It was starting to get very hot and people were dying in France under the heat wave. Temperatures were turning around 45° in the sun some days and even sprinkle water Perrier wouldn’t help to forget how hot it was.
Controls were little. Actually my documents were controlled twice at David tower, once in the park leading to the narrow street, once at King David and once in my room, late at night, for unknown reasons.
4 times after the visa had expired. Thing which didn’t bother anyone, at least I seemed to be who I was.
Soldiers were making exercises of formation in the park below and wearing old backpacks. A woman soldier visiting King David with a group, let a grenade fall on the ground. It didn’t explode, as if it had already assimilated its new identification as ‘divorce’ and the soldiers left.
If Saturdays were boring it was because there was no expresso and you were obliged to drink soluble coffee at Schwartz’, where the heavy ambiance reminding more a 2°clock at night escape of whatever kind of responsibility did rather not please my eyes. You couldn’t see the garden from there and I finished by asking whether it was not possible to transport my coffee to the lounge.
There was almost no personel on Saturdays.
That day I went to the terrace and changed the table I used to sit at for another, more to the left. The change implied a determined change in disposition that had to be underlined by a new table. Everything was going wrong and as I was used to universalize happenings as measure of security in Greece (if someone wearing sunglasses shows this disposition, then all wearing sunglasses will have this disposition until the contrary is proved), the perspective opened this way was rather ugly.
If I was not wrong, the very fact of so honestly having left a suitcase there where it was, had attracted the fury of someone who suspected I may know more than I should and already then I had a sniper on my back, two tons of gossip, a ‘serious’ advice at the police concerning my possible dangerous nature and a long list of approximate accusations concerning possible, virtual or imaginary crimes of all sorts. No way out.
That day I decided I wouldn’t leave my reality fall into the pit of such a perspective and made up a fiscal. My fiscal, a woman of about 45, – she had to be older than me in order to impose authority – and a woman because I rather had had enough with the samurai sword at the police. The poor woman hardly knew what the world looked like from my perspective, an enormous advantage and rather reassuring, and had to – another advantage of imaginary characters – listen carefully to my attempt to put an order into my thoughts through her perspective. I mean, the presence of someone conditions what you say and I needed to be conditioned convincingly enough by someone whose reality insight I would finish by believe in.
I thus presumed the person in question, who obtained no name and was shortly called ‘the fiscal’, would be rather suspicious on my presence even more so after having had a short look at the long list of accusations on a paper on her table.
I started saying that – I had to put an order into my thoughts – that there is complicity in the being in knowledge of a criminal act without reporting it to given authorities. Known as ‘encubrimiento’ if there is no participation it usually has ugly consequences.
I wouldn’t know, but actually I was sure, whether the fact of pretending to be in knowledge of a possible ‘high treason’ affair would make me responsible of anything, and consider: actually I don’t know who left the suitcase, second, I don’t know what it contains, and third, it could have been an accident. If the contents affected national security it affected the army and I didn’t know whether lately offices had been opened in order to report cases of possible afairs affecting national security.
In fact. My source of information has no support in rational elements. Nobody has told me anything, I haven’t got information through spy work, I didn’t fall accidentally on a whole lot of papers telling whatever. If you’re not going to believe that I’m making drawings in Greece of people who are there, I’m not going to believe it either. I mean, I know it is like that, but I know, too, that it is not a rational way to get information. Consequently my information is a ‘zero’ in your evaluation table because otherwise tomorrow someone is going to say that he had the intuition I was a murder and I will get a 30 years prison for that.
The fact I can’t rationalize my source of information does not imply that I may not start suspecting there is more about it than I wanted to believe in the beginning. It may not be true. I won’t make a fuzz about it. If accidentally and putting others and not me into an ‘illegal’ situation (through the listening to foreign conversations), I’m taken for a Russian spy and the transfer does not happen, the best for all. I haven’t done absolutely anything that could be considered as illegal and the gambling with a situation in the presumption of a possibility is not illegal either, as long as you don’t use illegal means.
In fact, the situation is built up in such ways that it seems to contain a solution: as the ‘daughter’ arrives I just have to look very suspicious again and it is possible that private measures of security are sharpened. A problem less.
For me, the problem has disappeared. From a certain point of view. Can it happen again? It’s none of my concern.
There are always different levels of reality. What I see, what I hear, what happens, what I understand, what I feel, what I have the intuition of, what I’m thinking. The way I link elements one to the other is hold in structures of reason. This with this and that makes a whole in identity that can be identified in a determined way.
I’m wrong. I’m tired, I’m getting into a Hollywood mood to write a novel and it seems to me that someone is trying to transfer valuable documents somewhere. It can be, and it happens so often. It does not imply it is true. Yes, there are Russian in the whereabouts, the poor, who can be there more or less with the same intentions than mine. What may link them to an information concerning the sales of bomb plans? Nothing.
My story, or drafts of the story I’m constructing in Greece (I just have what I call the ‘fossiles’, the underlying logical structures) could be related somehow to reality but if you use now rational parameters to link one to the other, there is nothing allowing doing so.
Not here. Not enough with Russian spies and bombs, I have a psychopath who has been payed to kill someone. Another ‘intuition’. Again, no rational proof. What? Am I going to say that I’m a master of psychopathetic lines (what’s this?) and can point with the finger at whoever of my pleasure saying it is a psychopath? Psychopths are scurril because the logic they use are not ‘registered’ logics. Even if I said to someone: verify somehow, the possibilities for him to make a mistake are at the level of zero, then. He will just be warned. Techniques that are not illegal, again, learned from Chinese and other traditions allow to establish a ‘telepathetic’ contact with those people. Said bluntly, we are nothing but cables that contact somewhere and not anywhere else. A psychopath has ‘contact lines’ you just have to reproduce in order to attract him. You put yourself in the situation of a victim. Whatever happens then is in our societies a ‘sheer impossibility’. The man commits suicide? Is there induction? No, because there is no direct contact. You are not going to say now that your eyes are pushing someone to suicide because if it were like that, you’d have a never ending list of virtual crimes through induction whose verification becomes impossible.
It’s true that it may appear as induction from the point of view of our societies. In fact, it can’t even be considered that. How can you know that the ‘x’ receiving telepathetic signals is really ‘x’? I’m a possible victim. To a victim, the murder stands in a determined relationship. If you are the one who is wanting to kill me you are ‘x’. Is it the man with the tie, or the one with jeans? I don’t know. If you are identifying yourself as a possible murder then you deserve your death and you can do this only if you react to the relationship established between a victim and his murder. There is no induction technically, there is an association of an identity to a name having inherent a consequence he assumes.
Very well. Our psychopath is dead, I had to go there because the lines are very confused and need an identification in appearance and the danger is over. If the type is recognizing a type ‘Sask’ as possible victim and about 70% of the army is under control of Sask’s lines, this implies thousands of possible victims. Hypothetically. One problem less.
The study of psychopathetic lines is in fact my most essential passion. I studied work on psychology and/or psychiatry from when I was about 13, absorb information on these fields in Bogota, and arrive to the conclusion that psychology, inside of a frame of empirical science, will never grasp these phenomena. Studying philosophy, I start identifying human behaviour as ‘logical compound inside of a psychic type’ quite early and spend years in the study of logic, mathematics (theory of probability), philosophy of science and metaphysics. It could be possible, I conclude in 1992, if you reject the Kantian definition of form. More intuitively than anything else, I change the fourth years logics for aesthetics. Even if it were possible, it is necessary to introduce such an amount of changes inside of the definition of common concepts that nobody will ever understand what I mean. It must be possible to translate results into aesthetical coordinates in such ways that they become intuitively perceivable immediately. Better aesthetics than logics, then.
The stay in Lape Hospital in Istanbul is nothing but a way to get nearer to common psychic illness and try ‘codifying’ general logics. I will continue my work much later in Serres, Greece. Actually I don’t interfere with what doctors do, I use to play cards.
The idea to exchange heavy philosophical works for a novel full of spies arises quite late. I would say around 1999. It’s much easier to ‘see’ that a logic in Russia coded by what ‘it says’, decides to travel to Jerusalem because of ‘a’, that derives of the logic and meets in this general logic a someone, so that only if ‘I’ appear, there is an accident avoiding a disaster. Or the other way round. Thus, if type Sask is ruling, there are 7 characters that move more or less in the same logic and say similar things but a little bit differently. Intuitive definition of a main or ruling logic. It’s my interest that there are spies and mafia bosses, mass murders and bombs: it keeps the attention awoken and the logical structures hit lower parts of the unconscious. It’s much easier to reconstruct very weak communication lines that put barriers to psychopathetic behaviour.
I’m not fighting against France, which is actually the least of my concerns. When I say France I’m determining a logic that is dissolving psychopathetic communication lines in defense. As there is no determination of that logic, it is an undetermined mass affecting more or less those borders. It’s in Germany, too, in Russia and in China, in variables. Logics do never move the same way depending on general national characters. It’s like chemistry. The defined element ‘O’ does not interact the same way with ‘H’ or ‘He’, sometimes it catches ground and sometimes it doesn’t, it becomes green or red or blue, it explodes or becomes a gaz, etc. Depending on a general environment defined as ‘A’, ‘O’ will do this or that. English Romanticism is not German Romanticism and even less Spanish Romanticism.
For me, things are clear. This affects the realm of thought or psychic environments and that affects politics, social structures, whatever. Power structures I’ve never understood very well.
I put a personal question into my general studies. Happenings of second world war and the restablishment of relationships with Israel, hypothetically. (Intuitive definition of the general unconscious in its relationship to a moral attitude allowing to solve a ‘problem’.)
Things continue to be clear. I leave for Jerusalem, thing I need in order to get a clearer insight into the problem I’m studying, that is ‘why the quarrel, what the logic, why that logic of distruction, how the situation now, etc’. On top I need an absolute reference that seems not to be easy to obtain. I mean, I speak from one perspective even when talking in rational logical parameters. Exactly that one: rational logical. A 99.9 % of humanity does not even know hat it is. Is it possible to stay in such a perspective that may be understood by more people?
It’s true that I’m more than worried, as rational parameters seem to loose ground at incredible quickness. Personal engagement.
That’s my studies.
Personally, I would like to know what these bizarre communications were in my youth. Sask and Hannah and Li. It’s more a hobby than an object of studies where these characters seem to find little space.
And things start happening. The worse of all: it could be said that my quite abstract thoughts and worries are understood as political and are starting to provoke reactions that are affecting up to my life. Not to talk about my reputation, security, health, career possibilities, etc.
Very well. I have my project that has now become more than personal, thing implying that I’m not going to change a coma of my original projects and I’m going to hit back at the same level. Political? Well, what I understand under political. Artificially provoked war situation in Balkans and Middle Orients in order to sell weapons. Behind the evidence of international right, it starts becoming … political.
I will have to find a job in the meantime.
Where is the knot of the quarrel? If I wear jeans, others start wearing jeans and Anne Helene asks whether she may not wear jeans. Which is granted. But there are many wearing jeans in such a liberal environment where even Anne Helene is allowed not to wear jeans and this is understood as an aggression to Haute Couture. (?) I leave walking because I want to think about several matters and it is understood as an aggression against hotel’s interests if I’m asking for shelter every night. No, but there are no hotels here, rather almost never. No, but if I pay a hotel every night I will be paying, I don’t know, 60.000 dollars for a 6 months trip. Impossible, independently of your personal fortune: it’s not rational in the relation finality/costs. No, this is a personal trip and I don’t intend to make of it a universal destiny. “Do we now all have to do the same?” Pippa asks in Istanbul, receiving as answer perhaps the most puzzled expression on a face that can be possibly conceived. “All? Like that, as universal? You must have each your own destiny,” I finish by answering.
The actual quarrel is that I pretend that even finances are nothing but a way of thinking. You favour investment in new technologies: you favour fundamental logics and logics in interaction. Whether these logics are healthy or not is my stupid business, as I’m evaluating thought. I’m saying that these logics are unhealthy, for God’s sake, push them back, now, psychopathetic lines are entering upper realms, the barriers in consciousness are breaking, we will be invaded by ghosts in a few years if it continues like that. It’s not favouring our interests. They say. What, t is of your interest to submerge your societies in ghosts and devils? Well. Perhaps. It’s a point of view or a universal truth again? Maybe there are others who don’t agree with you. Ah, no, they have to think like us? This, mes chers, is an attempt against human’s freedom and sovereignty of states.
I’m fighting against a factual dictatorship whose extension is difficult to evaluate.
In philosophical terms this dictatorship says itself in terms of formalism versus what I would call synthesism. Do you really want that it becomes political? Ok. I don’t mind. They have already been poisoned twice and I still don’t know what I may have done in order to provoke such reaction. Wickedly, on top: attack through family member implies rupture in confidence to family. Attack through doctor, implies rupture in confidence to whatever linked to medecine. Because I know ‘they’ have broken these lines and if it has happened once it may happen twice. I have been attacked by banks, as they have charged me with an amount that had been stolen from a declared as stolen visa card, too and by hotels, whose managers say we’re miserable beggars, worthless gipsies, it’s so easy to open one’s mouth, finally. Haute Couture esteems we have no representing image. The Catholic Church feels attacked because we seem to attract much more than boring priests and monks and yes (?) perhaps we know too much.
The perspective. While leaving Istanbul, I ask myself whether there is place to live for me in a fairy tale. It’s that? It looks as if they were hitting all together my identity as person. I’m not breaking law, I shout around, and I wear jeans if I damn like it, and there is law and you don’t have the right to charge me with that stolen money and, and, and … If I give in once, they’ll break my psychic resistence and my carefully build up identity will disappear in ashes. It’s not that I want to get up the scales, on the contrary, I adore my little hut in the desert where nobody knows what I’m doing and where you may have a coffee with someone around. If I manage to write my book, the better. If I become very famous ( a horrible thought) I’ll have to learn to deal with it. I’m happy: I’m who I’m and do what I want inside of generally given rules. I’m ill, yes. But what a challenge: am I not going to slash you with your own poison, at the end.
That’s what I’m. I do my job, I do my own job, I have my hobbies and amusements and entertainments and, ah, yes, I wear jeans. In the meantime I have Athens on my back, too, the Foundation, Giorgos Papandreu, chemistry holdings that feel attacked by my natural environment, pharmaceutical holdings, Barilla in Italy, and the French government esteeming that my engagement in the defense of international law and freedom of speech (Kosovo war) is the definite sign for the fact I’ve entered a terroristic organization. (I’ve sent a few articles to major newspapers in France.) A little after Milosevic partisans are forbidden of entry in France, thing I don’ care very much as I don’t understand what international law may possibly have to do with a Milosevic friend, or perhaps it is the same depending on perspective and if I just defend international right, I’m not a Milosevic partisan. It’s obvious.
I’m still very happy with myself and esteem that I have made no use of illegal means to distribute my wisdom and people are free to believe whatever they want.
The situation has provoked a cut from family members I esteem may be at risk if I get too near and from friends or acquaintances who may all of a sudden be confronted to liver poisoning mushrooms or other Delikatessen of French or German invention. A double cover builds up a careful image where I’m distractedly keeping sheep in a forlorn village in Macedonia, in order not to attract attention as I know information as I transmit it accidentally to one, will soon reach the … State Department. I laugh. Well, perhaps not the State Department.
Honestly, Shiri, imagine what happens if they think I’m dead and come back one day with superman’s powers making the difference between circons and diamonds.
In order to avoid people in my environment not to be agressed I keep emotional balances by ‘talking’ to ‘types’. I won’t get mad by getting lost in the I of myself, no: this thought arises from a psychic type like Hannah, that one from Li and that one from Shiri, logically. There are objections and answers, requests, moments, errors and mistakes, tilts, someone shouts around, now, keep calm Sask, it really didn’t mean that, and my sheep listen carefully to my deepest lucubrations they seem to participate to. My abstract way of thinking is broken, I state very proudly, now there are no universal statements anymore but characters, logics, people in social environments that establish some kind of contact to me or others.
I’m still very happy as things seem to move towards the right direction whose exact character (of the direction) I can’t define very well.
But who tried to poison me and why? A main character of my education is not to give importance to oneself. There is an importance as ‘self’ I’m proud of for myself, but it does not make you appear on the social surface. For me, to make the effort of trying killing someone, is to give an importance to someone. And I? Why should I be important? Because I walk down to Jerusalem? Don’t be ridiculous.
How strange.
Another feature of mine is to concentrate on peanuts whenever a situation is too difficult. I can’t solve it: I better learn how to make cheese. Steal the receipt from Kuria Maria who has put so many barriers so as not even her children be able to learn it, is an interesting challenge in the meantime. Peanuts. I’m really not going to think I have the whole DID (Deutscher Informationsdienst) on my back. And if I had, were it worth the while to think about it. As I have no proves I have no evidence and as long as I have no evidence, it simply can’t be true. It’s as easy as that: fundamental principle to keep reason in simple philosphical patterns. You escape paranoia easily.
Who am I at King David? Whatever. If someone has the brilliant idea of asking for information, I may be an international terrorist, a fascist, a nazi, a suicide sect leader, I don’t know, a poor shepherd, a link to mafia, an idealistic theorician fighting against banks, a jeans wearer, who knows.
Of course they have forgotten to categorize an ‘I’ as very proud independent ‘I’ who wants to write a book, has been poisoned twice and may have half the world on her back because a new quarrel between formalism and synthesism has arosen.
For you, Frau fiscal, I’m whatever except of what I think I’m myself.
Independently of that, I’m sure now a crime has been committed here and has been hidden away. It’s true that the murder is dead, apparently, if I judge through the appearance of a ghost, thing that is not a very reasonable criterium, either. The one who became a ghost has died because the marks of identity involved a crime already committed, (psychopaths don’t get necessarily active) and this implied a series of murders will be committed. There is no way back. A logic at psychopathetic levels is a machine, a routine, a compulsive reality.
Who has paid this person in order to commit a crime? Who is the murder at the end? If this one is the hand, who has wanted it?
I ask myself in my irreal reality. I have not even seen a corps myself, but the mars woman doesn’t need to see corpses in order to know a crime has been ordered. In a gipsy language there has even been a confession. But what have flies to do with corpses? If someone has shown a mark of bad consciousness it is a subjective proof for me and this concerns as much the fly man as Rafael, who has now put the sniper behind my back.
Good. There is a sniper, someone who has covered a crime, a fly man and Rafael. If Rafael shows bad consciousness, say, Natasha, what are you doing here, say? That was no convincing answer.
It’s still subjective proves. What, are you ever going to go to the police to say: I presume he has bad consciousness this implying he is hiding away a murder? Well. I wouldn’t think that very serious. Consequently I don’t do it.
There is a bomb, I verify careful, because it is possible to establish links between a psychic type and such a realization. The psychic type is there and the bomb is possible. This bomb precisely, thing which all in all reassures me deeply. My way of thinking is determined by my goals, by my interests, by my studies. If a something is build up that is not tactic, tomorrow Israel will be accused of mass murder at the same level as Germany during the second world war. All my beautiful plans to write a nice book with a perfect end are bombed up and I really don’t want that. If it is a tactic bomb, well, the best, even if it is very dangerous. It’s a matter of custom to weigh balances: so much, as many, here or there, (I laugh) that’s new international balances very much to my convenience. And with a tactic weapon, how nice.
I’m not going to worry about the bomb anymore. Whatever happens with it or them, it doesn’t alter the end of my story. But the national betrayer is still running around. It’s not my business. Shall they take care about their private affairs themselves.
Now. The murder. Who, for me, is the one who paid for the crime. (“Shall Assyria, my hand and my instrument, put itself upon me?” Prophets. Or: I command in justice and Assyria is my instrument, which, if it wants to act for itself, takes itself for God and acts outside of justice. = Means, who commands the murder takes himself for God and is a psychopath, in our terms.) If someone says there has been a crime, it will be possible to establish that the murder is dead but also possibly that he had been paid to kill. Through a phone call on his mobile, for example. If you catch that one, you’ll get rid of a natonal betrayer. Two flies with one sole stroke.
I’m thinking. In any case I’m covering no crime because I, personally, have never seen a corpse nor have I been told anything related. Who is covering a crime? Miss Marple, really. And they sit down that day, in the depth, four of them, and the second German (I used to call her and will never get a name) looks at me in horrible fright. Another one who has learned the gipsy language dar too quickly.
A scandal, Gazit, a real scandal. Gonna see what happens if anyone learns about that. And laugh. The ridiculous situation arising from what everyone knows and nobody says and everyone suspects deeply without proves and all thse poor people looking as if they were bathing in a horrible bad consciousness. No, a manager knows about law, Gazit, not about how to keep appearance, although too, but this is a legal crime, for God’s sake. What is it exactly? The other asks after a while. Good. Let us go on keeping appearance then.
In fact I’m having a horrible fun with all these people and while Schwartz goes on hunting psychopaths, actively, I don’t really want to consider the real implications of it all. That are gravest, I presume. Managers without knowledge of law and this implies the illegal is breaking walls all over the financial world. What do I care, I’m just writing a book.
That day the German agent dies. I know it. I know it as well as I know the psychopath has died. Because this wicked goat has broken my lines and has managed to make a posion reach my environment. As long as I don’t know who it is and how she managed to get there, I have a weak point. Reason why I’m hiding myself away so well. I have countered the possibility this may happen again, have introduced variables in consciousness and location, I usually move in an ‘as if’ I were somewhere else, but it is not enough in order to put an end to the menace. It is a pressure to my consciousness, the awareness of a dangerous presence I have managed to locate: Skopje, German Embassy, somewhere around.
It’s not that I have the whole DID on my back, it is that I’m actively fighting against the DID. Whatever derives of that consciousness has a logic, a logic has plans, plans have means of realization, with enormous happiness I’m countering whatever arises from the DID. What is that again? I don’t know very well, and actually I’m just selling wheat. I mean, Xristos is, I never sell anything, I’m very bad at business.
Germany is financing wine in Skopje. They buy tenth class Skopjian new wine in order to reward them for the cover. Hm. Police in Sokpje is infiltered by Germany, the guy just there speaks fluent German and has been trained there. Hm. Hm. Well, Xristos sells wheat.
If that day I feel so well, it is because she is dead. The pressure disappears, I feel relaxed and sleep away, thing that never happens, not even whe I’m sleeping.
But what has happened? Such a coincidence.
I build up a hypothesis: the pressure in Skopje was becoming very high as I had carelessly alerted Serbian on the criminal presence (she tried to kill me) there. I had told Greek, too. She looses one tower of control after the other. Infiltered agents change jackets. Secret support points are revealed by prostitutes. Links to the Catholic Church are discovered. Pressure on those block all possible communication lines to population. The situation looks desperate. Apparently she leaves. Perhaps her identity has been discovered and she is hunted day after night. Like me. Almost. Perhaps she wants to change appearance through plastic surgery.
In any case, I would say that the person called Katherine Fuchs was not Katherine Fuchs. She doesn’t remember me even if the Spanish nuns remember me very well. I think her features altered, as if she had changed. I ask her whether there are Rothschild’s in Israel and she starts reading a long list of names of a phone book. For a long while. I do the same with K. She is director of a hospital. He is general manager of a hotel. He says, “I’m not the lost objects office.” The French Embassy does the same than K. “We’re not here to provide information.” Good. Fuchs is a fake. What does someone at that level do? Not to sit down in order to read names.
I may have done so, that’s why I verify.
Hm.
If this is so, it is possible that Rafael has alerted the police concerning a virtual Russian spy. I stroll around (my contacts), they arrive a little later, discover nothing in Haifa but a secret signal emissor in En Kareim. She starts running while she’s said to stop, she’s shot. In the meantime we still don’t know what has happened to the real Katherine Fuchs but I know that the woman in Skopje had a blue medal belonging to the Filles de la Charité. And Katherine Fuchs belongs to the Filles de la Charite, too. The most probable thing is that Katherine Fuchs is dead.
And I? I went to Haifa in order to test whether there was a free way somewhere to escape the sniper, go to the hospital because I knew people there, makes an excuse, Gazit said to keep appearance, and the Spanish nun alerts me through the voice of something strange that is happening. Thus – that’s really strange – let’s pay a visit to En Kareim.
Yes, but Sask lived in En Kareim. Another mess. Really.
Now, the German agent is dead to my greatest relief, a horrible, stupid accident you may have never dreamt of. That it is so becomes clear a little after: the DID has sent an agent to King David, the secret ultra fascist section I use to call ‘the blondies’ (all women of more than 1.70 and blond) is paying a visit to Doris Wilheim at jewelry Stein. They have opened an investigation. Because of Katherine Fuchs? No. She was Austrian. Because of the German agent. Von Ribbentrop family.
Poor Wilheim. The last information having arrived to the Central was related to King David. I, well, I was looking out of the window that day.
And that stupid goat, what did she have against me?
It’s when she dies that I get her very sophisticated identification codes. I sit back again: that’s it. All. Old nazi hidden away by the Catholic Church in Skopje Macedonia with links to Albania and Bulgaria. Albania is cut off the Sovjet block. The Albanian/Yougoslavian borders are loose. There are Albanian Catholics and Bulgarian Catholics. Lines are opened under cover again under the Sovjet cover. Exactly. Teresa of Calcutta: allegedly an Albanian from Skopje has founded a new order in India that can’t be under the direct control of the Vatican that must always count with too curious elements of the Church. Lines to India. She, she was a ‘friend’ of Diana of Wales. Hm. And Diana of Wales surrounded by the Catholic Church. Was she killed by the DID? Of course: UCK, 17th Nov, PKK, it’s all not that far away. What are they aggressing? Whatever put resistence to the nazi progress. Yougoslavia. Greece. Turkey because they betrayed at the end. Whatever, at the end.
And, are these most honorable members of Henkel and Ribbentrop families linked to the German State? Hm? The German Embassy in Thessalonika has given me a false pasport. And Frau von Ribentrop had her offices just beside the German Embassy in Skopje and they knew each other.
I know too much again. I have the German DID on my back, that’s for sure. Now.
Better look out of the window.
And now? They have lost the chief of the gang.
Gold traffic trough Rumania. That’s what the man said in Hungary? Gold? What the hell are they doing again? Gold traffic through the Catholic Church, I had concluded. Where is there gold? In Turkey, the man said who owned the gold mines. What do they want gold for?
I don’t know. But Teresa of Calcutta was given a Nobel Prize and the Nobel Prize is partly financed by the Foundation Onassis. Financial resources deriving of the killing of son Alexandros and through the use of the members of the board of the Foundation for own purposes? Hm.
How? Through a system allowing to wash money of mafia through a legal hole not controlling income and outcome in the Foundation? Hmmmm. That means the control on most mafia activities.
You, Federman, you are working for the German DID. Well, that looks fine. Federman is introducing 200 killers under the excuse of providing them jobs in Israel, belonging to all branches of US mafia, Lo had said. The OTM is being transferred to Israel, or Gaza (?), the gambling mafia is changing headquarters and the prostitution mafia coming from Orient is making now a necessary stop in Jerusalem. How religious. And you, you have two agents in an investigation department or whatever it is and a Samurai sword on the wall. Federman is getting links into the police.
I’m sorry, Frau fiscal, but I’m not going to put your life in danger telling you the half of it.
No, I’m sorry Frau fiscal, but this knot in the USA gets lost in hundreds of millions of inhabitants, here you are 3 milllion (?) and with that force it implies a control on all state depending entities in less than six months. Luckily she’s just arrived. But, it doesn’t look nice.
That was a construction and all fits together subjectively in a gipsy language. You better shut up, Gazit, however vile the crime you’re commiting.
That day Li arrived acompanied by two body guards who were shaolin monks and I greeted leopard from far.
There is nothing objective. There are no proves. It all simply joins at the end in such ways that it makes a mess of impressions and intuition intelligible. Determining what you do, imposing on you a behaviour. I, knowing this my way of knowing, I decide to sit down a little longer.
That’s what happens if you get into fairy tales. What a fairy tale does is to create a feeling, where symbolic characters move inside of logics that have consequences inherent, and you may decide to stay inside of this feeling and order reality around it. When the feeling disappears, you have to find the way back. My Pakistani fairy tales is horribly agressed all over and I have to find the means to defend it. Xristos is a definite fan of the Queen of Sabah and there are others, too. While Obelix actively defends the Queen of Sabah of all possible insult or unproper thought, I was translating the fairy tale into Israeli ways of understanding. What does this result in? Logically all the aggressing elements become real all around.
But this reality is a fairy tale and what results of it is necessarily a fairy tale, too? I had maintained that f thus v = f: if the fairy tale is an f in your ways of seeing and this reality deriving is v, the whole is false. Stay there, Frau fiscal, and don’t move an inch. This horrible reality is nothing but the result of a fairy tale and thus a fairy tale, too. Well French say that f thus v = v, and for them this horrible reality will be more than true, with or without Queen of Sabah.
There is a logical mistake I will pay for a little after. In fact: f (in A but v in B) thus v (in A and v * in B) = v. (Results in 2006: La cumbre de Quito)
They’ll put me into prison for having induced you into error, Frau fiscal. But that’s all we have for the time being. I swear it’s not deliberate.
Good. Now, don’t ask me what a proof is or I commit suicide, Frau fiscal, a proof is proving enough, that’s all.
It’s obvious that the hotel is serving other purposes, too, Gazit says finally.
But I have everything in my hands, now. Even the possibility of getting proves. I have the underlying logic and scheme and I can even get proves. Behold, France and Germany. X is dead. But I’m still alive, fairy tale or not.
For the time being, tell me if you have something to do for a mars woman, I will get bored waiting for time to pass.
