LIMOUSINE FOR FREEEADING 12
QUO VADIS SAXIS
Once last year I was rummaging something under the Husbil. Suddenly I’m accosted by a woman, about my age, let’s say, and being asked if I’m selling it. I replied to this strangely smiling lady that if I wanted to sell it, I would probably put a visible ad. Then she from the other hand, so to speak, would I not want to buy another, because she also has a Pilote (body type) and for some reason doesn’t want to put up an ad in the net. I said why doesn’t her husband take care of it, and she said, he died and that’s why. So, I said rather not, at most I could come and look at it and perhaps advise something. If it’s in good condition, then maybe some friend would buy it quickly. I persuaded Żuria and we went.
Diesel turbo, but for me the volume doesn’t compensate for the power. Flap from the engine dangerously installed for the window glass. The bodywork is not all there either. Initial and subsequent inspection revealed a great deal of defects inside. Nothing worked, the stench from the mash hidden under the couch was causing wood rot. Zurka began to seal the holes on the outside with her favorite rubber. I said to the woman to go inside then I’ll tell what I found, and she replied she will not, because she has too many memories, and her husband bought it for a penny supposedly. Oh, gosh, you gorgon. Well, I told her what and how, but I felt like I was hurting her, such faces she played. Another would have thanked me, offered coffee, etc. And here’s nothing. Okay, we wrapped up and drove off. Later she hooked me up again at parking, saying that some guy came right away with a caravan transport, mean was determined and bought for 35K. Such a Polishita pleased with the luck. He overpaid terribly. I wouldn’t have given 25. So much work to do, I wouldn’t want to do it anymore. Too noisy engine and so on. Too stinky.
I will miss camper rallies and car picnics in Poland a bit. Mainly because of the nice, friendly people who sometimes turn out to be the only ones and undertake to help simply, out of knowledge of the subject, out of sympathy. Like Tomek, for example. Spec electrician who dismantled completely unnecessary old parts. Last year we were, as usual, at several such rallies in Warsaw, and then I bought a large collection of quite rare pre-war books on social economy at the “Warsaw Antiquarian”. And when we managed to organize one camper rally in Zamość combined with a book sale, the “Zamość Library” came out to meet the visitors and offered to sell used books such as copies on the history of cars, which of course I purchased. Since then, I have bought only two books just before I left for my trip in Europe ’24 at the antique shop “A” at Ark. The beautiful leather-bound editions were Maria Cieślak’s “Memoirs of a Zamość High School Student 1941-50” and Bogumiła Sawa’s: “Girls in Aprons…”. Always SAWA at the END. The word Sawa ruled my life and I’ll tell the story later. How to say… All in good time. And it wasn’t until I was wandering around Amsterdam that I found several books on a public shelf worth taking, including “Zicht op de toeomst” by futurologists Rudolf and Robbert Das about techno visions of the future with 250 illustrations.
Weronica Bloch Żuria was the greatest friend I’ve ever had, and all the photos with my participation (except for the period of Rasta, Tomasz Kempa) are by her. The funny thing is that one of Vera’s faculties is actually library science. Wera loves the earth and the earth loves her too. She also loves taking pictures of everything green and what’s on her plate and more. She can plant anything and anywhere and it always grows. For me, of course, this unusual element is completely understandable. My mother, who also loves the earth also appreciated it a lot, which I feel was quite unusual. I think Żuria found the best recipe for youth. She knows everything about nutrition, safe and unsafe products and ingredients. I myself treated her a bit like my own daughter. But children need to go into the world to start making their own way. Zhuria a.k.a. Gienia Maluchson can eat more than I can, which has always amused me immensely and I hope will always remain a mystery.
How long did the myth of the United States linger in the mental space. How long the world n “didn’t want” to notice the real Evil creating and playing out wars. All propaganda was based on this to justify this murderous mechanism. I would have to be completely crazy, or some kind of masochist or idiot, to go, for whatever reason to the United States. I perceive it, as the biggest prison in the world. Like some kind of concentration camp, with supervisors paid from outside and inside, with human, animal, plant labs. Where reality turns out to be a set of interconnected psychological operations. Anything to destroy the organic human being and program a synthetic, addictive SLAVE. Annihilate a MAN, a HUMAN. You can laugh at the “alleged” Matrix because you make a fortune based on the misfortune / blinding / incapacitating a human, but how do you know that you are still one?
This is some kind of sick illusion for those limited to comprehend only/at most 2D on many levels. I don’t see values, I don’t see prospects. I see from the beginning bloodshed, wars, social inequality, poverty, exploitation, genocides, bribery at all possible levels. The desires and pressures to manipulate others. Well, the SAME Evil. No matter that the concentration of so-called human capital enables new technologies, or the highly debatable / INVASIVE attitude to progress. So what if it’s to incapacitate a person. Getting rid of him of all his resources in all possible ill taxes, loans and debts. MOLOCH. I don’t even understand anymore how anyone can be proud of this country, of which period? Jazz in music? One big prison with the glorification of the idol of money at all possible stages, levels, cultures, etc. YEAH GOLDEN CALF INDEED. What is the simplest way to call it? What’s the point of partaking in it, beating the foam, standing at attention, babbling something about the founding fathers, what’s left of it, when it’s not true anyway, just like every American film. Why get involved when your every step and contribution serves to spill blood somewhere else. It doesn’t matter if in or out. Chemistry in the food, chips in the head, rats at the grassroots, the stench of decomposition in the streets. Like that trickle of blood from G.G.Marquez’s “One Hundred Years of Solitude” wandering the streets. ETERNAL. Human bloodshed IN ITS CORE.
Infantile and sad is the American excitement in the presidential election. A Zionist in a baseball cap believing/supporting the genocide business and involvement of his country in it. The other the same only according to his daughter’s testimony, molesting her as teenage. Farce of farces. Meta crippling. Same establishment, same money, different but the SAME puppets and playing everything with a bipolar seemingly opposing system. Keep the third party out of the picture. The illusion of democracy in full swing. Everything else is silly, infantile theater. Failure to understand IT IS like CURSE of BLOOD that can’t stop itching. And because such programming does not have a good ESTUARY / OUTLET, it will itch more and more until it goes completely insane. There is NO escape from this highly sophisticated PRISON. BLOOD record is the greatest evidence, verdict and CONDEMNATION.
AROUND THE LAKE NIELISZ IN POLAND ON THE EAST
This is so typical of eastern Poland. Jan Król (eng “King”): “The cottage under the maple tree and the bird entourage…. You wouldn’t count them, the birds in that maple tree (Always so in the morning, when the sun was golden). But mostly from there in the eyes of the Mother…. Calls… As a child she took to her knees, There under that maple tree.” My first memory is on my grandmother’s lap, under the birch tree, when I was two years old.
The photos are arranged in chronological order, because reality can also or rather, primarily tell a story by itself. As I was finishing my detour, I left the forest for the main road, and after a while in the first village I found lying by the side of the road an extracted double newspaper car/touch/e, in perfect condition, it seems from ‘Przekroj’ from 50 years ago. Funny, because that’s how old I turned recently. Life, Reality happens over Fiction. Truth is always more interesting than anything. Fiction and Fantasy only as Fun, possibly as contr/inspira, a distorted mirror or a mixed up literary or art form in general. Of course, you have to have distance to find a foothold, but how interesting it is that you find this and nothing else.
MEM(ENT)O MORI
WAR NEVER CHANGES. NOTHING is as appealing as an old movie, the essence of which, except for the sequences of progressive grafted insanity, tells the truth about the United States. Inspired by the novel by Joseph Conrad a.k.a. Joseph Teodor Konrad KorzenIowski “Heart of Darkness” where Congo was turned into Vietnam. So many years and people there continue to believe in fairy tales. A blind nation, stupefied, programmed, cursed, I’m afraid, you can already tell, whose infantile affirmation of success, or culture of success, infects others, other countries. Disgusting manipulation and programming of man, just to justify the industry / war complex, its influence on the actual ruling of the world. America’s WAR never ends. Dozens of induced wars after WWII. There IS business based and the same pattern repeated over and over again. Dirty Energy, Dirty Fuel, Dirty Money. The land of Blood / Nothingness / Supremacy / Death. In many editions, unions and mutations. ApocalypUSA.
Death is like an ELEMENT. At some point you begin to realize that it’s all a game with Death. She is constantly there, constantly speaking to you. Constantly absorbing, constantly dying, constantly getting up. You may not realize it, but you are constantly talking to her, constantly playing more games with her, about more people. The wounds look into your eyes trying to weaken you. Death is like an element. You know the friends need to be kept close, and enemies even closer. It’s better for Death to be a friend than an enemy, IS’n’T IT. Or perhaps she is both, maybe they are one / the same. In that case, maybe friends need to be distanced so that Death doesn’t notice them. It seems that Reality prefers to be Death’s friend. Seems they understand each other perfectly. Death is like an element, people are her fuel. A constant simultaneous political game of multidimensional chess with several opponents.
HARDSHIP OF HARDSHIP. One must finally realize seriously that being a lifelong SPY, some idiotic or autistic love of TRUTH is the most determining factor. It is beyond the most important functions controlling human life. Beyond Time, beyond Love and beyond Freedom. It is something that cannot be denied. One can only hide it. Not to say everything to get the desired information. In a world controlled by EVIL, this seems to be the only attitude for / EMPATHICS / ANGELS / living in DARKNESS, not wanting to unnecessarily mislead. You have to be very careful who you defend and for what reasons, so the cynicism and contempt with which you live in ‘lockstep’ won’t eventually deceive you and take possession of you. To avoid unnecessary attack. EVIL must FINALLY be defeated. This IS OBVIOUSLY the most important PROGRAM.
T.B.C.
