I opened my imaginary agenda that day, being sure that at least that was imaginary, and as if I was really a very serious person, – serious people always have an agenda, – and wrote down a few notes:
I could presume now that the liver poisoning had been an accident of a determined nature. Afraid we may learn about the gold traffic and thus about an operation headquarter in Balkans, someone is said to invite us to change the path from Rumania to Serbia with the idea of saying a little after to Serbia, there are spies around and make us disappear. Unluckily, Serbian don’t kill anyone and the man at the border tells us on top, why we should change the itinerary. I’m eventually identified as the only one who may cause trouble and poisoned. I would call that a routine operation acting in panick after failure, which, eventually, is answering to very deep and hidden signals of the unconscious.
I would say that the happening in En Kareim corresponds exactly to that pattern.
I’m though in direct knowledge of something strange.
I can presume then, that the atack on neurons is a deliberate attack answering to what someone thinks to be a personal offense. Apparently the ‘shadow of a ghost’ has felt a horrible offense because he has been called ‘beggar’ and has moved a few links in order to revenge such fact. I would say that this attack happens between Mersin and Cyprus, reason why I know that there is a chemistry healing the liver. To which extent my personal research of help through very near communication lines to Tula helps to the realization of it, is difficult to say, but it is true that I don’t feel specially menaced by that. If I’m not searching for something to heal me, ‘the shadow of a ghost, or the shadow of the dog, in Brel’s words’, these idiots don’t find lines of attack. It’s not excesively difficult to know where it comes from and to induce an error that allows to get an approximate amount of what I need to get healed.
From Gölpazari to Cyprus, my state of mind is getting down and down into the pits of the unconscious in order to try finding a solution. It seems as if these realms of the unconscious implied a perspective that contains elements we are rarely aware of: possibilities are measured with human measures and over all situations appear in notions linked one to the other in almost irreal ways. On the way down, I’m seeing projects, blocks of thoughts, like quarrels, stories and fairy tales, Hannah appears, Tula appears, Sask is there, somewhere, I tell a few of these things to Conchi as if taking notes of something very surprising and inside of all that I see a very small and narrow path that may lead me back to health.
A project as inner finality is something that keeps you alive, and even more so if I have really seen that it leads back to health. Voices ask for a place to stay, for means of realization, for a ‘similar language’ environment, for financial resources, and put a few marks of things that have to happen and I will recognize in order for me to be sure everything is happening according to plans. It’s no accident that the messengers of the Queen of Sabah appear at that moment. The ‘psychic cloud’ linked to this ‘story’ is parts of the solution. There is a quick transfer of political coordinates into psychic notions and a most interesting perspective appears inside of the realization of a novel whose matter has been taken out of reality. It’s true that I somewhat count with the fact that Sask will make of it a duel. The opposition is what keeps you alive. You need to sharpen intelligence every day in order to get the means to do what you want. It means your attention is alert and this helps you to wake up the day after.
From my point of view it’s a random, almost unsignificant happening that will certainly not shake the world. I will loose 10 years time of my life, up to 15 actually. To put such a finality at the end of the process, implies these 15 years have not gone lost for nothing.
It’s true that I remark somehow that there are many people who start getting interested in my project, intuitively, because they’re horribly bored in their offices and every day’s life organization, but it is still a fairy tale, somehow, a game of intelligence: we are going to knock out super star Sask of the Israeli Intelligence and people are very happy with such a perspective.
Logically I will go to Jerusalem, thing marking our definite success, our symbolic victory, and I will have to start learning again to speak. We didn’t talk very much, then, and there were others who did. A sentence here, a sentence there, answers became situations that were embedded in reality as if the very context it happened to happen was wearing enough signs of intelligibility. Had I been asked then what we are up to, I would certainly have answered that everyone had his own business as if it were enough to point at the social reality in order to give a proper answer. It means that all the rest is said and understood in a very strange language whose codification is actually the same than the one of the stories told to Conchi during the path down.
As if you said that the last resources of life are a marvelous fairy tale attracting your attention where nothing else is of importance but this subjective relationship to the fairy tale, and understanding and logic, definitions and demonstration become paler and paler, irrelevant, insignificant, almost absurd in their lack of depth and all your existence starts turning around that, imposing paths, acts, reactions, interests. Apparently there were quite a lot leaning on the last resources of life if you judge through the high acceptance of the project and the enthusiastic participation of many to it.
I would say that our main activity is to steal systems intuitively: reactions, tones of voice, signals of all kind, psychic types, all this says indirectly how the technical system works and may help to find a way through.
Is the duel true? How difficult to say. We live inside of the imagination that it is so and when I will get there a third time, we have won and I will tell the story in such ways that it will clearly appear as if the duel had been, making the whole much more interesting and exciting. I will need around 5 years after in order to structure language again, a very specific language, leaning half on fairy tales and facts, as if insisting in the inherent truth of fairy tales through the use and misuse of facts, real situations and names.
I need to know more or less what the world is doing at upper social levels: finally ‘we’ had decided that the story involved spies and mafia bosses, bombs and possible wars, technical miracles and devastating pests and to get a perspective from where all this becomes visible enough, you need to get up to a level where decisions are taken at international basis. A five stars hotel fits us well, in Jerusalem on top: the way people dress, move, talk, creates the actual proper environment that should finish by determining the language.
It’s very beautiful and that should be enough for the time being to pay me off for 15 years absence. I know my language and reality understanding is ‘strange’, reason why I don’t bother anyone with my stories. I actually don’t seem to be sure whether the neuron’s functioning will be completely healed: appears a very slight distortion to the possibility of obtaining a common reality apprehension but it doesn’t matter very much: a fairy tale does not need of precise and accurate reports and I haven’t lost the abstract theoretical ability. What I can’t do is to link my stories, my underlying reality configuration, to outer reality. I’m never sure whether my constructions are real or not, they seem to be linked somehow to something, but I don’t know how.
It doesn’t matter for my book. Hollywood makes up a lot of things, too, and does actually not care about how all that is actually and factually linked to reality. I’m building up an image, I’m inserting a fairy tale into reality, I’m trying to convince myself of the fact that I have not lost 15 years of my life inside of my original life plans. I wanted to clear up psychopathetic behaviour and analyze what happened during second world war inside of new metaphysics. All that is still there inside of my future novel. It’s true that I wanted to know, too, personally, what these strange communications lines were I knew from when I was a child and I’m horribly curious: a state of mind that is so near to death is fascinating and I will want to stay in it in order to study it the years to come.
And then. Yes. And then, is this true now or not?
The almost incredible cascade of happenings succeeding itself one day after the other there where I’m, now, with nothing that I could hold for factual proves in my hands but quite a lot of them in my own peculiar language, a murder, a crime, high treason, a real bomb, possible real spies, and a sniper on my back. Well.
I’m confused. I try putting all the elements together for myself, in order to know whether I have not done anything wrong and conclude very quickly one thing: if, for whatever reasons, my most imaginary fiscal asked me to say what I had witnessed, I would be strictly incapable of. A compound of intuitions, associations, fairy tales and stories of different nature and many proves in … gipsy language.
It’s true that if we hadn’t been working at the bomb and a high treason hypothesis, nothing would have ever happened. I guess it may be true and am hunted now on top because I intuitively react inside of a possible solution scheme we had been working at.
That is starting to make a second fairy tale, I go on thinking.
We were very serious. Actually, whenever we opened a hypothesis, let us say, implying a Russian spy, investigations were made in order to know exactly what the one may have looked like, how she/he was dressed, social environment, what she/he could eat, what the general compound of thought was, which variables were possible, in order to know how exactly the one would react inside of a given situation. And this implied that we were making up the most absurd hypothesis possible: the existence of mar men, the regeneration of neurons through thought, the transmission of information through electronic signals, the coming back from death of someone who had died 20 years ago, the structuring and ordering of hell, etc. Some things had finished by looking somehow true, yes. It was true that I wrote down these Hebrew words on my paper. But I had no general theory for that and it actually didn’t bother the feeling of possible reality inside of a story: flying carpets, marvelous lamps, super heros are the common food of those and the only innovation we had introduced was that we were attaching all that to ‘possible’ things inside of common reality. To say: the ‘marvelous’ was rationalized to the extent that, embedded inside of a determined context, it may appear as true. Or at least as possible. Fun arose from the crash of different logics producing the most absurd situations, following a little bit ‘Alice in wonderland’ strategy and at the end it was sure that ‘I’m Jerusalem’ belonged to Pakistan as title and the false pretenders had to die all together. I was the superhero representing whole lots of other superheros who had provided me with all sorts of magics to fullfill my task and this time, Enkidu would win his battle against high tech Gilgamesh.
Not that all hypothesis would be inserted into the story. We would choose a few of them, the most relevant of all. We had been working at thousands of them.
And now? Reality is eating up my fairy tale. Won’t need to make up anything, I went on thinking, it all seems to be horribly true, somehow.
Yes. But what a horrible world we’re living in, finally. I mean, independently of my own destiny and my projects, is this ever, ever possible? No, señora, I say to the Spaniard, I haven’t done absolutely anything and I’m being hunted by a sniper for having jumped into a hypothesis and am possibly accused already of ten thousand suspicions just because they think I’m in a situation of inferiority. Police is paid by mafia, forces are unsufficient, a bomb of unknown contents has escaped all control, spies walk around as if they were at home, is this supposed to be normal?
While psychiatrists ask themselves whether you can say it ‘compulsive’ if it happens 23 times or only 14, Schwartz, the bar man, is hunting psychopaths and while a crime is committed, highest chances exist Gazit will be accused of whatever just because she assumes a responsibility, there where she hasn’t seen anything at all. She hasn’t, the others have but they will say they didn’t that day, the fiscal will finally really arrive.
May I know what is going on?
It’s not Jerusalem and it is not King David, it’s a general situation that is affecting King David and Jerusalem. Although I admit that intuitive reactions based on fairy tales are perhaps not a rational parameter, rational common parameters are lacking obviously all over. To which extent can you expect something of something? To which extent can you claim for it? I can’t expect the fiscal will ever understand how you hunt a psychopath: actual main matter of my studies, it has no theoretical background yet. You can’t expect it even of a psychiatrist: their background is another.
Can I expect a fiscal may not be mislead by a false accusation, a suspicion, an ‘intuition’, even a false self accusation? I should. Can I expect the police is not paid by mafia? I should. Can I expect I will not be hunted by a sniper if I’m peacefully working at writing a novel? I should.
What in my behaviour can still be said ‘normal’, not excessively determined by unknown criteria and what in the general common behaviour is starting to really fall into irrationality?
I don’t know.
Why does the fact the German agent dies, heal my liver? Not my liver, my fright and thus my liver. My fright derives of the fact that something has happened that has put my life in danger. The agent dying I grasp the logic of the attack and can build up a defense for it. It protects me and my liver and I feel well.
I’m ‘diffusing’ reality because I know there are things I can’t fight against. There are things it is better not to know because you can’t change them. I introduce criteria of deviation in order not to be confronted to the consciousness of what derives of my knowledge. It’s not that ‘the dog’s shadow’ may ever attack me again. It is that a grave psychopath in what I call a Baldwin logic, has influence enough so as to move the whole French intelligence to an absurd attack for not justified personal reasons. See, the guy, I don’t care a shit about who you pretend to be and as things are, I would rather shut up. If you’re an idiot you’re an idiot and if you’re a beggar you’re a beggar. It’s like that and you better assume for everyone’s well being.
If it has happened at that moment it means that this factor of irrationality has acceptance as possibility inside of French Intelligence. What do you conclude: the Moscow Opera attack was planed by France, Ruanda massacres derive of that kind of logic, Middle Orients are an immediate target, etc. Are you going to live in the awareness of that? No.
It’s true that most people would perhaps have never concluded such but they have little to do with logic: the mechanism, the logic that is behind one and the other event is exactly the same. I’m an expert in essential logics, it’s like that, although I share my wisdom with very few.
If I want to explain to the fiscal what I have seen and carefully put the correct names behind each thing: this was an intuition, this was a fact, this was a construction, this was a coded message, this was a conclusion, I will have to go to France, deliberately as they killed deliberately, for a personal revenge as they acted moved by it, with the finality of ridiculizing them, because this is what they intended. The attack on neurons finishes by provoking irrational behaviour, incapability of social contact, impossibility to work, and then: a beggar myself making my intelligence be ridiculized by the world? Ha, ha. So funny, the guy.
A revenge based on nothing and wanting to make prevail a pretended privileged situations as means to assure ‘that he was so powerful and had already warned then’. Does this imply Conchi has to pay you a trip? Does she owe you anything? If the situation is thus that this worm can push things that far, betta be careful.
X’ logic is the same ruling on terroristic attacks in Balcans. It’s different. It’s groups ordered to serve purposes, demonstrations of power, political structures. The French logic is just ‘put shit to sell weapons’. It’s obvious. And obvious then, that even if organized by France, the Moscow attack shows different elements: X has fused with French Intelligence at a certain number of levels.
The Twin Tower attack. The 11 Mars attack in Spain (Muslims that are acting under the cover of ETA). What are the new elements? Pretending to be inside of a diffuse cloud of political lack of foundation. Federman is behind the Twin Tower attack because she is furious they have thrown her out of the USA. Mafia has entered the circles of German and French Intelligence.
Such a beauty. However coherent my conclusions already in Greece, I’m not going to put that as reality perspective to my consciousness. I’m writing a book, I don’t care about anything of all that, if we manage to push a terrorist to suicide, the best and better, but that’s parts of the fairy tale.
I have to go to France if I want to explain theoretically to the fiscal what I see of the situation. Not that it will ever happen, I guess, but I think it social responsibility to be at least able to make out of a horrible fuzz a coherent story the fiscal may understand, just in case she would ever ask for my opinion.
What I see, is that if Angers falls, I won’t be afraid anymore of what I see. Goliath has just fallen thanks to one sole stone. The rat has been eaten up by the booted cat. The fact that the accident concerning the German agent has happened is opening new, incredible perspectives. I may perhaps be able to have coffee with the fiscal in the future, thing that makes me feel much better: I recover thus my social person, I had lost for many, many years. Inside of this possibility exactly.
If I can say that we, the 7 magnificient, are moving innocently inside of a black magic logic, I can say, too, that there are who are using this same logic for their own purposes, deliberately and wickedly. As we are not ‘normal’, we are quite isolated, easy target for whatever agression. On the other hand, we are the only ones to understand the mechanism of this logic and may actively fight against it. Our integration into a normal social body will be extremely helpful: it’s obvious that we obtain an incredible support of population that is fed up with the constant violence, irresponsibility deriving, arbitrary attacks, situation of general instability, etc. If we look ‘normal’, we are not strange elements you have to take care of anymore. Perhaps, we may even talk to a fiscal, who, as things are, will run away the very moment she will see one of us. Actually she will most probably associate us to the ‘enemies’: the shadows, the formal patterns are the same and it is something you should never forget. I mean, before terrorizing fiscals.
My imaginary conversation with the fiscal has put things there where they are. As I’m studying Gazit very carefully, by the way, I have an average idea of what common sens is, too. Figure out the world was made such that I may have a conversation with the fiscal. I can, how peculiar, immediately make the difference between what is a hypothesis, a reality, a construction, a keeping appearance, a symbol, a fairy tale, a subjective perspective, an objective fact, an intervention on personal basis, etc.
The fact of being subjectively convinced of the fact the fiscal will laugh at Gazit’s pretension to take all responsibility on her by asking “how was the body dressed?” and point wickedly with a finger at her saying ‘you should never pretend to more than what you are’, letting her go and bursting out laughing a little later, makes it possible to think a Samson strategy.
Perhaps it is not true and such a fiscal does not exist, but to think this possibility allows a very, very clear evaluation of the situation. And this evaluation exists, is real and a very nice perspective. I feel much better there than thinking I will stay forever in my half in fairy tales bathing logic with attaching points to reality through accidental use of names, facts and situations.
Inside of this perspective the evidence arising is that it is all true. Not what I say here because I had said to Gazit that no scandal would touch King David, although everything would take place there because it was easier to construct a plot, and in any case it fitted the ambiance and would make good publicity at the end. Even the possibility of reading electronic signals.
I’m no doctor and don’t know how: we use to work in approximate notions using words that are not very well defined. It drives you mad, certainly, in normal cases. I’m used to transform inner movements in words from when I’m very young: these ‘interferences’ become readable signals. No joke. I’m a super woman thanks to you, la France.
Am I thinking right? If a mushroom that poisons a liver in a German strategy, gets in contact with a plant’s milk destroying neurons inside of a French deliberate plan, and is surrounded by sheeps milk haven eaten another milk containing plant, then the poison becomes a ‘something’ that is ejected by the body while your neurons start capturing electronic signals.
If the German strategy gets in contact with France’s deliberate plan, without sheep’s milk, it will rotten two nations.
Is it correct? I’m working at levels of body. They are working at levels of intelligence, upper lines, logics. If the German logic gets in contact with the French one, you have a poisoned liver that produces a miracle in this that it is healed and completely destroyed neurons, which, without milk, attracts the broken light, producing a rottening of cells of the dorsal spine.
It looks horribly true inside of my evaluation table. A miracle gives you the feeling you’re superman, destroyed neurons put an end to whatever ordered social organization and in the meantime whole millions of population are rottening without solution, if and only if, they have carefully followed my indications (?)
Clotilde (French) and Jorge (German) got married in 1997 (?). I told them not to leave for France as they had promised. They leave in 1998. The logical structure that has healed the liver in bombed up neurons without milk has just become a reference and model for deepest love in … France.
How many chances are there the illness called sipsi may not exist? I don’t know, nobody would ever accept this as scientific explanation. Me, neither.
Why does my personal destiny become so easily a general destiny, I go on thinking, it should be impossible.
To say that the poison, a new one resulting of the interaction of both, in interaction with that sheep’s milk produces a ‘matter’ that is ejected by the body, and if this is not done, it introduces itself into neurons and attracts the broken light, that rottens neurons.
I’m moving inside of my logic. To Germany (X) in France (virtual) I get out to the surface … Federman. I have not been yet to France and will get Federman out to the surface a little later.
Two logics, a physical reaction and a more ‘intellectual’ combination of elements, meet in the accident that has killed ‘X’. What links one poison to the other is the how they affect outer reality. If a affects A this way and b affects A that way, then a is linked to b through the way they affect A.
We still don’t have milk, but we have Federman. X is dead, Anger may fall, and this puts an end to international terrorism if on top Sask makes a war that establishes the rules.
There is no milk and the only thing we may pretend is to put an end to international terrorism. They will be wanting milk on top. Who has killed my sheep? Reclamadle a Cascorro, ahora, I say, because in any case, even if I were not angry, there is no milk.
My fiscal is an imagination, a reassuring one. If there is identity of the 7 magnificent, I see, for me, that Angers falls. Perhaps the fiscal isn’t, but my conclusions are. Perhaps the seven don’t have identity, but they will affect reality in my way of ordering reality inside of this thought.
No, they are not producing a chemistry that combines a miracle with the distruction of neurons, they are transmitting this logic as love dream, it is affecting grammatical structures, esthetics, organizations, politics, it is affecting the fundamental structures of organization of reality and this is attracting the broken light anyhow and on top is furthering chemical combinations that look ‘pleasing’ inside of that structure.
I didn’t tell you to go back to France and here, here there is milk.
Ti na kanoume tora (What else can we do), I tell myself, you can’t do more than what you can do and it is true that to put an end to international terrorism is the only thing we can do, now. If these constant interferences stop, perhaps we may find a solution for sipsi, too.
I have studied Angers and have always allowed to the ‘shadow of a dog’ to come whenever he was in trouble, as usual. The other one who comes often is the representative of Federman, or of the residuum I have to get rid of, IR. IR is there before I can launch an overall attack on GL. I see Federman before I will be able to attack Angers, but Federman will be put an end to, after.
In this incredible logic that looks to me as reassuring as the fiscal, I will heal myself completely and I may presume that if this mental retarded are copying logics I’m wickedly getting rid of, perhaps one or the other will do the same with mine. Sask, Natasha, Li. There are chances we get rid of international terrorism and I will have coffee with the fiscal.
Well, don’t forget the book, that has obtained an extension and will look the following way: I will write articles on subjects trying to put together my thoughts inside of Gazits common sens and wanting to explain to the fiscal what has happened in Anger and one day I will try putting them together. It will appear that Sask has put me into prison and I will remember that I wanted to write the story of how we went down to Jerusalem. Remembering that and writing it down, I will remember the conquest to Jerusalem and put the ban in internet, without yet evaluating very well its meaning myself. Thus, follows the second trip to Jerusalem in 1995. And there is a gap and I have to order my thoughts for the third part.
I start it but it is wrong.
It’s not the same if you go to Haifa than if you go to Tel Aviv.
Time passes. I don’t go to Haifa, I will go to Tel Aviv, por chulería, I say, I take even a plane back.
I transfer texts from the first ‘compound’ to the third part. In the meantime a war in Gaza has taken place. Sask is always late.
I can write the third part and must shift texts again, because Hannah doesn’t fit into the whole, and it will become to long. Shall I put Hannah now into the first part that has become the fourth?
No. I need a fifth part. The war of Gaza and an electronic explanation with me in a hypothetical prison follow the third and the fifth should finally help me out to Cuenca, Ecuador.
It gives an image to what a shift or reversion in time is. 2009 follows 2003 and then there is a hypothesis and of that jumps out 2003/4 until 2008.
A marvel. A master piece. Don’t say no, Frau fiscal, it’s all I have to take a pleasure out of this chaotic situation.
Let’s put the Emperor into the fifth, too, I need time to think about it.
It must have appeared after the war in Gaza or in between but its meaning was diffuse. It must be there in internet like the ban ‘I’m Jerusalem’ and who knows what is going to happen again. It doesn’t matter, I feel better now.
I’ve made a few phone calls, said a lot of none sens, asked for money I’m offered after a while, I look poor, without resources, a little crazy, convincingly enough. If I have made a few mistakes in the general trouble they will all disappear under the cover of my new role.
Good. We still have to get out of here. I mean, I.
It’s August, the light is shining bright. I make a calculation and say that if they are controlling the plane tickets sales, under electronic control usually, they will not pay attention to a ticket that is paid by a person abroad. I phone to my father who is sleeping and tell him I have to leave from here. He says, I shouldn’t worry, he will pay the ticket the day after. I go to a travel agency that is full. Much better. The man says that there is no place in flights to Madrid, not even through Athens. Well. It looks bad.
And then he asks whether I don’t mind when. And I say, not really. And he says, wait, perhaps I can do something. And there is a place in a flight through Athens to Madrid very late at night or early in the morning and I say, my father will pay and the phone call. Thus he phones to my father who pays with a card and I’m told to pick the ticket up in Tel Aviv.
A paradise.
Good. The man in the hotel is going to warn the police if I leave and I hope they don’t mind if I leave a bill of about 30 USD without payment. Punishment. What does it mean to such betray poor tourists to the police. As it is night, there is no one at the reception.
I prepare my luggage, walk down the staircase, go down to the main street and take a taxi.
When I arrive to Tel Aviv it must be about 10. A woman I ask where I can take my ticket from asks, ‘why so early?’. “Because there are no taxis later at night,” I answer.
I presume I have three days. The man of the hotel is going to warn the police, making a horrible fuzz, about three days later. It makes me arrive to Madrid, even through Athens.
I get my ticket and wait, outside, mainly, having coffee and smoking a cigarette. It’s obvious that I have not run out of resources if this is what they think, because I arrived with a taxi. My father’s name is not my name and comes from Spain. The hotel owner has not phoned.
As narrow as a wooden bridge upon the abyss.
A border control agent called Silverman says I can’t come back to Israel because I’ve staid three months beyond the actual visa permit. “It’s law?” I think. “Or you the judge?”
Psst. Federman has even infiltered border controls.
Although a toll agent looks a little bit puzzled by the overall presentation of my new cover, she finishes by giving in to the evidence that my plane will leave if she doesn’t let me go. There are so many things to look at and so many papers to go through, that she doesn’t have time enough to arrive to my secret.
In my pockets I have the Hand of Fatima handed over by Irit Gazit to me just before leaving. The keys to the town of Jerusalem.
“Be happy, Queen of Sabah, ‘I’m Jerusalem’ is yours’”
