angel in the waters swimming after those echos - stuffing them into a bottle and flying them away to a mountain where they come out of the glass as sighs disguised as clouds erupting into rain... will I too just be forgotten... will anyone collect the dreams I leave behind... will there be any proof for the world of the love I made and the tears I cried... and the desires of my soul... when the fires have stopped burning on the sun...

Will she ever know... for me... it was real.

Monday, August 28, 2017

An Old Man Dies

The old man wanted to die amongst his collection of books and artifacts and discarded memories that he had collected throughout his life time – a life that had now run out of time... but what times they were, he thought to himself trying to focus on the younger man sitting at his side but his eyes could not function as he would like them to – to gaze one more time on his students, many of whom filled the small back room of his antique shop which was his home for the last eighty years of his life – he had said... and one student had mentioned to others that the master had confided in him that he was actually one hundred sixty years old. The teacher was a wonderful story teller and his wealth of knowledge and information was without bounds as was his personal fortune, some of which was actually just sitting on the shelves of this little back room – a sketch book of lovers Pablo Picasso intentionally left behind on a table in a hotel bar in Madrid, a box of gold coins stolen by a band of Templars from a French noble when the church turned on them and they became pirates, St. Germain's journal containing his formulas and equations for immortality and it was once speculated by members of the realm that the professor had in his possession that magical wonderful thing that angels themselves fought over that grants unlimited power over time and space... but the most valuable of all, for the old man, was the book containing the names of all the young men he had brought into the the guild and the brotherhood... and as he laid there fading into night for the last time trying to decipher the whispered voices of the students in his room and the ones in the hall and those in the front room of the shop... his mind drifted for an instant to his child hood... in the home of his own master, when wandering the halls of an ancient castle built to protect the growing wealth of the guild, he pushed open a strong metal door and entered a room with an old wooden chest laying open on a cold stone floor and a tub filled with water just a few feet away from it... he walked slowly to the trunk and looked down into it and found an infant dragon looking back up at him... his heart raced... in his memories and the old man whispered -

“It was a green dragon... from the orient... it was a green one... the last one... it did not survive long...” he began to cry... the room went silent and the men in the house listened intently to the last words of the master. “We tried everything...” his joyful memory was now tormenting him...

Laurence placed his hand on the teachers chest and tried to calm him “that was a long time ago, the order has survived... because of you the order has survived...” but the old man was drowning in emotions he had held back for a hundred years.

“We tried everything... but the young dragon was ill... and his mother was dead... it was the last one... but we did not bury the creature...” and the men standing around the bed leaned in closer for the secret to be revealed...  “he was preserved... wrapped up like the old kings... he has a tomb of his own... that little dragon” he placed his trembling hand over Laurence's hand - “Boris?”

“It's me, Laurence, teacher”
“Boris is dead, master... he was killed in the Middle East... that damn war”
“Boris is alive... he knows...”

He squeezed Laurence's hand “take this ring from my hand Laurence... You will lead this guild... and find Boris... Boris is alive... he knows the secret of the dragon... he knows the tomb of the 'little king'...” the old man took in a deep breath... and with his frail hand motioned Laurence closer to him.

The younger man leaned forward and the teacher whispered...

“It's a dream, my boy... the dream is the reality...” and he drifted off to sleep.

 - to be continued -

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

For the Record - a fascist's (drunken) rant

 "An intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent, it takes a touch of genius - and a lot of courage - to move in the opposite direction"
 - E. F. Schumacker

"When you are content to be simply yourself and don't compare or compete, everybody will respect you"
 - Lao Tzu

For the record -

I am being told and I read every where that people who wish to preserve their culture and traditions and religion and that believe in a natural order such as there are only two genders and the sacred union of marriage is only between a man and a woman and that man is the hunter provider and woman the nurturer... makes me a NAZI – really... A NAZI. For the record – I am no NAZI – but the subject fascinates me.

Let's make this clear – I am not with the Alt-Right, the far-right, alt-lite, the neo-NAZIs, White Supremacists, or Kekistanis... I have never protested nor attended any protest or participated in any marches for any cause (and I do not wear bracelets or ribbons for anyone). I have never had a driver's license nor do I hold any licenses of any kind for anything. I have never registered to vote or for anything else and I have never asked a bureaucrat for a permit for anything – I am suspicious of big governments and those that want one... this I am told makes me a nutter of sorts.

I belong to no political party – though I have always liked Ron Paul as a Statesman. I have lost my faith in the democratic system as it always seems to lead to socialism – and of that “ism” I am not a big fan. Capitalism is an “ism” that I like – consenting adults agreeing on a price for services and products provided... or bartering... I am told this is a bad thing by young socialist who seem to have the support of global corporations that rely on capitalism... for profit.

Racism. Yes, I have very strong opinions about certain ethnic groups and cultures based on my personal experiences with them... this I am told makes me a racist – having negative opinions and wanting to just avoid them for my personal peace of mind... racist. I know, I know... their not all like that... but until I come across the ones that are counter to the opinions I have of them then why not just let me stick with my own kind or just leave me the hell alone... when I was growing up the rule of the street was “don't start none – won't be none”... that's called the golden rule – it is how one finds his own personal utopia... but... unfortunately... the young modern socialist does not want you to live in your own personal utopia, he wants you to live in his.

I am not violent nor do I want any part of it... but don't push me mother fucker... because I got a fuckin' demon inside of me that wants to rip your face off and throw your squirming body on Satan's altar just to make the voices go away... did that come out insane... I know – you don't believe in Satan or God... but they do – the men using you to further their agenda... their “Ordo Ab Chao”.

Yes... they do.

When it all goes to hell in the United States – I have nothing there anymore... I own nothing that can be taken away from me... nothing... no material possession to be stolen and redistributed... no material possession to give a damn about and I am happy... but that wont do for the young socialist who wants me to be as miserable as he is in his utopia of equality – where I must have something to be liberated from or victimized for or held over my head or threatened with to keep me in line.

The purge has begun – free speech... no more, thank you general but do keep those wars going so the checks don't stop.

I don't pretend these days to be anything other than what I am – a half-breed Mexican with American citizenship who wants nothing more than to live my life in peace and solitude on land I can call my own and be able to keep what I have earned with my blood, my sweat and my tears... I want a traditional family to help preserve my culture, my race and my religion... away from the madness of greedy parasite do-gooders that I don't give two shits about... cause here's the honest truth - At the end of the day in the soft glow of the candles on my desk, I don't care about the color of your skin and what you have or don't have or what ever your problems are and what your political views are and what ever the fuck you are fighting for or not... I just don't give a damn... about your religion, your god... your country... your beliefs... I don't give a fuck... if you're gay or straight, or think your a furry cartoon character... I just don't care, and what I think bothers the young socialist do-gooder the most, is that he knows that the average middle class, middle aged men of the world that just want to work and take care of their families and keep the wheels of society spinning as they have for just another day and maybe get to keep a little bit more of what they worked hard for... they don't care... not enough to walk out on the job and go protest and march and riot... there is just to much to get done – you ungrateful pieces of shit... but trust me... your waking up the wrong dragon... but I think that is just what angers you the most... men like me who have more than you but nothing to show for it that don't care about your insignificant worthless ass, that no one will miss when you are dead, just don't give a fuck... because I rely on the same globalist corporations (for my checks), that support your socialist revolution... but still... that makes me the evil one... the world is a pretty fucked up place when those on the right invest money in the companies that support the efforts of the left in a country propped up by free market capitalists that wish to destroy free speech... insane?


But there it is

Yeah... I know... today I don't give a fuck because I have been drinking all day and will soon pass out and sleep for a couple of days... when I come out of my comma I will go back to shouting REVOLT! (against the modern world).

Sunday, August 13, 2017

and then what Europe... and then what?

Are people still traveling to Europe?

Did tourism take a hit this summer or was it business as usual for the tourist boards of Europa?

I don't know and I have not looked it up but I would imagine by now Americans know to stay away... or do they?

Again... I don't know and I have not looked up the numbers but I do wonder if tourists arriving in Europe – let's say France, are given a list of no-go zones, or would that be considered racist and Islamophobic to inform visitors of dangerous areas in their country - “avoid Calais and Nice... for your own protection don't stare to long at the Negros... for the safety of your wife and daughters have them cover their heads and dress modestly” - no?... no pamphlets or brochures upon arrival?

Wouldn't want to scare off the Americans and Asians bringing in their hard earned money to support the hotel industry and gift shops that have supported families for so many years... that you collect taxes on to support the unemployable, illiterate refugees you love so much, Europe... that cultural enrichment must be some kind of magic.

What will become of you Europe?

I just can't figure it out... I have a damn good idea of what is happening but I can't make sense of why you are letting it happen... and just as I find it hard to find any sympathy (though I can find excuses) for suicide victims, I am struggling to find reasons to keep caring for people hell bent on destroying themselves... even more so when I cannot find the reason that makes sense for it.

Except for some suits – French, Italian, and German, and some artwork and hand crafts that I bring back as souvenirs... and my last name... I have no products made in Europe in my home. The economies in Latin Europe suck – Greece, Italy, Portugal... broke and high unemployment rates. The Northern high taxed socialist countries are being sucked dry for the sake of the new Europeans... the backs of the English working class is getting ready to break. Where is the money to support all of these unskilled, unemployable, non-integrating immigrants and their families coming from – or like basic progressive socialist, you simply do not care as long as it keeps flowing. What is going to happen when England and Sweden and Germany have imported so many third world migrants, bringing their hatred and greed and their enriching culture and peaceful religion, that you bend over back-wards to please and not offend even as these people kill and rape your sons and daughters and make your cities so unsafe that the citizens will not even be able to walk out the door to go to work to support their own families, and the poor unskilled refugees cannot and will not be trained to work as it may be offensive or considered racist to even consider the thought and your countries fall apart... and the money stops flowing because the ones doing the work cannot get to work for fear of their own lives... and the refugees start rioting because the goodies aren't being delivered on time... then the fires start... and the looting's... and the war lords rise – because these are Africans and Middle Easterner's we are talking about... and the no-go zones become tribal territories and Whites are thrown out of their homes, and Christians are beheaded in the streets and the daughters of Europe are sold and traded on the steps of your Cathedrals... and England now looks like Afghanistan, and Germany resembles Somalia... and Sweden – some fucked up country in Africa that not even the do-gooders care about...

I keep asking myself why the militaries have not stepped in – Sweden has men in dresses leading their soldiers so I can see that they are part of the self destruct agenda... but France and England... I don't understand... are these soldiers orphans and raised by the state? Do they not have families... are they not there to protect the people... their culture... their traditions...? Are they there to stomp out the resistance? I don't know.

I tell people and I have left comments on several sites on the topic of illegal immigration – if you want to put a stop to it you have to give the immigrants a reason to not want to go to your countries – you have to turn your homelands into no-go zones for them... but you have not, instead you have allowed the foreigners to create no-go zones in your own cities... what the fuck man... give me a sigh Europa... let me know you are gathering in the shadows waiting for the night to fall and you will rise out of the darkness with the fury and the fire of that dragon that is the will and determination that built the western world... show me that strength and devotion of your ancient knights that conquered and protected your many kingdoms with faith and courage and honor... let me hear the slow crescendo of thunder of the new order rising that is the heart and soul of one people, united under the banner of Christendom on the march to preserve the cultures and heritage of the nations of Europa and I will not loose respect and love for you... because if you fall, the whole of the West will fall... as for Sweden... I am still very much inclined to show up with an army of angry Mexicans and take it for myself... since you don't seem to want it... we'll get more resistance from the Muhameds and Abdulas to keep the free ride they have now... but I just might want the country more than they do... for purely selfish reasons...

We don't know what to think over here, cousins... we just don't know... but do beware of Latin American tourists traveling light, and heading North... in the off season.

Monday, August 7, 2017

... and it's worth fighting for...

kiss me goodbye...

She calls me a damn fool of a man.

She blames me for everything... every damn thing - whether it has anything to do with us or not... it's my fault she feels this way... it's my fault for making her angry... my fault when she cries... my fault when things fall apart - and they often do... It's my fault... and I will admit... to a night a long time ago... in the stillness of her fathers garden... under the moon casting a certain glow... that I fumbled and mumbled out a desperate magic spell... but I was only looking for a sign from destiny - honestly... and she herself did once admit to doing the same thing - in that very garden... on a very similar night... but still... it's all my fault for not knowing how to cast a proper spell...

And trust me when I tell you friends - she's always been a little mad - every one likes her... she is a lovely girl and very easy to fall for... she's the girl you want on your side... the one you want to have a family with... but she's nuts like the rest of them... and I always knew it... but the sound of her voice... and the smell of her skin... and the taste of her lips... is worth the rage and insanity when I get to hold her in my arms again...

And I let her come and go as she please... and I let her rain down her madness on me... I let her drown me in her fears and insecurities and jealous tantrums... and I let her pretend that she hates me and I let her pretend she's never coming back... and I let her seduce me and I let her reduce me to the point of no resistance... 

I wonder if she will forgive me when she realizes that I let all of this play out according to the script of her seduction... this is what she wanted... just the way she wanted it... this was always her game that we have been playing... but we are both playing to win... and I like playing this game... with her... breaking the rules and stacking my chips with loaded dice... because all is fair in love and war.

I can't let her win - because I cannot abandon the road I am currently on - which is what she wants.  I have to follow it to the end and see were it leads me... and she knows that... I wonder if she would forgive me if I let it all go and we lost ourselves out at see - forever... (like she said we should).


I know...

This is the man she wants... this damn fool of a man... that she keeps coming back to...

Friday, July 14, 2017

to all the girls I loved before...

I find it very interesting that over these last two years, six women from my past have contacted me through e-mail... all looking to waste my time with their bull-shit... (and some old friends as well have popped out - out of nowhere looking for me).

A couple of them I am convinced were not who they claimed – like “E”... why the hell would she even try to look for me – to be friends – I think not. I think that one may have been the person that always causes me problems – because why would my ex-girlfriend, whom I told I hope I never see again the last time we spoke on the phone after she married her Arab (or whatever the fuck kind of nigger from Africa) crying... just makes no sense.

It does not make sense that any of these women would contact me for any reason – because all these woman are women I tried to give my affections too – woman that I genuinely had feelings for, and they all throw it away after they walked all over me... yes, it was back when I was still confused about women and thought the way to get and keep a woman was to be a nice guy... I get sick at my self just remembering what I was like with these girls...

Now... the chicks I banged and treated like dirty back alley whores... I can still get today and do all sorts of nasty shit with... because I cared nothing for them... but the ones I liked and showed kindness too... will always look at me as weak and needy... if they only knew...

So why did these women come looking for your cousin Dash... after all this time?

Validation... Drama – to see how much of my time they could waste and lots and lots of attention... I am sure some of them wanted to see if they could get me to beg them to be with them... because these women are now middle aged, used up, bitter, fat (more than likely), bored with their lives and husbands and cats, and perhaps their children...

Why do women go looking for you years later young man – she wants attention – you were a good catch then and after she has been on the cock carousal and is about to hit or has hit the wall and has not been able to find a sucker to tie down or trap... she has come looking for you.... too see if your still week for her or if she can manipulate you into taking her back... don't do it...

She wants to play catch up and waste your time to see how much of it she can take from you as she tells you her problems and her her fucking life story - but has no interest in anything you have to say... she just wants you to be her girlfriend and let her fucking talk... don't do it...

She might be pregnant with someone's kid... or she may have a litter of kids from different men and looking for a sucker to support them... don't do it

She will find out if you have moved up socially – better job, more money and in better shape - maybe you are now the man she always hoped you would be – the kind of man she was seeing on the side while you were home jerking off or working your ass off all day long... and she was trying to find herself (meaning fucking everyone but you)... don't do it... burn those bridges... and keep moving forward my friend... these silly whores wasted enough of my time... I have only been back in the states a few days and have secured me a date for the week-end with an twenty year old Filipina that's only been in the country for a week... God bless Asian girls...


Take this advise from your cousin Dash - never take them back and don't waste your time with them when they show up looking for are not that boy anymore.