SNL | Weekend Update | Tina Fey on Protesting After Charlottesville (plus, “Sheet-caking is a grass-roots movement”) | August 2017
The story that’s presented here, along with my rage, and twisted Nazi fascination didn’t develop overnight. But it all came to a head on Election Day.
This book has been years in the making, taking dozens of twists and turns that have mirrored the most defining moments in my current and past lives. The characters’ names have changed as many times as the plot. Over the years, I have seen my written and artistic style evolve into what it is today. I’ve also learned a great deal of World War II history.
The story that’s presented here, along with my rage, and twisted Nazi fascination didn’t develop overnight. But it all came to a head on Election Day. The political tide had shifted for the worse. It was a “Fuck You” day of celebration.
Many of us cried.
Then, in spite of hours of prayer and ritual to alter destiny, inauguration day arrived. Many of us commiserated. We were grieve-stricken, in shock. Following Election Day, I consumed cannabis on a regular basis, secretly “sheet-caking” multiple times a week. Then it dawned on me one evening, nearly blitzed: This incompetent leader could destroy humanity.
I'm on the wrong side of history again, in an eerily similar fashion. Thankfully this time, it’s not by choice.
I slip into apocalyptic visions and this frightening moment is suddenly over-shadowed by my own past.
The All-Consuming, Dark Obsession
Like many Germans of that time, I drank in German pride as liberally as Jägermeister, swallowing more indoctrination than my daily intake of Pervitin.
Nazi Germany is never far from my thoughts. It’s an all-consuming, dark obsession. Prozac has only given structure to my obsession, not quelled it like it was supposed to. Science reduces my obsession to either a pathological or neurological disorder, or both: a misfiring in the brain, schizotypy, tirelessly labeling the unexplainable away.
Down the slippery dark hole I go, devouring one history book after another, watching hours of documentaries, and buying original photographs of that time period. I embed myself into the Nazi trench, wanting to understand how a country that had it so right could get it so wrong.
For me, Nazi Germany remains part riddle, part nightmare—so many lessons gathered from that time, some acquired in the blink of an eye. There were good people trapped on the wrong side of history.
I was a civilian female in her late 40s to early 50s—a National Socialist who believed I was right. I resided in a German city, I don't know which. Hans, too, keeps these details hidden from me. At times, he can be as indecipherable as an Enigma machine—not to hurt me, but to keep me safe. Ignorance is bliss, but, eventually, all is revealed.
What I do know is that Hamburg causes a visceral reaction. I’ve had visions and dreams of living there as well. Similarly, I’ve had strong feelings for Dresden, although not as loaded—I mourn for the city itself. Once upon a time, Dresden had been mythically beautiful.
PTSD from Another Dimension
This event unleashed something catastrophic within me. Suddenly, planes flying overhead became missiles, aiming straight at me.
On December 21, 1988, Pan Am Flight 103 exploded over Lockerbie, Scotland raining down engines parts and chunks of fuselage on the unsuspecting town. This event unleashed something catastrophic within me. Suddenly, planes flying overhead became missiles, aiming straight at me.
I saw a psychiatrist a couple of times.
His advice for my phobia/PTSD? Get a nightlight. Monsters stay away from the light.
In 2010, not too long after officially meeting Hans, visions of dying in an air raid slowly hijacked my mind. I can see it pretty clearly. I'm in a flat, several stories up. The space has a natural feel. Lots of wood—tables, chairs, walls, Earthy décor, a quiet houseplant sitting here and there. It’s a clean space. Nearly spartan. I'm cowering under a kitchen table. There's nowhere to run.
The bombs keep falling. Closer and closer they get. Until…
My vision cuts away as the incendiary bomb hits the building. I return to my skin, a little more dead than before. This event is wedged somewhere in my DNA. My memories are marred, my soul scarred. Remembering the event is horrifying, but also a relief. At least it offers an answer to my phobia.
Wake up, America!
This isn’t a “melting pot” of individuals. Nothing is coalescing.
Wake up, America, and take a good look at what is happening in your own backyard! We’re all responsible for this. We’ve inherited this darkness as well as contributed to the problem, be it through complacency, escape, denial, or hatred. This isn’t a “melting pot” of individuals. Nothing is coalescing.
Wake up, America, and remember your history of conquest, slaughter and hatred. We’re still slaughtering and lynching!
Wake the fuck up, America! We need to take responsibility and be held accountable. Our collapse is fully justified.
Once upon time, and in spite of our history, we were a part of an Allied movement to stomp out fascism, then to adopt high ranking Nazis into our military. We took their rules of engagement and perfected the machine.
It’s no secret, reality sucks. We suck. We take up space and destroy everything with our greed and desire. The planet dies a little more each day.
More than a Creative Outlet
Blind Love is a twisted Norse mythology-inspired tale brimmed with contradictions, hypocrisy, inter-dimensional travel, people fucking ghosts, machines fucking trees. Everyone is on some kind of mind-altering substance.
During the evenings, I plunge into a darker space, co-creating my writing and artwork with soldier ghosts who offer multi-sensory snippets of their experiences during war.
Blind Love During the Madness is more than a creative outlet where I explore my pain, shame, and anger of my past and present lives. It’s a form of escape and confrontation---it's an illustrated novel designed to mimic the protagonist’s visual diary. There are Gothed-out, “Nazi-heartthrobs” conquering a dystopian, post-apocalyptic Earth. Most of the time they seem preoccupied with raping and manipulating Odin’s best battalion of Valkyries. Blind Love is a twisted Norse mythology-inspired tale brimmed with contradictions, hypocrisy, inter-dimensional travel, people fucking ghosts, machines fucking trees. Everyone is on some kind of mind-altering substance. R & B and Jazz music reign supreme. Most of the characters are self-absorbed losers. Some are disenchanted to the point of complacency. A few are good.
Dark as it is, I prefer the company of ghosts who’ve gone to hell and back. They impart valuable lessons. They get it. They’re transparent (literally and metaphorically). They observe our current state of affairs with sadness—they comprehend this darkness better than we ever could. Hindsight is 20/20.
As in Blind Love, it’s time for this reality to channel heart consciousness.
So, in closing, and rather than giving the Nazis the last word, I call upon Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. to ground us in a world of love and light. He once said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”
Will we ever learn?
In Love & Light,
*originally posted on 9/8/2017, revised 9/01/2020