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By Armend Sauersbosch


I live above you like a strong wind, neighbor to the eagles, neighbor to the snow, neighbor of the sun: that
s how strong winds live. There’s nothing I could want from you, so don’t reach out your hands to mine. Your gifts are poisonous, your insights blinded, and your truths nothing but lies. There is nothing that you could possibly give to me, for you forgot how to live like a wind does. What do you know about living anyways? There’s no progress and no going back for you, no goal. You’re staggering towards your graves with bound eyes, your eternal sleep as worthless as your desolate existence. In this existence, on your blinded stride towards your graves, there are many beautiful words you keep throwing in front of you. You’re talking of freedom, bravery, solidarity and yet you still have to blink. I’m watching this sad play with pity from my summit. You’re not understanding a single word you’re throwing around so eagerly. There’s no chaos left in you but this dull conformity of your spirit is bringing nothing but chaos into this world. There is no predator left inside of you, you exchanged the existence of the wild wolves for lives as obedient dogs.

What am I saying? The dog knows more about freedom, bravery and solidarity than you ever could. How could I insult the dog like that, by calling you dogs, when in reality you’re nothing but sheep? No pack, you’re a flock, aren’t you admitting that yourselves? And your nameless shepherd? The destroyer of nations, he’s a cowardly tyrant, a toothless beast, whispering into the minds of people. And yet there is a way for you, flock and shepherd to gift me. Gift me your hatred, for he is noble who is hated by the rabble. Gift me the disturbance in your eyes, your incapability to follow me shall be a testimony to the depth of my spirit, your horror an attestation to my bravery. I do as the strong wind does, I live above you, on high summits. And if I was living besides you, I would have nothing but one request: don’t leave it at your hate, truly I’m decorating me with it but don’t leave it at that, let me ascend. I want you to drag me through the streets of your disease ridden, degenerated cities, lacerate me and stone me to death.

Your hatred is invisible so let my blood be its witness. Like my brothers before me, I want to sit in the bunker of my holiest of holies, while the demonic hordes from all over the world tear down everything that is dear to me. But please don’t stop here, never let my remembrance rest, smear it with your hatred for all eternity, it shall be my crowning, the laurel wreath upon my head. I will do as my brothers, who already became one with the wind, do and blow between you for all eternity, taking the breath of your weak spirits. So you shall know: there are still wolves being born between men.