KOMPOSTMODERNISM - it's... the ART [?]

2005-10-12T23:21:00.000+02:00

wonderbar autum
no rights reserved Carl Brandt

2005-05-18T12:51:00.000+02:00

Absinthe Makes The Heart Grow Fonder
once you get the bootle open you cant stop...

you wont stop...

until...

you surrender to sweet mad delerium

ad astra ad aspera...

to be online with the whole of universe...

Cries from the void

melting into nothingness and everything

Om Mani Padme Hum

to be or not to be nothing...

its not even a question,

its an answer

where there can be no beginning

there can be no end

Only a begging silence

a roaring silence

between the atoms

of our self

a red nile of life force

free flowing warmth

and turn your self

and turn your soul

to another mead...

Igniting an inferno

Hell unleashed

when you enter here

let your hope go away

dance with your demons

damnation your salvation

and dont forget

your daily dose

of crushed angelbones

and whipped winges

of amorines

pain is pleasure

pleasure is pain

and my tounge dosn't know the word

and my toes doesn't know the world

and we all find pleasure in Poe

For I live between worlds

and belong to none

there is none who can claim me

I am free

a neverending cycle

of what goes around

will come around

a whirling dervish

whispers his secrets

to the unseen ghosts

and down and down and down it goes

the unchained host
holds a mass in Absinthinium

In the name of the father

the son

the mother

I take my leave

and the unholy spliff

a final sacrament

By:Carl Brandt and

Rose Schiweck Dec 11th,2004

pataphysique

2004-12-14T06:10:00.000+01:00

AUDIO:

2004-12-09T22:14:00.000+01:00

if you want to see something more clear...

just click on the pic and it'll come closer to ya...

2004-12-08T07:17:00.000+01:00

vernissage - vocies in the crowd

2004-12-06T03:18:00.000+01:00

"Kafka had a shitload of fun"

and I hope you will to...

metamorphosis

2004-11-28T06:43:00.000+01:00

Bacchus, Venus &...

This exhibition contains every important thing

that one can experience during the long walk

to the biggest sleep, sex drugs and simular things...

All the artworks made by Carl Brandt in the fall of 2004.

everyone who wants to use any of the pictures are more

than welcome to do this, as long as they tell where they got it...

so once again welcome to my little world in the gutter!!!

are you interested in more of Carlos Brandtosaurius Rex after visiting this exhibition

pleas visit his other blog http://osaligaskapell.blogspot.com/ where he, his band

and some of their other friends are contemplating over life universe and everything...

or take a stroll further down in the gutter and visit the home of De Osaligas Kapell...

2004-11-28T06:32:00.000+01:00

Brüder, es zieht ein Geruch übers Land

Holt mir Wein aus vollen Krügen, notabene, Wein vom Sundgau,

und ein Weib soll bei mir liegen, notabene, eine Jungfrau.

Ewig hängt sie mir am Munde, notabene, eine Stunde.

Ach, das Leben lebt sich lyrisch, notabene, wenn man jung ist,

und es duftet so verführ'risch, notabene, wenn's kein Dung ist.

Ach, wie leicht wird hier erreicht doch, notabene, ein vielleicht noch.

Laß die Erde heiß sich drehen, notabene, bis sie kalt ist,

deine Liebste sollst du sehen, notabene, wenn sie alt ist.

Lache, saufe, hure, trabe, notabene, bis zum Grabe.

2004-11-28T06:16:00.000+01:00

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2004-11-28T06:14:00.000+01:00

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2004-11-28T04:35:00.000+01:00

2004-11-28T04:31:00.000+01:00

2004-11-28T03:58:00.000+01:00

Sleep, sweet tiny Carl, in peace,'

Twill soon be time to wake thee;

Time to taste our time's disease,

Its bile shall ne'er forsake thee.

What's our world? An isle of woe.

Breathing, born, to death we go;

Too soon the grave will take thee.

(C M Bellman)

2004-11-28T03:32:00.000+01:00

--Tell me, you enigmatical man, whom do you love the most?

Your father or your mother, your sister or your brother?

--I have neither father, mother, sister, nor brother.

--Your friends, then?

--You're using a word which has thus far

remained beyond the range of my vocabulary.

--Your country?

--I haven't the remotest notion of

the latitude in which it is situated.

--Beauty?

--Yes, Beauty I could care for,

but Beauty as a goddess, deathless and divine.

--Money?

--I hate the gold the way you hate God.

--So, out with it then: what thing is to your liking,

you extraordinary stranger.

--I love the clouds... the passing clouds...

the ones drifting around up there...

way up there...

those marvelous clouds!

(C Baudelaire)

2004-11-28T02:09:00.000+01:00

Dans le port d'Amsterdam... (J Brel)

some poetry from yours truly...

we begin in the Netherlands and the port of...

AMSTERDAM

NIGHTSHIFT:

SPACE!!! I shouted from the top of my lounge... I GOT TO HAVE SOME SPACE!!! so I opend a window and took a stroll down by the milky way… when the day was dressed up in his nightinggown and brains where restin’ in dreamwater I walked out loaded with hole because I wanted to shot me some stars, I was floatin’...

(1sec…)

...in eternity, then I fell down… then I fell to sleep in the shadow of the shadow where asphalt meets asphalt and I didn’t woke up, until… on the damraksquare the furious fog danced a staggering waltz to the forgotten song of a sailor who was not, P’Gell kept the beat on my ribs and I woke up from my trance and the yearning after space woke up with me… space… I whispered... all I wanted was some space…

DROWNING:

The pale child of the night is gasping for air, like the wale on the beach. The pale child of the night is sinkin’ among cats, yoygirls and spacecakeseater is sinkin’ together with his jolly junkies, those transparent blue creatures in the black lagoon in the red kingdom on the other side of the white… distorted faces just like his P´Gell disappears in a cloud made out of bubbles that raises as she sinks in the canals out of time
The pale child of the night cries and sinks just to see if there is someone out there who wants to, who can, save him. The pale child of the night sinks always this sick thing to just sinkdown, down, down, all the way down… out of the dead in to the red glow of dawn the strength in his weakness is to dare to miss and keep on sinkin’…

-Is there a bottom?

-Do you wanna know???

…then you should know the top is the bottom,

so sink my friend sink…sink into eternity!

CANALMINERS:

A far to bright light in the dusk of time we dig to carve trough the pale blue surface a selfmade refugee in an artificial paradise a sign in the fog, three cross on the hill, Im nailed to nothing. bored beyond belief… nowhere is everywhere just like the canals and the crystals who dances in my pump, captured by my freedom… my head is expoiding under the pressure of my life, I burn my self down and out, night after night, just so that I, like the firebird Fenix can raise from my ashes and be reborn, again and again and again Poison helps me to fall asleep, and give me strength enough to wake up day after day after... -C’mon P´Gell follow me down, in my long black veil, I promise to show you a shortcutback to the white light, back to the white heat…

FOR Van GOGH… AND P´GELL:

It is true P´Gell, just as true as the fact that the Devil holds a hand over the heads on those he calls his owns… It is true P´Gell, that when sick planets is doing a totentanz in the light of their agony and drown down in the eternal embrace of death, then we’ll float in the vortex of our souls, in stead of just… “ya know… whatever…” and fall down in some bottomless pit… It is true P´Gell, when everything implodes out in to the blue chaos, then our love will stand like a seamark in an expodin’ ocean… It is true P´Gell, that even if you will go down into the unknown, I’ll be the lighthouse that lead you to the stars and further, belive me P’Gell…

I belive

(…)

do I

2004-11-28T02:08:00.000+01:00

ich bin eine kamera... (C Isherwood)

and then we'll take a stroll down

by the wall in to no-mans-land in...

BERLIN

ONE NIGHT BY THE BERLINWALL:
I was going out through the grey, further and lost into the white… finnaly I found, No Mans House…a place where the blindfolded windows staired, right through me… I saw a hole, the hole that counted…

Hours
Minutes
And Seconds

and suddenly it just stopped, I just stopped… I Stumbled blinded by chrystals, I fumbled forward just to find No Mans Hand, and the shadow of someone that past here years ago… my shadow played with the shadow of persons unknown… but when I staggered away it followed me, muttering, because it couldn’t find its way home by itself.

BORDERLINE:

On the border, to our nomansland, I danced a dead-drunk POGO, in slowmotion together with my loneliness, and the shadows on the wall in your flat, Cassandra, my girl, my godess over the untamed smoke…On the border, to our nomansland, I danced a dead-drunk Tarantelle, in a stained gallery where other people were busting their frames busting out over a purple universe… On the border, to our nomansland, I danced a dead-drunk waltz, as time was counting down the snow in milligrams and liters while I faded out tight carresed with the smoke, out through the cracked celling I faded… I!!! the selfsame or another, I or not I [?]

ON THE RUN ON THE RUIN:
Cassandra your frames are emty, the glas has been smashed from within, and the prisoners are on their run… they cant do so, but still, they do godess of the holy smoke, you raise your magic stick and make the picture clear…there is something in a frozen always… on the pallete lays still unplayed chords, and the yawning canvas is singing, a bloodred song… but your frames are emty Cassandra…Why?

UNE SAISON EN ENFER:
It was cold in hell during that spring, it was so cold that the fire of damnation frooze… it was so cold that the lost souls had to dress up in feathers from raped amorines… it was the time when Cassandra walked thorugh my lifeline… it was the time when she let my star explode… implode, in a cloud of different color and nightmares… it was the time when she broke me into pieces and fed me with myself… It was cold in hell during that spring…

TROYAN HORSE:

Love is alive… or not, it lives on a thin line between reality & lies. Bored beyond belif am I sitting in a paintstainded cell, a madrassed room och piling the wings of cute little cerubs. We sat and we talked, could have done for ever, if you hadn’t start to tell me my future, by reading my entrails. You whispered “Watch out for the horses…” I nodded, and kept going like a bolted train further through my veins… I got an answer that took much more than it gave… I ought to pay more attention to you Cassandra… I ought to... I ought... I.

2004-11-28T02:07:00.000+01:00

Här i våran stad... i Eken (R Nilsson)

och så slutar vi som sig bör i staden jag älskar

att hata... och hatar att älska...

STOCKHOLM

WAITING IN VAIN: The sun is gone, it went to drink some tea with an russian poet on the other side. I’m sittin’ here in an aquarium wasting my time, waiting for Eliza, the flowergirl with the defted fingers. Hiding in my own shadow while the sky cry… wasting my time waiting for Eliza watching the tothpastetube squeezing its light over the unclean walls of the southside, trying to give them back their glance from the glamouros days. Eight empty beerglas in front of me, 19:42… Coca Cola… 19:42… 996 mbar… 19:42… Coca Cola… 19:43… “I’ll be there at four aclock…” she said… but, while Katarina is whispering her pater noster and helping the tired half way up to the sky, she shows how my life is shrinking wile time is running free… five… six… seven.. she shows te time we share apart from each other. Even time has its vineyards, how risky though their harvest-times, how unpredictable…

THE VIRGIN OF NOTKE: The virgin stands, pure & untouched on her piedestal, waiting for the final battle, when the beast is gonna be impaled by the brave knight in its shiny armour… “lente impele”

The virgin stands, sacred & clean on her piedestal, waiting for the final battle, without knowledge the she to will be sacrified on the lance of braveness… “lente impele”

The virging stands weak & touched on her piedestal, she waited while the white knight fought. The beast is down but the lance of the bravehearted knight stands… “lente impele”

The virgin stands unclean & destroyed on her piedestal, waiting no more, she was saved from the beast. Saved and then sacrified to the unicorn, animula dulcis… “lente impele”

“A flying moment robbed me of my future…”

BEYOND IT ALL: I left the chapell of unholy souls behind and staggered out from the monistary, I stil had their blasphemus prayers ringin’ in my head “Oh my god, pass me a drink before I die of thirst…” before I knew how I stod in the middle of a parade from the past. Stone by stone by stone a queue to eternity. The skies played waterwar against windows and our wounded world, formula 1 clouds drove through a black velvet sky, born to fade away, like soapbubbles under water… my fingers creept in the cryptic signs on the stones, my mind could read everything but I didn’t understand anything, all those messages from far away familys in ancient societys… in the desolated darknes I felt the smell of the dragons den, where it lays and lickin’ up the light with a bloodred tounge… I cant do a thing, I aint s:t George I’ll just sit here and feel the soapbubbles crasches in my head.

IN THE EYE OF THE STORM: Hour after hour… Day in and day out… Spring, summer, Fall & winter… Never rests, never sleeps… M:r H and his handymen are gather on the black and white mead, to carry on their rotten rituals, fire and snow… Deep down in the kettel they are dancing, spellbound by the songs in their heads. Floating under the chrystalstalagmite, guarded by the optic eyes of the glasmountain, I die their life, they live my death. A drugstore that’s open 24 h/day until the end of the world. Five bassons of doom are lifting the roof and echos together with the never ending songs inside of their heads. Below these decks, the singing of the captured slaves… hour after hour… Day in and day out… Spring, summer, Fall & winter… Never rests, never sleeps…

MÖLNA - AN ELOGE: [about those drowned in time] On a train, on our way… towards Kotla the dragon that’s dreaming on a stack of dead leafes. Im sitting on a bench of the past, the black messenger croacking their requiem over times that’ll come, times that is no more… The pale sun inpaled on the twinspires, and eternity licked to nothing by parabolic tounges… The waves singin’ their lullaby “Time to taste our time's disease, Its bile shall ne'er forsake thee…” The red, the dead sacrified to the flames by the Sanctimonioupit… “The more we are together…” singin’ entice, singin’ deny… “Better & better day by day…” The dead the red dances a menuette in the windrush the wavespray… How much time have passed? Gluvine is warming our hands… waverush the windspray… im no longer on my bench… im on my way, on a train on an unknown journey… Back to the past, into the future… away…away…away… ...

EXIT THREE TOWNS: Im waiting, for he who waits, the one with a 1000 and no face... The one who eats without a mouth, the one who's constantelly chewing... We're both on our way to the last supper... passing by the black and white mead... Always on our way, I dont know where, but I know that I am going from brightness to brightness on thin ice... Every step makes me heavier and the ice thinner… I see four horses rise in the sky… Im waiting for he who waits… Im waiting… For nothing. “tene me ne fugia”…

from the past's rarely

through now's midway barely

to the future's still lesser

still more rarely...

2004-11-28T01:27:00.000+01:00

I just dont remember...

2004-11-28T01:26:00.000+01:00

Do you fear deep in the grave to sink,

well my friend pour up another drink

and take than dito one,

dito two,

dito three...

-And feel your spirit come free...

2004-11-28T01:25:00.000+01:00

do i have to say more???

what happend!!!

2004-11-28T01:24:00.000+01:00

Selfportrait "the kapellmeister"

2004-11-28T01:23:00.000+01:00

To those who arent here anymore... miss u all!

Vita nätter

C Brandt

Därute strålar en verklighet emot mig i all sin glans

Barnen leker i solen som bjuder upp till dans

Själv är jag oförmögen jag har inte en chans

Önskar att varken jag eller verkligheten fanns

Snälla ge mig drömmar att leva avEller gift nog att dö

Nerver simmar på mitt golv jag seglar med dårarnas skepp

Jag är en djupfryst kyckling med svettpärlor på min läpp

I ett hörn utav nig själv så blir jag långsamt knäpp

För det vita helvetets nätter har mig i sitt grepp

Snälla ge mig drömmar att leva avEller gift nog att dö

Det var länge sen jag förlorade mig själv till min själ

Då var jag min herre nu är jag bara min träl

Livet vill mig illa kanske att döden gör mig väl

Så i den svartaste dagen bjuder jag er farväl

Snälla ge mig drömmar att leva avEller gift nog att dö

2004-11-28T01:22:00.000+01:00

dont you know that you can count me in...

Идет охота на волков, идет охота!

На серых хищников

- матерых и щенков. Кричат загонщики,

и лают псы до рвоты.

Кровь на снегу и пятна красные флажков.

(V Vysotskij)

(They´re slaughtering the pack, slashing youngsters killing female wolves ,

then male and greying wolves, the hunters hollering, the beasts are howling,

and there is blood in the snow and blood on every flag...)

2004-11-28T01:20:00.000+01:00

words without music

from the Agony Café...

Call Of CTHULHU
Carl Brandt

I open the door to the wonder, the unholy stench is a fact.

Diciple of the old who is yonder, member of an unspeakable pact.
So shudder in the dawn, of the great old one…
My eyes glows but my sermon is cold, I do prepare for his return.

The dark clergyman of the old, invocation makes the air burn.
So shudder in the dawn, of the great old one…
That is not dead wich can eternal lies,

within strange eons even death may die…
Dreaming in its house in r’lyhe, great Cthulhu waits to raise once more.

He’ll make hell freeze and heaven frye, and earth will be tremble in his roar.
So shudder in the dawn, of the great old one…
That is not dead wich can eternal lies,

within strange eons even death may die…

7th son of a 7th son
Carl Brandt

Im the seventh son of the seventh sun, I never regret what I have done
A was born at midnight and I never seen the light
Im the seventh son of the seventh sun
When people meet me they try to run, but I always finish what I’ve begun
I wanna felel their fright when I give them my lovebite
Im the seventh son of the seventh sun
Forget your fear, a 1000 year of undeath is what I offer…
You learned its me you ought to shun, but you shouldn’t have listen to anyone
I’ll give you insight, and you’ll know that I’m right
Im the seventh son of the seventh sun
I’m sad to leave you in the deadly sun, but if I don’t I’ll soon be gone
It is much to bright the only thing I cant fight
Im the seventh son of the seventh sun
Forget your fear, a 1000 year of undeath is what I offer…

He Who Whispers In The Dark
Carl Brandt

Nyarlathotep; im the last in this crawling chaos,

and I’ll tell the audient void about he who whispers in the dark
You can hide try to run, step inside try to shun.

From the shadow out of time, out of time
He’s out of reach, always there. Sticks like a leech it’s your share

in the shadow out of time, out of time
You can never escape from… he who whispers in the dark
Iä shub niggurath, the black goat from the woods

with a thousand young, far beyond space and time.

He’s gonna get you, he’s gonna get you, he’s gonna get…
He’s in your head, rape your mind. Until you’re dead and left behind

in the shadow out of time, out of time
You can never escape from… he who whispers in the dark

Haunted House In Arkham
Carl Brandt

Just like the mud in the svamps embrace,

like the rain that flees the sky.

And the mirror that wear your face,

well my friend you are born to die…

Welcome to my house in Arkham,

to the place where nightmare’s born.

Yea my haunted house in Arkham,

where your soul will be torned…

Through the tunnel to the distant light,

a journey everyone must make.

The fire of damnation burns so bright,

your soul is mine to take…

Welcome to my house in Arkham,

to the place where nightmare’s born.

Yea my haunted house in Arkham,

where your soul will be torned…

I see the dark side of the universe yawning,

that’s where the black planet roll without aim.

That’s where they roll with their horror unheeded,

without knowledge lustre or namne.

This is the place where anguish dwells,

the worst nightmare will come true.

For you my friend and for everybody else,

your room is waiting for you…

Welcome to my house in Arkham,

to the place where nightmare’s born.

Yea my haunted house in Arkham,

where your soul will be torned…

Sleeptime
Carl Brandt

Sleeptime… well it is sleeptime
My sand just running through and there is nothing I can do
Sleeptime… well it is sleeptime
The bootle is my lust soon my glas fills up with dust
Sleeptime… well it is sleeptime
It was a long ago I decide to comit my slowely suicide
Sleeptime… well it is sleeptime
So I lived out my intox and I finnaly hit the box
Sleeptime… well it is sleeptime

Sleeptime… weel it is

2004-11-27T22:13:00.000+01:00

grandpa