This is not a Russian fairytale …

An exclusive intimate interview with two extraordinary international artists/authors from Russia. 

This is not a Russian fairytale — 
AzSacra Zarathustra and Katya Ganeshi: their Art, Literature, and Artistic Mission Revealed.

Interviewed by: 

Adam Donaldson Powell



I first became acquainted with the books of AzSacra through our mutual publisher: Cyberwit, in India, quite a number of years ago. I have always been intrigued by the philosophical underpinnings of AzSacra’s work — be it literature, videos, and performance art works such as the public burning of his book of blank pages. The burning of the books was perhaps seen by some as a commentary on self-censorship and censorship by others, but I always understood it to have a deeper philosophical meaning and significance. I will not “interpret” this performance art piece, as we are so fortunate as to have both AzSacra and Katya here to personally reveal exciting information about that and other works. I would like to start this interview by delving into the basic questions about the history of your collaboration.

When did you start working together on art projects? Please tell us in your own words the history of your Art, including Theatre of Cruelty, art photography etc., and how that led to book publications, video artworks, performance artworks and more.

Katya and AzSacra:

Russia. The Urals. Magnitogorsk. The 90’s … It is important to say at once: we live in a very non-free and repressive city. A totalitarian city of continuous and exhausting slave labor — “Stalin’s steel heart”. It is a city-factory that has been ruthlessly milling its workers since 1929. Our task, therefore, was to destroy the original code of the socialist workers’ culture of forced labor. We sharply contrasted ourselves and our art of Absolute Freedom with the usual slave labor narratives. We struck in all cultural directions at once, including with the “sexual revolution”. This caused a deep shock! And, accordingly, we were immediately banned and eventually persecuted. In a short period of time, we really changed the cultural life of this city in the direction of freedom. Azsacra started the struggle in the early 90’s, and Katya Ganeshi joined in the late 90’s. In 2000, all of our underground fronts merged into one counter-cultural project, an “Experiment”.


The Readers will surely want to hear from you about how your Art has been received internationally, and in Russia. 

I know that you have had a large following internationally for many years, and the many blog postings I have made about your work, links to your videos etc. have always brought many interested persons to my blogs. I also know that some individuals have misinterpreted your work, and the philosophical underpinnings in your writings and videos. Your writing and video art is often somewhat “raw”, which is an important artistic tool. And that rawness/extreme art can be considered by some to convey a different message than what you have perhaps intended. I have, myself, answered questions regarding your “intentions” by other authors — which can only be interpretational on my part, and are thus not only unanswerable, but such questions are perhaps an “artistic sin”, in my view. I have also answered questions about your Art being pornography, in my essay on your early art photography books:

Katya and AzSacra:

From a certain “borderline moment”, we learned how to amplify, slip away, and transform. We began with publishing our books only abroad. In different languages. Mostly philosophy and writings requiring more deep thinking than mere “thought” itself. Today, more so fantastic, incredible (exceeding the maximum value, beyond the limits) “explosive texts” without titles; and we are sure they will never be adapted to the needs of contemporary culture and/or thrown to the mercy of the “meta-categories” of a suppressing dictatorial future. Instead, they are rather rough “drafts” of thought, but they are more hard-hitting than the elegant/graceful philosophical “masterpieces” of the past. All of our hollow anti-structural texts are cruelly devised to viciously resist both genius and mediocrity with their much-loved, benign “apparatus” of prohibitions and repression. At the moment, these dangerous books are being perhaps «cautiously» read around the world, but this achievement saddens us rather than pleases us. We would like to communicate only through sudden casts of light and instant flashes of lightning. Anti-philosophical books are very strange, maddening “ciphers”, “thinking traps”, “alarm signals”, and even more dangerous (sometimes deadly) riddles. Plus, we do a lot of experimental films. We have made over a hundred documentaries in different languages, and for different countries (India, Japan, Tibet …). Our films are shown in New York, Paris, Amsterdam, and other cities.


AzSacra, you and I also collaborated on the epic poem introduction to “The tunnel at the end of time”, which is still — many years later — very popular on the internet.

I see extreme Art as a genre, rather than a stunt to shock or provoke. Your literary and visual artworks are quite profound, and I have never perceived you as intending to shock or provoke just to stand out. Artistic genius requires a different way of seeing the World, presenting issues, a solid philosophical backbone … and perhaps a special type of “weirdness”. 

But please tell us how you think that your work has been received — both internationally, and in Russia. 

Katya and AzSacra:

Parallel to deep provocative anti-philosophical thoughts/ideas and vivid, impressive images, we contribute our risk-taking, storms, and culture shock. Many people consider AzSacra the most dangerous anti-philosopher of the 21st century. Some even call him the devil of philosophy. Katya Ganeshi has been called the Indian Baudelaire, and the new Bow of Evil in India. Our mission is to change reality itself towards freedom, and not relegated to a shelf of forced historical glory.


I have asked you many times about the various philosophical ideas behind your work. Can you explain the “basics” for our Readers? And how much does human psychology play a part in your Art … through play with the thought processes of your audiences, posing subjective questions that may be jarring and which might attempt to awaken or jolt consciousness in others? Here I am asking not only about your books, your poetry, your video artworks, but also about your art photography and Theatre of Cruelty.

Katya and AzSacra:

Aggression, in its true life impulse, will always be relevant for the most “terrifying workers” of thought. Free rebellious Eros is not a “forced ejaculation” of everyday love. Life, childbearing, death — this is violence against the body. The philosopher always applies the most complex and the simplest means at the same time. Aggression, violence, toughness — this is simplicity. Tenderness, thrill, fragility is complexity. Antonin Artaud taught “to deflect form and incite chaos”. AzSacra singles out “chaos to freedom” and turns it against all types of “controlled chaos”, against all “lower anarchies” of the system. He needs the pure energy of rebellion for the height of thought, and not for the earthiness of strife and the routine of pogroms. He is not interested in “aggression” by itself, but in what initially surpasses it in “secret deconstruction” from the most soft. For example, the fluttering of a butterfly as a guarantee of the fall of fortresses, the trembling of a drop as energy for a tsunami strike, the twisting of a lizard’s tail as the death / life of all at once. He is always ready to talk to pigs, but the main thing is not to throw pearls in front of a person.

AzSacra developed the combative concept “NothingNietzsche” (and more) and used it quite successfully against both Western thought and Eastern philosophy. To paraphrase the sad, but merry suicidal guy Guy Debord: “any philosophy must also be destroyed”. For what? For the triumph of the Impossible and Incredible. Not “we don’t think yet” (Heidegger), but we still don’t risk so much for thought in speed and madness. Lightning, unlike an atomic explosion, can never be old-fashioned. If the world is still the same “human crap”, then the “will to power” is human rubbish. Everything is an illusion, everything is a copy of a copy (“no original”). That is: no female organism has yet been able to checkmate with your uterus to the matrix in this completely deceitful world. Thus spoke Zarathustra. And this is how it is indicated in the most ancient “negations” and new “negations”. AzSacra is also a denier. Nietzsche without Nietzsche — this is his lightning! Zarathustra against Zarathustra — this is the madness!


Katya and AzSacra, I am curious about how you see your roles and goals as artists in society (or outside of society), and also how you see yourselves and your Art in the context of modern Art history. Please reflect upon these questions, and their relevance or non-relevance for you — both in terms of international art history, and Russian modern art history.

Katya and AzSacra:

We are always above and outside art (Über Ihren Köpfen)! We struggle everywhere, but we belong to no one and to nothing … Our goal: to constantly improve our weapons of thought, intuition, and impact … Only rebellious continuous changes! Art must be constantly attacked with the riskiest works: bombs of thought! Azsacra specifically invented the TDAS Theory of the Destruction of All Systems for this purpose. 

So we completely agree with your conclusion from the article “Azsacra Zarathustra … the phenomenon, and the enigma”:

“Time and time again, AzSacra has bombarded the public with staged photographic series dealing with illusions of sexuality, death, fauna and self-harm, and always with hints of a deeper and more esoteric philosophical foundation. Over the years his internet following has grown to the point where he is now an underground cult figure. There are many questions and opinions on internet and YouTube forums as to what his art and philosophy really mean. AzSacra has no need to explain or justify his work in these forums, and his literature and art must and should stand on its own.”


You have constantly pushed the limits of your audiences through your artworks, writings, and your predator bird sanctuary project. Can you tell us about some of the projects which have had special significance for you, which ones have been fun, and what has been difficult? I would also like to hear you describe the animal sanctuary, which I saw as a monumental performance art piece of great significance as regards both animal rights, survival of endangered species, and better understanding these beautiful creatures whose territories, habitats and ability to survive humans has been encroached upon.

Katya and AzSacra:

Helping wounded birds in our lives is a worldview and as essential as breathing, both at the same time. We just did that which others refused to do. Birds are the connection of the earth with heaven, the concrete correspondence of the rebellious soul to the star imperative of the wise Kant. Every spring, for almost 30 years, we released rehabilitated birds. The sanctuary was a low, old building, with four areas for feeding birds, which people in the city considered magical and called it “a place of freedom where birds arrive”. We housed all kinds of birds in protected habitats — both birds of prey and singing birds in trees. Because of this, a tough confrontation arose with officials and the apparatus of repression in the city where we live. The struggle lasted for a very long time. Nevertheless: the building of the Center for Assistance to Wounded Birds was ultimately seized one night (taken by storm) with the help of the police. For us, this was comparable to our own death … We’ll never forget that.


Artistic expression and Freedom of Speech is not always a given. Artists and authors must continually fight for those rights. Can you please tell us about your own experiences with censorship — internationally, and in Russia? How has this affected your Art, and your perceptions of artistic freedom today? Ideas are often considered “dangerous”, and extreme artists poke the bear … so to speak. I believe that poking the bear of dulled collective consciousness is a necessity. It is hard work, but it needs to be done. And furthermore that concepts of Truth/Lies, Beauty,/Ugliness, Light/Darkness etc. are all both relative, and simplistic … if not irrelevant. One role of artists is to poke that consciousness. Do you agree?

Katya and AzSacra:

Yes. A tragedy is not an antique “theater of thought”. There is always an even more ancient inexplicable thirst — to overtake death at once! Or more exactly — a constant intuitive hunt of Death itself. Challenge! If you’re still alive, you’ve already betrayed something. Only the most extreme risk of thought (without “academic philosophers”) and the maximum bravery of action (outside of “systemic heroes”) can, if not change the world, then at least defiantly, freely and with daredevil spirit break its dull “habitual rhythm” of hidden/open coercion. The system is truly the “boredom-violence” of war, and is the essence of the cursed “spirit of gravity”! As was said in 1968: “Boredom is always counter-revolutionary. Always.” Nietzsche loved tragedy, the Buddha considered it an illusion, however, as well as, of course, the dramatic “simulacrums” of Baudrillard. There is no “tragedy”, they just grab you by your hair and slam your face against the wall. With any resistance of thinking to the “system”, the continuity of the strikes will only increase. Therefore, in extreme, rebellious philosophy, you are immediately doomed to annihilation. The maximalist’s “riot-thinking” never has any chance of surviving! Essentially: true philosophy, in this space and time — these are endless «thought fields», filled only with Orwellian “trampling boots”.

Film links:


Heat Thinking Of The Absolute Revolution

INVISIBLE RESISTANCE (Life-Giving Heat Revolutions)

«You rose like the tempest and you fell like the sunset»

Triumph of Life: Swastika of Life vs. Swastika of Death


«MUTTER, ICH BIN DUMM» (“Mother, I am foolish”)

ЗВЕРЬ (Не брат всем) ~ Наутилус Помпилиус

The End Of The Society Of The Spectacle


The Joker Instead Of The Emperor (Version 1)

戰いは終わってはいない【The Battle Is Not Over


Links of book:

Read the «Tunnel at the End of Time» by Adam Donaldson Powell, Rick Davis, and AzSacra Zarathustra here:

From Russia, with love.

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Katya is a cherished friend, whose acquaintance I made many years ago through my friend and co-author Azsacra Zarathustra. Katya is beautiful, intelligent, and a creative talent. She is also an important social activist, arts activist, animal activist, artist, poet, philosopher … and much more. I have published her and Azsacra’s works previously on my websites; and linked to many of their essays, videos, etc. But now Katya has sent me three new poems, which I would like to share with all of you. Enjoy!


Мир падает в мои глаза…
Зло и добро — два лика Зла.
Ни то. Ни это. Приговор нарушу:
Внутри — ничто. Лучи — наружу!
Страх сговора не обнаружен.


The world descends into my eyes…
Evil and good — two faces of Evil.
Neither this Nor that. I will transgress the sentence:
Inside — nothing. Outside – the rays!
The fear of collusion was not found.


О, Memento Mori,
Моментом ори!
Смерть любит море,
Где акулы внутри.

Восставшим спрутом
Мозг схватит вас —
Под мёртвым грунтом
Вновь молний Час!

К брегам случайным
Льнёт шторм сквозной ~
Живу лишь Тайной
Волны Взрывной!

P.S. Memento mori («меме́нто мо́ри», с лат. — «помни о смерти», «помни, что смертен»)


О, Memento Mori,
A moment of shouting!
Death loves the sea,
Where the sharks dwell.

Rebellious octopus of the brain
Will grab you —
Under dead soil
Lightning hour again!

To accidental shores
The passing storm clings —
I live only in the Mystery of
Waves Explosive!

P.S. Memento mori (Latin for ‘remember that you are mortal’) is an artistic or symbolic reminder of the inevitability of death.


У ада
нежные руки,
но очи — с*ки!

Ген — гения! —,
но мозг в коде — демон,
но мост в ходе — пропасть;
из вен измен кровотечение,
но молнией ум переделан
в грома громкость,
а не любви пакость:

Бу! —
я белая
и пушистая


In hell
gentle hands,
but the eyes are bitches!

Gene — of genius! —,
but the brain in the code — a demon,
but the bridge in the course — an abyss;
bleeding from treasonous veins,
but lightning remakes the mind
in thunder’s volume,
rather than the filth of love:

Boo! —
I’m white
and fluffy


# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #


Katya thanks Aryan Kaganof and Jesse Demares for excellent translation help.



And thus spake AzSacra …

clouds over oslo-6


TRIUMPH OF LIFE: Swastika of Life vs. Swastika of Death”: SEE VIDEO HERE!






(photo courtesy of azSacra zaRathustra)

Ascension, oil on canvas, 30 x 30 cm.
Ascension, oil on canvas, 30 x 30 cm.


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“THE LEFT AND THE RIGHT HANDS OF GOD” — written by Adam Donaldson Powell and azSacra zaRathustra.

Presenting the introduction to “The tunnel at the end of time” (the sci-fi novel which takes conspiracy theory and religious propaganda to their extreme … and beyond). Epic poem written by Adam Donaldson Powell and azSacra zaRathustra.

(photo courtesy of azSacra zaRathustra)



Это возникало из – за щитов …

из – за ракет, которых “там” не было сначала,

но которые будут “здесь” в конечном счёте.

Yes, the shields … humans are born with them,

much as angels are born with wings.

It is propaganda, of course …

the truth has always been an existential relativity.

Funny …

They say I am balding … getting old and senile.

But the truth is that I have always been bald.

I am “Transforma” … the symbol of the old

empire now fallen.

I am … the bearer of vision and conscience.

I am … the judge and the predator.

I am … the eagle.

We saw it coming, didn’t we “Vrebatima”?

I kept silent … and no one believed you.

But who is laughing now?

Yes, only us …

The Armageddon was inevitable …

We needed it, and so we created it.

But it is only illusion …

Только иллюзия.


No illusions!

No delusions!

We knew only the Truth of Destruction!

We – Über! … and my one-legged

father taught me only how to kill:

kill Buddha!

kill Hitler!

kill yourself!

my mother – Nothing, but older

and more sorrowful …

my father – Nobody, but more merciless

and sadder …

Look: my daughter goes from Emptiness

to Emptiness in order to kill every tear

before her birth:

And now Absence doesn’t cry anymore,

Emptiness doesn’t spend any more money

on funerals –

that’s the Truth of Non-existence!

“Nothing” is my mother –

“Nobody” is my father –

and there are no tears between




левая рука Бога?

Ahh, the left hand of God!

yes, I saw it once: floating

over the Sahara.

Little did I then know that

it was the rosebud of Intervention.

Who could have guessed?

It danced so gracefully, like

Salome’s dance of the veils –

stirring up a frenzy of sand

against the windless sky

I miss the slithering creepy-crawlers

which once tattled the mysteries

of the night. They are long gone;

as are the polar bears, the whales,

the crocodiles, the bees and the sharks.

What have you done, Terrans?

What were you thinking?

Lost in meditations upon finances

and power, you lost sight of the

greatest wealth you owned.

And you crowded only a few

humanoids onto your hastily-built

arks when the floods and dis-ease

ravaged so mercilessly.

Some called it the work of

the antichrist, but the antichrist

was humanity itself: which

had been too long on the rampage

of greed and apathy and imbalance.

You raped and you raped;

and defiled both humanity and


A barren Terra wails but we

are not comforters Vrebatima.


We are merely the scribes

who observe and note the

crimes for future reflection.

Tell me a story Vrebatima,

but allow me to keep my Buddha.

I have nothing else.

Tell me again about the

fires and the tsunamis and

the screaming; and

the fallen Buddha statues.

Поведайте мне Vrebatima …

сообщите мне!

Break with your emptiness

and violate the nothingness,


Tell me about the dried-out

moss on the floors of the

naked forests, and of the

sad Russian lullabies sung

by the dying hummingbirds.

Remind me of the carcasses –

long since picked clean by

crows that had become vultures

out of necessity of survival.

Jog my memory, O Vrebatima:

сообщите мне!


Believe: in the Sacred Rats.

The Execution of the world is –

the execution of a Ritual.

An angel, rushing down,

made a heart-rending cry:

Let rats fuck their daughters;

coin dolls born from the

Dollar –

On the gold of their fathers

fucked in manure …

Let rats fuck their daughters!




Power of prices alone –

ascending from the worthless world

to Zero:


After zeros

(instead of bullets)

only holes are left –


There are no more

Great Chinese Walls!

The decay!

The Empire died like

a pitiful trembling


In cash-machines there is

a “share” for each –

the Universe will no more be

rammed through by the hawk.

It’s clear now:

God didn’t die –

the Will died …

Der Wille zur Macht?

Nein! –

Das Nichts zur Macht!

Das Leere zur Herrschaft!



I am fucked … we are all fucked.

The Great Bear is howling in

the Siberian woods …

and Vrebatima has hunger

in her soul – as do I.

Our forefathers were perhaps

foolish to give up the Cold Wars,

to kill Saddam Hussein and

to invade Afghanistan.

I followed the Sacred Rat,

and he deceived me

time and time again …

fucked me up real good.

As the leading superpowers

we had control – and we

agreed to disagree, making secret

strategies together, for viewing

and consumption by the world.

The people of the world were stupid.

They never understood the farce …

that every argument and action

was contracted and choreographed.

We provided both excitement and

the security of balance.

But now we have lost our rhythm,

and our equilibrium is shaky at best.

I miss the rat …

Do you still remember how to

dance Vrebatima?

You used to be so elegant …

a true Russian princess.

Let me rest my beak on your

womb my beautiful predator;

and please caress the feathered

nape of my neck with your

claw – two unlikely lovers

baring resemblance visible

only to the initiated:

of beak and claw, both royalty and

scavengers of the spoils

of imbalance.

Where is Buddha? He has

disappeared from the mountaintop.

And where is Christ? He has

descended from the cross.

(It was cold here on Terra,

and we needed the wood.)

They are both having tea

with Nietzsche, who is

dressed up like a ballet dancer.

Where am I, Vrebatima?

I am lost in my own transformation …

in the winter of my own samadhi.

Wake me up from my dreams …

but let me hold onto my illusions

and my delusions.

I need the escape … I crave the drug.

Maya is heroin for the tired soul.

I am fucked …

I am …

I …


Ich –

Ich bin –

Ich bin tot –

Ich tot bin!

I – Vrebatima! Я – Mahakala!

I – Yama! I – Shiva, dancing

only on corpses …

I – Destroyer of this

too (super-too!) human


I – Bhairava, but not rapturous

God Eros –

to hell with sex, Transforma:

Cut off the balls of each


Shoot off the head of each

beautiful doll!

I – des Todes Tod –

I – Clear Death –

I – Clear Death –


For: all “people” are riffraff!

For: Transcendence Itself

and He who transcends wants to drink

their blood and shoot them down!

What, Transforma, didn’t you

know that?

Didn’t you feel the Clearest

Unevitable Essence of Death?

I – DESTRUCTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!



In the ass are fucked

only yelping sluts …

… all soft ottomans

have been shat on by young

pussycats …

But Nietzsche ordered

to bomb Las Vegas!



Funny about the military missile

platforms in space.

Only one-third of them are pointed

to Terra; the rest are pointing

to outer space.

Man is a predator out-of-control;

a soul-virus and a threat

to the whole universe.

I mourn for the aliens who were

tortured and killed by us, in

order to steal their intelligence.

Information we were not ready

to use properly, and which led

to our own demise as a world.

And the Intervention (says the

voice in Transforma’s head).


And the damned garbage floating

around in the Terra orbit system …

as below – so above.

What? Shhhh! (says Transforma

to the voice in his head)

The old USA was a “whore-goddess” …

a giant golden vagina with penis-like

hairs, hoarding and fucking and

standardizing all in its path.

“In God We Trust, and his name is


Blah, blah, blah …

and all that blaehhhh …

(Transforma laughs hysterically,

then sobs, and hiccups and farts.)

You know, you tell me to

forget about sex … but

did you know that

I was once fucked by the

finger of the God?

It is true; by the middle finger

of his right hand.

Impaled, like the Spaniards who

were forced by the Incas to sit on

sharpened tree stumps until

their guts exploded … as

punishment for their greed for gold.

Yeah … (thoughtfully). Impaled.

At my moment of death I saw the

Sky of the Last Days; the Destruction

was a magnificent show:

beautiful pink, orange and purple

skies, with mushroom clouds as far

as the eye could see – and beyond.

And all was so quiet, too;

except for the gentle lullaby that

hummed in my head.

Сладкая колыбельная.

Сон – это спасение… отсрочка.

Sweet lullaby.

Sleep is salvation … reprieve.

To my left there is a child in

tattered clothing, half-starved and

too resigned to beg anymore …

and to my right there is

a whirling dervish, spinning

’round and ’round – lost in

his own private ecstasy.

Both are barefoot.

Alas, there is no death …

only sleep.


Are you listening, Transforma?

Ich ist das Nichts zur Macht!

Ich ist das Leere zur Herrschaft!

Between us there can’t be

Any Harmony.

Between you there can’t be

any Germany.

The Fair Eagle of Severe Spirituality

has died forever.

The Chinese “I Ching” hexagrams

didn’t turn into Ravenous Beasts.

Confucius is not inspired by

the voids of “Mein Kampf”.

But, Transforma … Tao killed the

dragons in vain –

Now bullets won’t

find the revolver!

Nobody will shoot

The Yellow Emperor!

People forgot:

God’s Dick – is the Ram of the Sky! –

The Аmerican Saturating Revolution

is not worth even a single dick of the

japanese kamikazes!

Europeans …

pleasant Takheshi Khitano

will never repeat the hara-kiri of

Yukio Mishima.

Look –

exponent of piffling lives

“life of spirit” after suicide by




Bald … barren … bare

as the mountaintop on

which we stand.

Our new vision shall

rise from the ashes,

as the Phoenix.

And I shall learn

to love you Vrebatima.

If not, then we shall

ride the missile of Hell

together – bareback …


a crazy cossack

and a psycho cowboy

Azrael is my witness …

we will never die …

only our bodies will wither

and disintegrate to dust

and we shall be remembered

in the annals of history …

perhaps as mere footnotes

remembered only by trivia fanatics

in decades to come.

But I will always dream of

our voyage, Vrebatima –

over and over again,

like a merry-go-round that

never stops, changing simple

joy to horror.

A bittersweet nightmare …

If only the dreamer would

never wake up.

Can you promise me that …



yes, I love my bald dreams …

and Russian caviar.


worms …

only worms …

now only worms are – Holy! –

always continuing, creeping through

dead God …

Snakes slide away …

Rats run away …

The Mystery of Creatures wakes even God up …

But when Jesus hears the word “culture” –

He doesn’t take out a revolver:

John Lennon can masturbate,

jump, masturbate, jump,

masturbate, and jump

on and on …

Do you see, Transforma –

even Lord Krishna left the Battlefield

and took Arjuna with him.

What for, O Lord?

To fuck Saint Silvia

in two holes.

Do you understand?

Gods and people – are only the Spirit’s Porno!

Ja! Ja! Ja! –

Buddha’s ejaculation into His own


Nobody wants to eat

corpses of sybaritic

natives …


Where are the marching


… there are no Wild

Holy Exotics …

… no one exercises

in Breaching of the Spirit …

… there’s no one to be fed to

the rats …

… the blood stopped to look for

Light …

…a dick doesn’t thirst for twats

of the Sun …


ex nihilo nihil fit.




(photo courtesy of azSacra zaRathustra)



ego cogito, ergo sum?


Auf! Nicht röcheln!

Nicht röcheln!

cogito Todt Ist,

sum ist Summa Summarum

Nichts =

Nein ist Nichts!

Nein ist Nichts!

Nein ist Nichts!

Auf –

Auf –


Here is the Key to it all:

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

das Nichts zur Macht!

das Leere zur Herrschaft!



You undress my gods shamelessly,


I huddle and shiver in the shadows

of my own spirituality.

There is no god but God …

and I am God – naked

and exposed in the face of

my own and collective

illusions and indiscretions.

What is the use?

Billions upon billions of gods

running around, making their

own realities in confusion.

Let us cut out the spiritual pork!

Bring back the Age of the Guru …

and bring back the Prophets.

It is too much responsibility to

be my own god.

Tell me what to believe …

show me how to act.

Lead me back into the


The Darkness of the Eternal Womb …

the elixir of Nothingness.


I am not a Dark Tao. I’m not Nirvana.

I am not Om ……………………..

I am – Isana. I am – Nataraja.

I am – the Clear Transcendent of Death.

I am – The Left Hand of God –

and I can only Kill.

I Kill all the Truths.

And first of all – Myself

as a Truth …


That’s why – Killing myself! –

I know for sure:

Western gods – shit!

Eastern gods – huge

manure heap!

I know! – the old Will to Power

should be replaced with Nothing to Reign:

das Nichts zur Macht!

I see! – The Great Noon should

turn Emptiness into Domination:

das Leere zur Herrschaft!

The existing formulas are not enough:

“Be strong”, “Werdet hart” …

Now you should Kill

“yourself” – within Yourself …

and even –

the Omnipotent within you!

Exactly so! It is only by killing the Omnipotent,

that you can understand the last

Truth of Horrors’ Horrors:

“The Devil is Dead” – it is truly more

horrifying, than “God is dead”.

O Great Gods! You are – Stinkers! –

too many of you … but You are all still

alive. What a Lie …

only one Devil is the Spirit of Honour! –

because he is always dead.

Deus est mortuus?

Diabolos mortuus est!


I stand naked before you, Vrebatima …

yeah – even naked before myself

and the god within me.

I have faced Death,

but Death was only mortality:

an experience that I longed for

only because it was faceless.

Hiding a secret that no one

really cared about anyway.

I am not proud, Vrebatima.

I weep for Amerika …

and the “dream” …

long since exposed as illusion.

Yea, I am naked and dirty, Vrebatima

… and blinded by the sunshine

reflected on the snowcaps.

I hear you … but you must

court me if I am to believe you.

I only know Détente …

I have never known Love.

Silence is greater than

the absence of Noise.


Bald … barren … bare.

It is in the Nothingness

that I find meaning, and there

that my Existence has value.


Bald … barren … bare …

stripped of all intent;

an existence devoid of fear

and purpose.


Bald … barren … bare

as the Now … the moment,

of Silence …

without expectation or



Bald … barren … bare …

as the word “no” –

whispered in orgasmic



Bald … barren … bare …

stripped of all humanity

and self-respect

by the airport scanners.


Also sprach Zarathustra:

Gelobt sei, was hart macht!

Naked? … But that’s not enough –

you need more,

you need to strip your skin off

while still alive:

reveal your bones –

reveal your intestines –

reveal your Emptiness!

Aha! … Transforma demanded

“to cut the spiritual pork out of gods” –

and suddenly … immediately surrendered

without a battle.

Spiritual rebellion but for a moment?

Do you only wish to “suck off” the Gods? –

in this case Hölderlin will question you with severity.

It’s better to be like Lord Krishna –

to fuck the 100 000 beautiful gopis

immediately and all at once.

But it is – the same decadence, Transforma!

Better yet, let me quote

“The Dhammapada” for You:

He killed his mother and father, and two kings from

Kshatriya’s caste, destroyed the kingdom together

with its population, the brahmin became imperturbable –
Does it mean anything to you?

Here are the words regarding Spiritual Luxury from the regal


I have become Death,

I have become the shatterer of worlds!

Kill the Gods, Transforma!

Kill this eternal whining, crying, quaggy,

tear-dropping god Eros!

Kill your own dick!

Exterminate all the stupid lovers,

poets, readers, spectators of Your

Exhibitionist mania –

shoot them all down!

As earlier in old, good Germany,

we will talk in the language

of the Clear Transcendent –



WITHOUT dicks!

WITHOUT twats!

Only – “das Ding an sich”!

Do you know that Kant was good at shooting

with his “Shmaiser”?

hitting: 10 out of 10!

And can you do that?

I remember, that in “The Tibetan Book of the Dead”

the following was written:

There will be a time –

Hitler constantly shooting himself

might miss sometime

and make a hole in somebody’s head –

it will be Your head, Transforma!

It is so mulish

that even Buddha could break

a stick against it …

Bang! …

Bang! …

Bang! …

How many sticks are necessary to break

against your bald head?

The Right hand of God should do

more than just masturbate.

Stop wasting seed

and tears …

Buddha said: no more Existence!





Schreibe mit Blut:

und du wirst erfahren,

dass Blut Geist ist.


Vrebatima, surely I will never

reconcile with you in this world.

The old rules worked just fine

until recently; money, power,

greed and the threat of missiles

and sex have always been

our personal gods.

Do not fool yourself.

I will send you some beautiful

black orchids, dripping with

the blood of one thousand

national anthems … and then

you will understand and

once again cry tears of joy

for our lost Cold War.

It was our only hope for peace.

Our only real expression of Love.

The only proof of Existence.

What is the use of Divine Intervention?

What was the point of the crucifixion

or the Holy Wars?

If we achieve peace then we must

find new enemies in outer space …

it is the way of humans, Vrebatima.

It is the way of the Warrior God.

Meet me at nightfall – in the barren courtyard.

And bring your Sword of Silence!


… this and then there is Victory?

I will quickly draw a Sword of Silence,

strike a blow –

and Silence has already approached …


























… ……………………



… and so it ends, Vrebatima.

In cold silence – détente.

Once again we agree not to

communicate, not to seek

resolution or understanding.

Is it really human nature and

the way of the gods, or is it us?

If it is truly destruction that we

both really want, then surely it is

Silence that is the Great Destroyer.


It is an uncomfortable silence, hostile and

fraught with projections and scheming.

It is a “noisy” silence … quite different

from the Oneness of Unity and

the Absence of Separation.

It is a silence that makes angels and

the soldiers of Divine Intervention

cry with sadness.


But it is a silence that we know

all too well, Vrebatima …

and so far, the only silence

we truly trust – deep down

inside ourselves.

(snickers nervously)

Es triste … pero es cierto.


Be afraid of the Absence of


not the dark,

not the beast,

not the blade,

not the poison –

but the Tear Itself will kill

the child!

The Grass Itself will kill

the lamb!

Not the shadow,

not the tiger –

but the Aroma and the Rose will kill


I saw the terror of the first flower

on a Spring Field:

alone – it didn’t want

to bloom for the Sky …

didn’t expose

itself to a Kindred Sun

and the first dew

trickled down it

and the first moth

was startled by it

and the first bee

flew away

show Your Nothingness on

the petals!

expose Yourself

without any blooming!

You are – the Void

without name

and shape …

Come from

Nothing …

And Again

Vanish …


Expose yourself – and wake up.

Yes … wake up.

Wake up and

destroy the dream.

Embrace the nightmare

of Nothingness.

Caress the baldness.

Lick the Sword of Silence.

Stop waiting for Divine Intervention.

Become the Divine Intervention.

Let it be your zazen.

Sing me a lullaby without words,

and without sound.

I no longer believe in the messiah …

or in the antichrist.

I see both in my own reflection

in the mirror of darkness.

The only tears that I have left

are tears of blood …

it is only blood that I can offer you,


Tear down the cross and

send the virgins home.

I, Transforma, will sit on my mountaintop

and you, Vrebatima, will sit on yours.

We will bridge our differences by

watching over the goings on and

when necessary – cooperating on

keeping the populace in blindness.

Together, we will maintain the smokescreen,

with the help of religion and the media.

Always a sideshow on the stage of consciousness …

distracting the masses from the real danger:

the sweet-sounding lies that soothe and abet.

I believe in the worms, Vrebatima …

and the unspeakable names of

the gods within all who both embrace

and cower in Darkness.

Tear down the cross and

send the virgins home.


image description

Photo: azSacra zaRathustra (courtesy azSacra zaRathustra)

Photo: Adam Donaldson Powell (courtesy Adam Donaldson Powell)




“Zero fucks given” is both true detachment and the ultimate stance of the spiritual warrior.