Note: below I have included the original psychotic emails I edited above for clarity, followed by in-depth glossaries updated since I recorded this video, translating the decoupled semiotics. I owe my Spanish friend a great apology for this awful slander. I have included my apology to him privately (and in the book only).
Psychotic Letter #1. February 29th, 2024
Sorry for my atrocious bullshit online. I hope you realise it's akin to a newfoundland fishing-reel to lure your bad associates out of the way. My genuine anger phase passed soe days back. I saw the "subsequent" in you new '2' report. oh it's terrible. Most upsetting -very- sad story I've ever read. I know it is true. I'- just trying to get your ene-ies dead now, whilst talk word jabs. I regret having to analyse your argot. I do think I understand your predica-ent (feel free to decide a given). Take as -uch skin as you need fro- -e. Please don't ask 'ask' etc. hi to. Just tell e so-ehow, and I'll do it -yself (x) is not my choice. Tell so-eone like you who IS there and right-shoulder so they arte, good, and... well, I'll try to help you. I hope you don't resent me too uch as much as Skyler can, as he was a very strong jawbite, (about -qual to -y own). is playing adult playing. Tell -e anyway, I'd assu-e. Having met a good hu-an satanically (or whatever) abused by these horrible mens, I don't like the -yself, but I do hope... we can at least so-ehow help each other learn fro- this. Cannot quite e-pathise (z)*, but CIA not known to either. etc. (HAD to GET (the)* ALL -even odd ideas- out of woodwork) needed [all sneaky plans at once]. Don't insult either Abby, or my Dad though, or you will indeed get the "ore" contraption built beside you with you. I'D (REALLY RATHER HAVE TO NOT DO THAT). This is so very sad to read. Dedicatedly worth it. I think fro- here either 7 Years War or Thirty Years War. Fro- -y hand for you? the latter. I'd expect as -uch off a soldier. Please not to Preacher comics level though. I would be upset -ore than screa-ing. But if one tortures, feel free to work off your aggression. Best as I can say, I will give it a go. it doesn't read like that was ... possible soehow. But you were here first, I grant you that. I didn't help the either back then (I expect - sad irony ironic - that you put out rather too uch of the fire they started[a-phioxus Oxus vs. typing in it][these wor-ssssss] but tried too hard already. I know. Once you have more, they will never forgive you; ever -- it see-s. I do not care what tan you are, as long as you are alive. I did not, so to speak, 'torch his corpse'. It was impermissible then as now. I a- indeed better with ene-ies than I a- with friends. To -e, there should only be one ENE_Y. beyond -y Pagan Catholic bless (if one can). I iss God. I hate this Hel world planet. We know - otherwise, why? At least they will be safe. They followed us - it IS our fault. As far as I can ascertain fro- first -e-ory... dark sands, tall Giraffes (HUGE-------ANTELOPES (SHEEN BLACK SCALE, ORANGE BITS)), HASTERS. I cannot re-e-ber (as one 'ber') before then, bar the party area by the other opening beginning by that wall by Gibraltar (lower than). I will now correct -Y ERROS. I BOUGHT A BOOK IN A SKIN I WONDERED ON. BEYOND THAT, I -YSELF A- - EXTRE-ELY - IMPERTINENT.
PS. If I gave you too -uch of any of this, your -outh would burn (you very -outh).
-ine will be next.
Jawbones can be good hand weapons though, if one is quick. (fe- women)(hermaphrodite = Nihilanthus/Bellerophon/RIVALON here at root/r. Power new friend).
Glossary for Letter #1.
a Newfoundland fishing-reel – personal delusional expression I had invented at the time to describe a long-winded story, like a ‘fishing story’.
I do think I understand your predicament (feel free to decide a given). Take as much skin as you need from me. – I am assuring César that he’s the one in control. I even say he can flay me if he needs me for something. This is a reference to much later in the letter.
bad associates – I had undergone some type of delusional fugue at the time, and considered I was writing to a mercenary warlord in his bar somewhere, in a narrative that involved eliminating his enemies, in a show of loyalty to ingratiate myself. Curiously enough, I do vaguely know a local mercenary, but I’m glad I don’t talk to him in this stilted Hollywood manner. My tone is also that of a seedy hired gun type, or criminal underworld figure, in lazy, laid back expressions, and full of subtle slang Americanisms, with a strange masculine confidence. Hence the reference to ‘argot’, which means ‘criminal slang’.
I hope you don't resent me too much as much as Skyler can, as he has a very strong jaw bite, (about equal to my own). Is playing adult playing? – Skyler is our dog. He was a big excitable puppy at the time and had been play-biting with me that week, which had been getting on my nerves a little. I was in two minds wondering if he was playing or fighting with me. Thankfully, I researched the matter, and discovered it was the former, as well as finding a way to prevent it. Also, I reference my own autophagic bites, the inference being that the ‘skin’ I may have to acquire for him, as stated above, will be ripped out by my own teeth. Again, I’m attempting to show that I give him as much as he needs from me.
Having met a good human satanically (or whatever) abused by these horrible men, I don't like them myself, but I do hope... we can at least somehow help each other learn from this – a real-life reference to the performance artist girlfriend of one of my old friends, and her sordid history of child trafficking (as a victim) in rural France. I don’t believe personally in the SRA scandals, but it was how we framed her real experiences at the time. Some horrific abuse, either way. In this case I was equating César’s ‘associates’ again with the men who gang-raped and tortured this woman as a child.
Cannot quite empathise (empathize), but CIA not known to either. etc. (had to get all the ideas out of woodwork, even odd ones) needed all sneaky plans at once. – In the unedited original email I made shorthand reference to the American spelling of empathise in a nod to the US Central Intelligence Agency. I’d been reading a classic handbook at the time on guerrilla warfare from the CIA publishing department, hence ‘sneaky plans’. I’m not sure if it’s another forced reference to child trafficking and general illicit behaviour also, or just a surreal ‘wisecrack’ as quite a few of the comments seem to be, sometimes bashing the CIA’s historical interrogation methods, the intelligence community in general, and the global surveillance apparatus of the NSA highlighted by the likes of Edward Snowden (as I sometimes do in writing to my friend when not psychotic).
Don't insult either Abby, or my Dad though, or you will indeed get the "ore" contraption built beside you with you. I’d really rather not have to do that. – a show of force warning to this ‘mercenary warlord’. I can imagine by ‘ore contraption’ that I’m making a reference to pouring liquid metal in his mouth. That image had come up in graphic detail in a Russian film titled Andrei Rublev which I’d watched around that point, helpfully provided by my friend, in which a defiant Christian orthodox monk is tortured by a mob of invading Tatars. The entire email is increasingly peppered with similar threats.
I think from here either Seven Years’ War or Thirty Years’ War. From my hand for you? The latter. – again suggesting how unpleasant it might be to fall out with me over whatever issue I’d invented for this narrative, with comparisons to massive historical wars.
Please not to Preacher comics level though. I would be upset more than screaming. – I’m asking him in return to play fair with me and not do anything disgusting though. ‘Preacher’ was a very bad-taste and violent comics series I briefly read as a young teenager. It was known for creating utterly grotesque and disturbing narrative set-pieces, in partial black humour, such as a small-town meat-packing tycoon aiming at public respectability regularly sexually molesting a pile of cow and chicken carcasses in private shaped into the form of a naked woman.
But if one tortures, feel free to work off your aggression. Best as I can say, I will give it a go. it doesn't read like that was ... possible somehow. – my position has flipped now, and I’m giving him free rein to attack me, telling him I’ll accept it off him. The mask has slipped. I think this is a wordy reference to me defending myself against my father, and eventually acquiescing.
But you were here first, I grant you that. I didn't help them either back then (I expect - sad irony ironic - that you put out rather too much of the fire they started (Amphioxus Oxus vs. typing in it -these words) but tried too hard already. – now I am passive again and making excuses for him. I had had a extended hallucinatory lucid dream around this point where ancient prehistoric wolves were carrying water in their mouths to put out a massive fire caused by an asteroid strike. Worms had spilled out of the asteroid also, and, years later, they evolved into the English race. I became convinced that the worms were called Amphioxus in Latin, and that Amphioxus Oxus was their warrior sub-genus, a little like termites. Curiously, Lisa Feldman Barett wrote a book in 2017 titled How Emotions are Made: The Secret Life of the Brain which I think mentions an early form of ocean-dwelling life with the name ‘Amphioxus’, 32 species of fish-like chordates, known as a lancelet. Dad had sent me the book to read, but I disagreed with the fundamental premises, and it had annoyed me a great deal, as no fan of reductionism or orthodox neuroscience (although I like reading Roger Penrose, Michael Lockwood, and Stuart Hameroff on consciousness). Perhaps this is why it lodged in my mind. I dreamed that the letter ‘s’ on a keyboard was a runic symbol representing these primordial worms. One could say I was very displeased with English people at the time also, feeling unhappy in my society. To conclude, by this point I’m complimenting César by equating him with the wolves, saying he also ‘put out rather too much of the fire’ (a noble task for which the worms/English will, as with towards me, ‘never forgive’).
I know. Once you have more, they will never forgive you; ever, it seems. I do not care what tan you are, as long as you are alive. I did not, so to speak, 'torch his corpse'. It was impermissible then as now. I am indeed better with enemies than I am with friends. – Here I am making César aware that I know something important. I make reference to his skin (César is Spanish), telling him the state of it doesn’t matter to me now I know he is safe – trustworthy in other words, again in courtesy. I think it’s a reference to a further part in my dream where I was obliged to ritually burn the body of a larger alpha wolf, only to find I could not do it, sensing some type of natural law crime. I’m again praising César, comparing him to this wolf, with his fur and hide undamaged. The final lines re-establishes the ‘hard man’ image though as counterpoint, suggesting I am a cruel person, fit only for killing others.
To me, there should only be one enemy. beyond my Pagan Catholic bless (if one can). I miss God. I hate this Hell world planet. We know. Otherwise, why? At least they will be safe. They followed us, it is our fault. – this is again a reference to the wolves, which somehow I consider sacred, as they had felt in my dream. In the background for some years I had been mulling over the oxymoron ‘Pagan Catholic’, for someone who is to all intents and purposes either a Heathen, deist, or an atheist, but who still manifests Christian introjects, referring to myself a little, as I was struggling at the time actively to shake off my childhood’s Christian moral indoctrination, despite outwardly having jettisoned religion. The ‘one enemy’ would be humans/the English. I go on to complain candidly about the world. Now I let César in on the important knowledge I have, remarking also that the wolves will again be safe, referring to my dream animals and inferring that it was humans who led them astray, and thus humans who should take the blame. Apart from my dream, I had also been watching a couple of short documentaries on Canadian black wolves throughout the year before I emailed him, and some distressing clips on conservation shooting and the fur trade, and on exotic animal hunting, from an animal protection perspective, so wolves – one of my favourite animals lifelong – were fresh in my mind.
As far as I can ascertain from my first memory... dark sands, tall Giraffes (huge antelopes (sheen black scale, orange bits), Hamsters. I cannot remember (as one 'bear') before then, bar the party area by the other opening beginning by that wall by Gibraltar (lower than). – Another pair of vivid dreams described in brief encapsulation, and as narrating a reconnaissance report, and as if César knew what I was talking about. In one I am imagining myself far back in the past, standing on a rocky red desert, with gigantic grey-black glossy coated antelopes striding about, among ancient alien-looking technology. In another, I am standing by a cave mouth on a beach in Gibraltar, watching the tide wash into the alcove, and observing cannibalistic paleolithic figures emerging hooting from a abyssal quarry to my right, clutching stone tools. I associated the first opening with great, unsettling evil; a liminal space. The ‘bear’ reference is to a third recurring dream, itself based on a segment I read as a child in a book titled The Clan of the Cave Bear, by Jean M. Auel, again set in prehistoric times, with one scene featuring the ritual slaughter of a caged cave bear belonging to a Neanderthal clan. In my dream I’m on a wide green alpine meadow, staring across at a low, moss-speckled granite cave in the hills opposite, where a huge black bear is being prodded with spears by the cave’s troglodytic inhabitants and I am forced to run over and try to save the animal. I’m not sure why I wrote the word ‘hamsters’ in the middle of all this, but they do feature also in my dreams quite a lot, as another of my favourite animals. Note the phonetic repetition of vowel and consonant phonemes in 'hamsters', 'remember', 'bear', 'before', 'bar', 'party', 'area', 'other'/'opening'/'beginning', 'wall'/Gibraltar', this pattern common to psychotic verbalisations, as explained by Arieti.
I bought a book in a skin. I wondered on beyond that. I am extremely impertinent. – I end my letter by getting to the point, and summarising my entire email. Perhaps continuing the themes of animals I began with the segue into the awe of wolves, I make another reference here to a real-life event. I had purchased an important book from César bound in leather. As a Vegan it was playing on my conscience as to whether this was morally permissible, and had probably been partially responsible for my slip into psychosis at all, as I obsessed over the topic (much as there was also much multi-faceted background family stress, as there always is to instigate these bouts of madness). I realised the author, a Hindu priestess, had also been a strict animal liberation promoter, and was torn by the ironic purchase, getting annoyed at César for this reason in the first place. I realised later that César hadn’t deliberately meant to do this, and that it probably hadn’t crossed his mind. Again we see the real reference behind the earlier allusion to him taking my skin, to César’s own ‘tan’ and to the burning of the alpha wolf corpse, as well as the beautiful glossy coats of the primal antelopes, and the bear hide (and perhaps the cuddly furred hamsters – I had previously been made aware of the disturbing trend for Chinese fur farms and hamster fur coats). I am equating these sacred animal bodies as well as my own skin and César’s with the sacred hide coating the book, suggesting they should all be treated with reverence. I was terrified of offending him, and had no other way to phrase this.
PS. If I gave you too much of any of this, your mouth would burn (your very mouth). Mine will be next. Jawbones can be good hand weapons though, if one is quick. (fee women) (hermaphrodite = Nihilanthus/Bellerophon/Rivalon here at root. Power. New friend. – my postscript suggests that I have said enough, and that I would punish myself if I went to far in reprimanding him, as a respected friend, as too much would physically hurt him (his mouth being his response words perhaps). I would be like the worms/English then with their fire burning, whereas I have already established he had water in his mouth as a wolf. I had imagined pulling off my own jawbone (to prevent me saying more that could be harmful?) but added again that I wasn’t a complete coward, and would fight him if I had to. ‘Fee women’ is of course a pun on ‘females’. I’m not sure why I put it there. I went on to describe myself as a hermaphrodite, perhaps a self-deprecatory and inaccurate reference to my Klinefelter’s Syndrome diagnosis, and then by allusion to sign my name by various Roman and Greek heroes, the former of which I invented myself some years before as an online pseudonym. Rivalon (Riwallon, count of Poher) was the name of one of the 11th Century Breton rulers contentiously said, by some sources, to have been the direct ancestor of the Norman Poher family that became in modern spelling Power, my surname. I associated him as being an additional family hero. I end with ‘new friend’, perhaps to remind César that, though I am telling him off somewhat, I still wish for friendship.
Summary: a shielded letter of admonishment to explain to César that I was upset as a Vegan over the leather on the (admittedly very good) book I had purchased from him. I became so distraught that I equated him with a criminal gang-leader, and then tried various methods to ingratiate myself, before launching into my complaint in a show of force, giving various dreams as relevant examples, and ending with the hope to reconcile again.
***
Psychotic Letter #2. March 6th, 2024
I've arranged myself one day off from the pits. In my culture this is illegal, and it's cosmically humiliated me no end. Yes another irritating little thief has missed his duel. This one's Viking-looking, foxen by aspect, like a ruddy Saxon-Angle gone far too far as even Angles have black beards, and he's a non pair-bonded bestiophile who rapes the little dog (and she is; though has potential) next door to my right. he is simply not allowed to miss a duel eight times. I feel my own honour wounded by this more, worried that I have broken cosmic law by having, under his sneaky force, to call it off. He was meant to die yesterday (I have the 'pagan' crucifixion shark-spike set up, reading for the jenny winch etc., so I can "strike out at the enemy so to speak", though it may take some while, the Keep being on the opposite hillside to me, and so a lot of idiot hounds required, and then eventually some tongues (to symbolise Tung, my arch enemy, although I dislike Skraelings quite a bit, and cannot say I am particularly fond of Jutes; it's a misery killing as much as a put out mercy removal as he's been bad to other animals, a hedgehog who nibbled real lady flesh and now thinks Chrystian (I told him "I hope you die in Heaven!", my best line so far)). A faith community of many ages who can misspell their own religion and mispronounce it don't need to be here. I hope we need to liberalism over the 'source, please' attitude re: that. No more Chystians, no one left to cry. I sense my hyphens are going walkies. You can't really steal from the net either, much as some symbols (usually!) cant be typed in at all on regular interfaces, especially in search bars.
Here's your note for the day. I inform myself that one has to be cruel to be kind, but I myself dislike silent competition, and I don't need a pony ride:
No results found for As a complete non-gamma, more of a sigma non-male, Ihe must understand (by being made to) thatr this fucks me up more than his precious tail, bottom, (what they put me througth,,,,aweww...cesar, grow up, noone cares). one thing to note though, don't put numbers in with letters, otherwise he, or them all, might think it's a band name. I worry if cryptographers did that, you know, over by Ankorage.I do though, as i sense he needs a kindof courtesan sadist type.By miserable I mean it's psychologically insultive for me to even talk to him by email as Le Big Gay is chock full of barbed ciriticiusm., ignoring anything he doesn't like, drifting past what annoys him, and not once admitting that he's made a great big fuck up, unable, as per you very all (well, bar lovely alpha Skyler). did you eat male puppies Cesar? Do they type well? to even consider an equiivalent (which is avaible without words) to say sorrry, you daft old git.I leave deliberately spellinmg <- that's an accidental one, I use too fingers, usually front bit paws,errors, you can't stand something (undeliberate, just cognition common to literals) not spelled correctly, and you learn linearly, taking one zap after another) + hyphens totally fry you.See, Cesar here, being a narcissist (as many of them are) think's he's had it tough. He certainly has (had it tough), it's just that, since he's been compounded all the way round there having it tough, I take it he's utterly unaware of his one single funademantal axiomatic error, thus leading the the animal holocausty of 120 billion similarly sized critters. See my irritatiion, you miserable old git?There's only one 'gate' to the Arctic. Gates of the Arctic natural park is in the wrong place. Typical of neurotic-pedantic wolf thought. I can't hold you responsible for that somehow. Take a longitude due North North-East from Bear Island, damn that missing boat (not a vessel, surely not carrying anything)... anymore.Hmm... where's this annoying canine crew off to...Angry hint: I hope you drown, but try not to, won't you?It's good you don't live in Mexico (anymore) you wolvine skag, as you're not allowed to view it from the air. I think 2, a worrying 2, could set it off again. Let them. I wish Ocean was less binary, but he's reached his Orca Pinnacle. Probably needs a good mate. I wish they wouldn't. Their choice though... to wip(e) themselves out straight down the middle (for a worthy suitor). Cheers Cesar, but no cheers, if you catch the drift. There seems to be one of those subhuman ouroboros symbols gone walkies. Maybye you Amphisbaenarium Torque, yes, you, or indeed a Moebius strip from the confused and too found of unplugging Mandelbrot diagrams looking for the interesting maths. Perhaps not me though, as I'm not a literal Beluga, just as smart as one..
That's that. We'll take it slow. I notice you like to present me weblinks to your own massive training journal, with links for me to go in. Anything on these screens does something, as I'd hope you knew. I'm just lucky enough to have a fairly regular TV monitor wired in, bar the tiny cracks where I've flicked it, and a couple of spillages, coffee; skinflakes; my own blood. I hope we have an accord. Détente would be a ridiculous human idea. Personally, I see wolves as humans (as they'd make better ones). it galls me that noone usually spells your forename correctly. I simply cannot be bothered to take from the net, and my wired keyboard can't do an up inflection. If it's not in my protonmail (to CERN, who, scarily, can read the other side, but might have foomales hostaged) dictionary, no way. it nags at me though. I think we at least have in common that were see a dehumanized 'it' if we even have to use irritating inner-think words, so something in common at least, and are both gangsters, as it's better than being policemen, or detectives apiece.
Define yourself in less than a block of text, same limit you use. It would genuinely me if you turned out to evil. Only then can you perform the practice of Philip through Leonidas' remain, war-criminal. The more text; more I know you are. Yes, actions do offend me as much as insult me too. Don't you dare call me that, or any of that. Talk to you on here is like playing The Seventh Seal in reverse, with no ultimate conclusion, as you've made it quite clear already that you don't even want to be friends. I thought you were a good person, a better human. I think you could have remembered my words. You disappoint me, and far too much. Perhaps you are blind, it's no excuse. What offends me is that you are a war-criminal. I would have preferred it had you proved me wrong. It's not a time for games, let alone playing them. If you email me here (or anywhere but one single more time, I will ban you from all my accounts). I have had enough of traitors.
Glossary for Letter #2.
I've arranged myself one day off from the pits. In my culture this is illegal, and it's cosmically humiliated me no end. Yes another irritating little thief has missed his duel. This one's Viking-looking, fox-like by aspect, like a ruddy Anglo-Saxon gone far too far as even Angles have black beards, and he's a non pair-bonded bestiophile who rapes the little dog (and she is; though has potential) next door to my right. he is simply not allowed to miss a duel eight times. I feel my own honour wounded by this more, worried that I have broken cosmic law by having, under his sneaky force, to call it off. – For this email I’m describing a delusion to my friend that I was obliged to execute Charles, my neighbour to the right, and the source, together with his partner Chelsea, of much stress in real life and false allegations to the Police (they don’t like my mental health issues and have conduced a one-sided feud). Charles has a criminal record for something (and is currently in jail for gun crime). I’d seen him scrambling in his back window one day, high up, and come to the conclusion that only a domestic burglar would have the ability to climb up the building and in of the upstairs window with such ease. I describe him physically, making reference to his European features, and ‘ruddy’, ‘fox-like’ brown-red hair, in contrast to the ‘black beards’ of Angles, referring to some of my other neighbours further down, who are bearded in this colour. These themselves are mild insults, implying him and the neighbours are devolved from European racial cohesion i.e. not Nordic. I got the delusional notion that he was sexually molesting his dog one day, a small excitable pug/French bulldog, looking at him grabbing for her, and seeing she had a sore rear, hence my further slander of him. The comments on combat ‘pits’ is in reference to a computer game my stepson had been playing and which I had been watching briefly, titled Doom: Eternal, where, at one point, the main first-person character has a flashback to competing as a slave in gladiatorial pits. ‘In my culture this is illegal’ and ‘cosmically humiliated’ are just ways of saying I felt I should spend more time around my stepson, instead of being distracted by worries over the neighbour, and was ashamed. However, in the second reference to ‘cosmic law’ I mention duels, in the hope again that my neighbour will turn up next door in the garden so I can fight/execute him, annoyed in real life about a rumour he had constructed about our family, and to some degree using him as a scapegoat for Chelsea’s more pronounced hostility.
He was meant to die yesterday (I have the 'pagan' crucifixion shark-spike set up, reading for the jenny winch etc., so I can "strike out at the enemy so to speak", though it may take some while, the Keep being on the opposite hillside to me, and so a lot of idiot hounds required, and then eventually some tongues (to symbolise Tung, my arch enemy, although I dislike Skraelings quite a bit, and cannot say I am particularly fond of Jutes; it's a misery killing as much as a put out mercy removal as he's been bad to other animals, a hedgehog who nibbled real lady flesh and now thinks Chrystian (I told him "I hope you die in Heaven!", my best line so far). – In my second paragraph’s development I am now a witch-hunter, having set up some kind of torture device in the back garden to mount Charles on once I had captured him for interrogation. By coincidence ‘witch-finder general’ Matthew Hopkins once operated in our area, over by the Manningtree woods. In reality, I had been building a DIY garden fence at the time from bamboo shoots, tent poles, and other offcuts, held together by cable-ties and weighted down at the base by bricks. The fence was to act as a deterrent to keep Charles (and his dog) out of my vegetable garden, as again I was a little concerned that he was a domestic thief, and, beyond had, had caught his dog digging up my plants and defecating on our decking. The ‘striking out at the enemy’, ‘idiot hounds’ (‘bad’ dogs), and ‘take some while’ and ‘tongues’ are grisly ways to describe the torture apparatus I’m talking about, with ‘jenny’ and ‘winch’, like something from a dark fantasy Games Workshop kit, where I imagine the body parts of more criminals dismembered and piled up in a macabre terror tactics sculpture big enough to be viewable from the Norman church on the hillside opposite (a building I refer to by nickname in real life as the ‘Keep’), and, by inference, Christianity itself, ‘the enemy’. Tung, and Skraelings are Games Workshop barbarian tribes (the latter itself also a reference to the name given to the Inuit tribes the Norse Greenlanders discovered when they conquered Vinland – America). Again, I’m linking these references to Charles’ Anglo-Saxon character. I mention ‘Jutes’ as a third example, being another North Germanic tribe, and the ones who, along with the Angles and the Saxons, settled Britain after the Roman occupation. I think this letter is another example of me using various proto- ideas of ‘the English’ as a synonym for evil, very fed up with my own culture at the time of writing. In my delusion, Charles was once a hedgehog from the woods, with a hedgehog mate, until he consumed her, and was mutated (or ‘cursed’) and turned into a human. It could simply be another reference to his brown hair colour and messy appearance, and well as another narrative means to slander him. I have decided he is ‘Chrystian’ i.e. My idiosyncratic spelling of Christian, punning on the word ‘cry’, and thus, in some fashion, has betrayed his own Pagan peoples, hence perhaps my ‘mercy removal’ execution, for being guilty of this religious conversion (a self-baptism similar to that baptisms imposed on the Saxons by force by Charlemagne – I wonder if the parallel between the names ‘Charles’ and ‘Charlemagne’ i.e. Charles the Great, appealed to me in the first place), as much as for various other distressing criminal acts, and animal cruelty. Perhaps I associate Christianity and Christian thinking with my abusive childhood also, much as I had been discussing the religion with César at the time, from a critical perspective.
A faith community of many ages who can misspell their own religion and mispronounce it don't need to be here. I hope we don’t need liberalism over the 'source, please' attitude regarding that. No more Chystians, no one left to cry. I sense my hyphens are going walkies. You can't really steal from the net either, much as some symbols (usually!) cant be typed in at all on regular interfaces, especially in search bars. – again, setting up Christianity for ridicule and punishment, through the medium of Charles. The ‘source please’ attitude may be in reference to skeptical fact-checkers online, where I am instead saying that my point is obvious, and unequivocal. The self-referential ‘hyphens’ reference is a brief moment of clarity with me spotting my unusual letter formatting style, but instead going on to defend myself for my inability to type, blaming the keyboard itself in long-winded fashion, which was true at the time as my ‘m’ key, and various other keys, were still partially jammed. I was unable to copy-paste a replacement letter character from a website page.
Here's your note for the day. I inform myself that one has to be cruel to be kind, but I myself dislike silent competition, and I don't need a pony ride. No results found for As a complete non-gamma, more of a sigma non-male, he must understand (by being made to) that this f**ks me up more than his precious tail, bottom, (what they put me through, aww, César, grow up, no one cares). – by now I am moving the discussion off Charles’ fate, and onto César, suggesting it’s me that I want to be dealing with Charles, not my friend. A ‘pony ride’ is a reference to a game my mother played with me as a child, where here I’m basically saying I don’t need to be mothered. ‘No results found for’ is a direct copy-paste of the search results bar from a search engine. When psychotic, I often copy-paste segments from my browser window randomly into emails, as a visual decoration, stripped of meaning, or to function as a full stop. In a roundabout way, I am describing Charles again as a beta male ‘non male’ (by ruling out that he is ‘gamma’ although is ‘more of a sigma’) and suggesting that him being so inconveniences me. Here I reference my own rear, and again make reference in parentheses to my past life abuse, but am telling César that he’s equally immature if he cares about me, suggesting that I am not as weak-willed as Charles.
One thing to note though, don't put numbers in with letters, otherwise he, or them all, might think it's a band name. I worry if cryptographers did that, you know, over by Anchorage. I do though, as I sense he needs a kind of courtesan sadist type. By miserable I mean it's psychologically insulting for me to even talk to him by email as Le Big Gay is chock full of barbed criticism., ignoring anything he doesn't like, drifting past what annoys him, and not once admitting that he's made a great big fuck up, unable, as per you very all (well, bar lovely alpha Skyler). – In this paragraph I continue to insult César in the third-person, referring to him as needing a ‘courtesan sadist type’, and calling him a homosexual, saying it is ‘psychologically insulting’ to chat to him, again having taken hyper-sensitive insult at something unknown in the background, referring to César’s alleged ‘barbed criticism’ and ‘ignoring anything he doesn’t like’. I had been in a bad state at the time, looking for company and consolation, and sending out multiple desperate emails, and was probably frustrated that I was being ignored, even though in hindsight, it would be quite obvious to a sane person why that was. My final reference is to our dog Skyler, again acknowledging that he is both an alpha, unlike Charles (and by inference César), and also has not offended me. The reference to ‘numbers in with letters’ is over a polyalphabetic substitution cipher I had constructed at the time as part of a music project I was working on. It’s a reference to my last paragraph’s child abuse allusion, reminding César that, in the historical manner of Wittgenstein, I have an enciphered journal discussing more of these topics. The city of ‘Anchorage’ reference is in relation to a point I make later over an incident in Alaska. By ‘cryptographers’, I am subtly inferring that, however unlikely, I myself may be responsible.
Did you eat male puppies César? Do they type well? To even consider an equivalent (which is available without words) to say sorry, you daft old git. I leave deliberately spelling <- that's an accidental one. I use two fingers, usually front bit paws, errors, you can't stand something (not deliberate, just cognition common to literals) not spelled correctly, and you learn linearly, taking one zap after another) + hyphens totally fry you. – by this point I’m reprimanding César, asking him if he too, like Charles, is allegedly cruel to dogs, defending them as innocent, and myself also by inference, again referencing my poor typing. By this point I want him to say ‘sorry’ to me. I go on to further explain why I can’t type, due to ‘using two fingers’, which is true, as well as having ‘usually front bit paws’, referring to myself also as being a dog, in a way I sometimes feel when psychotic, perhaps for reasons of being dehumanized, and making final reference to experiencing a Pavlovian learning technique ‘and you learn linearly, taking one zap after another’, again a reference to dogs, and cruelty, as much as a refection on my poor spelling, self-conscious suddenly. By comparing myself to a puppy (and with non-offensive alpha Skyler and tangentially Charles’ ‘raped’ dog), and then asking if César would ‘eat’ them, I may be making an obscure comparison between him and the behaviour of the abusive paedophile who attacked me in Felsted when I was six [see Book I, Chapter 8 of my main account in Consumption: Memories of My Childhood].
See, César here, being a narcissist (as many of them are) thinks he's had it tough. He certainly has (had it tough), it's just that, since he's been compounded all the way round there having it tough, I take it he's utterly unaware of his one single fundamental axiomatic error, thus leading the the animal holocaust of 120 billion similarly sized critters. – Here I am unfairly referencing César’s own hard life, where he suffered at the hands of narcissists, but, unfortunately in this case am referring to him himself as a narcissist, simply because he has been ignoring my emails at this time due to my psychosis, suggesting to him that he has missed one ‘puppy’ i.e. Me, and thus ‘120 billion similarly sized critters’ i.e. Other ‘puppies’ i.e by now employed as my metaphor for child abuse victims, will also suffer, in an example of hyperbole on my part, blaming him by extension for not listening to me, that being his ‘one single fundamental axiomatic error’.
See my irritation, you miserable old git? There's only one 'gate' to the Arctic. Gates of the Arctic natural park is in the wrong place. Typical of neurotic-pedantic wolf thought. I can't hold you responsible for that somehow. Take a longitude due North North-East from Bear Island, damn that missing boat (not a vessel, surely not carrying anything)... anymore. – This paragraph again spells out my frustration to him, insulting him also as a ‘miserable old git’ and referencing to him a lucid dream I’d had where there was an interdimensional gateway at the North Pole (itself probably a Games Workshop reference originally – I was very involved in the hobby as a child, and was fascinated by the background lore), and I’m suggesting he’s the type to have put it ‘in the wrong place’, referring to myself as a ‘wolf’ i.e. An adult puppy now, and acknowledging that I’m being ‘pedantic’, whilst letting him off the hook a little for this gross error, saying I ‘can’t hold you responsible’. Perhaps again I am thinking of my childhood abuse, realising that, though César has hurt me, he is not as bad as that other person. The garbled reference to coordinates, and to ‘Bear Island’ and ‘that missing boat’ are all in relation to a documentary I had watched at the time on YouTube about a cargo vessel that went missing and was wrecked in the Bering Sea, some miles to the North East of the tip of Alaska, having passed Bear Island before losing contact. I’m slyly adding that, again, César could instead be responsible for this mysterious real-life incident, but again have left it ambiguous. We have the guilt in common, at least. Perhaps I am acknowledging a similarity.
Hmm... where's this annoying canine crew off to...Angry hint: I hope you drown, but try not to, won't you? It's good you don't live in Mexico (anymore) you wolvine skag, as you're not allowed to view it from the air. I think 2, a worrying 2, could set it off again. Let them. I wish Ocean was less binary, but he's reached his Orca Pinnacle. Probably needs a good mate. I wish they wouldn't. Their choice though... to wipe) themselves out straight down the middle (for a worthy suitor). – by this point the crew of the lost vessel are defined by me as ‘canine’ i.e. More ‘puppies’, putting myself in César’s shoes, and assuming he finds them ‘annoying’. A ‘skag’ is an additional piece fastened to the keel of a boat to prevent lateral motion i.e. I am equating him with the vessel itself. ‘Wolvine’ in my neologism, intending of course the expression ‘wolfish’, or wolf-like, suggesting that I do to some degree consider him a fellow wolf, but also used as an insult phrase here. I make reference of the fact that I know where he lives, at least by my delusion, so I can find him if I want, unlike if he lived in ‘Mexico’ (where in fact he does live in reality!). I have constructed a delusion at the time that it was traditionally illegal in Mexican law to view that country from the air., as by the real-life 1992 Open Skies Treaty signed by George H. W. Bush I also wish death on him, hoping it’s him that drowns instead, like the real-life crew of the vessel. I’m suggesting that ‘2’ individuals, of undisclosed origin, could set the entire process/accident off again, but am taking a confident, fatalistic approach to this. ‘Ocean’ is the reference to a dream I had in which I was friends with the king (i.e. ‘pinnacle’) of Orca Whales, whom I found out was named ‘Ocean’. In my dream the whales were atoning as a species for a crime they had committed, as I had informed ‘Ocean’ of it, and were exterminating themselves as a whole group, until perhaps only a pair would remain, one of them by predetermination being ‘Ocean’. This lucid dream itself is a reference to a challenging ethical philosophy article César had written about Killer Whales effectively torturing baby Blue Whale calves in order to consume their tongues as a delicacy, leaving the calf to drown in blood otherwise, and about how it is a shame they cannot be exterminated for this reason as being a cruel animal unfit for life. In my dream, the whales had taken control and responsibility for their own demise, in order to prevent any further harm they could cause to the ecosystem, allowing only one, presumably sterile, pair to remain, with ‘Ocean’ as a ‘worthy suitor’ for a final female.
Cheers César, but no cheers, if you catch the drift. There seems to be one of those subhuman ouroboros symbols gone walkies. Maybe you Amphisbaenarium Torque, yes, you, or indeed a Moebius strip from the confused and too found of unplugging Mandelbrot diagrams looking for the interesting maths. Perhaps not me though, as I'm not a literal Beluga, just as smart as one. – I am still annoyed at César in this. My reference to a ‘subhuman ouroboros’ is an long-winded way to put that I have missed out a letter ‘n’ somewhere in my emails. I am referring to the shape of the serpent consuming its own tail, imagined with a bit of imagination with a gap in the middle between the tail and the jaws, forming a ‘u’ shape. Then I give the game away briefly as ‘u’ is displayed linguistically i.e. ‘you’ repeated twice to spell it out - ‘yes, you’ - if separated and turned upside down i.e. made ‘subhuman’. I give further examples to him of what this ‘u’/’n’ shape is by describing a Moebius strip – a twisted design, and, in a punned form, the shape of an amphisbaena (double headed coiled serpent that resembles a ‘u’ in illustrations), in this example a room full of amphisbaenas/designed for amphisbaenas (one assumed an ‘Amphisbaenarium’ is like an inverted planetarium - or aquarium - full of these imaginary land animals), to reinforce this idea by superposition, or a ‘torque’ (curled Celtic bangle with a gap at one end), and then briefly a hyperbolic reference to the complex number fractals of a Mandelbrot set (also known by the letter ‘M’ (‘m’), which is next to ‘n’ on a standard keyboard and which was also partially jammed at the time), before relenting, saying I’m not smart enough to go any further in explaining, in fact only as bright as a ‘Beluga’ whale, an animal which I had recently read about in a diving book by Jacques-Yves Cousteau as having an encephalization quotient (EQ) of 2.24 and which possessed spindle cells (neurons without extensive branching), as seen in great apes, elephants, and humans, but still perhaps not quite as intelligent as an average person. Indeed, I had also been reading another book on fractals in nature at the time, dealing with an explanation of the Mandelbrot set. Notice the further phonetic reinforcement between ‘Maybe’, ‘Moebius’, ‘Mandelbrot’, ‘maths’, ‘not me’, against obsessing over hiding an ‘M’/‘m’ (which thankfully I could type for the second message, via Windows keyboard, as my wired keyboard had remained broken for months).
That's that. We'll take it slow. I notice you like to present me weblinks to your own massive training journal, with links for me to go in. Anything on these screens does something, as I'd hope you knew. I'm just lucky enough to have a fairly regular TV monitor wired in, bar the tiny cracks where I've flicked it, and a couple of spillages, coffee; skin-flakes; my own blood. I hope we have an accord. Détente would be a ridiculous human idea. Personally, I see wolves as humans (as they'd make better ones). – here I’m drawing my letter to a close, saying further progress needed to be taken ‘slow’. I describe César’s blog as a ‘massive training journal’ as I see it as an excellent way to learn. I then make the paranoid remark (or perhaps prudent given modern surveillance initiatives like XKeyscore for example) that anything I click online ‘does something’, urging caution. Perhaps I am blaming myself further for the former loss of the ‘n’ letter and my inability to copy-paste a substitute, as I give a brief, accurate description – lamentably – of the state of my hardware. By ‘I hope we have an accord’ I mean that I hope he has understood my letter’s purpose, much as we are still at war, so to speak. I end with a reference to seeing ‘wolves as humans’, again referencing my child abuse victims trope from earlier, as much as narrating my general background love for these animals. The inference is that proper wolves could relent, whereas I am still very angry.
It galls me that no one usually spells your forename correctly. I simply cannot be bothered to take from the net, and my wired keyboard can't do an up inflection. If it's not in my Proton Mail (to CERN, who, scarily, can read the other side, but might have females hostaged) dictionary, no way. It nags at me though. I think we at least have in common that were see a dehumanized 'it' if we even have to use irritating inner-think words, so something in common at least, and are both gangsters, as it's better than being policemen, or detectives apiece. – I am referring to my own habit of regularly typing to César in a hurry and thus missing off the inflected accent on his ‘e’, thus typing ‘Cesar’ instead, a visual error that always bugs me, much as it can be hard to quickly insert the accent on my keyboard. I am telling him the truth in this that I am in too much of a hurry and ‘cannot be bothered’ to find a solution, and that my email service ‘dictionary’ cannot provide one. In paranoia, as another throwaway aside, of which there are a few in this, I share that I suspect that CERN may be monitoring Proton Mail encrypted communications, as their main site is also based in Switzerland, just like the email company, and that something nefarious is going in in the background at their offices. I look finally for something in common with César, assuming that he also gets the true-life dehumanized sensation I feel myself (sometimes, when in self-hate periods, my inner voice dissociates, and then refers to my ego/self as an ‘it’ i.e. ‘It doesn’t deserve to have this’, talking of course to myself as a punishing id), wondering if me missing off his accent insults him. I decide, randomly, that we are both ‘gangsters’, perhaps as a way of suggesting to him that at least we can be close friends again, unlike suspicious policemen or detectives, who would be paranoid of each other. In reality, no, we’re not gangsters, but we do have a contentious underground ideological position in common.
Define yourself in less than a block of text, same limit you use. It would genuinely me if you turned out to evil. Only then can you perform the practice of Philip through Leonidas’ remains, war-criminal. The more text; more I know you are. Yes, actions do offend me as much as insult me too. Don't you dare call me that, or any of that. Talk to you on here is like playing The Seventh Seal in reverse, with no ultimate conclusion, as you've made it quite clear already that you don't even want to be friends. – I am winding down my letter to him now, but still ending on a bitter note, as I am suddenly confused and want to understand him, asking him briefly to ‘define yourself’ (as by the unwritten rule text limit on his own website’s comment box), worried that he might be ‘evil’ after all, and might in fact be a ‘war-criminal’ i.e. abuser. I had constructed a delusional metaphor at the time that the ‘practice of Philip’ meant sodomy of/cruelty against wolves (perhaps thinking of the killing of the she-wolf by Leonidas the Spartan king at the beginning of the film 300), itself another cloaked child-abuse image. I also make the, perhaps slightly witty quip, that I am tired of typing to him, as it is like ‘playing The Seventh Seal in reverse’ referring to the scene where the knight Antonius Block sits down to challenge Death to an extended chess match to try and save his life, inferring that my fingers typing are like moving chess pieces, and, in reverse, Death is winning already (as indeed he does anyway in Bergman’s film), and the game is over before it has begun, and my fate obscured, and somehow pointless, with ‘no ultimate conclusion’ to progress to. In paranoia, I suggest to César that he does not want to be my friend, although he had said no such thing in real-life.
I thought you were a good person, a better human. I think you could have remembered my words. You disappoint me, and far too much. Perhaps you are blind, it's no excuse. What offends me is that you are a war-criminal. I would have preferred it had you proved me wrong. It's not a time for games, let alone playing them. If you email me here (or anywhere but one single more time, I will ban you from all my accounts). I have had enough of traitors. – here I am making reference again to my puppies/wolves child victims metaphor, saying that I had until now thought César directly empathised with me and was also a ‘wolf’ i.e. an abuse survivor, and then expressing my disappointment at a perceived lack of loyalty, sharing that too many people in my contact have been ‘traitors’ to me. Again, I am by now sure that he is a ‘war-criminal’ i.e. An abuser, and need a sign that he is trustworthy. I used the expression ‘war-criminal’ as analogy in a couple of other non-psychotic emails to someone else in reference to an acquaintance I had discovered was a paedophile. I remind him that it is ‘not a time for games’ and is time to be serious, with another wordplay reference to the computer game my stepson was playing downstairs, suggesting that I feel I have more adult business to consider. It is, however, not a time for direct pit combat with him, by inference. I end with a near-cogent warning to him that I will cut off contact if I read any more words from him that upset me. In reality, he had sent me nothing rude, although I may have been accidentally quizzed on something sensitive by him, in a very minor faux pas, not that he would have known. Whatever tiny stressor it was, it was picked up by my then-psychotic mind, and extrapolated from. I would have to peruse my emails further to work out what comment of his might have riled me. Nothing springs to mind off the top of my head.
Summary: I had entered a state of extreme defensiveness and paranoid this time, and was looking for a way to tell César off for a ‘minor infraction’. First I made the comparison to my antisocial neighbour, warning César of the similar fate which would befall him if he continued (and otherwise equivocating César with Charles initially - perhaps even reminded visually/linguistically: Cé-sar/'C-har' - as I build up my description of him as a ‘condemned criminal’), and then moved on into further metaphoric examples of abuse, backed up by my dreams, and by my common psychotic symbolism of dogs and wolves, having by emotional transference mistaken César for my father and his historical abusive behaviour, and then deciding by the end that he was him, or was at least one of the other characters that had abused me in the past, and leaving on a note of hostility.
For a further overview of Silvano Arieti's prize-winning 1974 work, consult: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Interpretation_of_Schizophrenia
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