...a deathly serenade...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
turn deal with this posthumous work (epigraph
and this afterword in the form of a description)
perfectly in the light of all this coverage I see as
fitting. Though I will state that, I do reject the
possible claim, in regard to my obsession with
Georges Perec, but that is neither here nor there
and see it as a minor sleight and hold that I was
held in the utmost highest regard in the rest of
the writing that preceded his untimely death. I
must state this.
However, it is apparent that we shall
continue this ode as a eulogy. If I may start by
explaining why I have chosen to name the book
with the sub heading being, Marinated Words and
an ode to Utopia, as this will act as a serious eulogy
to the Man that was a court jester, and true Artist.
And so to begin with this introduction provided
by the young half-Arabic, half American Poet,
Romy Nervouso Cobain known by his nom de
plume Voltarr (pronounced: [vɔl.tɛːʁ]) with the
beautiful words:
"Self admittedly 'a meticulous jester', with an iron will
for hard work, Franz Bema was a poet that perhaps
never got the chance to truly show or even know this.
In honour of the dark light that he shed on life, like a
shrine (that he would not want, as a very un-fussy
man) in an elegant garden with a waterfall, his work
is beautiful and creates an organism that does not need
to be sullied with too much talk. Put simply, some
people drink from the fountain of knowledge, but
Franz installed a fountain and enabled a well to
spring. He had something to say and he said it well,
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