Posted by: Sk | February 19, 2009

Chapter 18: Honestly

Yes. Yes. Yes. It’s working. Maya is leaving, free and without charges. Although somehow puzzled. She said, “I don’t know what has happened”. I didn’t say anything but I may know. “The only thing I did was to bring a falafel to the officer, a second one of both my mother brought to me. But I don’t think this may be a reason to let me go. I mean. I’d say.” I laughed. “For sure. Doesn’t look as if you could buy her up with a falafel.” In her excitement she told me, ‘that a Palestinian had been asked up this office a few days ago and staid there for a few hours.’ Halil? And why has he disappeared? I haven’t seen him yet, and it’s already a week since I last saw him. But I didn’t say anything, again.

Ah. Such pleasure. Have the feeling to have prepared a master piece in purest Arsene Lupin style. It’s how I feel today. Like Arsene Lupin. Style grand seigneur planning to escape from prison he is in for one of his multiple robberies. It’s true that I haven’t stolen anything but I like feeling like that. I mean, there is something generous and free in pirates and corsairs and Arsene Lupins and even if it is true that my own education, (but damn, why?) does not allow me doing such things, I adore feeling as if I could have done them. It smells adventure and self determination and almost heroism, and yes, it is true, I adore but really adore Robin Hood and Wilhelm Tell.

It means that my texts are already in internet – there is proof and evidence and on top I don’t need to verify through channels that may reveal my sources and contacts. Yes. Yes. yes. I have two hypotheses about what may have happened. Either it is direct, either indirect. If it direct, it means some friend or family member has fallen on the page accidentally and taken some idea out of it. The other is one of the members of the very curious wordpress staff has decided to verify whether it could be true through some link in Israel, and they have in some photographer who’s working there. And this one may have had a marvelous idea, too. Perhaps both happened to happen – must have been both, because otherwise Maya would not have had her two falafels. As far as I know only her mother and some friends come for a visit on Wednesdays. But I don’t think they may have organized a silent falafel protestation in front of the prison and only the coincidence of both facts may have caused some panicked reaction in Sask.

In my language this is to mean that she’s innocent and that’s enough as proof. I mean, not that I ever thought that she’s guilty, although I admitted that authorities may have had some reasons to suspect. But there was some kind of inherent danger, somewhere, which put the whole affaire more on the sides of authorities than on the ones of my beliefs. If this has happened, such amount of coincidences around her person, it means that if not able to synthesize a concept of general in values, she has now a subjective feeling of belonging through a falafel demonstration. And this corresponds to an even more sure determination than an abstract concept on values, nations or whatever. It wouldn’t have happened otherwise, I know that. Even if Sask doesn’t know, but she has left her free and it’s the same.

Of course, seen her stubborn insistence in keeping cold parameters of image, she would never admit to have fallen into such induction or giving in to such pressure. (What appalling pressure coincidence may build up, isn’t it?) She’ll say officially that she’s left Maya free for reasons of security. Which of course will cause some surprise but the undertones will imply that there are severe reasons and not allow further questions. In fact, she’ll even think that it is of need because she suspects that Maya makes the outer link for me to make my soft revolution. There she has one of them, and that’s terrifying for her – better let Maya go. She’ll have to come every Monday, she said, but that’s not bad. At the end, she’ll even finish up by missing us. It’s for sure.

Ah. Such indefinite pleasure. The best of all is that Sask doesn’t know about the page, yet. I have one week, still, to do it myself. Because certainly next week, when Maya comes back, she’ll be in knowledge through her mother or other and tell in the whereabouts and that will certainly cause some disturbance into my plans.

Such incredible progress I could not even dare dreaming of. But that’s the world when there are angels. You plan something and then reality does things you’d have never thought of, you have to intelligently know how to integrate into your plan. And this gives me some hopes, some definite irreversible hopes that may avoid plan b, which consisted in provoking some being shot by pushing Sask to the limits of psychic resistance, if ever I could not manage to make myself understood. It’s true that I wouldn’t care. I don’t mind very much, honestly, I don’t believe we really die, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. But to live without world, just closed in inside of a world looking more like a fantasy than like reality just because the surroundings make such pressure with common beliefs and presumptions that I almost can’t myself but thinking I’m making all up. Without place to live I’ll find some place in upper realms to breathe. It’s like that. You have to be honest.

I was thus so happy today that I even started making plans for the future. To get a job or something if I manage to get out of it. But it looked as if it were possible. It really looked as if. To get a job is not easy and I discovered myself lost in contemplations on that subject, too.

Ah. I have given to Sask the answers to her questions. She has a lot to do apparently these days, but I’m very serious with tasks even if I don’t think she’ll get through them.

A job and such an impossible task. That’s what I was thinking of. Ah. And I got some clear image of what people may have in mind when they think of me, I mean, those I’m more or less linked to. But how could I allow these things happening. It’s obvious that I let them go too far. Like this alcohol question. Say they said I was alcoholic. Alcoholic. Poor me. Of course I have to admit that I smoke a little bit beyond borders and drink a lot of coffee, but, alcohol? I know this rumour was spread all around 2002 and what finally shocked me was how easily people believed in things a third had said so convincingly that they really seemed true. But why do they not verify? But why do they not ask me? But why, if they do, won’t they believe me? There is something wrong about it all and this point is the quid to the rest. I’ve never drunk in my life because I don’t like it. I even forced myself to drink a little bit in order not to look too violently unsocial. I hate people who are drunk and people to loose control if drinking. It doesn’t generally fit into my behaviour. How is it possible that such a rumor may be taken seriously? You won’t say that to drink two beers in an afternoon makes of you an alcoholic? Or a Stolichnaya 10 or an Amaretto a Saturday every two months. At most. It’s true that I had a whole lot of brandy and/or cognac bottles at home. One I had asked my father for, a Duque de Alba. But that was when I was studying the effect of alcohol on structures of understanding and all in all, I got really drunk only once and didn’t feel specially bad either. The other bottles, brought by some acquaintances, were drunk finally by Frank and his friend for Christmas. I was serving. For them not to get too drunk.

So? How does it happen that I awake the deep desire in others to say such nonsense about myself? Because it is of importance, even if you just want a simple job. If it is recurrent, it means you get a job somewhere and then, it starts again. That I’m stealing valuable documents. That I’m never on time. That I play ill. It’s the same pattern. And it will always happen again if I don’t manage to get rid of some peculiar feature of mine that makes me take the burden of more or less socially accepted sins.

And that’s not the only thing. I’ve remarked that my conceptual structuring is bothering. Which explains something. I mean you don’t run into a company and play the president at once. That’s an evidence, I mean, if you ever get there. But what happens. You take some humble job just in order to survive, because, finally, all in all, you’re not going to share your deep intelligence with others for free so that you keep your deep investigations and meditations for your spare time. And what happens. You make little observations, here and there. You think the best you can do is to seize the concept of the company in order to make your job well. Thus you structure everything in hyerarchies and relationships, rules, regulations, obligations, ways of doing. You very happily get into the concept and are very peacefully just doing your job. Unconsciously though you start remarking things, some tones, some movements, some irregularity you take notice of without too much wanting to think of it. Unconsciously you’re though giving more importance to some things than to others, and reamark points that may produce substantial financial losses – were it through image, were it through wrong management, were it through some exploited gap in regulations, were it through personal failure. You start working at some solution, for yourself, just to feel better inside of the whole. Your solutions start gettng into your own behaviour, your movements, your tones of voice. They affect the environment, things change somehow, responsible managers are confronted to a ‘new’ they don’t know how to deal with. They start firing people. It causes a reaction, almost a revolution. Nobody knows I were at the origin of all, as I just write a letter saying ‘there is a problem with subcompanies’ and leave, because I’m shy. Or because I’m fed up with bad management. Or because I feel some solidarity with those who are going to be fired.

I remember when I was teaching English at Endesa. It’s a hobby. You see an enormous company and ask yourself how it is structured and even ask little questions here and there, start testing reliability, just for the fun, discover it is very easy to get internal documents and finally write an e-mail saying there are structural problems in the organization in order to pay yourself off for the random legal aquisition of internal documents. I was given, yes, freely and without request, yes, but … I know that I was using some seduction strategy in order to test weakness, and I feel a horrible bad consciousness.

There is no proportion. Philosophy is a pain in the ass. If you want it or not, you go on ordering things in abstract concepts, in logics, in structures, you introduce observations from somewhere else and you finish by organizing some upside down without even wanting it. It’s no use. Do you know what it is to deal with Balcans. It was just at the height of my philosophical depth. Un tel bordel, I used to say. So many hours spent on the square just observing movements, gestures, tones. After you manage the whole region just with a simple sign. They talk like this, it’s just to get the fundamental concepts. Of course nobody knew, but that was parts of the strategy.

And that’s how you start understanding things, even misunderstandigs. See how. Fundamental concepts do alter perception of reality. Reality is built up on a certain number of them, that lay in the depth of a general unconscious. For example the kantian fundamental conceptualization. You have nothing to do with reality as such, I mean financial and political organization and the kind. But. You change some fundamental concepts because you think the former imply an error in definition. What happens? You see things others don’t see. Social covers that are only because an almost whole percentage share some fundamental concepts, disappear. This is what must have happened in France, with the BNP. Keeping myself inside of given inner regulations I do a certain number of things, as claiming for the fact that insurance has not covered some money that has been been stolen along with my visa card. I even go and close the bank account, saying fault is on behalf of the bank (inner regulation). I’m ‘condamned’ to 10 years without bank account in Europe for 300 french franc that have been stolen from me and having alerted on time for the theft of the card, which is to say, that should be covered by insurance. Why?

It’s true that you may as individual take some personal positionings. I remember that I did fundamentally not agree with the fact that banks have relative to judicial authority power. If you want to judge you need to find proofs and this task does not belong to a bank but to police and to judging authorities to decide whether proofs are compelling. I would have never made a revolution out of it, it is a personal point of view, a positioning inside of society. Coincidences do though ‘construct’ an evidence of the fact that I’m right. The possibility of this to happen arises from the fact that this fundamental idea does determine my philosophical positioning and is included inside. I see the mistake. Others don’t. In a kantian way of thinking ‘forms’ don’t make mistakes, in mine, they may. What for me is a demonstration in practice, becomes a menace for banks inside of a kantian way of thinking. Although there are no proofs – it may not be hold as proof that you suspect I may have stolen the money myself – the very fact of seeming to imply banks may be wrong provokes some catastrophic reaction in the whereabouts. I’m not dealing with a small accounter in a little bank office in Marne la Vallee, I’m confronting myself to the Banque Centrale, and that’s not easy.

From my point of view, it’s a happening that may reassure myself in my positions, which I wouldn’t make public anyhow. From their point of view it is a possible revolution. A danger for the state. Kantian formal patterns do not include the possibility of some correction in the system. I don’t have to think very far: this system is implosive if not explosive (if there is deviation of tension towards another). My mind is working on this statement. It’s dealing with effects on states, in history. What happens? I need 6 months in order to block a possible infection of this system in … Balcans. The same problem. What for me is a philosophical question in its attachment to possible survival, becomes … a political intervention. Which to my understanding is an absurd.

And this amount of facts makes it difficult to find a job. That’s why Ieft Europe, finally. That’s why I started making web pages finally, some kind of independent job that does only very randomly affect society, I’d say. But again. Is image not some kind of philosophy? Am I not in complete unawareness going to put some fire somewhere just because nobody but really nobody does understand how insulting it can be to be accused of having stolen 300 french francs you haven’t stolen, you would have never stolen. What a shame it can be to some understandings to have a red bank account, which my mother had taught me was one of the most shameful things that may ever happen to you. Nobody cares about my image, shall I care about other’s? May possibly be the intrinsec message of all my coloured inspirations.

This is why it is sometimes better to land in prison. Not that I think such a principle of work is as such blameful, it is that perhaps some other things escape that are out of my control as I have to survive without having cleared up some relatively obscure points affecting mostly the translation of thought into image. May you make a revolution in colours? Ask Ines de la Fressange.

But I’m very serious when I’m working fundamentally and quite faithfull, usually. And discreet – if Xristos knew how much shit I got him out of without his ever knowing, he would be surprised. But it’s not enough – there is a fundamental disruption between something and the world which is constantly causing turmoils all around which I can’t myself justify. Who am I, working? I don’t like predominant positions because I think them weaker. I don’t have a good representative image because it takes too much of an effort I prefer spending in something else. I like having some boss on my head who gives the general structure of what I have to do and thus puts limits to the obvious chaos deriving of the adaptation of my way of thinking to some social financial structure. I use to work out deeper problems that keep themselves inside of the patterns of the one I’m working for all alone by myself. If I have a job that is not tiring enough, I start occupying my mind with whatever. Usually I make some investigations on the general structures of the environment I’m working for, including psychological analysis of the involved. I’m quite gipsy. Which means there is almost nothing that would persuade me of breaking a certain number of moral rules I keep. I’d leave. Whatever I loose. And as I usually take measures before anything like that may happen, I have information enough in my hands at the moment of leaving in order to bomb the others up. I mean, I don’t leave. I make myself be fired. Because the way you’re fired, is the weakest point in the defense of a whoever which opens the gates for an attack, if it is not justified. That’s the problem. I don’t care about money. The distruction of a whole company may be as ‘funny’ and entertaining as a professional realization. If there are reasons, and they must be heavy, but they exist, sometimes. I would take care with myself. It’s better to become a writer while I wait to see whether there is someone who may be wanting to deal with such a monster. Because I could be profitable, it’s an evidence – the problem is how to deal with the depth of my unconscious. Even more so now. But I’m closing older wounds and that should help.

Ah. And I don’t like working with men: it creates too much of a tension. Perhaps it is my problem, but whenever this happens I finish by having the feeling I’m working in a cock battle field, which is none of my liking. It’s true that I’m politely a little bit ironical about pretensions but I have never understood why it does provoke so violent reactions. You don’t like to be done the same? I use to say. And I’m certainly not going to change my undertones for money. On top of that I’m fed up of the fact there’s always a guy saying he’s done all I’ve done all alone by myself – it gives a bad example.

If I were a child and could dream about a future, I would become a spy. Working in some old office full of yellow papers using information in order to make up legal strategies to bomb out of the way what would be out of ‘x’s interests. But that doesn’t exist. I know a lot about psychopaths, too, but that is too stressing as a job because I’m still quarrelling with the side effects of Golden Virginia and it would bring bad memories back, perhaps I wouldn’t sleep. I don’t sleep very well lately, only because I remember all those things again. And I have no corresponding titles, anyhow. But this gives some feeling of how you feel well. Working. I don’t feel very well in my autonomous projection as I had it before – but I had no choice. It should correspond to something that exists perhaps somewhere.

In any case it is great step forward, and if I go through observations as taken before while working I should be more or less able to get my general patterns of how I work in order to see where I may send some application form to, if I ever manage to get out of here. But I see some place outside and this should orientate even my behaviour and my strategies to get out.

Texts left in the computer


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