Posted by: Sk | February 22, 2009

Chapters 26 & 27

Chapter 26: A visit

I had a visit that day. Not that it is very common as I’m usually quite alone, as I manage to put enough walls of incomprehension between me and the world so as it to be difficult or even impossible to find me if I ever don’t want to, but it happens.

In fact I was little aware of what was going on around the world while deeply submerged in my contemplations, following my plans in order to write down my master piece. In fact, it was not difficult to recognize the lieutnant general as I had even managed to get some pictures from her and thus, she didn’t even have to tell lies. She said she wanted to ask some questions to me and, honestly, I didn’t suspect very much. So many things happen in the world.

She informed me thus of the fact that there was a webpage in internet which appeared with my name with contents that did not seem appropriate to some. I have many pages. And I’m somehow used people not to be very satisfied with some contents, and sometimes it is because I deliberately push things a little farer than common mind and sometimes it is because I’m unaware of the implications. Which page, I asked. And she said: “This. ” I don’t have any such page, I thought. “Can I have a look at it?” And we went to a café. (Sorry, I said, but I like working in these obscure places.) We thus had a look at a page and I started having a look around and said: “These are my texts. How did they arrive there? I have them in a cd. Look.” And I took it out of my pocket and shew it to her.

In fact, I was not really aware of the possible implications. You don’t have 2000 texts in your head and as it is personal and not worked out, what do you really care. I mean, you say many things before you get some clear picture of what you want to do, even more so when you’re writing. You make studies, you test styles and characters. It is factually not involving. It is difficult to evaluate at once what effect that may cause if texts are separately presented and even more ‘titled’ in some way that it distorts the apprehension of what is said.

She then asked, if she could ask me some questions. And we went back home. I must say that I was thinking – although it was only 5 minutes – what I may have written all that time and somehow, too, how it may have happened that my texts were in internet.

I offered her a coffee (although I was not sure it would be as bad as it should be), which she accepted and then, she asked what I was doing. “Actually,” I said, “I’m making webpages and some translation for my father. At the same time I’m working at some book whose project I started when I was almost a child and which had started to get some form in 2003.” “You were writing when you were younger?” “Yes. I wrote poems and theatre pieces and all sorts of things. But I didn’t like it. I wanted to say something different, something which I didn’t know how to say yet, and to which I would dedicate a life. In fact, everything was submitted to that goal, my studies, my travels, my curious investigations.” “You mean, everything is made up?” “No. I wouldn’t say so. Most of it is almost true. Almost. What I was working out, at least. I don’t know what I would have done out of it. Perhaps you give me ideas. Because in fact my ‘novel’ was completely made up until I arrived to Israel to study the ambiance. What is said there about the superposition is true. Of course I have slightly changed things in presentation, but it happened. And that deeply disturbed my plans. I’ve needed 5 years in order to understand what happened and this changed even the nature of my book. I thought finally it would be more interesting to make up a plot where someone runs into his own novel than a, from a certain point of view, quite interesting logical construction – like Twist, a little bit – which though would lack of its attachment to reality. This effect, quite shocking, I must say, I thought after a while of reconstructing by continuous reference to things that are happening at the same time you’re writing. It’s upside down, but it is the same. I had a novel that linked itself somehow to reality and here I have reality which is constantly integrated into the novel. I thought it would recreate the same quite astonishing feeling I had had myself. The personal does always affect the contents of your writings. In fact, in the depth, I was quarrelling with philosophical questions like, what is the truth? And I had the conviction that truth depends on some feeling, on some apprehension, that it is not a series of words you put one behind the other. Except in one case, perhaps, but that’s religious. I mean, you may believe a series of words may built up a formal structure which allows this feeling to arise. But this is personal. In any case, I wouldn’t make depend the truth of some ‘manifesto’ but of some subjective disposition. And this is what the novel is about. The truth seems here, than there, than somewhere else, and at the end, you finish by asking yourself: “Well, what do I believe?” And you come to your own conclusions. Because you have to take distances, because you have to respect patterns, because there are environments and rules around. But it had some fun to play all the time with the ‘possible affective truth’. The kind: I’m very furious with all those people because they’ve offensed me personally and now, yes, now, they’ll see what I’ll do to them. It’s a little bit childish, but it is tempting. On top of that is was some kind of revenge. All of it, is, somehow. We’re thinkers and what we do is not seen. You’re keeping fundamental formal positions that affect sometimes millions of people. And you have the guy arriving showing muscles, saying ‘I’ve done all that’, there is a moment where you say, ‘well, can you do that, too?’ And show in some exaggerated ways, with action all over, how thought does affect our lifes, how poisoned it can be and even more so if it’s aiming at fundamental structures of the human mind. It’s very exaggerated, that’s why I didn’t think it may be taken excessively seriously, although it is true that I took care to point at the possibility some things may be true in order to make other people think about it, because knowing that I’ve altered formal patterns, my vision of reality is very ’strange’ to someone who is thinking in other patterns. Which does not mean that some problems I deal with somehow, may not be understood in other patterns even if with other words.”

“What happened with ‘Manual of a soldier’? It’s not the same style.” “No. It isn’t. Precisely, that’s where fiction gets mixed up with reality. And where you do things that may be misunderstood and which you do only and only because you think it of utter need. Look at this: Inside of something you write, you include some general principles, which you don’t claim loudly because people will read it and not seeing the consequence of them, will be disturbed concerning the fact what they have to do with them. For example: if you can impose truth, or, how you can transmit it. My position is that you don’t impose it. My position is that you don’t create division inside of a country or a groupment or whatever. My position is that, if you have really something to say, something fundamental which may eventually help for other people’s life to improve, you have to find some ‘adversary’, a fundamental pole of thought somewhere, someone who has managed to synthesize generally the ‘problem’ or the ‘nature’ of many and you quarrel with. If you manage to make this people see what you mean, this person is going to ‘translate’ what he/she has acquired as knowledge into the patterns of his/her surroundings. It’s difficult to understand what you mean if you say it like that. You write a novel. There is someone in front who you’re quarreling with all the time. Reality, situations are thus built up that your ‘adversary’ is obliged to take into consideration what happens and changes views. A little bit like in the ‘Milosevic’ story. These things you keep somewhere in your unconsciousness while working on something. In 1989 I told to a teacher at University, Anne Moeglin, that I adored Gilgamesh and Enkidu, a sumerian myth where people, fed with with towns building and war making king Gilgamesh pray to heavens in order to stop him. Gods do listen and arise a ‘natural man’ a counterpart, a strong being talking to animals, living in chastity in the forests. He’s seduced by a protitute, looses his direct link to nature, goes to the town, fights with Gilgamesh, is defeated, becomes friends with and they go together to fight many battles all over the world. That’s more or less the pattern that reproduces my way of thinking. You stay inside of some ‘myth’ (fundamental formal patterns) and search for an adversary. In order to give to the whole some tension, some further interest, you look for your adversary not in fantasy, but in reality. Not as a person, but as a fundamental statement. When Shiri said “To believe in God is a trauma of childhood’,  I started laughing. Now, that’s fun, I said, how can you ever put such a thing in words. I mean, it’s sheer inconcruency from some point of view, but at the same time it is true, somehow. Take the OT “You will not misuse the name of God”. If you believe in God or not is a private affair. ‘To believe in God’ in this statement may mean ‘To claim belief’, as you can’t say whether someone believes or not if he doesn’t claim for. Well, that’s forbidden by OT. Now you go on and say: “It is a mistake, a ’sin’ in religious words, something in any case that is not to be done. Cause: “a trauma of childhood”. A trauma of childhood is a freudian expression. If you analyze Freud, you may deduce that the fundamental mistake in his thought leading to say, for example, that you can heal onanism through nose operations, is, in fact the same which leads someone to claim too loudly a belief in God. patterns of thought: (If my interpretation is correct) Transfer of law into contemporary terms, association of consequence to a possible consequence deriving from a contemporary thought pattern. What does it mean? If my analysis concerning Freud is correct, you may as quickly find a raper and a murder in some loudly shouting around church than in psychiatrists environment. From this point of view, it is horribly deep, even beautiful and defines not only a character but also some principle of behaviour, some general patterns of thought. You see though, that I’m giving interpretation which the one who has pronounced such sentence has probably not given. The one in question may be understood in an indefinite amount of ways. The very character does not underline interpretation. It’s (from the point of view of understanding) a male structure in spatial coordinates. I admit that I’m horribly seduced by such a ‘type’ which looks as a worthy adversay inside of my sumerian patterns. I thus go to find the ‘one’ in order to evaluate the depth and implications, which is to say, the possible social impact or influence. I discover a possible one is linked probably to the army. I do never go into things of army, reason why I don’t go too far in my investigations. I may have. I knew where you were. A blackman told me in a holyday kibbutz near the Dead Sea. You see, I’m working at a logical construction of a psychic type, sit for hours drinking coffee in that kibbutz and the man ’sees’ something he knows, somehow. Without any other introduction, the man tells me his wife is working here and there and if I want to go to see her. I don’t. I’m not interested in the ‘person’ but in the logical consequences of a way of thinking, the way it affects the environments.

Consequently, I leave. I have now what I call a device, a logical construction in some coordinates pending from some principle, with some impact on the surroundings. I can work this out. In two directions. One, where the one has not fixed interpretation. One, where I give some reasonable interpretation to the one. It fits me well that the one is in the army. It is a context of life and death, more fundamental, deeper than a social context. The lieutenant general, as I call her, finishes by incarnating the army as such, the soul of the army, its reason to be inside of some existing contemporary pattern. As opponant, certainly, but as a respected one.

Now, see what happens. I’m working with logical ‘devices’. I do always test on the other hand. Weaknesses, strength, laws of interaction. On the other hand, I work with deepest psychopathetic logics, which are more real than the others, to a certain extent, as you can follow them from some inner detection. I know some very strange psychopathetic type has arisen in 1999. In the wherabout of a possible real person linked to the army. I test given logics, as I usually do, in order to know who may be affected. Conclusion: only one, my lieutenant general. How strange, I think. How is this possible? Because there is a logic of interaction between the psychopath and a victim and this I know. Victims of a serial killer have always something in common even if he’s killing arbitrarily, because he’s emitting signals at very low levels of the unconscious and says something like “all the bastards who — (whatever), have some logic, meet at Madison Square at 16 on wednesday.” (Like the card killer, in the USA, who threw always some playing card where he had shot his victims.) If you go, it’s done for you: you ‘hear’ these signals and this means you correspond to the patterns of a potential victim.

Why is my peculiar character affected by those messages as emitted by a psychopath? I make some researches. New problem. My language, the one I’m using, is psychopathetic. Psychopaths live at a realm of consciousness where death is confused with some sexual interaction. Their language is typified, coded, inside of these patterns. What I see, what I understand is … A series of waves coded in some more or less pornographic images, let us say. I start laughing. Get afraid for your lieutenant general, I think, the lines are possibly, if ever 10.000 km away. To say that if you go down into the pits of the unconscious, as I did, you have no structural space. You see moving shadows and emitting signals that come from anywhere, which are coded, too, may be symbolic, are in no case referential for a real location. As I’m working at possible weaknesses of a logical system called Sask, yours, appears the possible weaknes in the form of some psychopath. Is he there? Did I construct him? Is he in Malaysia? I don’t know but it seems to a certain point unbelievable that a real Sask may be in dangerous proximity of exactly this very rare rare type of psychopath. Until I go to Jerusalem. I see him, he’s there. I see him as I see other people whose ’skizzo’ I had drawn in order to have a clearer image of how my characters would move. Well. I think. If I want it or not, here he is.

It’s true that subjectively I don’t like people killing my characters because I don’t like bad ends to stories. I have worked out some solution for the ‘just in case’ it were the worse, which apparently always is. Problem: I don’t have the logical coordinates of the psychopath (some codes like the ones that were helping to construct Sask), I don’t speak a rational language, a possible death ‘will fall on me’, the problem, locally solved, persists as the logical coordinates are not existing. Means, a soul, a person is something like that: an I attached to some principle, in some coordinates. If you, as logic, or even physically, cause the death of ‘x’ without knowing ‘x’, this logical structures attaches itself to some parts of your unconscious. You have become the psychopath, you are the psychopath yourself. You can do this only if you think you have ressources enough in order to defeat the logic. It seems it were possible. I sit down and just ‘am’ the one who has found some way of getting rid of the logic without knowing what it is. He dies. Correct. This is oldest chinese wisdom. You can’t kill anyone, you can’t push anyone to suicide. You are a logic that is aiming at the distruction of some ‘evil’ logic. If your ‘lines’, your construction finds someone corresponding to the evil in question, he dies. You haven’t done anything, the other recognizes himself inside of the patterns you’re emitting, without ever having been in contact with him.

I build immediately some precarious antivirus. The psychopath is dead, but the weakness has been revealed. It may affect now anything. Professional interaction, national security, whatever. In my constructions this very logic may affect aspects like escape of documents, holes in security, etc. What do you do? How many chances are there it may have happened? How many, it may be dangerous? Well, something has happened, already, I witness with my own eyes. What do I have? A ‘pornographic image’ in some interaction with ‘Sask’ which are the coded lines of the psychopath. But, what does it mean? How do you understand it? My antivirus, which as such may look as weird as the before mentioned construction, substitutes the soldier by a woman who is obliged to ‘play’ the man. This one, I called ‘Natasha’s agent’ does exactly the same than the prisoner in ‘Manual of a soldier’ but there is reason. Confronted to the possibility is nature may not be revealed ‘he’ causes an artificial sexual relationship which does seem appalling enough as evidence to state ‘his’ nature. The same ‘weird’ situation has here a meaning and this causes what I call a ‘diversification’ in lower lines. A possible psychopath, any possible socially adapted event in this logic is now double: at the same time it is leading to Sask, and at the same, to me, causing a paralization of the subject.

But I still don’t know what it is. To be honest, I’m a little bit terrorized by possible implications and I haven’t the language to say it. Teaching in Guayaquil to 12 year old children I learn a ‘language’ which is an intremediate language between the psychopathetic language and the rational one. Children’s structures of underderstanding are not yet fixed, arising sexual interest makes of consciousness a battle field of confused stories jumping from one to the other without deeper apparent link. I see some hope. If to say what there is may give me hints on what there was? I write ‘Manual of a soldier’. It appears in internet around september 2006. If I’m lucky some people dealing with those ‘perversions’ may read it and give me the clues to what it means. I have no choice. It is, for me, already too late. I continue some provocations, building up some imaginary site of the Ministry of Defense in Israel. No response. I don’t know what has happened, I don’t know what it means, I’m sure I have in my hands an information whose implications may be vast and have no response anywhere.

I go on working. From one thing to the other. General french patterns. General german patterns. Six wings logic in interaction with common logic. What could it be? I don’t understand these Jews. You see, in the Serbian patterns, you make a provocation and you have 10.000 people running behind you. They kill you: it’s proof of your guilt. They don’t, it’s your innocence. It’s very simple, it’s very clear, it’s ordered and there is no ambiguity. You walk through a country and you know it is like that and thus you knwo how to deal with things just putting yourself inside of this logic. But there? I mean, I would get furious if someone writes something like that which may affect me directly. I’m no authority and thus I would probably start writing poisoned comments all over internet. But an authority? In Spain, here, it is forbidden. And there is no response. Why? I have to go deeper down. OT, structures of understanding as altered through history, laws, reminders of laws, interpretation of law, given political situation. I finish by imposing myself the understanding Moses were a woman. And there it opens. Imagine you have ff wings (without sexual implications!) in some symbiotic inner relationship. Law gets fused with the story explaining exception while time passes. Finally, perhaps, even exception becomes law. Moses doesn’t follow God’s advice to talk by ‘himself’. ‘He’ needs constantly an Aaron. Instead of understanding OT as tasks (which is the spirit of it: quarrel between Lea and Rachel = it’s forbidden to marry two sisters, Ruben has sexual relationships with some step mother = it’s forbidden to have such relationships, etc.) OT shows a story and then a mark ‘it’s bad’ and then a law that should avoid the ‘bad’ to happen. What Moses doesn’t solve, will never be solved. Israel submits to the ‘truth’ that Moses needs someone to speak for ‘him’. First exile, second exile. Unable to talk by ‘itself’ it leans constantly on foreign formal patterns (Aarons). If you have this in mind, appears: a separated psichic type (Psychpath = coded lines, Golden Virginia) who is substituting itself in formal patterns to the lieutenant general. ‘His’ lieutenant general submits though to a type ‘benjaminite’ who unwillingly does ‘impose’ himself on her. It’s a prison, it’s his way out. It’s his soul, his structures of understanding. He’s spreading a ’spirit’, a ‘logic’ which implies that in ‘this’ he’s giving orders to the lieutenant general. See the danger? You go and sy to a group of people: military test. Do this and this. And they do. Because they’re recognizing the tones of command of someone.

But who is it? What has happened? Why does he aggress the real lieutenant general? It is a homosexual man in female patterns. He grasps the spatial logic of Sask as ‘men’s’, and submits this logic to him, by pretending to be the physical expression of this logic. He’s more, because he has the attributes. But he doesn’t say, he doesn’t express = it’s on the back. He is perhaps a sergent, but he is more.

He’s though aggressing what is his ‘idol’, his ‘eternal love’ he would say, his ‘excuse’, his ‘joker’. You’re homosexual, you can’t say. You ‘fall in love’ with someone whose spatial structures do ressemble to man’s. You are in love with a ‘man’ and are thus expressing homosexual tendencies in deviated ways. It says nothing about the lieutenant general. It is that Golden Virginia has fixed his attention on only one aspect of the quite complicated, we may say, character of the lieutenant general. A formal one, and that is of interest.

I continued the construction through the appearance of these lines in 1999. Lower realms do perceive the arrival of new members of the club. Normal people even if in random structures like this one, don’t get into these realms. Something has broken. Something has happened and this has something to do with the lieutenant general. Reason of the aggression. What.

The most logical thing. Stay in the thought saying “to believe in God is a trauma of childhood”. You ask to this principle: “How do you recognize a homosexual?” Necessary answer: “Fuck him up and ask him whether he likes it. It’s as easy as quanta” Of course the lieutenant general would not do such a thing, but may say it. Or may imply it. Or in any case it is implied by the principle. There is something which is very pure in the depth as derivation: it makes appear a homosexual determination from a ‘pleasure’, not from a decision or a natural character with attributes. In fact, it breaks the ‘Oue, I don’t know, perhaps, no, I adore women’ through a physical confrontation. Construct the situation: Someone in the wherabouts is fed up with the platonic adoration of Golden Virginia to the Lieutenant General. He is a rival, perhaps. (It happens) He wants to get rid of the rival through the demonstration the other is homosexual, what he accidentally is. And forces a sexual relationship. the other will fall into. Pattern, the one’s of the lieutenant general. (The ’solution’ is given by or derived of her.) In appearance logic wins on psychic determination. In his psychic world, he’s more than her. In reality, she imposes herself in ‘a’ to him. He’s raped. His wonderful world breaks down. (Has he liked it? Probably, and that’s the worse.) Finished, the ethereal ideal which reassures him socially. He falls into lower lines. This happened in 1999.

He develops hatred against the lieutenant general as in these lines you don’t see the ‘who’ but the ‘moving, ruling logic’. Who has broken his defenses? The lieutenant general. Who is he going to kill? The lieutenant general. Who raped him? That’s all the question. Not the lieutenant general, it’s obvious. There is someone who is quite ill and is rejecting faults towards this one. Who is it? I don’t know and I don’t care, but this person is a new danger.

In any case, you’re confronted as a self to the question whether some thing may be said or not, and how. I’m in absolute need of fishing information, because honestly, even if having had lot of conversations with Xristos on the subject, I’m not a specialist. And Xristos is very healthy. What is in the mind of someone who makes whatever, but what? And how? And why? And who exactly? I don’t know and don’t like bathing in these waters. I mean. You’re on one hand obliged to keep some parameters of image because it is like that. People ned thinking there is order in administration, wisom in universities, holyness in churches and rules in the army. It’s like that. If you start bombing up the world with the evidence, none of this is true, the reassuring patterns of reality, break. This is why you are obliged to deal with some subjects with greatest care.

My education allows the transmission of information concerning possible ‘misfunctions’ in oblique ways. I know he knows a doctor who is related to a laboratory, who may take into consideration that: a chemistry has this and this side effect. This structure confronts itself to evidences, that the very fact of trying doing so, may have as effect your complete distruction (Istanbul). If something has no means of correction it is distroyed. General patterns, arising from Kant’s formal patterns and other, tend to distroy all means of correction. You don’t have to think too far. If you don’t find the means of correction, we’re confronting ourselves to a general disaster. In cases of exception, like this, I ‘allow’ to myself the brutal, clear and determined exposure of facts. And only here. If the oblique means are distroyed, the open publication, can’t. You argue “freedom of speach”, prosecution implies “on dictatorship leaning situations”. Because the healthy person, the one who respects, the one who has means to know with his particular wisdom arising from education and tradition is going to shut up. He’s hoing to lean back, to give in, because his survival becomes more important than the general well being. Being outside of his natural patterns of behaviour he’s weak. Strong are those who care only and only about their personal well being. Without intelligence. Without wisdom. Cold, indifferent, stupid, brutal. The society is upside down. You don’t have to respect the pretension (Baal), you are obliged to fight against. Here, you ca justify the saying of things you would have never said yourself. Case of exception. Restructuring. Reordering.

Of course I give myself patterns. Some things are not real. Other’s are pictures, images. Other’s are embedded into some context which is unreal. The one affected, knows, and shame arises from the fact that he thinks everyone will know. If you see at things, it is finally empircally impossible to determine who it is. Inside of a structure of exception, you still respect a certain number of things. This strategy I’m already developping in 1999. I have no choice. Paedophilia is gaining fields, and inside of the church (Happenings in the USA in 2004). I decide myself to do some ‘aberration’, because the situation seems to me having gone out of control. I put myself in the situation of a child (priests say ‘fathers’ to themselves) who is the object of some incestual, paedophilic aggression. And results. It is obvious that you don’t do these things. But, the ‘I’ is much more talking than the ‘In general’, and the personal claim, much more effective than the ‘abstract engagement’. I have no choice. This is ‘Malgré tout’ written in French because of the gravity of the problem, there. Of course I think it may finishing by affecting my father. But evaluating the situation, I decide, I don’t care. There is something strange in the behaviour of my father, something that has lead to the divorce with my mother. Nobody knows what it is. It is there, all the time, probably some hereditary mark of some former ‘misbehaviour’. If psychic pressure is made on him, because there is someone who has so horribly misbehaved, it may be possible to know what has happened and eventually restore some balance. And this inside of my mother’s pattern of thought, who, to say the truth and with 5 children on her back, could not really always determine who has made the next bullshit. It happened, that she thus ‘punished’ ( punishment in our very rigid environment may be just to accuse you of having done something) one for something another had done. And if the explanation of the one was sound enough, she finishes by saying “Algo habrás hecho tú también” (You must have done something yourself, too.) Which I hold to that extent beautiful (because it is always true) that I made of it some philosophy in the psychiatric hospital of Serres. Heleni was sometimes complaining about deepest injustices of the responsible, and I told her that, and she became the happiest person in the world, and every time something happened, she arrived running to me and said “I must have done something myself.” In fact, I deduced from her behaviour that it was a healthiest reaction and made of it a general structure of behaviour, the only one that buys up ‘the false accusation’. Because it is a false accusation but it does not want to reject a fault on someone else, it is just wanting to get into the depth of some problem.

In fact, even if it is not exactly this, I finished by these means to get the answer not only to his personal knot, but even to mine. He is discovered when he is 16 in a room with a teacher and a class mate and accused of homosexuality. He hasn’t done anything but the maid suspects immediately such a thing and tells it everywhere. The teacher is fired from the school. He is, too. For him, because he is a German, it is recorded in dark offices and as dark offices are always right, he is homosexual. It is proved, there is evidence and administrations are never wrong. He believes it himself. What does he do? He leaves Germany. In Spain, he’s not homosexual. He gets a job, he gets married, he has 5 children. He has proved, in Spain, that he’s not homosexual. But every time he crosses the border, he becomes homsoexual again. In fact, the teacher has committed some professional mistake. They were not allowed to invite students at home, which is logical. This gets mixed with the accusation of homosexuality. As their is professional fault, the accusations seems sound. It affects now as much the teacher as the students. My poor father is caught up by an evidence, whose evidence does not appear anywhere. His life is a proof for himself. he doesn’t care about my mother that much, from this perspective, nor about us, HE has to mainatin that he’s not homosexual. But, as the German State says he is homosexual, he keeps a homosexual environment, because the German State is always right. And for him, if he refuses the authority of the German State, he looses his own authority as director of the school, for example, and as father. He has no choice. Both are true, somehow.

Which explains for example my most funny inspirations when I was younger. I mean, you get tortured by such a questioning for so many years. And you do the same. I say: “I’m homosexual.” They say: “I0m homosexual.” What do I care. I mean, if they say, if the state says, if I say myself. What are you? Who are you? What is the determining characteristic for a homosexual. And if you are, live your life. And if you aren’t, don’t believe them. My possible solutions are always rejected by a very suspicious mind, who doesn’t know, whether the fact of rejecting the authority of the German State will have definite consequences for himself.

Sometimes, the very fact of maintaining something in public which may be useful in other contexts anyhow, may clear up knots whose solution you did never think you may ever grasp. On top, I’ve the patterns explaining my rejection of my father as father. His law is submitting to “There is a professional mistake, thus accusation is justified.” I can’t make law out of that and even less in my mother’s patterns. I thus put my father in quarantaine. With brackets. I have a father who is: the possibility from this to understand that accusation is not necessarily justified. I’m using a psychic disposition (to prove something) as pattern of father and not a logic. Which is to say, that my patterns of understanding are homosexual, I say it myself. In psychic law: I have to prove, interaction with a tending towards my mother’s definitions, in psychic frame. I’m homosexual. Which has nothing to do with a sexual orientation, it is a pattern of exception I’ve built up in order to keep internal balances.

This is why I don’t like the publication of private facts. This is why you have to take these things with white gloves. A determination has implications and if someone is just trying to follow strictly ancient testament, and respect father and mother, and the combination of both implies the rejection of the one or the other, and you construct yourself a bridge which may make you fall into some other infraction, either you say, that the commandment comes before the law or you finish by understanding that law doesn’t mean exactly this and in any case, you wait until you have solved this little logical problem before you take any clear decision. Which you may deal with as you understand it, on the other hand.

This is why I have naturally not very developped spatial structures. And this obliges to build up a reality referential which naturally does lean on essences in order to keep reason. And this saved my life, because the neuronal illness I had to go through after, could not affect this part of the brain. Things are difficult to evaluate, and this is why you have to leave people deal with their own knots all alone by themselves.

In a certain way you learn from this things to deal very freel with a certain number of things. You are living in some artificial homosexual construction, because your father is told he is something and this is bad. You say, and where King Arthur to cut the knot with a sword? You start taking more liberal positions, say it is not that bad, law may allow, law in states allow, you take out of it the moral implications in order to avoid such things to happen. After, you may realize it’s not that easy. Homosexuality has no formal justification. You go to find the moral justification. At the end, you don’t know whether you are a man homosexual, a woman or a woman homosexual, because seen from some point of view, they’re all as sympathetic. You say (not: if you like it, althogh it may eb a hint) but: who you fall in love with. And thus, you may arrive at my age and not know where you are exactly, still. It happens. In any case, in the meantime, you have decided not to get married because you don’t want children to go through such a procedure, again, and perhaps even worse. You stay alone. It’s a hint for homosexuality, someone says. No, no, whatever you say, – because you will never ever believe what others tell you, even if it were so. It’s personal. I think all this is expressed inside of stories you tell, even if you don’t say it explicitely and I believe that it justifies the publication of a certain number of things, only and only inside of these patterns.

I mean, on the other hand, that it is obvious that everything can be given some symbolic understanding, and as long as you keep healthy referential patterns, it is neither obscene neither dirty. Whatever you say. And I think this is obvious in both texts, although I have to admit that I wouldn’t write it today, probably, because I’m really very shy. I make some provocations from time to time, but I don’t talk about these  things. The problem is that the effect of the drug made jump inner barriers. And to me, it appeared at that moment the same to say “I bought two pears” (symbolic = I attached myself to  same in female psychic lines) than to say things like that. From a certain point of view it is more honest, because it puts things as they are, and don’t transmit precisely dirt and the obscene in heavy symbolic structures. I mean, see at the title of my novel. “Firework in amaretto” It can be understood in very dirty ways. A firework, say some male orgasm. In amaretto, if you see a bitter almond (not necessarily bitter) as a symbol of female sexual organs (which is the case in some environments) you have a male orgasm in female context. For example. And it is that, you see, but it is not dirty. It is that, too.

The structures are using female logics. You see, someone says something, the other understands something else, someone runs away, the other jumps this side and if you look at it from a man’s point of view, it’s irrational. Say, what are they doing? And at the end there is some deeper rationality arising, some inner coherence, which is not said in logical patterns, and which has been neglected for many years. As if you may impose men’s rational patterns in logics as the only valid one’s and make women be jealous of it and imitate and copy them, badly, usually. Thus, you use men’s methodology, the showing, the proving, the demonstrating (firework) in order to underlines women’s natural logic and behaviour (amaretto). There is always a coherence between a way of doing and some sexual image, and you may go that far so as to symbolize this in some image that synthesizes a whole procedure in two or three words.

Sask: Who is this Sask, then?

I: That’s all the question. A demonstrative impossibility. A problem. A logical incongruency. Don’t ask me why I’m all the time playing the good samaritane, there must be some reason, which I prefer not to really grasp. Perhaps it is just curiosity or theoretical interest. Perhaps, as I said once, it is egotistic. As I said once to Vasili Stergiopoulos. There is no higher satisfaction than the one deriving of acting in justice or doing some good. In fact, you prefer staying in what is to feel well, better than in some cold, dry place. If you act as you have to, you’re satisfied. You aim at your satisfaction. You’re just because you think of your well being. It’s egotistic.

I saw there was a logical problem somewhere in my abstract construction. I found a logical solution. And when I had, I sat down and said, look, how funny. There is no way to make this ‘a’ understand this ‘b’. The structures do not allow. Such a provocation. How do you make someone understand something? Which is vital. I can create an artificial solution for a while, but I’m not going to take the burden of such a ‘creature’ (I used to say) for all my life. If I leave the protective structure, you may die. So easy. But I’m not going to be ‘Natasha’s agent’ forever.

What is ‘Natasha’s agent’? Natasha is a logical device that is the exact opposite to Sask. Sask’s is vertical, Natasha’s is horizontal. You have a pattern of thought that is putting in vertical lines, structures of consequence “To believe in God is a trauma of childhood”. I understand: “Something has happened in my childhood and this has as consequence that I believe in God”. But you understand: “Belief in God = (Identity) trauma of childhood” (There is some accidental characteristic between both that allows the essential assimilation of one to the other = hungarian pattern). Natasha is exactly the contrary, she transform identity into a sequence of time. Thus: The tree is a trunc with branches. Natasha understands: The tree has arisen from a trunc and branches. It is born, it is generated from this. It is a little bit like the logic of a painter, who puts this logic into images (I think, Chagall). What is ‘Natasha’s agent’: it is a spirit, that includes some logic of movement that allows the softening of very hard spatial structures. A transformation of a psychic disposition (Natasha) into a logic (the agent) who acts behind the back of a spatial logic (the lieutenant general) as if a logic may contain movement, or as if a spirit may be said in words. This attracts aggressions of a wicked logic towards itself, because it is active. I’m thus playing your body guard for many years, without ever being paid for it.

But that’s no solution. How can you explain to a closed spatial structuring what a consequence is, what intuition is, what essence is, what a definition is. There is no way. You are for me referential, absolutely necessary. If I had little spatial structures before 1994, I loose them completely after. I have a studied character in my memory who has an absolute spatial determiner. As you are not me, and I’m not you, you become a ‘conversation partner’. A someone who is there and who refracts what I say in a completely different logic which assures me the spatial orientation. Pero bueno. It is an absolute subjective need, at a certain moment. From a logical point of view. What if I build up my own spatial structures? You disappear. I know that sould interact somehow. If I leave, there may be weaknesses arising. I see there are and that they are effective. I have to do something. So many battles with my Gilgamesh who finally looses in front of natural Enkidu.

I make up the so called ’squaring of the circle’ hypothesis. How do you make equal the square and the circle (you are the square and I’m the circle). You measure the circle. With the length of the circle you make a square. With a bigger circle you make a biggre square. And with an even bigger one, an even biggre square. What is the relationship between the one and the other? The equation resulting from the relationship of some internal parameter among them all. You see. From your point of view, both are the same, because they have the same length. From my point of view, the same is only the empirical measure allowing to establish the relationship between both.  How do you explain this? With a picture. I need to build up an empirical image of psychic interactions in order to make appear the difference and thus, the interactions (equations). Sask: who is more intelligent, the computer or the human being? “The computer” Sask says. “Why?” “Because it makes more functions more quickly.” Let’s say. “How much is one and one?” “Two,” Sask says. “If you think like a computer, you can’t but say: “1 and 1 = 1 and 1″ The computer can’t make of 1 and 1 = 2. Who does this?” The human. The human has an ability of seizing the computer hasn’t. Logically the human is more intelligent because through this ability he can understand things the computer will never understand. This is intuition. And intuition, which is to say, the moving inside of reality patterns that are determined by this ‘agent’ that allows to see in one and one a single unit, is much stronger than logic. But how do you explain this to a mind which has no temporal understanding? The why I don’t care, it’s probably structural, like my ‘invention’. It is though a fact.

Make of time a punctual event in space. I’m searching for Sask. It must be very difficult because otherwise she’ll suspect I’m cheating. And she is a nice target, because her location should be unknown. I’m not going to find her, really. I know I will find some ressembling one who may be compelling enough in evidence for a similar. When I’m in Israel, I approach of not more than 2 km from where she is living. This is because of the general situation. These 2 kilometers are the distance between what I will find and what I’ve already found. I could have gone further. I didn’t.

I give some coordinates.

Notes handed over

Chapter 27: Green colibri

That day there was a green colibri in the court when we left and it was almost warm. She said she was going to go through the texts with some calm and I made a copy for her she took with her. She said she would come back in a few days and took my telephone number. That happened three days after. Then, she said, in fact we had gone to some cafè in order for her not to blame me at least for the quality of the coffee, that she didn’t see anything excessively bothering, all in all, but that was after having verified that none of the contents was stolen good belonging to some dark office. She even asked if I had been in some security prison or had been working for some agency. I said no to all, which was the truth, and as if escaping her natural character, she said: “It looks so real.” “If it is more real than it should, better don’t tell me.” I said, and continued. “If there are accidental coincidences, they must be little. And I suppose they get lost in the general plot. Nobody would ever get aware of it.” She did agree on that, almost reluctantly, and it is true that she really looked as if it were impossible I had had the information from anywhere else than my imagination. Public space for work, no spy program, no acces to data, no contacts. Well. It seems appalling as evidence. “Can I publish it then,” I asked. “As it is now?” She thought about it for a few minutes and I lit a cigarette, but that was just to make her nervous, because she really looked as if she had stopped smoking a few weeks ago and was still going through the horrible side effects of such a deplorable decision. “Yes.” She said. “Can I have it written?” I asked. And again some minutes passed, but a little less, as if the very fact of taking such careful measures would be in itself reassuring and I said: “Just wait. I get the paper in a few minutes.” There it was. She signed, and of course she didn’t know, although perhaps yes, that I didn’t trust her at all, and that I thought perhaps she was hoping through some tolerant disposition to finally get some confession out of me, forgetting after, whatever she may have said before.

I leaned back and said, “that’s a marvel. I mean, it’s true that an autograph isn’t that bad either. I’m sure it’ll make me get up the appreciation of a certain number of people.” And laughed, because it really looked like blackmailing I would never make, on the other hand. That day it seemed as if she really wanted to ask even more questions than the day before but I felt honestly less afraid and in less mood to give all details of my life, private and public, so that it became of evidence that she would have to make some further effort if she wanted to get an answer. In fact, she seemed to be very curious, feeling which she didn’t look to be very familiar with and this, gave the general impression that she was in some disposition as if she was transgressing some inner regulations, which, by the way, she had just imposed on herself all alone by herself. And this, by the presence of the very feeling, as  she hadn’t been that far so as to orientate the feeling towards some questions. Sask did always look like that. As if the very presence of a feeling was necessarily a transgression you had to take greatest care with, after having had a suspicious look at it, and this, of course, but that’s my nature when I’m a little bit more relaxed, arises the compelling desire in me to wake up the greatest number possible, if ever possible, without of course ever taking any kind of responsibility whatsoever on the derived consequences. In fact, she seemed to have gone through some existential confusion for a few days, the kind, what is real what isn’t, and to have decided, but that’s Sask, whatever you do, it had to be either black, either white, and what, there were chapters, and consequently it was fiction, that was an evidence. I wouldn’t help her to clear up the rest, which to be honest, had been the object of enough trouble for so many years. She started to really ask some questions, but indifferent ones, at least from my point of view, and I even made some joke, and said:”It’s not an official cross examination, I may tell lies? It’s the privilege of the social life.” “You just answer if you like.” She said then, and it was really as if she was biting the lower lip a little bit only, kind you realize you can’t get out of custom and think it may look stupid. “I do always answer to questions. It’s less tiring than to make them up myself.” She asked where I was born (in Madrid), and to which school I had been (The German school of Madrid), which was my nationality (German I said, but that was calculation) and then, if both my parents were German (no, my mother is Spanish), if I had some family members (Many, 2 brothers and 2 sisters and even an aunt in Pakistan – I always mention, it’s strange but I had the feeling that the very fact of having an aunt in Pakistan made you participate to some mysterious, veiled, oriental fairy tale, so that I tended to insist on the fact, even if times changes and horrible suspicions were pending on those people, which, on the other hand I could not verify, but that was certainly because I prefered to stay in my fairy tale, which, to the say the truth, in those countries is nearer to reality than whatever you may figure out besides). Where I studied? (Philosophy at Paris IV; Sorbonne.) If I had been really walking to Jerusalem from Paris? ( – This point seemed to fascinate her somehow. But it’s true that to jump from helicopters has some kind of psychic ressembling structure with  the walking down from Paris to Jerusalem and cross Turkey in winter – Yes. I said. I even have some pictures. But only very little. In fact, for reasons of security, we didn’t have a camera after Viena. We got one after, arrived to Jerusalem, and I have some pictures from Israel and the way back through Turkey. But that’s all. We had a diary, too. Parts got lost – or are in unknown hands – and the others were finally gathered in Oriol Vilaseca’s hands, who started a webpage with them and some comments Conchi had made on the whole, in Spanish. We had to write the diary, it was sometimes exhausting, in weekly periods. Every six weeks, as we were six, you had to stay after the arrival and write down whatever had happened during the day. The laziest one was Oriol. He used to write just one sentence or two. I remember I was the specialist in psychological observations. I don’t know if I would laugh if going through the stuff again.) How often I had been in Israel? (Three times. Once while arriving from Paris, once while arriving from Sina and one in 2003. We made another expedition in 1994, from Ramses to Jerusalem through Sina. There I started to gather some suspicions about the accuracy of interpretation concerning Pentateuch. We needed one month. To stay 40 years at one month’s distance from furious egyptians, was some kind of strategical mistake, I started thinking. And China is related to sinaic (chinese), and they stay most of the time in ‘Sin’. Perhaps sinning, but most probably in an older name of China ‘Sin’. And there is a snake, too. The one they use when they get ill after having eaten the rotten birds. A snake is a very common traditional chinese symbol. Perhaps you still have it. It is said that the tribe Dan took it away with them and they even had some quarrel with others on the subject. It was very exciting because we found the ancient path, the ancient caravan path. Accidentally in fact, because we were said by Egyptian authorities not to leave the main road if we had no guide. And we left the main road – I had asked if it were forbidden, and they said, no, it’s just that you’ll get lost. – And we went into the desert, and bedouins were showing us the way. There was a part where some bedouins shew us engravings on the rocks with caravans and camels and I asked, what had happened. And they said, a long time ago, there had been something like an earthquake and the rocks from the sides fell down on the quite broad path, and it was made useless for caravans. The wells, the oasis, it made you go back almost to Moses times, although we were not that many and had no egyptians on our back. I was already ill, at that time, but I could still find the path. It was not easy, honestly. We had old maps from around 1940 but leaving Sina, the Greek monastery, we were said by some bedouins that the path we were going to take was very dangerous, that we would die, that there was no water. I started laughing and said, yes, die. But the only one of us who spoke arabic, Esteban, got panicked. He started shouting around and crying and said, we would all die and I sent him back – took away the functions of translator from him – and I was obliged to learns some few arabic words. Like water, like mountain. Some I remember, some I forgot. We may have gone lost. A woman who was keeping some goats tolds us to go to the army post. We went. they gave as supplementary water in tins and said, there is no water after. This is for two days. And they invited us to lunch and started dancing, making music with tins and knifes. They shew us the way. I have a picture of that place, we were allowed to take with soldiers out of duty outside of the camp. We left. More than the path, which was relatively easy because it was a wadi, it was hysterical Esteban shouting around that was causing disturbance. Now find the path, with someone drumming on the ground saying we’ll die, we’ll  die. We didn’t die. But it became difficult. We ran out of water and the last bit of the path was confusing, seemed not to be well transcribed on the map. I decided, as I had no orientation criteria, to follow the steps of a camel having passed the day before. It led directly to the oasis. Luckily, and it was almost night when we arrived. It was very beautiful but the people around were stressing.) So, you know people in Israel? (A lot. But not very much, personally. We went through some kibbutz. I knew an Israeli from University, Shiri Tsur, and she knew someone who was called Eymel Wardi, who had come to Paris for some studies. I met her again when we arrived to Jerusalem and had a coffee at the hotel in front of King David. I never saw them again. But there was someone who was very funny in a kibbutz, it wasn’t a kibbutz, but for me all is a kibbutz, with ostriches. It was funny because it was the day after having staid near another kibbutz, some university with a president’s name. I was fed up because of the constant quarrels concerning leadership, as the very moment we had arrived to the desert I had assumed the function of guide and map reader, due to the possible danger. The others wanted to do that, too. I tried once and it was a disaster. Arriving to Israel it looked more secure, there were roads and pannels and lots of things. There was a discussion that day again. I said, ok, but we separate groups. Thus they left earlier with the map and we, my brother his future wife myself and a Greek, left alone a little after without map. We arrive to the kibbutz with the correct name. A woman in a car stopped and said, what we’re doing there. We explained and asked whether she had seen another lot of hooligans like ourselves. She said no, but went to have a look. They had disappeared. I started laughing. There was only one single cross road, I said, they have the map, and they manage to get lost. The woman came back, she invited us to her house and told us to take a shower and made something to eat while we were waiting for the others. “They’ll tell us. I told to the children and they’re always the first to know.” Which I found very intelligent although I really didn’t know whether I really wanted to find them. Unluckily they arrived a little after, and my greatest disapointement must have been visible on my features. There we are, I thought, new quarrels arising. Didn’t they get lost in the desert. In fact, in spite of the fact that they had the map, and that there was a signal, they managed to take the wrong road, and one said after, she had seen the signal and she hadn’t said anything because the map would be right – if you read it well, I thought – and thus they went the wrong way for about 10 km and had to make a whole turn. There were many people, but we rarely had more contact with anyone, only with this one because she was engaged in the active finding of the ‘independent fraction’ of the group. They never asked for the maps again. And that was already something. It was then that I started thinking the Sodom and Gomorrhe events had really happened, because there are meteorite impacts in upper Negev, when you go up to the desert about 60 km from Eilat. Fire and sulphure, I said to myself. I even went as far as to think that the cut that makes the actual border between Jordan and Israel was caused by the impact. Because river Jordan is of very peculiar nature, winding itself around the ground, and even more so, the death Sea. If there is a cut in the ground because of the river collecting salty water in the depth of the earth, a violent impact may provoke an opening of the ground. I don’t think thus that there is any relationship between the Death Sea and Lot and Lot’s wife. If the impact – it is quite impressive and there are two of dimension of several square kilometers – was that violent, they must have been beyond many mountains if they were to escape. I worked very much on this story because I thought it fascinating. I saw the angels as some remark, the sky is getting darker, heavier, animals behave strangely and you want to tell to the others and they just make fun of you and one day you decide you have to leave, at once, now and when you do see that something is happening you know it’s better not to turn yourself to see. I thought there must have been highest cosmic radiation. When Lot’s wife turned herself, her eyes were caught in this and she died. Perhaps even her whole body, ’salt’, like white grains, can be a burning injury, some cancer. But I think they were at least 300 km away, otherwise they would have died.) “You staid in Istanbul, after?” “Yes, for almost a year. I always keep record of the things I do. It’s some kind of family tradition. My father has stll the whole amount of the electricity bills he has collected for over 20 years. I don’t know why. You do things somehow as a custom and then you think that you’re lucky because it is obvious that if you say some things that are involving for others, the first thing they will do is to say, it’s all false because you’ve never been there. I have letters from people from the hospital and some other little papers. I can say that I was furious, after. Because at the begining you don’t know what is happening, but after you start gathering pieces together and you say, the bastards. Not that it did actually bother me, from a certain point of view, because you start thinking quicker, but it is no behaviour. It’s more than criminal to my understanding. You start understanding what a mars man could be.) What you say is true, then? (I wouldn’t say it is true. Most of the facts are accurate. I don’t know but with time, memory came back, extremely precise, with an enormous amount of details I would have never taken care of before. Perhaps we have a security memory somewhere in our brain, a double hard disc. I don’t know. The thing is that you can’t say it is the same if you consider facts from a ‘normal’ point of view, or from a point of view, where everything is ordered in more fundamental patterns of understanding. It is what I see, what I saw, how I understand it. Facts are most exact whenever I don’t veil some evidences behind imaginary stories. I’ve never been in a high security prison, I’ve never talked to someone who has been there, I’ve no factual information concerning this, it’s pure imagination which leans itself on logical conclusions. If these people think like this, if this and this has happened, if I know this and that and I’ve read this and the other, I’d say, a security prison would look like that. Perhaps I’m trying to justify myself. The kind, look, I’m reconstructing this and it looks very real. I’m reconstructing that out of pieces of my own memory concerning personal experience and it must be true, but I don’t know. For me the truth is an ancient symbol, something you put into something else. I have one half. If one goes and says, perhaps there’s something about it and goes and finds a plant and makes some chemical analysis and says, this has this and that effect on the brain, then I’d say it’s true. It’s matching with objective truth. The half of the other half. I have the right as writer to give a perspective as long as I don’t pretend to more, and that’s what I do. To my understanding the facts related are serious enough so as to be considered from a more official point of view, but that’s not my job. In fact, you don’t know what you really want. I know things people don’t know and this means I know that the very fact of not responding for such a happening will have implications for a nation whole. And sometimes you say, because you’re really furious, shall it. Shall they go on saying I make all up, and they’ll see what will happen. It’s visceral, something very deep, that plays with knowledge that is not known and with the common belief you may go on doing these things without consequence.) What do you mean with consequences? (Look, when you walk down so far and in so difficult conditions, you see many things. Many. I give you just an example. We were arriving near to the Taurus mountain chain towards the south of Turkey. We arrived to a village. It was a man who had been in Holland and was not only wearing a leather jacket but even obliging his wife to do so, who gave us some shelter. There were no shops, there was nothing in the whereabout. He got furious, for a reason or other. In the morning he told us to leave, and I said, whether it was not possible to have some tea, even if paying, if he wanted. It was cold, very cold. He said no. I said ok, we left. The next village was 15 km away. Three hours or more in those conditions without anything in the stomac. I said, makes endurance and didn’t think of it anymore. When we came back from Israel a few months later, we took the same path up. A day before arriving to that village we staid at some place where we were asked if we had been there, before. I said, yes. The woman told us that the man was dead. I was struck. It’s not that he was dead, it may happen, it is that the woman was associating this event to our’s passing by. When we arrived to that village the other day, accidentally, we met the woman, his wife. She was wearing the turkish veil and seemed to say thank you to us, as if we had freed her of a monster. I spent a lot of time thinking about this event. How strange. Apparently the man was considered ‘wicked’. Apparently hospitality is holy in Turkey. Apparently the infringement of some religious obligation had caused his death. As if the people had found a severe reason to put this person under pressure. Inside of his own wickedness, he had no defense. He dies.

Facts, events are little details that may restructure completely your way of thinking. Death is not the same. It starts depending on other causalities, on moral faults, on pressure of the environment. And you start analizing things. He died this way, she that way. You establish there is a causality between a moral fault and death. Or a structural fault and death. When you’re really very furious you can do two things. You know this fault is going to lead to the death of many. You know if it is taken seriously, only some responsible will pay for it. You ask yourself whether you really want to be taken seriously. My position is not very clear on that. I know it. This is why at the same time I say things very seriously and at the same time I always leave some doubts pending in irreal stories. I know it is true, as facts, I know it has consequences. It is ten years of a life or more that may have been my death. It’s a murder in intentionality and an attempt of murder in facts. It’s the factual distruction of a life for more than ten years, professionally, socially, everywhere. It’s no joke. I don’t know why people think, that if you believe in some religious principles you have to say yes and amen to everything and pardon everything to everyone. I’m sorry, but this is not the case, on the contrary. Israel’s God is not excessively kind. Neither is the one we say son of the other. And I know that very well. A fault, if not corrected, falls on the whole body that has not taken measures for the responsible to be punished. I mean, honestly: they steal my card, and accuse me of having robbed it myself. How ridiculous. For 200 French Franc. You put you reputation, your career in danger for shit? You know what an effort it is to finish as a foreigner this peculiar University? Don’t be stupid. After I’m accused of black magic, because an idiot says we’re making prayers with candles. See. It’s true. There was no light in that place in Bulgaria. Necessarily we were using candles. We used to read the ancient testament the evening. Is this forbidden, too? I mean, as far as I know, the ancient testament is not censored. Wasn’t, then. Perhaps it is now? After I get the information I’m a potential terrorist. What is this as a concept? You’re driving justice in Appollo XIV to the stars of the virtual, or what? Potential. Facts. What have I done? Nothing. And it continues. You’re drugged. You are forbidden 10 years of use of bank account for 200 french francs. You’re stolen your titles. You are closed into a psychiatric hospital because a psychopath seems convincing enough to French authorities. It’s not one, it’s not two. It’s excessive. You finish by saying, you’re rotten the guys. Stay where you are and leave others make you pay for what you’ve done. I tell what I’ve seen, and hope, you won’t take it seriously. Look at something, my world is a world that is configured differently than other people’s world. In my world, there is a relationship between the leather jacket of the ‘Dutch’ and Betty Catroux’ statements, ‘leather jackets were insane’. I have stated something somewhere. I know Betty Catroux quite well. I use lower channels of transmission, as I call it, to say: be careful. She makes a video. This relationship does transmit signals, connections, messages. I don’t have to claim for 1.000.000 euro compensation. No. I prefer you there, dying of fright, falling into paranoia of the virtual and the potential, with candles in your minds and the shadow of death all over. If I get a compensation for that, I loose the effective power in the ‘explanation’ of what it means to stay in such a state for over 10 years. It’s a choice. I have a very bad temper sometimes precisely because I believe in the possibility of rescuing someone out of death, eventually. You can’t have the one without the other.) And why a high security prison? (It’s the army, not that much the prison that interests me. Army is a regulation in death or life conditions. Although nobody knows to establish the relationship, truth is, too. There are two bodies in social organization. The social body with a certain number of organs and the army. One deals with peace, the other, with war. Thought has these two fields, too. A social word, which is more superficial, presents things one way or the other, gives more importance to esthetical presentation, to subjective interpretation and the kind. It’s nice, but it is not depth. Army is death and truth is in the surroundings of death. If you take your job seriously, you end up very quickly in realms that a nearer to a battle field than to a social meeting. Israel is the only country in a near to war situation, I know. It thus fitted well the construction of my plot. It allows the dealing with problems in such a context that it puts people’s consciousness in a situation where his life may be in danger, and, from a certain point of view, it is the only way to induce the vital importance of thought for a human being. To think yourself in a situation where you are in prison, you see, possible death penalty pending – perhaps it’s a little exaggerated but you need thinking it – puts you in front of the past, the present and the future in such a perspective that you may just underline what is really vital. You have to find the principle of all your doings and present it in such a simple way that it may be understandable for others, and it’s up to them to judge on it. It obliges you to reveal all your ressources, to a certain extent, because finally, yes, finally, you really don’t want to die. Not that I would mind, if I’m honest. It wouldn’t make me afraid. This is why some things look incongruent from a common point of view, where you see things from the perspective of conserving your life at all cost. But that’s the thing, you have seen so many things that you know subjectively it’s not that easy to go beyond borders as I usually put it. I mean, it really looks as if there were some other kingdoms far beyond, and some of them don’t look excessively reassuring, let us say. I mean, I wouldn’t like to end up there. I wouldn’t make of it a manifesto. Kind “Convert yourself to enter the kingdom of heavens”, it has factually no meaning in our times. But there is a subjective situation, let us say, you obtain whenever you are convinced of something which determines your general position towards things. You know this and that will lead to the lower realms of death, and you take harshest positions against these ’situations’, ‘dispositions’, ‘possibilities’. When you say then “And if you die”, it is more a warning than a menace, it’s more an engagement than an expression of hatred. And this is exactly what makes the difference in understanding, that I confront myself to, as I know may way of doing and saying will necessarily be wrongly understood. But even if you don’t care, you don’t want to die. For other reasons. Bacause there are things you haven’t done, because you think you have to say something, because you are really convinced people are mislead in general patterns and not that you think then of a possible life after, it is that they don’t enjoy their existence and this is something you have to consider, too. Not that it is easy. You have finally little in common with others. Whatever you do takes enormous proportions even if you’re just having a coffee somewhere. You don’t know what you can do, where you may really fit into, who you may talk to and this makes a decision difficult, for me at least. In the hypothetical situation you see both things appearing at the same time, both possible endings and then you say, perhaps you manage to convince yourself it were still worth the while to go on living with so many injustices all around and such a chaos and such a disorder. As it appears to you at that moment, at least. I mean, if you take things seriously, if I had been in that prison, really, I don’t know whether the real amount of horrible things observed all over for so many years, would not have pushed me to drive provocation far enough. And it is not that you say, personally, -although- but the perspective I had for so many years does make the world appear from the very angle of its imperfection, its weakness, its irrelevance. You simply finish by giving it no importance at all. And I wanted to transmit this evidence through a subjective positioning towards subjects. I mean: you see the world saying ‘no, you can’t say that, the image of this one, the shock of the other, the general balances’ and you stay there and say: “what damned image, what chocolate, what fright, you can’t leave people dreaming because it doesn’t solve problems, you can’t cover mistakes because it will fall on a whole, you can’t consider a shock, because the shock after will be even graver, and you start shouting around and say it to yourself and you even become wicked and you go on shouting around and you become furious and say these stupid people who hold themselves for responsible, and what, yes, and what can you do, and you can’t do anything.” And there you are. You have to present things somehow and you put yourself into a prison and say ‘it’s documents that have escaped’ or ’someone else did it’, and then you say ‘it’s a novel, take it as you like’, and better, yes, better, don’t take it seriously… I have to be honest. There is a moment when you start laughing. But you get angry, too. You see people with their social positions and their riches and wealthes and their pretended responsibility and you may have problems to survive when you finish by knowing that it’s you who have been solving vital problems for years. You and what they will call some idiots. The problem that is repressed, that is forgotten, that is pushed back to the unconscious falls into the general psychic realms. People with some diagnosed oligophrenia or whatever mental disease as they put it, are extremely sensitive on these realms. They keep balances, they transmit information, they push things into one direction or the other. They are not respected, they have no survival, they are spit on, they are considered as living from a general generosity, and you get furious and say: can you please tell me what you have been doing all your life? If to keep appearance is a warrant for reason, take this, take this and take this now. And solve it alone. It’ll give you some lesson on how ‘generous’ you are while allowing second class creatures to survive. And not only. You’re taught not to boast with things, you keep yourself in the shadow, it’s a teaching, you don’t make the other ridiculous. But there is a moment where you say, well, it’s that or nothing. I simply can see that any longer. The pushing with the ellbows to get 5 seconds tv and then say I’m the star and what I say is true, and this, on top of being idiocy is probably picked from some friend or whatever. You say, look the guys – when I became very angry I used to call them the ball thinkers because Greek say ‘to mialo sta arxidia tous exoun’ – they have their mind in their balls – what you do is definitely bullshit and I can prove it, as you don’t consider what I say, I won’t consider what you say and what at the end … who is thinking, you or me? And things like that which enter your writings almost unconsciously and then you say, ‘poor guys’ and then you say ‘what do I care, did you care about me?’ At the end you’re having an enormous fun being really but really wicked and there are only but really only women looking intelligent all over and men look but really only to be good for reproduction and as esthetical arrangements not even well presented, and you laugh and laugh and in the depth it’s just some way of pointing at the evidence: “Are you really alone in the world, the guys? I mean, you’ve done everything alone? You’ve no mother, no sister, no wife, no daughter, no friend? Do I have to get 2000 USD for every inspiration crossing my mind as you do? And how many do you get from women’s mind? And what, at the end, is your so intelligent social system built up on the payment for stolen good from women? It’s true, I’ll be paid little in that case. I’ve stolen nothing.” And you go on laughing. In fact it becomes more a parody, a mirror image of an evidence: “That’s what you have done to us. Two random women in each hollywood movie, paid half the price, esthetically arranged who you are doing the favour of leaving a place to. I can do that, too. And with questionings on the esthetical arrangement.” )

I finally managed to invite her for lunch. It’s true that I had the feeling I was talking too much, but I really didn’t care. And it’s true, too, that she was somehow loosing her time if she wanted to get something substantial out of me (depending on what you understand under substantial, it’s true). But were it as it were, and even if it may have happened that she was just recording everything in order to trap me somewhere else (you become suspicious when you write that kind of novels), I hadn’t had such company for a long time, so that I just looked for a while as if I made easier confessions at home and suspecting on the other hand (but this person really looks like this) that she hadn’t eaten for about three days, or just some miserable vegetables without olive oil, I confessed I had some marvellous steacks at home that could be prepared with french mustard (no, it wasn’t porc), which seemed, perhaps the first, perhaps the second in  some aleatory combination, a convincing enough argument so as to move her down the steps again. She looked quite lonely and somewhat lost in this foreign country, and yes, I even suspected she had run away without permission, but that’s things that happen, and in any case, there are personal questions you’re allowed to solve by yourself. And perhaps it wasn’t even true.

After a while, she really started to look much better and less pale, which usually makes angry dispositions disappear quicker, so that you always have to take into consideration all possible factors, and she asked, whether the people mentioned in the novel did exist. “Some of them,” I answered, but not all. That’s the funny thing about it. For me, in any case. You were an imagination at the begining and then you were real, but that was an accident I had to deal with with greatest care and which, finally, made things even more interesting. My father is real, that’s a fact. He was sending in translations while I was writing, and I was really making webpages. Maya exists, too, but I included her in the novel just for the fun. Well, I’d say if she complains, you promissed to send some t-shirts from Israel and you didn’t. Does this not deserve at least a high security prison? And I helped you out, so don’t complain. In fact, that was some extravagancy I allowed myself because I liked the character and thinking of possible interactions, she played an excellent role. And I had really enjoyed the pictures she had sent from all over. And she had really sent in that invitation: she solved without wanting great parts of the plot – if she liked it or not. Others are not so politely delt with. Some are even rudely mistreated. But the whole deals with information in general patterns, with what people believe or not. “Look, it’s written in internet,” and it is true, it’s like that. And this has something to do with most disturbing gossip, with what is reliable information, with who is a reliable witness, with how different patterns of understanding change the meaning of what we say, with how we may deliberately distort someone’s sayings in order to make him look guilty, in order to distroy confidence. You say, I’d never do that. And you find a situation where this happens and that happens and bam, you believe everything without verifying. People who tend to gossip are easily caught by truth looking like gossip, and frankly, I don’t care whatever may happen as consequence. They didn’t when they did, and there are very wicked people. People don’t know to shut up and sometimes they simply don’t want to just because they want to hurt. As long as you can justify yourself – there is no defamation whenever you prove but only if you distort evidences or tell lies – I thought it an excellent way to get rid of what I called a social illness. But it’s combined with humour, with strategies to avoid prosecution, with little stories that are there to divert imagination more than to transmit any valuable information whatsoever. I mean it’s funny. To tell you the truth, a very wicked idea crossed my mind a few days ago when accidentally I found some pictures from the journey to Jerusalem. I was making researches as if I were Doris Wilheim. I knew where I could get some information but was doing as if I didn’t. After a while I find the page and saw pictures I hadn’t seen before. And marvel of marvels, on one of them there is Shiri Tsur, and I get curious – I have no pictures at all from the time I was at University – and say, ah! what did she become. Last time I had made some researches I hadn’t found anything but that’s a long time ago. And now there was a movie and some other things all around. I say, what’s this. Some something of soldiers who have made some resistance. I started laughing and said to myself, well there we have him, Baruwth, a long list of contacts and cinema and the kind and some similar subject. Shall he say, it’s nothing. And I couldn’t. I still don’t know how things are read, but I may understand that it could be read in very ambiguous ways. And what if they’re really after me, I think, you never know and shall this poor Shiri be put under observation, too. For nothing. No. I can’t do it. It is perhaps the only moment all over I had serious considerations on consequences, and I thought it was a good moment to betray Oriol and make him bear the burden of all my faults – free yourself, if you’re a man – see, the madman was really more or less following what was going on and writes the last cross examination at the very moment the police or whatever arrives and is even confessing it is him and this because he believes I’m going to be blamed for everything. Now, that’s reason enough to have him closed in forever, and my japanese general says, from very far, that it is obvious that the israeli army has made up a false responsible in order to present the obvious belief in some general innocence – he wouldn’t say – but, the real responsible has bought herself up, that’s obvious. (in Japan, the very fact of looking guilty is in itself some proof of guilt.)

And I became serious, and put myself quite responsibly behind my sayings. And then you arrive. Now see, whatever happens. I tell you I may have done so, and I do, by telling you. And I say: it was enough to scotch this information on the site.


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Education  shiri tsur’s Education

Université Paris Sorbonne (Paris IV)

       1989 — 1992


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On The Objection Front (Ratsiti Lihiyot Gibor)

Shiri Tsur

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There you’re, objecting, too. It looks the same from some point of view, it’s exactly the contrary from another, in any case it shows some similarity in the objection. Now, don’t say I’m involving her, I’m just giving an example. It makes good publicity for your movie, don’t say anything, Shiri, and what are you doing there, finally, you finish by asking yourself? Sorbonne is troubling, I finish by telling myself and don’t believe anything at all. I mean, would you not think that she’s taking the side of the ‘objection’ just because she’s giving word to them? You would. I wouldn’t. I haven’t seen the movie but I rapidly conclude such conclusions just from the past and other contexts.

It makes you think about things. About the past, about hidden intentionalities. Free studies are never for free and you are given some ‘further task’ you are never talked about. I never take anything for free and I quickly made a deep alliance with Madame Lassegue who shared in vast dimensions my rejection for German politics. If it were a service for your ‘dieu et patrie’, whatever you want, and for free and without taxes. Of course sometimes you have to hit inside of France if you want to arrive to your goal. “Les collaborateurs, Madame Lassegue, les collabarateurs!!” No answer. Well, I’ll find them for you, see if German politics doesn’t find tunnels to France through them. This is how I solved my question and felt very satisfied with this conjunction of forces.

How did Shiri pay the gracious herself, then? France’s politics is palestinian friendly and to largest extent furthers critics on the Israeli government, state and army. I know that. How is this poor person going to get rid of her moral debts, I ask myself? We had something in common. Something very, very strange which had struck my attention. Not that I saw her very often, and not that we talked very much. But one day she told me the following story (censor if it is not of your agreement): Her father was doctor in the army. He was given a bible for services by one prime minister or whatever it was. She said “and my sister wrote some words on it of – I understand – some protestion (perhaps an objection already).” How strange. I thought. I was very young when I was testing already all sorts of means to evade from a concentration camp or make pass forbidden information or something from one side to another of borders. I was 17. I’m not legally responsible, I think (it’s more than ten years ago, don’t take notice for the list of accusations) and I’m in Lübeck. I’m given (!) a gun by a neighbour, a real one but working with air. I don’t understand of guns. Such fun. Were it possible to transport this to Spain, crossing two borders. The French border is a moskito net for elephants, I don’t care very much. But the Spanish one? I write something on my passport, some objection, too with red handwritten letters. The border control stops at this remarks and asks, where it comes from, ‘my brother did it’, I say. And they let me go without further control.

Look at this, I thought then, like a same strategy. Of course I didn’t tell her anything about it at that moment. (No, the gun I got rid of the moment I arrived and made it a present to soemone else – it was perhaps a secret denunciation.) But you stay surprised. Qué raro. And you deduce other features of character that start from that little fact. If I take this as starting point (I mean honestly, Shiri, seen what has happened to all these objectors and you make a film of it), I’d say, she builds up a bridge. She pays her due to the French government and at the same time, lets the others talk. She doesn’t become critical, she doesn’t say anything in favour. Judge by yourself. (Sorbonne teaching, which finally, we may share even from very different points of view.) I’m sure you are not excessively convinced of the possible innocence of the ‘exposures’. Whatever there is, it’s not following orders and this is in contradiction with a concept of the army. Like that, it appears clearly and without hurting French concepts, it reassures general patterns of thought. I’d say, it is like that, even without having seen the movie. But I’m sure not many see it like that. You wouldn’t. I’m sure you’d suspect some deepest link to revolutionary movements and the kind that do not exist, I’d say, in the depth. And it’s the same with what I write. It’s difficult to judge on things and sometimes it takes a long time in order to get a clear picture.

In fact, you can only claer up your own situation through the accidental finding of data that seem to have nothing to do with a clear determined line you may have put yourself as task. It’s true that my texts are rarely proving and most of the time, just show. What is to show, is to insert reality into some general way of thinking, accidental happenings, coincidences that seem not to be related, and all of a sudden you realize that you’re giving back reality as such and that the confrontation with this reality does make appear real features of characters, deepest thoughts in your unconscious. In this example: I’m happily driving my novel to its end. There is only one chapter left when I fall, really accidentally, on some information on Shiri Tsur. All of a sudden, the past comes back. Some reminders of good behaviour and decency and professional ethics. For God’s sake, my unconscious says, what am I doing here in my prison, have to get out of here at once. I thus blame Oriol for everything I’ve done as there are logical possibilities this to happen and … make a Hai Key. I have been talking about Hai keys before, it’s a japanese samurai key which allows exactly that: to betray the seeming to be your most honest friend. The japanese hai key had been the object of all my admiration because it seemed to justify in one case and very rare, the betrayal of confidence. For a Spanish mind this quite common German behaviour which has some ground in France, too, to put you in confidence, for example, make you say and confess whatever and then use this, distorted, against you in some trap, is one of the biggest bastardizes you may ever think of. You simply don’t do it. If you can’t stand someone or if he’s your enemy, you keep cold distances or aggressive attitudes, but you don’t play friendly friends. My general disapproval of such attitude, which on the other hand, I had no means to fight against, had as consequence in my general conversations with national psychic types, some Japanese (who I called the Japanese General) to make some loud protestation. Well, I say, explain. And he shows exactly that. The extreme difficulty of diverting your own ‘fault’ on someone whose real, hidden fault is that high, that he merits even worse. You can’t trap him although you know what he’s done. If the situation allows at that moment with greatest coherence to push a blame on the other, you save your life and the other is punished for real faults. That’s why he will be the only one to understand the deepest morality of my behaviour which will cause greatest psychic disturbance in Spain or in England. You have to think of this, too: for Spain and England, Israel has ‘made up’ another responsible. As I had seen this as only possibility to solve the problem of betrayed confidence, it jumps out of inner ressources without thinking of it twice, when I’m confronted to the very shameful situation of thinking the past in Sorbonne, here incarnated in Shiri, has been put in some high security prison. Without having done anything, Madame Lassegue would say, which is twice as bad, because, she tends to think, this common trouble maker has some peculiar hability to make of an accusation the revealing of general disfunctions, reason why, she would have never gone as far as to accuse me of anything.

In fact, Shiri Tsur solves my problem, if she wants it or not. It is easy to show through another example, how difficult it is to keep general balances and some professional ethics and solve your personal problems at the same time. What looks of guilt here, is of innocence there, what is of innocence here, is of guilt there. Having to deal with general abstract problems you’re constantly hurting general beliefs and this makes you appear as guilty everywhere, if not for this, certainly for that. You have only one choice: to be honest with yourself. I like this, I don’t like that, I act this way and that way, it implies to take decisions that may look contrary to your interest or understanding but it’s like that. Do you respect that? (Otherwise I accuse you of intolerance.) You do. I’m free, and the problem is now how to present things. If Japan comes in help, the better.

At the end, and that is perhaps some general conclusion which appears clearly in the confrontation with other examples, as possibility (are you under observation, Shiri?), it becomes clear that in our times, the moral behaviour, the strict respect of some most ancient rules, like paying debts in time and somewhat tortured ways, like not boasting around with things, like not getting involved in politics if you’ve studied at Paris IV (Shiri finished at Paris I, thus she is allowed a fourth of political engagement), etc. makes you be guilty whatever you do in a determination through general behaviour. Most people don’t do that, most people are ruling judges in opinion, you’re wrong whatever you do.

Of course, you ask yourself what Shiri was hiding away that day, when she blamed everything on her sister, you suspect, but that’s presumption. I needed three years in order to get an answer, but I finally got it and it’s true, really true that I didn’t tell anyone, not even her.

See what I mean. I’m working at these levels ever since, as far as I remember. Someone says something I suspend as possible hypothesis to some possibilty of similarity in general strategies. It is possible that Shiri, like myself, is accusing her sister of something she’s done herself. But: I don’t know it. If it is true, she’s using exactly the same strategy than myself. Let us presume it is the same (hypothesis). If it were so, you must have been hiding away something. What are you hiding away in these lines (inside of this story)? Time passes. One day I phone to say, if she doesn’t want to have a coffee. “Euh. Yes, but, I’m meeting someone else.” (Let’s say) Inside of my ’story’ she’s caught in some fault, and says, which is quite peculiar ‘you can come if you want’. Reconstruction: She’s hiding away she’s meeting someone to her family. Being about to be caught, she distracts attention … look, the same way than myself. It was near to Saint Sulpice, I remember, and quite satisfied with my discoveries, I didn’t share, I establish unconsciously, almost, some deepest link in strategy to this miserable betrayer.

These observations have no formal patterns. They don’t exist. They’re not known. There is no truth deriving of them. Although I know there is. If you’re using these mechanisms to verify, to get information, to establish links from – if I see back now and for unknown reasons – your very childhood you have an amount of knowledge which is factual, which has no social recognition and which is not proving but is going to determine your behaviour and your positions. You solve the problem of politics by a ‘personal engagement’. I’m not creating fractions, nor movements, nor groupments, I have been offensed horribly by someone and this justifies some aggression. Ah, the one was accidentally the leader of a revolutionary movement or chief of a gang? Bad luck for him. Should learn to respect philosophy.

In fact, you’re keeping parameters of justice in some environment that is hostile to such ‘functionings’ because it may end up by proving the involvement of many in criminal activities. The fact that you can’t justify your way of doing, does put you in a socially inferior position, and even more so, if the probably aggressed are using social means in order to aggress you, the kind, social image: I’m  married, I’ve children, I’m well dressed, I have a good social position, I’m right. When there is one word against the other, justice says, that the presumed guilty is innocent. Our societies have shifted towards a system, where it is enough to sell some image in order to be right, and this is a serious disfunction. It is enough to accuse someone of being homosexual, in order for his word not to be taken seriously anymore. It is enough to point at some little fact having happened in the youth of someone, in order for him to be guilty of whatever possible crime after. What does it mean? The hiding away, the false accusation, the deviation of fault, are parameters of justice in wrong criteria.

Whatever happens, I’m guilty. And this is a social fact. On the other hand, you know that the disfunction in justice is going to provoke mistakes in general appreciation (diagnosis, for example, evaluation of strength, whatever). What do you do? You put yourself into prison and try to see through which means you may still be considered innocent. If you manage doing so, then you know there may be some social environment where you may going on finding information, testing reliability and verify statements without this necessarily implying you’re finishing by taking on you the whole burden of guilt of humankind. Perhaps it’s better than being shot, at the end.”

Sask asked then what ‘paramana’ means. “It’s a safety pin, in Greek. Tula adored them, and I often bought some for her, because it made me laugh. Because it made things appear from the right light. It’s not what you’re offered, it’s the accuracy in the finding the moment when you’re offering something. A safety pin costs cents. But she was so happy. In fact, positions can be justified sometimes just keeping in mind this evidence: we’re shifting values towards things that haven’t, finally. It’s true that you may get something that is worth 200.000 USD. But what. What do you care. What is it? If someone finds exactly that you like at the very moment you were about to jump out of the window, will it not link you to the other person in some mysterious, almost holy way? Django told some story like that. (His name was Nico, but he was called Django.) He had just married. He had a daughter who was very small. And his wife was ill of cancer. He thought of jumping from the window that day, his whole world had broken down. And when he was about doing so, and was leaning outside, a picture of his daughter fell out of his pocket. He looked at it and said, ‘I can’t do it’. An accident. Sometimes lifes are hold by very little things that attach our minds to ‘angels’. And whenever we betray this, we loose the meaning of our lifes.

You can’t make a politic of state to oblige people to betray this. The small, the little, the affective attachment to a circumstance which is linked to ‘angels’, and which may have vastest implications. I’d never betray Turkey, even after 10 years in Greece and in constant on war leaning situation. You can’t. If you do, you have lost your face in front of yourself. I couldn’t aggress the USA, either. If they hadn’t intervened in the second world war, I don’t know what would have happened. It’s not that I may agree with whatever the USA does, it’s that I don’t care, it’s not my business. And you finish by discovering that there is some political intentionality which is aiming at the distruction of this. The people around me think this way. The better for them. As long as they respect a ‘non involvement’, for me, there is freedom. If I’m obliged to participate, there is dictatorship. Where are we? In Germany. In France. Is the accusation of on dictatorship leaning situations, justified? It is. I can say, I have proofs.

You leave. It’s obvious. I prefer my little safety pins to Mercedes and central heating. Do you become a betrayer this way? For them, you do. For yourself, you hope the worse won’t happen. It’s very difficult to judge on situations and even though there are parameters allowing doing so. To give explanations may take long. What I did was to try rationalizing my ’system’, the justification of my positions, the rational understanding inside of a very peculiar methodology. I have to put this into a story, because I don’t believe in the ‘It is like this’, I believe in the ’I believe this’ and this belief is in constant interaction with other people’s beliefs, sometimes it matches here, sometimes there, sometimes at all, etc. But the guiding principle is that: my observations are based on the subjective value of a safety pin, of a fallen from the pocket picture and in fact it does nothing but say the evidence that we have neglected those in order to run behind fake values.”

“And why do you call, what you say ‘me’, Sask?” “I don’t know. I use to talk to my characters. Put them into false German situations of security. My principle ‘the belief of God is a trauma of childhood’ confessed in such a dubious situation that she didn’t like her name. I said ‘doesn’t matter, will make you a new one.’ It was not easy. What name in some syllabs would say my principle convincingly and easily enough? After a long time I arrived to the conclusion that Sask was quite convincing. If you think in the logic of that principle, you see appearing some very short, decided sentences, dry and definite. Without explanation. Something like a gun’s shooting. Something like Sask. But not only, playing with words, you say ‘’s ask’. Don’t forget the question. Inside of the quite almost brutal appearance deriving of such a logic there was something very polite hidden inside, even tender, which made me laugh all the time. I always said “Ala. Ya la hemos engañado otra vez.” (That’s it, we’ve cheated her again.) To give you an example. We arrived to some kibbutz not very far away from Eilat. There were Rumanian working there, alone. It was under construction. We tell them we’re going to Jerusalem. They are very happy. They prepare something to eat. Cheese and bread and many things. All of  sudden a car arrives. Someone who is very angry jumps out of the car and with very bad manners starts asking questions, shouting around. I say to my brother: “Dile al petardo este, que no tiene ninguna atribución oficial para preguntar tantas cosas.” (tell this silly guy he has no official atribution to ask so many questions) And my brother says: “Who are you to ask so many questions?” The man is furious, but stops asking questions. We’re said we can’t stay there. “Bueno, we can stay outside of the kibbutz, or is this forbidden, too – no, I say, or does it belong to you, too?” There is some silence. “Do what you like,” he says, “but it will have consequences.” “May it,” I answer.

This man is making some distorted Sask appear. It is some Sask, in the general logic, but the man has somehow gone a little bit beyond frames. On top, I think, he’s making Rumanian work on Saturday, which is forbidden by the Ancient Testament. We go outside. It is night. I fall asleep, weighing in my mind the possible consequences. A Rumanian comes and wakes me up. He says “They say you’re no pilgrims. You’re cheating people because you want to have gracious food.” “It’s not a bad idea, either,” I say. And he shows us some food for breakfast. “They told us not to give you anything. But this is for you.” And leaves. My Sask character is this. Someone who shouts around all the time and then, says, ok, it was a little bit hard and sends some dwarfs to repair the misunderstanding. It’s not made up. In fact, the whole experience in Israel is caught under this principle. Like the happening at the border. Like the happening at the orthodox kibbutz. You just have to peirce the logic. Say, you go to swim and you’ll be left free. I could have never dreamt of a more fascinating general character for my novel. Because it breaks appearance. It obliges you to go behind appearance. You can’t say, how wicked, at once, you have to see what happens after. And this deserved this very peculiar name. Seen the rarity of the character, it had to be made up, completely, although leaning on some Russian Saskja, for example, which had its reasons to be, too. Or on a satellite. Canadian Sask. Or on a tribe in the forlorn regions of Canada, the Saskatschewan. And accidentally it is something like that: A cold frozen satellite controlling the world, hiding away some tribal customs of survival.”

Sask said then: “Why did you say, the German passport was calculation?” “Because I had the choice between the Spanish and the German nationality when I was 18. I thought about it. I didn’t really like these German. But then I said, you can only shout at them if you’re inside. If they want it or not. And I prefered to have the honor and obligation and privilege of shouting at them rather than to hide myself in Spanish arms, which I thought ‘coward’ as not confronting themselves to the ‘monster’ properly. There it was, the task of my life. A paper which said nothing about me but was just the passport to the possibility to shout at someone, a whole people in this case.”



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