The Waltz of Hitler

The Waltz of Hitler

A player piano began striking minimalist compositions in a cold and bare corner of Hitler’s private cellar. Hitler closed the heavy cellar door and locked it behind him tightly. Dangling florescent lights swung in correlation from the ceiling like legs on a swing. The cellar could have held hundreds of people. A long blue velvet run way led down the center of the cellar. Where the stage began, there were red curtains that hid Hitler’s mothers dresses. Her black wedding dress, some silky self exposing lingerie, her fur coats, cotton and wool sweaters in dry colors. At the end of the stage sat a mirror. All along the walls perfectly aligned were Hitler’s paintings. There was a portrait of himself looking into a shattered mirror. Majority were of him as a child with his mother. A life-size painting hung over the stage of the runway. It was of his fair skinned mother naked standing underneath an apple tree. Her left hand was reaching above her head holding onto a branch. Around her neck was a golden necklace. Him, as a child naked with wings is looking up at his mother. His chest and arms are covered in bugs and his expression is distressed. In the woods are two deers watching the two. Off in the horizon is a glass mountain over a silvery lake.
Hitler stepped onto the stage. The minimalist notes derange with his movements. He stepped in stiff and orderly steps. His arms moved like his body was made from gears of a grandfather clock. He approaches the mirror, stopped, and saluted himself with much force. A wall of concentration fell over his observation. In his uniform pocket he pulled out a golden locket. There was a picture of his mother when she is a child. He began to cry. He closed the locket and held it close to his heart. He screamed! with his head pointing to the ceiling of swinging lights. The notes of the player piano swung in perfect correlation with the swinging lights. A castrato boy was locked in a cage in the corner of the cellar. When Hitler shrieked the boy would whimper softly. He was terrified of his rage. The cage was barley big enough for him to walk or sit. In the cage was a music stand. Hitler assigned him a new piece of music each night with bread and water. The boy was stolen from his mother by the Hitler’s army when he was a boy. Hitler wanted a castrato who resembled Hitler as a child. He never gave reasons why but his army compliantly followed his orders. They stole the boy from Italy where he performed in popular operas.
Hitler stepped off stage and walked towards the boy with fragmented steps. The process was painful for the boy as Hitler approached. Hitler stopped in front of his cage abruptly. Bread crumbs cover the bottom of the cage. The boy is sweating and shaking in the presence of Hitler. Hitler asks firmly yet quietly, “Did you learn the sheet music?” The boy, looking at his feet answered. “Yes,” in his innocent tone. Each sheet music was taken from his mother’s old collection of classical operas. “You must shower before the show is started.” Hitler let the boy out of his cage and led him to the bathroom. There was an oval antique golden bath that was once his mothers. The wall over the bath had a painting of Hitler as a child on an empty stage with a long light on him. The castrato boy would bath while Hitler ironed the boys uniform. It was the exact uniform Hitler wore. When the boy finished bathing, Hitler dressed him. Delicately, Hitler slicked his hair. The boy resembled Hitler almost precisely as a child. Let’s Begin, Hitler spoke softly.
Hitler led the boy to a platform on the side of the stage. He set up his music stand for him then stroked his right cheek sincerely. Hitler walked through the red curtains. The player piano finished it’s minimalist piece. As a new piece began as Hitler pushed through the red curtains in his Mother’s black wedding dress. He had her red lip stick coated upon his lips. His eyelids were shadowed with grey make up. The boy began singing in his pure and aberrant voice. Hitler could see his reflection at the end of the stage. He waltzed to the the boys voice as it correlated with the zestful composition. The lights swung in correlation with the sounds and the waltz. His tears led the make up down his face. This was Hitler’s hidden cellar, away from everything outside...

God: The Mirrored Mask

If God were in fact a man,
he'd be absent of wonder.
He'd be as lonley as any man could ever be.

Just like an empty well
where you call out a name
and all you hear
is an echo of self.

If God were that empty well,
we'd fill it with
gas
to create an illusion that it is full.

Yet it would be such an insincere substance,
an absence of matter,
like a mirage on a smokey skyline.

Like an artist stokes their brush,
overwhelmed with that feeling
of creation, they let their mind express
the patterns formulated by the conscious
wonders and ]
fears.

The artists steps back,
observes,
wonders if this is a product of self.
Maybe a gift from a foreign spirit,
the illusionary heavens.

For God (If Man or Women, Spirit or Concept)
can never ponder such things.
It is such a thing.

God: such a lonely creature
drifting through the sky,
swiming through the seas,
creating illusions,
destroying the lives
of those who wish not to beleive.

"Beleive! You must beleive," shouts the fearful ones.

In the distance,
behind those beleivers I see
a shadow,
a reflection of my imagine in the silvery waters.

This is
something we see. Yet, do we know it's there?

I don't see any trace of God yet it could be
something I feel. Like the rain
hitting my skin.
But that could be my illusion. My mirage.

I see Gods face
in the
banks.
In the billboard signs or the powerlines.
In the oil tanks and junkyards.
On the wasps and all of the blind animals.
The roadkill.
The cars head lights.
The perscription bottles and bibles on shelves.
In the ever so empowering word
'Goverment'.

The reason is that God to humans,
is an unknowingly reflection of self.
It is us in which we fear.

We wear a mirrored masks,
to scared to laugh
at our own senseless fears.