The Barbarian Kingdoms

I dreamed I was at a dinner party in the late nineteenth century.

Attended by German professors of classics.

In celebration of some festschrift or other. All the attendees were learned, all had published significant contributions to the literature on Late Antiquity, all were familiar with the cursus honorum.

There was not one among them who was not qualified to supervise a habilitationshcrift on Romanitas.

And like the armies in the clashes of the third century before the establishishment of the Dominate they took the familiar defensible positions.

This was during the goose course, Poppo proclaiming that the Barbarian Kingdoms viewed themselves as continuations of Rome.

“They did not know it fell, the Empire, these proud men, eg the Lombards.” so, Poppo.

While Reitzenstein opined “We should not think them fools, the barbarian kings eg the Visigoths. They used the words to get the power. As strong men always do. Rome, Christ, dish, water, woman, star. All words, which without the sword, are nothing but farts of air.” He drained another beer stein.

Then quietly, maliciously, spoke up the great father doctor, the elder Hermann, Johann Gottfried Jakob Hermann, and he said “Twas ever thus. The Rome of Augustus was not/the little Etrurian town of seven hills. There was no Rome, nor ever will be.”

The mood grew dark but velvety over twilight and cigars and each man drew attention to his inner Rome.

As it always is with men, with scholars, and with Germans. The cognac turned them existential.

Was my wife ever my wife? wondered Hermann.

Do I even know the empire fell, thought Poppo. The younger man helped him rise.

They wandered and waddled through the streets of Heidelberg, to their rooms, some alone some not.

We should not think them fools these nineteenth century professors, they were like you and me. They knew what was coming as we do.

And each was smart enough to ask the question, the question — what is left of me now, now that I have been conquered

By the barbarian kingdoms?

Pleasant Sweet Moments with Mlabenus Meeks

Richie was a very bitter man. He had a lot of anger. He had more anger than he knew he had. He would work out whole scenarios about people he worked with, ones that just said “hi Richie” at the break room, and he’d imagine they loved him, and then realize they didn’t, and hate them. Honestly, it was tough to be Richie. There was this girl at work, Wanda, and Richie heard that she loved german sheperds cause they were such beautiful, lean animals. She wasn’t even talking to him, she was talking to Dave from marketing. Maybe that was part of the problem but Richie gave himself up to the fantasy that he would buy a German Sheperd dog and deliberately make it obese. He’d forcefeed it cozy shack pudding all day long like a fois gras goose, or maybe he wouldn’t have to because of a dog’s natural, mindless gluttony, but he’d see clear to it this animal had a diet of nothing but whip cream and ice cream and cozy shack pudding, wolfing it down, stuffing it down its gullet until a year it would be like unrecognizable you wouldn’t even know it was a dog, much less the noble, fucking beautiful lean German Shepherd and then he’d present it to Wanda, this waddling bloated rashy pig of a beast, sucking wind asthmatically, still too stupid to lay off the Cozy Shack pudding and he’d say “Wanda, what do you think now?”

Except he wouldn’t. Where would he get the dog? Where would this all happen? In the apartment on 81st he shared with his mother? And what would really be the denoument? Would there be an orgasmic climax of vindication or more likely would he seem insane?

Would she even remember the comment from the breakroom? Probably not.

He was a miserable, nasty, man Richie was and he knew it and hated himself for it. Until one day, he entered the foyer of the amazing Mlabenus Meeks!

I’m too poor a storyteller by far to tell you why it was that a few weekends of tea and graham crackers and watching Scooby Doo and Grape Ape on the television made Richie a better guy, but it did.

Look at him now! He’s lost weight. He’s got a smile on his face. He is happy to talk to people and to take a genuine interest in their lives.

And Wanda? Ha-ha Dave. Fixed your wagon. Cause not too long after all this happened “I like dogs Wanda?” Perky with her little sweaters, ‘Have a nice weekend?” Wanda?

She perished miserably from bone cancer!