Fabrizio Ulivieri's Blog, page 95

Il cuore immacolato della Madonna 2

Si guardava in faccia, e che vedeva? Un corpo, il suo corpo che gli apparteneva da 75 anni. E che mutava come un virus creato in laboratorio, del pari mutava continuamente come impazzito. Ciò che non appartiene alla natura la natura non vuole. Sarà per questo che muta, in continuazione? A quale natura non appartiene il corpo degli uomini?

Grazie corpo, pensava mentre camminava sul vialone vicino a Spaudos Rūmai ritornando da Vilnius città come faceva ormai da agosto 6 km. ogni giorno 6 all’andata 6 al ritorno, grazie per avermi accompagnato in questo viaggio. Quando ti dovrò lasciare un po' ne soffrirò. Ma alla fine voglio uscire da questo corpo che non amo. Ho solo cercato di curare meglio che potessi. Non era amore. In fondo non l'ho mai amato. Ho sempre sentito una distanza fra me e lui. Ho solo cercato di conviverci meglio che potevo. Ora sento che una parte si stacca da questa carne, da queste ossa. da questo sangue, da quello che io credevo di essere io. In Lituania non sono regredito, ho scoperto un modo diverso di vivere, più animale, più vero, più vicino alla terra, al bosco, alla foresta, al gelo, al freddo, alla neve, all'acqua, alla pioggia, al grigio costante dei giorni del cielo. In Lituania ho di nuovo aperto la mente a una parola desueta: Dio.
Quella parola sotto quel cielo grigio gli inviava nuovi messaggi in una lingua quasi intraducibile, non ancora pronta ad essere compresa. Erano bits intermittenti ma senza soluzione di continuità.
Lo aveva tradito Dio. Molte volte. Non aveva mai risposto alle sue suppliche. Non si era mai manifestato come gli aveva chiesto molte volte. Era rimasto ascoso, indifferente, muto.
Ricordava bene quanto lo avesse implorato quel giorno, che gli stavano innanzi irati, arrabbiati, in guerra come sempre, una guerra infinita di tutta una vita. E poi morti quasi lo stesso giorno, separati, in due camere di ospedale in due diversi reparti. I genitori.
E due fiammelle si erano accese in entrambe le camere in un angolo. Inspiegabili, poco prima dell’ultimo rantolo. E dopo quello si erano spente. E aveva meravigliato non poco gli operatori in servizio.
Ma forse, forse, pensava ora, quasi 50 anni dopo, quella era stata l’unica volta che l’aveva ascoltato, perché aveva chiesto che non si dividessero fino alla morte.

E così era stato.

Il Cuore Immacolato Della Madonna 1

Allora Gesù chiamò a sé un bambino, lo pose in mezzo a loro e disse: «In verità vi dico: se non vi convertirete e non diventerete come i bambini, non entrerete nel regno dei cieli. Perciò chiunque diventerà piccolo come questo bambino, sarà il più grande nel regno dei cieli. E chi accoglie anche uno solo di questi bambini in nome mio, accoglie me.


Com'era quando aveva 6 anni? Marco se lo chiedeva ora dall'alto dei suoi 75.
Era stato uno strano viaggio e lungo ma non ricordava niente. Questa era il dramma. Solo qualche ricordo qua e là come macchie di una pelle di leopardo.
Che strana sensazione aver vissuto tutti questi anni e non ricordare nulla, Era come aver dimenticato tutto. Non avere un passato, venire dal nulla. Che forse non era nemmeno mai nato?
Era rimasto qualcosa di quel bambino di sei anni, di cui qualche volta aveva una visione nei pensieri quotidiani? Dentro di lui di primo acchito avrebbe detto di sì. "Sì! sono sempre io. Ti parlo ma non mi senti", avrebbe gridato il fanciullo. Invece, invece quella voce era così lontana, così difficile da sentire, da riportare in vita sepolta ormai sotto detriti, esosomi, polvere, macerie e distruzione.
Eppure voleva salvarla quella voce, risorgerla scavando con le mani, riportarla alla superficie per ridare senso a quella vita ormai priva di senso.
Un ricordo improvviso di un pranzo di Pasqua presso dei parenti e la mamma che lo mette in una cameretta e gli dice: "Non avere paura, io sono di là se hai bisogno di me chiamami. Non ti preoccupare".
E poi la mamma che ritorna lo sveglia e gli chiede se ha avuto paura. Non ho avuto paura - risponde - perché quella bambina mi ha detto di stare calmo, che tutto sarebbe andato bene. Quale bambina? chiede la mamma. Quella lì sulla parete. La mamma vede una foto di se stessa piccola. Questa? chiede. No, l'altra. Quella accanto accanto. E indica una statuetta della Madonna. Questa? Domanda la mamma. Sì, questa.
Ma veramente ti ha parlato? Veramente, perché non mi credi, mamma? La mamma tace, poi pensierosa disse: Sì ti credo, bambino mio.

Sono voci. Echi. Pulsioni.
Che avresti fatto senza di me? Una domanda gli fa eco dentro.
Poi vede lontano sfocato ma percettibile un vecchio vicino al letto di un bambino che piange. Un corpo nudo con una prostata grossa come una grossa pigna. Un uomo disteso in terra in un lago di sangue e piscio.
La faccia di una madre vecchia su una sedia a rotelle che trattiene le lacrime e abbraccia un figlio che mai più rivedrà. Fra poco morirò, Marco. Quelle parole, gli aprono le vene, il petto, lo tirano dietro e non sa dove.
Figli persi. Solo. Lontano. In balìa di una nuova vita. E per quanto?
Si impara di colpo, da un momento all'altro, ma per lo più nel ricordo, quando ormai è troppo tardi.
Siamo in guerra, e beati coloro che credono, credono ancora come prima. Credono che basti una siringa per risolvere i drammi di una realtà che tradisce la sua più completa falsità.
E' un momento di svolta, siamo diretti a ciò che da sempre si prepara nella storia dell'uomo.
Il 97% vive in modo animale, è domesticato, è geneticamente preparato a vivere così. Diversamente da quelli che difettosi fin dalla nascita vogliono essere chiamati il 3%.
E ora lo sapeva.
Ora a 75 anni lo sapeva. Era sempre stato difettoso, fin dalla nascita, aveva portato il marchio impresso dalla genesi che non aveva scelto ma gli era stata consegnata fin dalla concezione. Cromosomi sbagliati? Difettosi?
Ma con gli anni il coraggio, quel coraggio di cui difettava quando era giovane, aumentava.
Aveva sempre tenuto fisso lo sguardo sulle cose invisibili, perché sono eterne e per quello gli erano sempre state distanziate da quelle visibili e non aveva avuto il coraggio di affrontarle perché gli infondevano il timore di una presenza che non capiva.
E la fede, la fede nel corpo macilento di un Cristo crocifisso, si rifaceva impellente. Quella fede l'aveva abbandonata quando nemmeno aveva trenta anni. L'aveva dimenticata, ma ora rispuntava tra le macerie, tra le pieghe appena visibili di un mondo senza più libertà. Irriconoscibile. Islamizzato e che si islamizzava. Schiavo che chiedeva di essere schiavo. Un mondo che non era il mondo in cui era nato e cresciuto.
L'anticristo preparava la sua venuta.
Ma a 75 anni non aveva più paura della sua venuta. Era pronto.

Il cuore immacolato della Madonna 1

Allora Gesù chiamò a sé un bambino, lo pose in mezzo a loro e disse: «In verità vi dico: se non vi convertirete e non diventerete come i bambini, non entrerete nel regno dei cieli. Perciò chiunque diventerà piccolo come questo bambino, sarà il più grande nel regno dei cieli. E chi accoglie anche uno solo di questi bambini in nome mio, accoglie me.


Com'era quando aveva 6 anni? Marco se lo chiedeva ora dall'alto dei suoi 75.
Era stato uno strano viaggio e lungo ma non ricordava niente. Questa era il dramma. Solo qualche ricordo qua e là come macchie di una pelle di leopardo.
Che strana sensazione aver vissuto tutti questi anni e non ricordare nulla, Era come aver dimenticato tutto. Non avere un passato, venire dal nulla. Che forse non era nemmeno mai nato?
Era rimasto qualcosa di quel bambino di sei anni, di cui qualche volta aveva una visione nei pensieri quotidiani? Dentro di lui di primo acchito avrebbe detto di sì. "Sì! sono sempre io. Ti parlo ma non mi senti", avrebbe gridato il fanciullo. Invece, invece quella voce era così lontana, così difficile da sentire, da riportare in vita sepolta ormai sotto detriti, esosomi, polvere, macerie e distruzione.
Eppure voleva salvarla quella voce, risorgerla scavando con le mani, riportarla alla superficie per ridare senso a quella vita ormai priva di senso.
Un ricordo improvviso di un pranzo di Pasqua presso dei parenti e la mamma che lo mette in una cameretta e gli dice: "Non avere paura, io sono di là se hai bisogno di me chiamami. Non ti preoccupare".
E poi la mamma che ritorna lo sveglia e gli chiede se ha avuto paura. Non ho avuto paura - risponde - perché quella bambina mi ha detto di stare calmo, che tutto sarebbe andato bene. Quale bambina? chiede la mamma. Quella lì sulla parete. La mamma vede una foto di se stessa piccola. Questa? chiede. No, l'altra. Quella accanto accanto. E indica una statuetta della Madonna. Questa? Domanda la mamma. Sì, questa.
Ma veramente ti ha parlato? Veramente, perché non mi credi, mamma? La mamma tace, poi pensierosa disse: Sì ti credo, bambino mio.

Sono voci. Echi. Pulsioni.
Che avresti fatto senza di me? Una domanda gli fa eco dentro.
Poi vede lontano sfocato ma percettibile un vecchio vicino al letto di un bambino che piange. Un corpo nudo con una prostata grossa come una grossa pigna. Un uomo disteso in terra in un lago di sangue e piscio.
La faccia di una madre vecchia su una sedia a rotelle che trattiene le lacrime e abbraccia un figlio che mai più rivedrà. Fra poco morirò, Marco. Quelle parole, gli aprono le vene, il petto, lo tirano dietro e non sa dove.
Figli persi. Solo. Lontano. In balìa di una nuova vita. E per quanto?
Si impara di colpo, da un momento all'altro, ma per lo più nel ricordo, quando ormai è troppo tardi.
Siamo in guerra, e beati coloro che credono, credono ancora come prima. Credono che basti una siringa per risolvere i drammi di una realtà che tradisce la sua più completa falsità.
E' un momento di svolta, siamo diretti a ciò che da sempre si prepara nella storia dell'uomo.
Il 97% vive in modo animale, è domesticato, è geneticamente preparato a vivere così. Diversamente da quelli che difettosi fin dalla nascita vogliono essere chiamati il 3%.
E ora lo sapeva.
Ora a 75 anni lo sapeva. Era sempre stato difettoso, fin dalla nascita, aveva portato il marchio impresso dalla genesi che non aveva scelto ma gli era stata consegnata fin dalla concezione. Cromosomi sbagliati? Difettosi?
Ma con gli anni il coraggio, quel coraggio di cui difettava quando era giovane, aumentava.
Aveva sempre tenuto fisso lo sguardo sulle cose invisibili, perché sono eterne e per quello gli erano sempre state distanziate da quelle visibili e non aveva avuto il coraggio di affrontarle perché gli infondevano il timore di una presenza che non capiva.
E la fede, la fede nel corpo macilento di un Cristo crocifisso, si rifaceva impellente. Quella fede l'aveva abbandonata quando nemmeno aveva trenta anni. L'aveva dimenticata, ma ora rispuntava tra le macerie, tra le pieghe appena visibili di un mondo senza più libertà. Irriconoscibile. Islamizzato e che si islamizzava. Schiavo che chiedeva di essere schiavo. Un mondo che non era il mondo in cui era nato e cresciuto.
L'anticristo preparava la sua venuta.
Ma a 75 anni non aveva più paura della sua venuta. Era pronto.

La venuta dell'Anticristo

Allora Gesù chiamò a sé un bambino, lo pose in mezzo a loro e disse: «In verità vi dico: se non vi convertirete e non diventerete come i bambini, non entrerete nel regno dei cieli. Perciò chiunque diventerà piccolo come questo bambino, sarà il più grande nel regno dei cieli. E chi accoglie anche uno solo di questi bambini in nome mio, accoglie me.

Com'era quando aveva 6 anni? Marco se lo chiedeva ora dall'alto dei suoi 75.

Era stato uno strano viaggio e lungo ma non ricordava niente. Questa era il dramma. Solo qualche ricordo qua e là come macchie di una pelle di un leopardo.

Che strana sensazione aver vissuto tutti questi anni e non ricordare nulla, Era come aver dimenticato tutto. Non avere un passato, venire dal nulla. Che forse non era nemmeno mai nato? Era rimasto qualcosa di quel bambino di sei anni, di cui qualche volta aveva una visione nei pensieri quotidiani? Dentro di lui di primo acchito avrebbe detto di sì. "Sì! sono sempre io. Ti parlo ma non mi senti", avrebbe gridato il fanciullo.  Invece, invece quella voce era così lontana, così difficile da sentire, da riportare in vita sepolta ormai sotto detriti, esosomi, polvere, macerie e distruzione.Eppure voleva salvarla quella voce, risorgerla scavando con le mani, riportarla alla superficie per ridare senso a quella vita ormai priva di senso.Un ricordo improvviso di un pranzo di Pasqua presso dei parenti e la mamma che lo mette in una cameretta e gli dice: "Non avere paura, io sono di là se hai bisogno di me chiamami. Non ti preoccupare".E poi la mamma che ritorna lo sveglia e gli chiede se ha avuto paura. Non ho avuto paura - risponde - perché quella bambina mi ha detto di stare calmo, che tutto sarebbe andato bene. Quale bambina? chiede la mamma. Quella lì sulla parete. La mamma vede una foto di se stessa piccola. Questa? chiede. No, l'altra. Quella accanto accanto. E indica una statuetta della Madonna. Questa? Domanda la mamma. Sì, questa.Ma veramente ti ha parlato? Veramente, perché non mi credi, mamma? La mamma tace, poi pensierosa disse: Sì ti credo, bambino mio.Sono voci. Echi. Pulsioni.Che avresti fatto senza di me? Una domanda.Un vecchio vicino al letto di un bambino che piange. Un corpo nudo con una prostata grossa come una grossa pigna. Un uomo disteso in terra in un lago di sangue e piscio.La faccia di una madre vecchia su una sedia a rotelle che trattiene le lacrime e abbraccia un figlio che mai più rivedrà.Figli persi. Solo. Lontano. In balìa di una nuova vita. E per quanto?Si impara di colpo, da un momento all'altro, ma per lo più nel ricordo, quando ormai è troppo tardi. 
Siamo in guerra, e beati coloro che credono, credono ancora come prima. Credono che basti una siringa per risolvere i drammi di una realtà che tradisce la sua più completa falsità.E' un momento di svolta, siamo diretti a ciò che da sempre si prepara nella storia dell'uomo. Il 97% vive in modo animale, è domesticato, è geneticamente preparato a vivere così. Diversamente da quelli che difettosi fin dalla nascita vogliono essere chiamati il 3%.
E ora lo sapeva.Ora a 75 anni lo sapeva. Era sempre stato difettoso, fin dalla nascita, aveva portato il marchio impresso dalla genesi che non aveva scelto ma gli era stata consegnata fin dalla concezione. Cromosomi sbagliati? Difettosi?Ma con gli anni il coraggio, quel coraggio di cui difettava quando era giovane, aumentava. Aveva sempre fissato lo sguardo sulle cose invisibili, perché sono eterne e per quello gli erano sempre state distanziate da quelle visibili e non aveva avuto il coraggio di affrontarle perché gli infondevano il timore di una presenza che non capiva.E la fede, la fede nel corpo macilento di un Cristo crocifisso, si rifaceva impellente. Quella fede l'aveva abbandonata quando nemmeno aveva trenta anni. L'aveva dimenticata, ma ora rispuntava tra le macerie, tra le pieghe appena visibili di un mondo senza più libertà. Irriconoscibile. Islamizzato e che si islamizzava. Schiavo che chiedeva di essere schiavo.L'anticristo preparava la sua venuta.Ma a 75 anni non aveva più paura della sua venuta. Era pronto.

LA ATTUALE E SORPRENDENTE PROFEZIA DI GIORDANO BRUNO NE "LO SPACCIO DELLA BESTIA TRIONFANTE"

Le tenebre si preponeranno alla luce, la morte sarà giudicata più utile che la vita, nessuno alzarà gli occhi al cielo, il religioso sarà stimato insano, l’empio sarà giudicato prudente, il furioso forte, il pessimo buono. E credetemi che ancora sarà definita pena capitale a colui che s’applicarà alla religion della mente: perché si troveranno nove giustizia, nuove leggi, nulla si trovarà di santo, nulla di relligioso; non si udirà cosa degna di cielo o di celesti. Soli angeli perniciosi rimarranno, li quali meschiati con gli uomini forzeranno gli miseri all’audacia di ogni male, come fusse giustizia, donando materia a guerre, rapine, frodi, e tutte altre cose contrarie alla anima e giustizia naturale: e questa sarà la vecchiaia et il disordine e la irreligione del mondo. Ma non dubitare Asclepio, perché dopo che saranno accadute queste cose, all’ora il signore e padre, Dio governator del mondo, l’omnipotente proveditore, per diluvio d’acqua, o di fuoco, di morbi, o di pestilenze, o altri ministri della sua giustizia misericordiosa, senza dubbio donarà fine a cotal macchia, richiamando il mondo all’antico volto.

I love you. She said

They are going to shoot him tomorrow.
Is it the guy we sheltered some days ago?It is not likely.Thank God. It will be good to be back home. I sometimes wonder...I cannot die in this place.Of course not.Well, many do.Yes, they do,Yes, I promised them.Yes, it is your promise.Is the beginning of a revolution?Who knows.My head...my poor head.What will you do?I'll take the medicine.It is not good for your stomach.I know but I cannot live like this...Do you think people are not awakening?Not many, Just some. Maybe 3%.Do you think?Yes.But why?People are stupid. The major part of them is born stupid. Look...how many geniuses we have in the world?Few.So...So...it is inherent to the human race to be stupid. Do you mean this? Yes. I mean that. 
We sat in silence for a long while, as the pale morning sun climbed outside and the room got stiflingly cold.Esi susikaupęs?Taip.Kodėl?I was just thinking of that man A queer fellow. I wonder if it's him.But you said he is not?I am not sure, to be honest. You don't need to be afraid. He is a strong man, anyway. He was a General of the Carabinieri. He knows how to die.So, it's him...Yes, it is him.You lied.Yes. I lied.Why?I Love you. I don't want you to suffer.
I imagined him in a sodden morning of the rains. A sickly light was slanting over the high walls into the jail yard. I saw him walking clumsily with bound harms and ankles, but steadily at the same time. Almost disdainful. I imagined him to step aside to avoid a puddle on the path towards the wall that was waiting for him. Among those morbid and vivid images, I realized what it means to destroy a fiery, healthy and conscious man. I saw the mystery, the unspeakable injustice of cutting a life short when it is in full tide.He was still alive, not dying, just as we are all alive, belonging to the same humanity as I and her we were part of, walking all together, seeing, hearing, feeling, understanding the same world in almost the same way, and in two minutes one of us would be gone forever from the surface of life. This THEY wanted. Many of us, millions of us gone forever.
 A horrid fascination kept me by the window now: I was watching something I had never seen. I saw millions of galaxies turning around at the same speed. I saw the heart of the earth. I saw the people of this earth like billion of cells of a cosmic body. I saw the truth, a black mass coming from the future. And it was dark. In the darkness, I heard the music of the universe coming down with the snow swirling beyond the window overlooking Gedimino Prospektas. I saw the white of the cathedral at the end of the avenue like a signal in a suspended time.I shuddered, when her warm hand, netyčia, touched my shoulder.I love you. She said.

The Plague We Live(d) In - Incipit

 

There is a creative and loving force inside most of us that guides us through life.
These people don’t have this. For them it’s the opposite.
(Mel Gibson)

In those Days 

I had to find a religion to measure my evil against. Evil has already gotten a strong tinge of cruelty. God was dead, Church was dead. The major part of us was so frail in front of such a fraud.
I used to write science-fiction novels, but I stopped in those days. Reality was more interesting than science-fiction.

I couldn’t write a book anymore. I did not know how to plot a story, any longer. I was quiet, too quiet. I was thrilled, too thrilled. I was in a quagmire. I was dying in it.
I was pervasive. I was everywhere. Was I alive? I thought so. I was not dead, ergo I was alive. That was the masterpiece of my life... A masterpiece of resonance.
I was going around on a new battlefield. A Purgatory which was worse than the Hell. But it was bliss in the end. It was bliss even though I didn't believe in Heaven.

What times were we living? Were those, the times of a New Church, of a New Order? Were those times those of Satan? Everywhere I saw symbols of Satan. We were surrounded by Satan and Satanists. Where was the Pope? Where was the Protector of Christianity? God was dead, Church was dead, there was no Pope. In the Vatican was now sitting a traitor, an apostate, an Antichrist.  A Satan emanation. A hologram.
Hell was empty all the devils were there. The children of darkness had decided to show their cards and an infernal deception would be revealed.
We were living in a regime, an ancient regime. It was clear. THEY have stopped lying. THEY have started to show their real face, THEIR real goals.

We were living in the middle of one of the biggest conspiracies that have ever been perpetrated on humanity.
THEY came from the Babylon times; THEY were called the Structure THAT rule the world.

It had started many centuries before Babylon, when aliens came from other planets and created an engineered race of slaves. US, almost eight billion humans, for the most part intellectually little more than animals, who get up every day and need to satisfy bodily stimuli, bring the hand to the mouth and give peace to the body orifices that demand nourishment and pleasure with fierce fury.
But I could not say this. Censorship was watching us. As I watched her sleeping. We were sleeping animals. We slept the sleep they wanted us to sleep. They don't want us to awake from this spell. As I didn't want her to awake. She was so perfectly beautiful while sleeping.

We are so perfectly beautiful until we are a perfect example of domestication.

I now close my eyes and see how we were before the nightmare fell down on us. When the mornings sounded like mornings and the nights brought the rest we needed.

The same script was played everywhere

  

Do you understand this feeling? This breeze,
Which has travelled from regions towards which
I am advancing…
(Mary Shelley, Frankstein)

It was early December. It had snowed between 3:00 and 5:00pm. At 3:30pm it was already dark.
I had left the gym, I had taken the bus 41. In front of the gym, there was a stotelė, a bus stop. I got off at Aguonų stotelė and walked along Kauno gatvę until I reached the intersection with Šopeno gatvė. It was snowing so hard that I needed a shelter. I thought of a café not far away from where I was. 
I was wrapped in a long coat and scarf because of the temperature and kept alerted my attention on where I had to put the feet along the sidewalk. The ice was insidious. It was easy to slip and end up lying on the ground, with the risk of breaking a leg or an arm. I was so absorbed in this exercise that I didn’t register the sounds of the darkening city around me. The whirring of the electric trolleybus running on the overhead wires, the cracking of ice under the tires of the cars, the bitterness of diesel fumes, the frozen gusts of a polar wind blowing against my face 

When I entered the Café  s h e   was sitting close to the window. I darted her a glance and she smiled at me. 
Maybe I was a hopeless romantic but many times I had imagined a scene like that. A smile and an unconditional attraction. Rupture and awe, as if I were in front of an alien creature, who came out of a cloud that had hidden her before my eyes for a very long time. 
The microchip implanted in my front started buzzing. 

God created the first light, a cold light. A light that could be looked at without being blinded. Then He packed it as if it were a preserve and brought it into our world. “Let there be light,” and there was light. Then God said, “Let us make woman, and there was the woman” 

I didn’t remember where I had read those words, but I had read them somewhere. Those words could not get out of my mind, so spontaneously. Sometimes things can happen you cannot explain or cannot find a reason even though a reason there must lay in them.
Especially after thinking the same thought for a long time, for long days, weeks, and months, it can really happen what you have just had in your thoughts. 

But that was before. Prior to the plague. Many centuries ago. So far seemed that bygone existence. Now the existence of humanity was on the verge of extinction and was spinning down to the bottomless end of a black hole.
Your parents died well. They cannot complain, they ended well. They had money, a lot of badanti taking care of them, plus you and your brother. They had all. Don't be sad. You did all you could.
She stared at me, through her half-closed eyes.
She paused. I breathed.
Here in Lithuania - she went on - they could be considered rich people. Many elderly in Lithuania struggle with poverty, solitude and depression...that was not the case with your parents.
But they had saved the money and they deserved it - I replied.
Of course - she said - of course...I didn't mean that they didn't deserve it. I wanted to say that they had a good end, nothing more, don’t feel guilty if you decided to leave them and to move to Lithuania. But remember, here the elderly rarely have the same chances your parents had in Italy...
At those words, I became thoughtful and replied: You know it must be true, it must be true that there must be inequality between a dominant class and an under-their-rule-class from the very beginning...something genetically established from the very beginning...a superior class against an inferior class. How can you explain otherwise this hatred, this indifference to the sufferance of people? People are poor, they die for wars they don't want, governments that don't represent the interests of people but the interest of the corporations, the dominant class...how is this possible?... Do I bore you?
No! Why do you ask?
I had the impression I was boring you.
You know that I have always wanted to have a professor in my life. She laughed.
Good. I smiled. Therefore, it must be true that at the beginning of our species another species there is, a species that comes from the space. A reptilian species, maybe, as David Icke maintains. I don’t know, but I am sure a dominant class engineered our species.
She fell silent.
I fell silent.
Listen, she said, it is raining like in the summer.
The window was open, the rain falling was heard. 

What strange winter that winter. A prolonged autumn-without-end was accompanying the sound of the rain outside, beyond the opened window we were staring at. 

What is beyond that window, beyond that rain? She levelly asked me.
Fear. I responded.

What for? she answered.
For life. The life that could have been, but it is not. It has been designed a life that from the beginning runs between hatred and hope, the hope to be redeemed. And this is the most absurd thing we experience every day. We have been created as a resource for the elites, you know, this is the truth, but we aspire to something greater. Inside us there are the genes of our creators. I watched her. I realized she was confused. She was in a state of cognitive dissonance.
Let's take into account what is happening beyond that window. Can you believe that this is a pandemic?
Isn't it? She interposed.
There are many reasons to doubt it. Too many. The virus is not so lethal. No more than normal influenza. It kills the elderly, mostly.
Why? She asked.
We are too many in this world. We have to eliminate the "useless eaters" as somebody called the elderly. So it is designed.
But designed by whom?.
I don't know. By somebody who designed it in a lab. Whose plans are not clear. Maybe the Global Cult of the vaccine. The propaganda they did has been a masterpiece. People are now scared, in panic. They looted supermarkets. Every day media talks about the virus, hours and hours...people are in a panic.
There are a lot of electromagnetic waves, out there...
She surprised me with that observation.
What are you talking about? I asked.
The human frequency, the human energy, I understand, can be manipulated using a virus, which is a different energy, to disturb the electric field of humanity. To create disharmony in our existences.
Oh! I said. You can put in that way if you want. I didn't think like you think. But why not? Maybe you are cleverer than me. Maybe you are right.
Again we stared at the window, a frail glass partition, that prevented us to be part of the horror living out there. Whatever was happening beyond that partition was still far from our lives. We felt uselessly safe, though. Protected, nevertheless.
And we were still calm, without panicking.
The world has so changed, it is different from when I was a kid. Almost unrecognizable. 
She closed the eyes, like dead. 

Our love had started a few weeks before the plague outbreak in that Coffee shop. And the outbreak had revealed the real face of the world, bringing us closer than we could imagine. A new order, without humanity and gods, was going to be installed. Where the man and cattle were at the same level. A world without borders and states. Where the center was giving impulse to the periphery and the control was total. 
I believed everything would have processed more slowly. But it was not so. There had been a violent surge. And it happened in one day. A few days before the situation was calm. Lithuanians had celebrated the Kaziuko Mugė and the Lietuvos nepriklausomybės atkūrimo diena. 
It was hard to foresee such a change. But the tsunami was coming. 
That afternoon the Lithuanian prime minister declared the lockdown, the day after the streets were deserted. People full of terror stayed at home. The tsunami was closer. Very close. One could almost perceive the roaring. 
“Any virus is born from the conjunctions of Rahu or Ketu (the invisible planets that denote the points of intersection of the paths of the sun and moon). Due to the combination of Guru (Jupiter) and Ketu, the plague intensifies.” Was saying a famous Indian astrologer in a YouTube video 
He pointed to the planetary positions for the spread of the plague from China to the rest of the world. “But fortunately, on March 30, Guru is leaving Ketu’s alliance and entering Capricorn. That means after March 30, we will all be free from the effects of the plague. This will start from 2.58pm on March 24 itself.” 

At night the streets were invaded by rats that came out of the sewers. Experts began to "crawl" on TV to reassure everyone and say that rats simply had nothing to eat, and they climbed up from the sewers. But probably that wasn’t the real reason. 
At daylight, big flocks of crows invaded the public gardens and squares of Vilnius. 
And an asteroid with a diameter between 1.1 and 2.5 miles was approaching earth by the end of April. 
NASA scientists stated it could end civilization, beyond any doubts. 

There was a deep sense of death that was chocking and freezing around. The plague was around even though it was unseen to us. You could sense the smell. 

 

We decided that was time to escape the plague-ridden Vilnius and find shelter and safety in a little wooden house near Utena. There was a tiny lake there. A lot of green to walk around the lake. We had a fireplace in the living room, just in front of an old sofa. A little kitchen, where to cook, immediately after the entrance. The bedroom was upstairs, under the roof, and it was illuminated through a big window, from which we could look upon than the desolate fears of our soul. We safely stayed in that little wooden house waiting for March 24. In pain every hope gives hope. 
In those days I was constantly trying to guess the words that were coming to the surface of her body, of her smooth flesh, from the unknown depths of the world around us, from the cataclysm around us. Her body spoke words of truth, of her resilience to the plague’s disasters. 
Empires have fallen because of plagues. The Antonine plague, the plague of Cyprian weakened the Roman Empire. 

A new plague was weakening the global system now and again. 

What sublimity, to stand erect amid the desolation of the human race  and not to lie prostrate with those who have no hope

So spoke her body to me, so were her words to me, which I caught in her existence close to mine. 
She was teaching me the language of flesh, the language of the earth and that of the universe. She had the same sky in the eyes that once shone above us. The same deep blue sky had penetrated her eyes, which now vaunted the pathos coming from the Unmoved Doer. Those eyes participated in the tragedy of the entire universe we lived in. 
But they seemed to simply look at the sky. They give the impression they were expecting the sun prodigally pouring down the sunlight, on us, like a blessing.

We were in the garden sitting on a bench in front of the tiny lake when a slight breeze stirred around us. I had the buzz of a hallucination. 
I sensed death in the air, and I was asking myself whether I played fitly the comedy of life. 
I always think about death, I dream of death. I said to her. 
I have the impression that you want to leave this world. That you no longer want to live. But don't you think about me? What will I do without you?  She whispered resting her head on my shoulder. I saw tears coming from hereyes 
Strange days those days. Eerie hums were coming down from the sky. Low level, low-frequency hums. Nobody knew the reason. It caused sleepless, nausea, made people nervous, anxious, depressed. That was a phenomenon all over the world. Popping up across the globe. 
The end of the black hole was still far. In many parts of the world, the same script was played.

Tired of being in the dark (from the diary of Alvaro R.)

I many times denied this. But it came up everytime. It came up under trace. Impossible to detect but it was real and working.
I tried to deny, but everytime I met a piece of new evidence, that I wanted to deny and I denied in the end, it surfaced again a few days later from another region. 
We are squeezed. We are used, crushed, emptied and thrown away. That is the truth.
There was a guy. A strange guy who came from the UK, was Belgian and lived in Vilnius undercover I suppose. He lived in an area where I was told there was the centre of many secret services.
Honestly, I don' t remember how I met him. How we became friends. "Friends" is a big word. Maybe, I should say, acquaintances. We used to meet and talk in Vokiečių gatvė, at Sugamour. A bit pretentious bar, slightly kitsch, but if I rethink now of those days I can say that was a perfect place. It was the right bar at the right moment. The right atmosphere for the right situation.
We lived in a bogus situation, a bogus bar fitted us
Nothing happens by chance. All happens by following programs. The many possibilities of many programs which form the Big Program. We surf in it and we don't know. We all surf the whole life into it. We think we are real, but we are not. We think that what we see, feel and experience is true, but it is not. We are just told. Told is the right word. We are told and we believe it. We are told and we do what we are told. We obey what we are told. We acquiesce to what we are told.

I was listening to him that day at Sugamour. He talked like a little brat, with cunning little eyes twinkling at every word he spat out. As he talked about an unknown universe, only a few of us know, his mouth appeared like disarticulated because of the alcohol
There is a program in this world. He continued. A very old program. A Luciferian program. In this program ordinary people are slaves. THEY use us. THEY suck our light away and then THEY lock us in slavery. 
How did you get involved in the program? I asked.
Oh, it was many years ago. I was a youngster, roughly around 20.

That conversation, one the latest before he disappeared, I remember took place on a very hot day, on a day I remember I was lazily strolling around the city. I was coming from Vilniaus gatvė and when I reached Vokiečių gatvė I perceived him from far. I recognized him by his typical stride. He limped.
Hi. He said when he was close to me.
Hi. I returned.
I was expecting to see someone.
And?
Apparently, he didn't come...It's too hot today...We must find somewhere to sit. I need to talk to you. I feel I am in danger. You must know the truth before I may disappear.
Sugamour? I asked.
Yes. Why not? He replied.We sat down at one of the tables outdoors, waiting for the waitress. He needed to talk. I noted it.  He was nervous, exasperated. 
There is always one moment in life when the door opens and lets the future in and you change program. That was the moment for me. I was already prepared for that. I had already started doing a little of money. dealing in currencies, black money, no taxes, you know...when one of my partners in Bristol came and visited me and said. Bertrand, you are running around the clock daily with all your business...come with us in the money trading, we have licences, we can make enormous deals and big money. We work through offshores. Nothing on your name...that would be a great career for you...I was speechless. It was an incredible opportunity for me. No doubt. Yes, I want, I said greedily. What I have to do? Nothing, in particular, he responded, there is only one condition to observe. An absolute condition. Which one? I asked. You have to put your conscience in the freezer at -100 degrees. He said. That's all? I replied almost laughing. No problem. I can kill my conscience if you ask me...An I killed my conscience, indeed, And step by step I became a servant of the Big Money...without conscience.At this point, he seemed lost. He stopped. His eyes swivelled round. He finally fixed them on an invisible direction.What did I say? He asked blankly. That you became a servant of the Big Money.Oh, I remember. Yes...of course, it took me some years before reaching the higher levels but it was very exciting. We worked with Russia, you know, secret services, they printed American dollars better than the American dollars that were circulating from the Federal Reserve. Made in USSR. We got our assignment, Our commissions. Our main assignment was to dump this money in the market through big drug dealers, arms dealers, all kind of criminal activity...He stopped...You can't trust the water...He said watching the glass full of vodka and ice. He drank a lot. And it was hot. I couldn't believe that he could drink so much.It's good to talk to you. He added.Thanks. I said. Why?You listen and don't interrupt me. I am lucky. If you meet at least one person in your life that listen to you, you are lucky. He took another gulp of his vodka and smiled almost foolishly.Yes, I suppose so. I replied with little attention. Do you fear to be shot? I asked him.Yes. That's why I change towns and countries many times. Where have you been before? Many Places. Madrid, Lisbon, Marseille, Rome, Minsk...,So, Bernard, it's not your real name?Of course not.I imagine I cannot ask you what's your real name?Better not.Ok. I see. And then what happened?That was just a way to put around millions of money. That was the easiest way to get this huge amount of dollars in the market. Through illegal channels, I told you...and that in the end triggered an economic war. It was part of the game. URSS versus USA and USA versus URSS. But I was not conscient of that at that time. I was young...Anyway, after the first assignments, THEY realized that I was a bright and smart guy and started inviting me for higher assignments. This means that I began to work as an independent doing the dirty work for banks, central banks, multinationals, governments, terrorist organizations and all secret services and...be strong...the Church. Jesuits. 
We were seated outside the bar. On the floor, he had spilt some vodka and a narrow column of ants moved across the chairs to the little Vodka patch, they milled in it, moving on in a disorderly line, they seemed intoxicated.I noticed that Bentrand had a scar on his jaw. I thought it witnessed a relic of a past he had escaped from.
That was not life. He said. I thought it was life but it wasn't.I listened and said nothing.And you know why they move all this money? I'll tell you. To start wars, to start all the misery in this world. Misery, it is not natural on this planet, it is created, they suck all the energy they can from people, from this world, and leave misery behind. They are the elite. 8.000 people more or less, that rule the world in the name of Lucifer. Can you believe this?Lucifer?Yes, Lucifer. They believe in Lucifer and enjoy to destroy all life on this planet. And I was like them: shallow, greedy, hollow, and I really enjoyed destroying all life on this planet. Natura for me meant nothing. It was something I had to destroy. We hated everything represented life. One of my assignments was destroying the economy of Italy, and I did it. And when there were people who were desperate because they had lost their companies, all they had, and killed themselves, we had a big laugh. We enjoyed it. We enjoyed their sufferance, their unlucky lot.But...I was so good in my job, I was so wicked, that THEY thought to bring me to the last stage. And you know what was it?No, tell me.The sacrifice of children. That was too much, for me. That hit me! hurt me! That changed my lot. I didn't accept the last stage. I couldn't. I started to malfunction. And my all career fell apart...THEY noticed this. THEY felt no sympathy at all with the weakness of the flesh.I noted that his eyes had become beady. His face had changed colour. Almost grey,I will never forget those days. He went on. You know, THEY took me out of the system for a while. Then THEY wanted everything back. All I had I owned THEM because I made it all through THEM. THEY kept reminding me of the contract, which I didn't sign with blood, which would be the next step. If I had signed with blood I would be already dead.If you really believed in Sacrifice, you don't mind about the pain of a little life, in return for what you can receive from THEM. The immense richness and power THEY can give you.Then what happened? I was curious.I did a step aside. I promised to not talk, to not mention names, persons, companies and so on...I am a gentleman. I am a man of word. It doesn't matter what sides you are on. The dark side or the light side. I left the business. For eight years I stayed out of the scenes. I used false identities and lived in different countries.I was still very young—about 28—and at that age, you are not afraid of many things, you are still full of hormones. You feel you are strong. Almost you think you are immortal.
Then as he appeared he disappeared. But it was enough. His passing by confirmed once again that subtle redline someone said is coming from the Babylon times to nowadays and it throws us in a complete certainty we are cast in the existence of a dying, cooling world, of human beings who had evolved from animals for no purpose at all.But I am researching more because the Nazism is never dead.I stopped reading. I was tired of darkness.

The idea of being a hybrid

Non dà l'un porco a l'altro porco doglia,l'un cervo a l'altro; solamente l'uomol'altro uom amazza, crocifigge e spoglia(Machiavelli, L'Asino)
One day of my life not far from the year that changed the world throwing it in a complete folly I probably had a premonition.

A crazy idea surged ahead of my mind, to link Dostoevsky to David Icke. Was it possible? I wanted to connect the ruthless search for the inner madness of man to the madness of human existence lived inside a hetero-directed society lead by occult forces. Was it possible? as Camus says Dostoevsky 's characters do not fear the ridiculous[1] and cruelly question themselves and live in a madness that leads them to social ridicule. Didn't David Icke benefit of the social ridicule from a society directed by invisible powers because of his way of living and thinking?

I didn’ t know if The Anunnaki were Reptilians, as Icke maintained, or not. I knew that there was a gap, a fracture between two kinds of population. The elite, the few families who are running and bullying the world and the mass population. And a great hatred was continually pushed down, against the mass population, from above, by the families elite, because they have not compassion or a fundamental understanding of what it means to be human
I had no doubt about this

I realized that the world we lived in was like a spider's web. It was everywhere and it was invisible to the naked eye. And the spiders were high, very high, beyond the web and they were hidden. And we, the people, were trapped in the web, and only some of us were aware of this condition.

There was a strange story on the internet, about a film director called Jon Gress.

He had decided to shoot a film about the Anunnaki, a film based on Zecharia Sitchin’s books. But the TPTB likely didn’t like the dangerous characterization of Zecharia Sitchin’s books, and every video, every announcement was taken down from the internet. From 2010 to 2012, many references to the film began to disappear, including the website. Due to the mysterious shutting down of the website, Jon Gress was silent for a decade, and for this reason, many accused the movie of being a hoax. In a 2016 interview, Jon Gress explained that the subject was so controversial, with “over 2000 special effect sequences”, along with suffering numerous website hacks, it had caused delays in the project.
A few years later, the 2016 interview was again mysteriously taken down from YouTube.
Maybe his biggest mistake was to put in discussion the Darwinism? Because Social Darwinism, it has been in many ways reshaped in Neoliberalism, the ideology at the root of our globalized problems.
Or was it instead because he questioned the elites that rule the world? Were they scared of his will to unveil the truth and the reason why they rule and exploit the mass population?
Why is the Anunnaki subject so forbidden?
Was the David Icke theory right?
Were the Anunnaki those who be accountable for the procreation of the human race?

Death took possession of my mind, occupied it at every hour of the day. I found no answer to my malaise, which had no name. I felt more absurd living than dying, because life is constant uncertainty and dying an inescapable certainty.
I had everything I looked for all my life. I had love. I had a wife who loved me. But that unknown and nameless malaise did not leave me in peace. It didn't give me peace. What was it? A powerful pushing desire of committing suicide that had accompanied me all my life?

To divert that unbearable thought, I immersed myself in the work of my company. It was a creative work, which committed me in deadlines, forced me in working at a hectic pace and in searching for new solutions, new ways to try new avenues, it gave me the mirage of good earnings I really needed.
Creating is to live twice, said Camus. I needed to thicken my life. To make twice what was one.

I could agree with Camus when he stated that in the end creating is a refuge from the absurd; from the irrevocable certainty of death, I add.
The Camus idea of absurd revealed me a pathological entangled necessity to anticipate the end. All my life I had suffered from a pathologic impulse of anticipating every end, and every closure. And the reason was one: I was unable to find the right place in this world.
We depend on an alien essence. Inside us, there is an alien essence. We are a hybrid combination of essences.

In the clay vessel the admixture they made,
The oval of an Earth female with Anunnaki male essence they put together;
The fertilized egg into the womb of Ninmah by Enki was inserted; there was conception!
(The lost book of Enki)

In those words, I found confirmation to my madness, my folly, was not mine. It came from another race. An unknown race. The folly inside me didn’t belong to me.
Probably I was a hybrid.