The lost generation. Chapter one.

A hollow man cannot heal. He learn to accept more and less.

The Lost Generation.. Part one.

I was dream-writing again tonight. I believe in reincarnation. I believe I have lived many lives and I was a soldier in every one. I was told by mystic in modern times. I had old eyes, heavy eyes. My dream was about a man in the nineteen twenties who survived World War one and lived in Berlin, London city and New York city. Once great writer wrote. T.S. Eliot. All of us will become the Hollow man. Can’t be stopped. Hemingway loved the term. The Lost Generation. The man in my dream could be both. The story begin in Berlin in the late Spring of 1921. The young man was drinking heavy, the music was loud and the endearing/beautiful women dancing the Charleston, the Black Bottom and Fox Trot. They were barely cloth and they did not care if you look at them. I believe the women needed to be seen and held.

The man was a writer for a faraway newspaper and he didn’t seek wealth. He needed drink, the loud song and he held the hunger to feel everything wrong and right. He believed the men who survived the World War one appreciate every new day. He remembered in the foxholes of France. Men did not pray for wealth, men did pray to any God. Soldiers in trenches learned. God had left then to die. They pray to live till morning. The women are more crazy then the men in Berlin, London and New York city. He believe the women suffered too. World War two took away the young men to fight and die. The women had to become two people. They accepted being alone and they were kinder to the soldiers. They had to keep their cities alive and they had to tried to keep hope in the ugly days of war. They would give strangers kisses, they would listen to the soldiers. They would share their beds. The women needed comfort also. After the war ended. I remember my German girl, Emmeline. She told me. We have become so damn cold. Hollow inside and we must demand more. We must make this day, our best day. She could drink, dance and screw till the morning light. She told me often. We have outlived the ugly war, we have outlived the guns and bombs. We must lose our souls to the loud music, the Charleston and drown in passion.

Hemingway called us the lost generation. He was right and he was wrong. We were not lost and we were lost in terrible memories. I found Emmeline at the Cabaret. She wore a tight black dress, sexy black hosiery of free birds and a beautiful smile. She asked me. Always late dark poet. You will be late for your death. I looked at her. I adored her garter belt of red and I told her. I had to write till I was done my pretty lady. She laughed at my words and she told me. You damn writers write and write. Do you believe someone will read your work, do you believe someone will remember you? You survived two years in the trenches. Your eyes are dead, your eyes are cold and ancient. You damn soldiers need to bleed again and again. It is the twenties now. We must forget the war. He kissed her lips and he asked her. Do we drink tonight? do we dance tonight? Do will get naked and try to forget everything. She smiled at him and she whispered. We will do everything.

He brought a bottle of Old Forester and he opened the bottle. He gave her the bottle and she drank a large gulp and she smiled. She told him. We have good whiskey, the Cabaret was loud and everyone was wild and crazy. Everyone danced and drank. He have loved Berlin for two years. He started in New York city after the war. New York city was very nice too. The drink was strong, the women wild and giving. No-one talk of yesterday. They wanted to feel everything and nothing. He needed this New York. Loud music, the dance and the fearless people. The men and women who survived World War two knew. Life can be stole from you.

In 1920. He went to London. He knew one day. He would return and find a Scottish gal. Get marry and have a half-dozen kids. London was louder, London was more dangerous and anything you could do. Could be done in the city of London. The women loved to drink, they loved to danced and he loved their voices. He met Sheena in the early Spring of 1920. A robust girl, sleeveless dress and the most kissable lips, he had ever seen. She was a hungry gal who lost two brothers to the war and she saw in my eyes. Death. He remember they laid naked in a bed filled with cozy blankets. He would fight in the Foxholes and call out to dead men. Sheena would bring him close to her breasts, hold him tightly and she would sing to him. “Quiet my little soldier. I will keep you safe. I will give you kisses to erase the terror, I will give you kindness to show you some peace. Quiet my soldier. The war is over and I have you.”

Tonight he is in his favorite city now. Berlin. USA called her the sin city. He called her. The city of Berlin. Last place and first place to regain his sanity. They finished the whiskey and Emmeline hips were moving, her breasts were juggling in the small dress. The music was loud. They were surrounded by people dancing wildly and she asked him. Now we had drunk the whiskey and I feel good. Are we dancing dark poet? or just screwing tonight? He kissed her a dozen times and he told her. We will dance, till we cannot. We will drink more whiskey and later. Open all the windows in my apartment, get naked and dance for the moon and the stars. My liebe, you are the most beautiful woman in the city of Berlin. She laughed at his words and she whispered to him. Promises are just promises. We must celebrate life tonight and tomorrow. We are living on borrow time.

Dark Poet

Author's Note

Thank you for reading.

Reviews

[Marie]

What an amazing story you narrate for your reader, dear Coyote. So wonderful to read about your reincarnation in Berlin. Absolutely fascinating account of what life was like back then, in 1921. Emmeline sounds lovely, a very beautiful name and Sheena was the one to bring comfort to a soldier who had seen too much during his services in the army. I feel sure those memories haunted him on his return to civilian life. Did you discover what your name was in that lifetime, dear poet or where you were born and in what year? You may be able to discover some specific information about who you were in that lifetime, parents, siblings, etc via The Internet. We live thousands of lifetimes and I have no doubt we will be back again a few more times. Wonderful write which I so enjoyed reading, dear Coyote. Thank you for so kindly sharing. Amazing write and so detailed... Lovely work, dear friend...

[Coyote Poetry]

My father was a soldier, his father was a soldier. My last name is Castellenas. Grandfather came from Spain. I join the Army for Vietnam at seventeen. I believe we do things for a reason. In dreams, we can find old places and old lives. I will write more later. I have 30 pages written. I need need and patience dear Marie. Thank you for reading and the wonderful comment. I do appreciate.

[Neville]

You have never yet disappointed this reader Johnnie C .. I doubt you ever will .. Write on brother .. I hope you have found a good publisher because I want to obtain at least one copy of your book when it becomes available .. Neville

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Neville. I need to find the dream again. I am working too much. My old mind need to relax to create now.

[Neville]

You've still got it Coyote, I've been there too .. Neville

[Thomas W Case]

Wow. Tremendous writing. You capture the scene.

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Thomas. I appreciate the comment.