Arminda: I still remember you, your grace, your inspiration, your teaching … thank you! — Adam Donaldson Powell.
The classical musician society in New York City at that time was rather “interesting” to say the least. I remember the half snobbish – half avant-garde very competitive classical musician scene in Manhattan in the seventies and eighties, where musical pedigrees and lineages which could be traced back to famous composers and pedagogues helped concert pianists in need of cash to command prices of $100 or more an hour for weekly piano lessons. I studied with several myself: most notably John Ranck, Berenice Lipson-Gruzen, Arminda Canteros, and finally Jacob Lateiner. They were all colourful personalities, talented concert pianists and – with the exception of Mr. Lateiner – patient with the imbalances between my excellent interpretative skills and somewhat lagging technical skills. These were the days and years of Carnegie Hall debut dreams, lp (and later cd) recordings for the elite performers, hours of practice, mandatory Beethoven, Bach, Grieg, Mozart, and of course Brahms ( which was my favourite ), before I could earn the right to play with the fun French Impressionist composers like Debussy, Ravel etc. and with Karol Szymanowski.
John Ranck became my friend and mentor, in addition to being my first serious piano instructor in the non-college world. He was a kind and generous man who taught me musical discipline, cured me of my stage fright by continuously inviting me to perform at student recitals and soirees, and he also taught me much about ridding myself of destructive love relationships and other problems which threatened to get in the way of my musical pursuits. He was openly gay and lived with his partner in a luxurious condominium on Ninth Street and Fifth Avenue, in The Village. We remained friends long after I moved on to new teachers, and even after I moved to Europe. Unfortunately, years later – once when I visited him while on vacation in New York City – I made the mistake of telling him that there was at that time much heated debate in Europe regarding the Israel vs. Palestine issue. I proceeded to tell him that I had sympathies for both. He started to wave his arms, but I continued talking – not understanding his sign language. Suddenly his partner came into the living room and ordered me to leave their home. I did not know he was there, and did not know that he was Jewish and/or a Zionist. Not that that would have stopped me from voicing my views. Many of my employers, best friends, neighbours and lovers at the time (and before and later) were Jewish (including some Zionists), and I had studied and practised both the Kabbalah and Sufism myself. I have always been open to discussions with persons with other and alternative perspectives. However, that stupid incident ended a precious longterm friendship, as John chose to let me return to Europe in silence in order to maintain peace in the household … and his partner (S.) was not interested in explaining his behaviour or why he had a bug up his ass.
My next teacher after John was Ms. Berenice Lipson-Gruzen. Berenice looked like a Parisian fashion model with her stunning features, used heavy French perfumes, smoked French cigarettes, and looked half her already then advanced age. She was a fireball and extremely sexy … She excelled at performing Debussy and Ravel, and literally unnerved me with her electricity. She made a habit of sitting tightly up against me on the piano bench, covering and guiding my hands with her own. I went nuts, and eventually had to tell her that she was deliciously distracting. Her comment was a coy: “Oh, really Adam!!?” Berenice had me bathing in Debussy and worked with me for quite a while on Ravel’s “Valses nobles et sentimentales”, which became my signature piece along with several Brahms piano pieces ( Opus 117, 118 and 119). While Berenice was away on tour she arranged for me to study under her teacher: Arminda Canteros.
Arminda was a charming elderly lady, an amazing pianist and a great pedagogue. It was Arminda who started me on the road to proper classical technical discipline. When Berenice returned to Manhattan I decided to continue studying under them both. I explained that I needed what both of them were teaching me. This, of course, insulted Berenice.
After some time I eventually moved on to my final teacher ( also on the Upper West Side of Manhattan ): Jacob Lateiner. Jacob was an excellent pianist, very well-known, “all business”, and both soft and hard at the same time. I can give one colourful example: one day on my way to his condo for my weekly lesson, I was mugged outside of Zabar’s in the middle of the afternoon … by a wacko who insisted that I had jumped him the day before. I was knocked to the pavement and suffered a mild concussion. When I arrived at Lateiner’s flat I explained what had just happened and said that I was unsure if I could play the piano. He immediately fetched a drink of whiskey, told me to drink it quickly, and then commanded me to sit at the piano. Like a military commander, he ordered me to play Beethoven, Mozart, Grieg etc. ( all pieces he had started me on ). Finally, he told me to play the Ravel. After a few minutes into the piece he marched over to the piano, snatched the music away and threw it to the floor, and barked: “I don’t know who these people are that you have studied with previously, but I forbid you to ever perform this piece in public!”
And with that he smiled, said he hoped I was feeling better, took his $100 and I was off to practice for my next lesson in the following week.
Because I had started my professional training at such an adult age ( in my twenties ), it was doubtful whether my talent would be enough to gain me a musical career. In New York City in those years EVERYONE was an artist of some sort, and the litmus test was earning your income from your art. I managed to earn half my income from performing music at all venues possible, including restaurants, bars, weddings, bar mitzvahs, hospitals … whatever – both solo and in violin-piano duos. I even got a great compliment and generous tip from Art Garfunkel while playing at a restaurant across the street from John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s condo building.
I realized that I would never be as great or well-known as my teachers, and being a classical musician was a hard life and all work all the time for me. Thus, I went back to school and took a master degree in international and development administration, before writing my first poetry book and moving to Norway to start a dance- theater company with my Norwegian dancer-choreographer lover.
Music gave birth to my poetry, which again became « my music » through words and pictures … eventually encompassing visual art as well ( I had my debut as a painter in the mid-nineties ).
Adam Donaldson Powell (piano) and Cathy Craig (violin), New York City.
“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)
PART ONE: LEFT AND RIGHT HANDS OF THE GODS.
01
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.
02
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
them
Nein!
03
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
nature.
A barren Terra wails but we
are not comforters Vrebatima.
(nods)
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,
Vrebatima.
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!
04
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
Power
Power of prices alone –
ascending from the worthless world
to Zero:
0000000000000000000000!
After zeros
(instead of bullets)
only holes are left –
0000000000000000000000!
There are no more
Great Chinese Walls!
The decay!
The Empire died like
a pitiful trembling
rabbit.
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!
0000000000000000000000000!
05
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 …
06
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
Universe!
I – Bhairava, but not rapturous
God Eros –
to hell with sex, Transforma:
Cut off the balls of each
inamorato!
Shoot off the head of each
beautiful doll!
I – des Todes Tod –
I – Clear Death –
I – Clear Death –
The ABSOLUTE OF ATTACKING 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!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I – ABSOLUTE SPIRITUAL BREACH!
NO PITIFUL REMNANTS!
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!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
07
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).
(sighs)
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
Dollar.”
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.
08
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
Hitler.
09
бритый
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 …
(snickers)
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 …
Vrebatima?
Бритый
yes, I love my bald dreams …
and Russian caviar.
10
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
Skull!
Nobody wants to eat
corpses of sybaritic
natives …
Germans?
Where are the marching
Germans?
… 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.
satori?
samadhi?
Shun’ja!
(photo courtesy of azSacra zaRathustra)
PART TWO: THE GREAT ENDING OF THE END.
01
ego cogito, ergo sum?
Auf!
Auf! Nicht röcheln!
Nicht röcheln!
cogito Todt Ist,
sum ist Summa Summarum
Nichts =
Nein ist Nichts!
Nein ist Nichts!
Nein ist Nichts!
Auf –
Auf –
Nicht!
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!
02
(sobs)
You undress my gods shamelessly,
Vrebatima!
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
Darkness.
The Darkness of the Eternal Womb …
the elixir of Nothingness.
03
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 …
I AM – ABSOLUTE BREACH OF SPIRIT!
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!
04
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.
бритый
Bald … barren … bare.
It is in the Nothingness
that I find meaning, and there
that my Existence has value.
бритый
Bald … barren … bare …
stripped of all intent;
an existence devoid of fear
and purpose.
бритый
Bald … barren … bare
as the Now … the moment,
of Silence …
without expectation or
apprehension.
бритый
Bald … barren … bare …
as the word “no” –
whispered in orgasmic
ecstasy.
бритый
Bald … barren … bare …
stripped of all humanity
and self-respect
by the airport scanners.
05
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
“Bhagavad-Gita”:
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 –
Transzendentalphilosophie!
THE HIGHER TRANSCENDENT IS SHAPED FROM NOTHING –
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”
Oso Para Vos 
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