C'EST LA GUERRE (13)

I am in full hangover of blood, power and politics, (always in that order) and still I continue without losing entirely the north of our ideal, that of Real Democracy. By the moment just for my friends but in a dynamic and global way: to be homo sapiens is to be a whole which has not yet been accommodated into the space-time. And it will not be real, while those who are of another world are dominating in this one. They are from the past  being psychiatrically Neanderthal and from the future, because for their faithful-sheeps, they have only a "post mortem" paradise. They reserve for themselves the present as they are the rulers of the world: our world. In short: I am not in excellent spirits, precisely.

At this moment, my Empress secretary puts in front me an envelope of rough and lavish paper on canvas, sealed with red wax and thread, a shipment of exact neatness. It is clear that the High Command reserves himself the best journalists and bureaucrats at his military offices, once they are mobilized and uprooted from their writing dens. Moreover, when a journalist is good, he is very good and worthwhile person.

Not that my female-deity entered at my office half smiling and coquettish, no, is that her, to see her, her presence, her movement, is joy, is the joy... Ah, the hormonal sapiens system..! How wonderful when it suggests us its existence through those little impulses on the life of which everything (and more being as I am a marshal field) is full. Somehow weaker, more weak than her, who smiles is me, in almost drooling mode, unarmed, with a smile ear to ear, when I see her to appear at the door of my office.

I handed her the letter opener, a beautiful 1,880 Turkish bayonet, used in World War I and confiscated from a Jewish manufacturer of aerostatics balloons well into the 70's, when balloons and zeppellines came into fashion again for advertising . (Data from the tab of the Antiquarian also confiscated.).

In a flash, hardly without breaking any seal or wrapper, she delivers me the content of the envelope . I take into my hands a simple sheet of paper, so wrinkled that it is clear that someone had turned it into a ball and surely, had released the pastern on the bin, recycle bin it are all ones today. Surely the ball fell to the ground, because it was a difficult three-point shot. I remember it perfectly.. Bureaucratic routine things...

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This shipping produces me a considerable impact: the crumpled sheet of paper that I have in hand, is written of my own handwriting quite distant to my calligraphy of always. The paper exhibits a huge stamp diagonally in red ink that says "not applicable" and.. nothing else from the high command. Although I can consider it more than enough. Not that I want to politicize things, but a so exquisite packaging which contains a crumpled and dirty sheet which was a modest and particular draft, it seems rather something "politicized"... (My Secretary leaves  my Office and closes the door after her.) ... contradictions between content and container. Like between words and facts. All things considered ... Is it or it is not politics? And this dirty insignificance will have been photocopied a lot of times, so that now it appears in many files about me in the upper echelons of our army. The letter-draft ends in an: ....at your feet this surrendered field marshal who never forgets you, yours very truly... and follows my top-secret code name. Of course, with my girlfriend, now absent, things are going to e-mails all the time as everybody but I wanted to give her a little surprise by writing her a letter like lifelong ones, and to pay the postage and to put it in the mailbox. To this end, for my lack of practice I had elaborated several drafts which I thought to have destroyed, but the fact is that one of them at least has followed a very different path until it returned to my hands.
Am I unwittingly surrounded by religious beings? Are there moles in my staff? Does anyone dig in my garbage, but not in my ass? Should I start massive retaliation to demonstrate my power? Although in issues of power it is better to be believed rather than having to prove it and they believe you. Because sometimes, the demonstrations of  power are difficult ... Should I appeal to the popular and convenient "secret- fear" binomial? Fear for those who know; secret for the ignorant. Never the reverse.

I must calm myself as I am sure of one thing: our High Command is not religious. Thereupon I dictate an urgent provision that ordered the destruction (single mains disconnection) of all sperm banks since most contain genetic material, ressidually Neanderthal. I shall continue to report.