Below are the 12 most recent journal entries recorded in brunovonboots' LiveJournal:

Monday, November 3rd, 2008
8:35 pm	Suprised by Joy! It has been many months since I last hurled my voice into the Etheric Veil, and I do so now more as an exercise in vanity than through any hope that I shall be heard. For, as we all know, the Earth lies ruined, devastated by my singular stroke of vengeance, which is to say, the exploding to flinders of your Moon, summer last, by myself. I suppose it possible that some blasted remnant of Humanity may linger on still, perhaps hidden away in a Polish salt mine, or deep Kentucky cavern. Even so, it is supremely unlikely that any humans yet remain with the skill or tools required to construct an Etherical Missive Receiver, such as would be required to record and transcribe this message as anything but a wave of ultra-low frequency radiation. And so, my textual laughter may be heard only by the gods, or fall upon the uncomprehending ears of some queer Marsman or dweller in the Jovian clouds. I give good greetings to them, and Salutations from the Last Living Human, Bruno Von Boots! The Master of Space and Phrenology! HA! HA! A great deal has transpired since my last communication. As soon as the Moon was entirely exploded, I set the course of my extraordinary Moon-o-Sphere for the open stars, and, more specifically, on a course for Neptune, where I knew I might claim hospitality from His(?) Most Squamous Extremity, the King(?) and/or Queen(?) of Triton. It would be some months before my arrival there, and I feared my collection of Futurist artworks, Wagnerian gramophone cylinders, and (curiously invigorating) French postcards would not provide me with adequate diversion en route. You see, unlike the common Man, who is content with a lifetime of bland repetition and a soulless diet of Penny-Dreadfuls, comical “papers“, and electrical puppet-shows, my twitching ganglia require a constant parade of stimulation, lest they fall torpid! It would not do for me to be overcome with ennui and unmanly “urges,” such as a yearning for peace, or a desire to write the sort of poetry that does not require the accompaniment of a screaming Italian (Ah! Marinetti! How I miss you, at times!) or the cracking reports of a machine pistol. Still, Von Boots is not one to be daunted by the mere prospect of a few weeks of idleness. During the damnably dull period between the first and second Great Wars, I spent some months in the company of a Russian Jazz-Architect by the name of Pyatnitski. He introduced me to certain techniques of Eastern tradition, specifically a breathing exercise by which I might cast my conscious mind into a deep reverie, and likewise slow the demands of the body to the barest minimum which might sustain life. This, while retaining a perfection of health and mental vigor upon awakening! It is a technique I have used in the past when faced with great stretches of dullness. It was, for instance, in this state of semi-animation that I wiled away the seventh to ninth decades, inclusive, of the most recent century, feeling they had nothing to offer a man of taste and distinction. And so, turning off the lights of the Moon-o-Sphere, and allowing my mightily-thewed body to drift about in the comforting bosom of null-gravity, I prepared myself for a similar “slumber”… … … … … Light… Warmth… JOY! I awoke, dear readers, to a feeling of indescribable bliss, of goodwill and contentment. I awoke to find my ship aglow with silvery shine of starlight, and myself experiencing something which mystically-minded friends might, perhaps, describe as a State of Grace. A giddy glance to my clockwork calendar informed me that fully six weeks had passed since my departure. Yet, I was not due to arrive at Neptune for an additional fortnight and twain! Ha ha! As if I cared about dates, in this state of burbling bliss! It were as though I had crossed the golden horizon, the Horn Gate of Dreams, and pinned down the very essence of Sehnsucht! The Moon-o-Sphere swam gleefully through the Golden Sky Plain, en route to the very heavens! A wordless song of rapture spilled from my lips, a song incoherent in word, yet meaningful in some profound sense, and it was an expression of universal good will… Happily, some deep part of my mind resisted this unnatural infection of contentment! After all, it is the lot of men to struggle, Were we put on this Earth (or “into this Moon-o-Sphere”, in my particular case) to loll about the warm bedclothes in an ecstasy of indolence? What is cosmic contentment, but laziness and sloth, twice removed? Surely, this perversely happy resignation and unthinking good will were simply the side effect of long exposure of Space Rays upon my quiescent form! I was sick from the rays, as surely as though I’d been licking a radium watch dial, a filthy personal habit I renounced in the nineteen-hundred and twenties! And so, with a supreme effort, I twisted my body in the air, struggling to reach the Accelerotron, pushing the lever forward to maximum power. The Moon-o-Sphere bucked forward, and I crashed backwards into a bulkhead, where I lay pinned by the tremendous force of acceleration, occasionally slapping myself in an effort to chase away the final vestiges of cloying “Nirvana.” The effect of this jarring shock was immediate and gratifying. My “State of Grace” boiled away like butter on a spirit stove, leaving behind only creaking joint pain and fiery annoyance, the natural and proper state of a Genius, particularly one of my advanced years. I spent the remainder of my trip screaming obscenities at a plaster bust of Napoleon and reading “Chicken Soup for the Teenage Girl’s Soul,” which pastimes kept me in a state of furious agitation that prevented a recurrence of the unnatural bliss. Ah! And here, I must close. Her(?) Most Florid Concretion, the Crown Prince(?)cess(?) of Triton, has laid a leathern tendril softly upon my shoulder. The banquet table is laden, and I am expected. Until next time, gentle reader… if any exist who may yet comprehend this message! HA! HA! (Comment on this)
Thursday, June 14th, 2007
8:57 am	Lo! I am become the exploder of Moons! brunovonboots went and blew up the Moon because his Facebook group did not reach a membership of 1,000,000. My comrades, The deed is done. The Moon… is exploded. Against expectations, the cataclysm did not cast burning chunks of moon-rock crashing into the Earth, nor sunder the gates of space and time, opening a pathway to some unimaginable dimension of terrors. So terrific was the explosion, the Moon simply burst into the mote-sized atoms that constitute its essential elements. Imagine, if you will, the eruption of a Chinese firecracker within a sandcastle! This singular effect simply means that my newfound science of Stellar Demolition is in its infancy. Further experimentation with the small shepherd moons of Saturn will no doubt allow me to judge the final effect of my Moon explosions with greater accuracy. My sturdy Moon-O-Sphere is even now drifting through a shimmering cloud of dust, which has been cast across the heavens like a handful of brilliant talcum spilled across the dark bathroom tiles of infinity. Though your Earth has not been laid to ruination by the cataclysmic rain of space rocks I expected, I cannot help but think that such a resolution might have been kindlier to the you, the ignorant masses of common Humanity. When the skies darken tonight, you shall doubtless creep from your houses and hovels, and cry out in confusion and fear at the sight of a black and moonless sky! The loyal sky friend that has arisen to herald the night since the antediluvian days, when dull ape creatures gibbered and bestirred their limbs to greet it, is now gone. The hole it leaves in the sky is nothing beside the hole that has been left in the collective psyche of Mankind. Such concerns are no longer of importance to me. A simple touch of the Acceleratron, and I am bound for the Trans-Saturnian worlds. My mouth waters at the memory of the Neptunian wines that await me in the Tritonian court of his(?) Holiness, the Godpriest G’thorkian. I leave you meek groundlings to Inherit the Earth. Von Boots must Conquer the Sky! Your Lunapocalyptic Friend, Professor Bruno von Boots PS: As the Moon-O-Sphere gathers speed, I am struck by a remarkable illusion. The great sweeping clouds of shattered Moon dust seem almost to be moving together, as though by some blind, questing instinct they seem to be reforming themselves. No doubt this is a trick of the light. Good-bye, wretched Earth dwellers! Von Boots seeks his fortune in the skies! (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 13th, 2007
8:45 am	The Final Appeal brunovonboots is threatening to explode the Moon if his Facebook group does not reach a membership of 1,000,000 by tonight. My dear friends, As this very moment I am deep beneath the lunar surface, in a secret cavern filled to the bursting point with stout barrels of explosive. I am ensconced within an oxygen-tent crafted from stoutest rubberized jutecloth, filled with familiar comforts and diversions. Just now, my portable clockwork pianola is chattering out the first few bars of Russolo’s “Meeting of Automobiles and Aeroplanes.” Despite these familiar comforts, I must confess to a thrill of anticipation, to an electric charge of anxious wonder at what it is I am about to do. It has been many decades since my jaded heart was filled with this sensation. I have not felt this alive since the day I heard the shells falling on Carnaro on a cold November morning, 87 years ago… In the space of a few hours I, Bruno von Boots, the rogue phrenologist of Bavaria, shall do what no man has done, or shall ever do again. I shall smash the Moon into flinders. Even you, who are about to suffer the consequences of my bold action, must gape and admire the audacity of the act. Tomorrow morning, just after dawn, the moon shall be blotted from the heavens. Tomorrow night, men, woman and children shall raise their anguished eyes to the heavens, seeking in vain the white glow of the stony sentinel of night… but there will be no Moon. As for me, I shall simply direct my marvellous Cavorian Moon-O-Sphere to new pastures. I have a standing invitation of hospitality from the Godpriest of Triton, in recognition of my service to him during the… Ah! But I promised my eternal silence on the matter to His Most Squamous Majesty. Instead, let me close with a snatch of poetry. “And now the Sun had stretch'd out all the hills, And now was dropt into the Western bay; At last he rose, and twitch'd his Mantle blew: To morrow to fresh Woods, and Pastures new” Good day, sweet simple prisoners of gravity. Sleep well, and dream of the goddess Diana, for soon, she shall dwell only in dreams. Your Humble Overlord, Professor Bruno von Boots (Comment on this)
8:44 am	A Teleautographic Message from the Moon My Friends, As I write this missive, I am suspended a few scant furlongs above the magnificent jagged peaks of the Leibnitz mountain range, the most prominent series of mountains on the Moon. Formed without the softening influence of wind and water (and in the lesser gravity of our satellite) they are fantastic structures, knurled with arabesque floriations and frangible outcroppings that seem (to my Earthly eyes) too delicate to support themselves. I feel I could almost touch the needle-like tip of Beta Peak, a mountain fully 10,000 feet taller than Everest, yet so tall and slender as to seem more like a tree carved from stone than a mountain. Through my field glasses I can see suggestive sparkles in the shadowed valleys - eternal glaciers, perhaps? Or an untold wealth of diamonds, here for the taking? I see also the entrances of black caverns that no doubt lead miles below the surface of the Moon, terminating in sublunar mazes that contain secrets which, if found, would turn science and philosophy on their heads. Yet, it seems that no other man will see these sights. It is in one of these caverns that I have concealed a tremendous cache of high-explosive. Barrel upon barrel of finest gun-cotton fills this grotto, awaiting but the touch of my galvanic torch to the magnesium fuse. Once lit, I shall have just a few minutes to make a speedy egress and retreat into open space aboard the S.S. D'Annunzio, my Cavorian Moon-O-Sphere. You, who are bound to the Earth by unbreakable gravitic chains, will not be so fortunate. When the Moon explodes, entire mountains shall crash down upon the Earth. Boulders the size of Stuttgart shall pepper the farmland and cities without discernment. Yet, it is not too late to avoid this fate. I am not an unmerciful man. I wish only for a few millions of people to fear me and worship me. Who among us can claim to desire otherwise? If this group reaches one million members before the stroke of midnight in New York City on June 13th - tomorrow! - I shall refrain from exploding the Moon. As I write this, I see that our little association has fewer than 100 members. Do you despise the Moon? Do you crave a crushing death for Humanity? Then, by all means, ignore this message. But... if you have some semblance of human feeling, or perhaps even just some stunted sentimental fondness for our closest stellar neighbour, you will take action! You will recruit your friends and enemies, and exhort them to recruit their friends and enemies, and so on, until such time as this group reaches sufficient numbers to ensure the safety of the Moon. Time grows short. I remain your obedient servant, Professor Bruno von Boots, Lunarnaut (Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 29th, 2006
11:05 am	"Look up, Hannah! The soul of man has been given wings!" Envy: Painful or resentful awareness of an advantage enjoyed by another. Personified as one of the deadly sins. Envy is primarily observed in others. It rarely appears in you, or I, and it is even more seldom that it occurs in the present. It is always a past failing, something we have overcome. Naturally, we may suffer from "justified discontent at the social order", or "alienation from widely-held standards of material success," or "righteous rage at the success of unimaginative men." But I would never accuse you, or anyone else (except for a stranger) of any emotion so base or brutishly uncomplicated as envy. After all, we are extraordinary. We shine like the stars in Heaven, though our obvious talents might be visible only to the cognizant few with the right kind of eyes. The praise of the cloistered circle with cultivated tastes is more valuable than the accolades of the throng. “…all of us who turn our eyes away from what we have are missing life.” Or… “Persuade thyself that imperfection and inconvenience are the natural lot of mortals, and there will be no room for discontent, neither for despair.” Or even… “A sound heart is the life of the flesh: but envy the rottenness of the bones.” These are platitudes designed to placate the swinish herds of unthinking, unaware humanity! We realize that discontent is the engine of progress. So, carry on expressing your righteous discontent, fellow luminary. After all, neither of us could possibly be envious of the other. (Comment on this)
Thursday, August 10th, 2006
9:23 am	Wanted for Profitable Venture: Investment Capitalists, Humanists, and Tinsmiths! Like most nations, our beloved Dominion must (on unhappy occasions) execute traitors, bread thieves, inverts, Bolshevists, and the suicidal. Death is only punishment powerful enough to dissuade the anti-social. Yet, how can we as civilized people most effectively amputate these gangrenous social appendages? Various methods have been used throughout history, but they have been invariably messy, cruel, and time-consuming. I know what you are about to ask! You are thinking: “But what of the guillotine, Prof. von Boots? Is it not quick, painless and efficient?” Alas, the weighted blade so beloved of the French is over-rated. Its operation, while swift, does nothing to impede or damage the brain, the Throne of Reason. As such, we may be sure that these decapitated heads linger on in life until such time as they expires through simple asphyxiation or blood loss. Indeed, the experiments of Dr. Filostrato at St. Anne’s in the 1940s proved that it is possible to prolong life in a decapitated head for an indefinite period – certainly months – with the proper facilities. Of course, this procedure raises the possibility that the lingering head, weakened by the shock of execution and continued life in a horrid disembodied state, will suffer macrobial infection and possession by invisible entities. These dangers should be well known to any basic student of Phrenological Manipulation, so I will not detail them further. The new procedure of electrocution seems similarly cruel, and those who rely on poisons to conduct humane killings have never seen a man die of internal blistering in a Crimean field hospital! As for hanging and shooting - overly dramatic and inefficient. Ropes break, bullets misfire, confused pedestrians wander into the firing range… The problem of humane execution is one that has me troubled much in mind much of late, and I am sure all my reasonable readers likewise give thought to the question. It also struck me that here was an opportunity waiting to be seized - a chance to have my named forever attached to an instrument of merciful destruction! I believe I have a solution, but I require financial backing to further develop my idea. While rummaging through my toolbox last night, I came upon a long-forgotten device. Simple, elegant, and deadly, and with the potential to make me even wealthier. ( Bled and brained in one operation... ) (Comment on this)
Friday, April 28th, 2006
9:04 am	The Secret History of Bruno von Boots, Part I In November of 1920, I was 18 years old, and a master of the world. By December, I was fleeing a naval bombardment, lucky to escape with my life. ( Let me explain, at length. ) (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, March 3rd, 2006
2:41 pm	Oh, happy day! I have received a reply from a bewitching female, in my electric mail bag! ( Hello There! Thank you for reply! ) (Comment on this)
Wednesday, March 1st, 2006
9:34 am	Woo-Pitchery Dear friend, I found your picture on one of the websites, can we talk to each other? I might be coming to your place in few weeks. This would be a great opportunity to meet each other. Btw, I am a woman. I am 25. Dearest interlocutor, It is with great interest that I a-read your letter! Oh happy day, that I should finally see my personalized companionship advertisements bearing ripened fruit, which (if I may read betwixt your lines) I may pluck simply by holding my hand out, palm aloft, to catch and coddle to my bosom, ere it falls to the harsh, unfertile ground. I have instructed my stenographer to clear my work-schedule for the remainder of the forenoon, so that we may make arrangements for your divine visitation on our happy shores. From whence do you travel, and what day shall you arrive? Simply name the hour and day, and my electric chaffeuse will greet you at the portal with a tray of nesturtium sandwiches and the finest water toast. Flowers and wine shall be yours, and once you are refreshed, we shall witness the comic gyrations of mutitudinous base mechanicals in my private theatre. Quod erat demonstrendum, Dr. Bruno von Boots, Chief Tenor, 32nd Opera Company (Ret.) (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, December 8th, 2005
12:53 pm	The real tragedy is thoughtlessness.... My shambling assistant informs me that there has been a recent hullabaloo on the Electro-Grid, specifically about the status of my prize reindeer, which are currently on display in Gore Park. Words such as "cruel", "unfair", "codswallop" and "inhumane" have been bandied about. Strong words. Hurtful terms! And, yet not one of you seems to have the time or consideration to determine my intent in annually displaying these creatures to the plebian gaze. My reasons are twofold. First of all, putting my "dumb chums" on parade in this fashion represents a substantial savings to me. Fodder for the creatures is expensive, as is the hire of trained animal keepers. So long as they are in Gore Park, sticky proletarian children pay ME hard coin for the chance to hand-feed the smelly ungulates. Secondly, I have a particular fondness for venision flank steak served with a red wine sauce that has been infused with chocolate. I indulge this weakness but once a year, at an enormous banquet. The groaning tables are heaped high with steaming portions, which are doled out evenly to some three-dozen select guests, mostly fellow alumni of Ruprecht-Karls University ("GOOOOOO STEAM CANNONS!") in Bavaria. While none of you are invited to the feast, in the spirit of seasonal good will I am prepared to share the following information about the eventual destination of our noble woodland friends: ( Venison with red wine chocolate sauce ) (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, October 13th, 2005
3:12 pm	By baby newts, by autumn leaves... I ask you, gentle reader, are these the days of Madame Blavatsky? Do contemporary thinkers walk about town discussing the Cottingley Fairies in serious tones? The questions are entirely rhetorical, but in a truly frustrating Teutonic fashion I propose to answer them. Of course we are not living in those aforementioned ages. We live in the Age of Reason, an era when nature’s mysteries are constantly being uncovered with slide rules and alembics by clever, fat men in periwigs. This point is self-evident, and scarce warrants the effort required to belabour it. And yet, I found my eyes and intellect assailed this morning by a monstrous crime against reason this morning in the daily journal of our fair metropolis. The article, an alleged description of otherworldly events which took place during a séance at the Custom House, was accompanied by a photograph of foolishly cloaked locals standing about a candle-lit shrine. They were there, ostensibly, to summon up the "Ghost of the Dark Lady." This was to be achieved by standing about in a circle, thinking good thoughts. In actual fact they succeeded only in attracting the spirits of hysteria. Their frightening evidence of haunting? A man fainted! A street-lamp flickered! An already superstitious woman sitting alone in a dark attic experienced unease! Wondrous spectacles of supernatural power, indeed. Regurgitated cheese cloth and tapping tables would be more interesting than the excitable nonsense presented by these credulous ninnyhammers. Their séance seems to have been as real and effective as a youthful Ouija party, with every thrill of excitement or dread attributed to the action of spirits. By autumn leaves and shadows did they conjure thee, O Pan, so they might wallow in errant hysteria! There are no ghosts, gentle readers, aside from those we create. No chains rattle in the night, except the chains of antiquated falsehood that fetter us to a fictional world of spooks and bogeymen. To believe in them is to blind ourselves to the world, in preference of unwholesome delusions. Let the supposed guardians of truth at the Hamilton Spectator take this lesson to heart before printing another absurd line about haunts or ghosts. It is their role to advance reason, not construct props to popular madness. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
12:01 pm	Here I raise my Ebeneezer Passworthy: "Oh God, is there ever going to be an age of happiness? Is there never to be any rest?" Cabal: "Rest enough for the individual. Too much and too soon and we call it death. But for Man? No rest and no ending. He must go on, conquest beyond conquest. First this little planet with its winds and waves, and then all the laws of mind and matter that restrain us. Then the planets about it. And at last, out to cross the immenseness and to the stars! And when he has conquered all the distant space and all the mysteries of time, still he will be beginning. It is this or that. All the universe or nothing. Which shall it be Passworthy? Which shall it be?" *BUT ALSO* Jewish Barber: "The airplane and the radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in men; cries out for universal brotherhood; for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world, millions of despairing men, women, and little children, victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people. To those who can hear me, I say, do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish... ..You, the people, have the power, the power to create machines, the power to create happiness! You, the people, have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure. Then in the name of democracy, let us use that power. Let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work, that will give youth a future and old age a security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power. But they lie! They do not fulfill that promise. They never will! Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people. Now let us fight to fulfill that promise. Let us fight to free the world! To do away with national barriers! To do away with greed, with hate and intolerance! Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men's happiness... ...The clouds are lifting! The sun is breaking through! We are coming out of the darkness into the light! We are coming into a new world; a kindlier world, where men will rise above their hate, their greed, and brutality. Look up, Hannah! The soul of man has been given wings and at last he is beginning to fly." (Comment on this)