Okay, how's that for a title in really poor taste?
Given that "Kampf" = struggle, or fight, it sure felt like it as we were slogging through some farmer's muddy shithole of a field in absolutely torrential rain (or, "summer" as it is known to you Englishers).
The day before, I had one of those classic cultural misunderstanding exchanges with a German acquaintance of mine:
Me: "We're going into a mine, want to come?"
Him: "What, you're going into the mine?"
Me: "Yeah, sure, what of it?"
Him: "..."
Naturally, I'd been thinking of the classic Franco/Belgian drift mine, which would require no more than a slight amount of determination, a bit of wine, perhaps a little rope, and maybe a small dose of crowbar mixed in, assuming you couldn't just take a leisurely stroll into the bowels of the Earth.
Not some 500 meter teutonic hell-monster.
No, we didn't go down. They're too fucking orderly for that. Hey, we have this AWESOME hole that goes half a klick down into the guts of C'thulhu's living room, but we don't need it anymore. What to do?
Oh, I think we'll fill it up with construction debris 'n shit. That sounds like a great idea.
Fuck you. I wanted in.
The machinery was pretty cool though, slathered in generous quantities of pigeon shit as it was.
Also, I'm a little drunk, so I shall magically cause these images to display in some sort of non-Euclidean manner.
For extra credit, one of these is my favorite urbex pic of all time. Guess which. No cheating.
Side note: I never met the gentleman, but this one is dedicated to the memory of a certain Squire Hard, Love Die. I have to e-respect anyone who uses the terms "cunt" and "fap" with such alarming frequency. I shall be scrawling some appropriate obscenity and a highly stylized stick figure with boobies in chalk on a wall somewhere. It's what I'd want you to do.
More, as always, at kosmograd dot net.
Given that "Kampf" = struggle, or fight, it sure felt like it as we were slogging through some farmer's muddy shithole of a field in absolutely torrential rain (or, "summer" as it is known to you Englishers).
The day before, I had one of those classic cultural misunderstanding exchanges with a German acquaintance of mine:
Me: "We're going into a mine, want to come?"
Him: "What, you're going into the mine?"
Me: "Yeah, sure, what of it?"
Him: "..."
Naturally, I'd been thinking of the classic Franco/Belgian drift mine, which would require no more than a slight amount of determination, a bit of wine, perhaps a little rope, and maybe a small dose of crowbar mixed in, assuming you couldn't just take a leisurely stroll into the bowels of the Earth.
Not some 500 meter teutonic hell-monster.
No, we didn't go down. They're too fucking orderly for that. Hey, we have this AWESOME hole that goes half a klick down into the guts of C'thulhu's living room, but we don't need it anymore. What to do?
Oh, I think we'll fill it up with construction debris 'n shit. That sounds like a great idea.
Fuck you. I wanted in.
The machinery was pretty cool though, slathered in generous quantities of pigeon shit as it was.
Also, I'm a little drunk, so I shall magically cause these images to display in some sort of non-Euclidean manner.
For extra credit, one of these is my favorite urbex pic of all time. Guess which. No cheating.
Side note: I never met the gentleman, but this one is dedicated to the memory of a certain Squire Hard, Love Die. I have to e-respect anyone who uses the terms "cunt" and "fap" with such alarming frequency. I shall be scrawling some appropriate obscenity and a highly stylized stick figure with boobies in chalk on a wall somewhere. It's what I'd want you to do.
More, as always, at kosmograd dot net.
