AUSCHWITZ GAME by James Howard October, 2011 Day 1

Lukas awoke in the same fashion that he had been accustomed to for the last ten years with reoccurring dreams of being in School. He was a was a thirty nine year old man who lived like a teenager.. He lit a Joint, had a elevating piss and got ready for work. He always felt awful in in the morning regardless of the previous evenings activities. He was a profoundly nocturnal man. Those fucking tourists he thought whilst brushing his teeth. My Grandfather died here. Always that thought. Why do these fuckers want to live through him vicariously? He had heard the stories of rape, torture and the lowest point of man kind in the twentieth century. Watched all the documentaries and read all the books as was demanded by the Tourist board but regardless of the latter he would have done so anyway. The camp was only five minutes from his bedsit and paid for the rent and the occasional piece of dissolute behavior. But why did the Germans keep coming back? He liked Germany. He had got wasted and lost his pathetic virginity in Berlin at 16, dropped his first E, felt the touch of a woman, looked up at the banking monster of the Frankfurt skyline. But why did they keep coming back? The Germans were not the only ones. Whilst shaving(a requirement) he thought of the British Empire, the Americans committing genocide in order to gain a continent, the only nation ever to execute the use of nuclear weapons, their monstrous exploitation of African slaves and last but not least Vietnam and Iraq. All vile and absurd he thought. But the stories from his Grandfather somehow dominated his consciousness. He was Polish after all and thus was torn in a paradoxical void between forgiveness and hatred. Now he had to show the tourists around the camp. He dropped his last Simpson ticket of acid and decided that he would behave today regardless of the nationality of the visitors on account of the fact that the Polish Tourist board had decreed that he was on his last warning before being fired. The acid, which unbeknownst to him was probably the most cut and foul in Europe, usually kicked in about forty minutes after it had seeped through his tongue via his spinal cord and finally to his cortex..He had never experienced what the homogeneous mass calls a bad trip purely because his intellect was limited to say the least and therefore his sub conscience was like a cellar. He felt that it made showing the cunts around a mass grave more tolerable., alas it was eroding his mind, a fact that he was aware of on account of early PINK FLYOD records and the tragic fate of Syd Barret. That was his only point of reference. Today would be different he thought again. Different. He had been researching the sadistic methods of the NAZIS in an almost frightening manner for some time. He thought of his Grandfather. There were six today which was rather slow by the usual standards. The acid was working nicely now and Lukas was apathetic and droll as was his usual his wont. He scanned the individuals as they boarded the bus. “Welcome to the Tour of Auschwitz II–Birkenau” he almost slurred in his poor English, partly on account of the acid but more significantly due to the repetition of this act and the anger that was

nearing an incendiary scale within his damaged and alienated self. He was convinced that he was Travis Bickle. “Gods Lonely Man” he had been uttering to himself constantly whilst watching Taxi Driver in a strangely compulsive manner. He was utterly unaware of this, soaked in a an oblivious cloud of violent ennui. A man with a Mohawk was the last to board the bus, sporting a a Velvet Underground t-shirt from the White Light/White Heat period. Lukas looked deep into his eyes. “Welcome to the Tour of Auschwitz II–Birkenau” he almost slurred in his poor English, partly on account of the acid but more significantly due to the repetition of this act and the anger that was nearing an incendiary scale within his damaged and alienated self. He was convinced that he was Travis Bickle. “Gods Lonely Man” he had been uttering to himself constantly whilst watching Taxi Driver in a strangely compulsive manner. He was utterly unaware of this, soaked in a an oblivious cloud of violent ennui. A man with a Mohawk was the last to board the bus, sporting a a Velvet Underground t-shirt from the White Light/White Heat period. Lukas looked deep into his eyes before stamping his ticket. The passenger seemed incredulous. “Alright,mate” He was Irish. “Fine” Lukas started the engine and thought he that he saw a Palm Tree. They did not grow in Poland. Day 2 last Day International Holocaust Remembrance Day January 27

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