Sleeping with Nietzche's sister again
Sleeping with Nietzche's sister
Well hardly a night goes by when we don't think of that incredible
adventure in Bavaria. it was a cool dry autumn day when we decided to
exhume the body of (Eleisabeth) Willhelmena Nietzche. From all accounts she was a
difficult woman. Driving her brother to despair and her husband to
bankruptcy. Claiming to all the world that it was she who had penned her
brothers works. The ground was easily upturned and waiting for us at the
bottom of the pit was the disintegrated body of dearly departed
Willelmena. With guile as our ally we made it back to the Hotel
Evening was fast upon us but our work kept our senses keen and sharp.
Our goal was to revive the long dead woman and ask her some questions
about fraud and forgery. We needed advice from her and Enid called her
the greatest fraud in the history of Western Philosophy. We were seeking
the advice of a sage! Our own fraudulent schemes always turned on us.The
latest adventure in Italy had left us numb and afraid. Who would have
guessed belladonna could have such long term effects.
The work continued through the night as Enid unwound the wires to the
terminals we had installed. I arranged the body on the testing table
making sure all of her was where it was supposed to be. At the stroke of
midnight a thunderous clap of lightning illuminated the trees outside.
As weary as I was the excitement sent hot,frothing foam to my mouth.
Enid just smiled. "Be patient my dear...,soon,very soon.."
The genetic restorer hummed and crackled,Enid smiled again and threw the
switch. An incredible wail resounded throughout the Hotel. On the table
before us arose the living corpse of Nietzche's Sister. Dumbfounded she
looked around the room. "Who are you?" she screamed. Trying our best to
calm the woman we gave her a stiff injection of Cognac. Her eyes swelled
then her fearful expression subsided. A coy,tartish look came over her
face. "Oooo, Ahhhh,you are splendid specimen of masculinity. It's been
nearly a century but...," At this point my memory begins to fail me.
There was something about the moving corpse that struck a nerve. The
next morning I awoke in the cemetery,dressed in pink satin and pearl
encrusted drapery. The infamous fraud had struck again. My wallet was
missing,Enid gone(she left a note saying she was off to exhume Rimbaud's
right leg) and a sooty deposit beneath my finger nails. I often sit in a
melancholy state trying to remember what happened. Neitzche's sister was
never seen again,how I long for her cold,dry embrace.
Sometimes Art amd Technology come together in ways we haven't anticipated.