The Well-Tempered Clavier

Bach wrote a ton of beautiful music while he lived in Germany, or was it Poland? I’m not up on his heritage, though I wish I was. He was some kind of guy. Organs and harpsichords all over the place. Probably in the United States too, though now I think it’s mostly those big Steinways, and everyone knows they were the best for Vladimir. I mean the Vladimir who could actually play the piano. Not the Vladimir they have now, over there. The puppet master, the interloper, the one who poisons people. But what can we do? Bach is dead.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda wishes that the wind stop blowing.

In Private Company

It was love at first sight, all thirteen remaining members of H Troop floundering in the presence of Stella Grunwald.

We lingered during Corporal Mannheim’s interrogation, a volunteer detail of thirteen sentries where only one was needed. Anything for a glimpse of the German starlet.

The Chaplain once told me the difference between men and animals is animals can make a new home for themselves every night.

I guess he was making some theological point about finding your home with God.

Anyway, when the German tank brigade appeared, each of us was hoping to make a home with Fräulein Grunwald.

Genre: War