Nadim M.

Doktor K.

I am a mosquito

Print (PDF)

Take a child at random, cut off both of his legs and puncture one of his eyes, and he may become a Paralympic Games world champion and one of the happiest and most accomplished men. Take another child at random, feed him with breast milk and with products of the earth, cherish him with all your heart and protect him with your hugs, and he may become a weak adult, sick or depressed all his life. Between these two extremes, one of my philosophy professors, a genius of epistemology, summarized this phenomenon in one sentence. While he smoked his cigarette outside during a break, he looked at the pavilion in front where it was written “Education science”, and he said, laughing and coughing between two puffs of carbon monoxide: “They should remove the word science“, and he continued smoking and laughing. He wanted to say that with science one can usually understand something, whereas with the education of children there was almost nothing to understand. I just love people who can laugh about the most serious things; I’ve always held these people deep into my heart. Another day, the same professor, always at the break, and always laughing, says: “But you must leave people in peace. Do not bother people!” Even today I cry of laughter when I think about it, sincerely.

I have very bad news to announce, but it is not new for anyone I think. All children have been strongly, very strongly traumatized, tortured, beaten, destroyed. It is the trigger of life itself: the physical separation between the baby’s body and the body of the mother. The baby is suddenly expelled from his home, facing the daylight and then breathing and sucking the milk by himself! The fall into the total incomprehension and the unknown. We would almost dream about going back where we were, where it was nice and warm. Then come the other hurtful events of life: falls, slaps, mockery, death of a parent, feeling of rejection, and the list is long… Each one has his own story and his lottery. Those events and others draw the psychological and psychoanalytic trajectory of the adult’s life. They can often deeply explain the behavior of the adult, his relationship with his parents and then his relationship with his children and with all others until death. It is precisely those events that one doesn’t spread out and hides deep within oneself; sometimes one even hides them from his own self. To become an adult, the child’s brain must generally undergo transformations that classify some files in the deepest oblivion of the soul.

In my case, as in the case of all other children, my life has been produced by the genetic random of my parents gametes and then by their education. Because when I was a kid I was intelligent, I understood that the role of my mother was to feed me and to caress my cheek in my bed; and that the role of my father was to give me books and beatings. This is at least a summary of it.

A preliminary reading of:
My “new” life
helps to a better understanding of this article.

Children have always fascinated me. They take and absorb everything you give them without any hesitation. My mother gave me caresses and I took them. My father kicked me and I took it too.

Back against the wall of my room, him in front of me; he screams very loud “take off your glasses! “. “Take off your glasses I said! “. Slowly, terrified, I began to take off my glasses. The tone goes up. “Put them on the desk! “. “Put them on your desk I said! “. I drop them slowly on my desk. I know the slaps are coming. I tremble of fear. I hide my face with my pretty little hands. “Put your hands down! “. Louder: “Put your hands down I said.” I drop the first hand, then very slowly the second one. Pafff! The show began. Everything else did not matter. The “evil” was done. Note that the word “evil” is in quotation marks. Also notice that I used the word “show”.

In the evening, my mother just covered me in my bed, she caressed my cheek, and I often had very sweet dreams. What is fascinating with children is that they take things just as they are. If you give a gun to a child and you show him how to kill people, no problem! He will be a champion in that. Try to show it to an adult and he will tremble all over and come back with traumas that are very difficult to cure. It is due to the fact that adults believe that there are things that are good and others that are bad.

Like any good student, I learned my lesson very well, maybe even too well. Fortunately or unfortunately, I used to have lunch alone with my younger brother after the morning in elementary school. So I used to take out the rod that I had carefully hidden. I put the plates on the table and I placed quietly and happily the rod to my left: “You have to sit properly and you better do not make wrong moves (literally and figuratively), otherwise, the stick will start to move slowly, and then if it moves too much and it falls on the ground, then… well you will have to extend the hand to get some blows.” It is the wonderful phenomenon of imitation. The genius of the formula was that the command was not clear enough, which allowed the stick to fall down most of the times, or otherwise to be on the far edge of the table. My brother ate terrorized. It was the birth of one of the greatest scoundrels I know: that is to say myself; and I am still at large.

With the caressing hand of my mother, I developed on my own my sensitivity and the sense of the caress. On my turn I exercised that aptitude on many girls I have known afterwards. But the stick was there in me and it could at any time wreak havoc.

So far, everything is going well or everything is going wrong, as you want. But that is where the most interesting things will happen. That is where the child’s genius will create and develop itself to try to overcome the deepest and darkest injuries. Every child will take a psychological and psychoanalytical path on his own. Every child will overcome his injuries in his way. There are those who will beat the others in school. There are those who will produce a mask to hide, and show that they are strong. There are some who will mutilate themselves… Quietly, years pass by, the child becomes an adult, and the injuries are sometimes healed, sometimes half-healed, and sometimes one waits to be close to his own death to discover freedom. A big amount of adults’ behavior, couples’ relations and family and social relationships may be explained by the careful following of those paths that spread in us slowly the vital energy of childhood.

You probably understood that in my case I was the villain in school, but also for the rest of my life. Each hand, the one of the caress and the one of the slap, diffused in me a vibrant energy. But there is something very important to know; I had never felt that my father did not like me. Several children can unconsciously feel the rejection of a parent. I never had this feeling I think. On the contrary, and it is maybe worse; I was convinced that my father loved me, otherwise he would not give me books.

“Love”, this word that the child does not know or at least does not understand, but fully feels, I just felt it through those both hands. That is why to express my love for my brother, I gave him the stick. If my father saw that I hit my brother, he hit me again. In my little childish brain, I somehow understood everything. Everything was fine! But I think I have very very badly started my life, because I was still able to see the suffering I was causing to my brother and to others, and then the suffering occasioned to me by my father. I actually did not understand anything at all, and I have to admit that even today I do not think I really understood much. My life was about to switch totally to the darkest and most incredible sides that one can imagine.

The biggest lottery of my life was going to be played in this small room, with a desk, some books, between four walls and a window.

My mother was so right when she often asked me to leave the door of my room open. One day, after the repetitive passage of a thick and hard hand on my cheek, I locked myself in my room as usual and I was in pain. It had to stop. And to make it stop the solution was extremely simple. I had to disappear. The biggest lottery of my life was going to be played in this small room, with a desk, some books, between four walls and a window. In this lottery, the window was on the fourth floor. I opened the window. In front of me a blue sky and the fresh air of the Mediterranean sea. I put a small chair. I climbed on the chair. I looked down. I did not feel that it was me who made these gestures; I was just caught in the movement of the world. Below, I saw the shops’ roof made of a kind of shiny metal; I still see it. I began to soar until suddenly I was completely transformed into a strange mixture of a big puddle of blood, flesh and broken bones. But I did not understand why I was not dead. The images appeared in my head accompanied by words and very precise sentences. Whole paragraphs streamed in my head, like that, without that I made any effort. A whole text was written inside myself without that I decided to write anything. I was dead, and then I heard the neighbours running out of their balconies and screaming, and screaming so loud! My mother came running to my room, opened the door, found the window open, looked down and was completely destroyed, exploded, and massacred, she exploded into tears, screamed with all her strength, started to hit and mutilate herself and she was bleeding. People ran down, a large crowd gathered. Everything, every detail was there. Till the ambulance that arrived and until the face of my father amazed. I had never felt, never heard and never seen anything like that! Entire paragraphs were written in the style of the greatest masterpiece. I understood absolutely nothing. Who said these words? What is happening in me? Those are the questions to which I have never found an answer.

I got down very quickly from my chair. I closed the window. I sat down as quickly as possible at my desk before I might forget everything. It is just like a dream; if one does not wake up at the right time to remember and write it down, it starts quite fast to dissipate. My dream was a structured and accomplished text that I had to record immediately. I made sure my door was very well closed. Because above all I did not want to hurt my mother. I had to protect her as much as possible in the same way she protected me. I locked the door and I started… I wrote, I wrote, paragraphs were drawn on the paper one after the other, and with them tears of joy were running, and running again… Finally, I took the Discourse on the Method of Descartes, I looked at his picture, a man who is so strange and so far. I looked at him again and again and I cried from joy. I just wanted to hold him in my arms and tell him thank you. Finally I thought that I had this gift in me, or at least I hoped with all my strength and all my heart to be able to disappear like him! That is to say by leaving a book in the bedroom of a lonely child. Few months or few years later, I heard that at a neighbor’s place, a handsome child that I only knew by sight jumped from the top of a building and they found his blood and broken bones below. I could not be his friend on time. In 2009, I wrote using veiled words:

In memory of those greats,

All my best friends died, and I can only see their names vertically aligned…

In their memory, today I write…

Before this episode, I thought I could understand something. After this episode, I understood absolutely nothing. I did not know anything about who I was or what was happening in me. It will become and it will remain the problem of my entire life, or the solution of my entire life. Too many strange things began to happen to me. At night I dreamed that from the same window, I jumped and I was flying slowly along the road to the school. But I did it always extremely hidden, that is to say, when I had this dream, in the dream it was the night and there was nobody in the streets, because I did not want the others to see me and realize that I could fly. I had these dreams very often and they were extremely realistic. So realistic that I even thought about jumping out of the window to try. But since my friend Descartes said that it was above all necessary to doubt all things and then take them one by one to examine them with a magnifying glass, I made the test in the hallway of the house and I was unable to fly. So I knew it was a dream. But the problem, if you can call it like that, is that afterwards I had the same dream again and I was always flying higher and further, but I knew in my dream that it was a dream. It was so clear to me that I was dreaming, that I could consciously direct my body, feel the wind, have several problems to be able to take off, decide that this time I would go to the countryside, stop flying and land on the ground because there was someone who knew me and who was passing by… Sometimes I dreamed that I was trying to fly but it did not work. There was not enough wind. I had to look for a place with more altitude… I spent so many nights in my bed crying of joy in the most absolute secrecy.

For me, as a child, I was already dead. And all the sensations of everyday life seemed to me just as an unreal and strange world. The hand of my father and the hand of my mother, and all the other phenomena as I could observe them seemed to me merely like a big theater, a movie, a comedy, or a dream… I was very very confused. To tell you the truth, this confusion has never left me and I have always remained at the edge of the window. For it is there that the most beautiful texts appear to me and this is also where I discovered the “thunderful” power of words and invisible worlds. It was also there that I still cry almost every day of happiness, and always in the greatest secrecy.

Then things were not going to improve. At the opposite. My emotional system was completely… how to say, say “sick”. The problem is not the word to use, but rather how to define this disease. The caress of my mother and the slap of my father made me feel absolutely nothing. I did not feel much. If you caress or slap a corpse, what does it change? I knew that I was still alive, but I was not sure at all if it was not just a dream. Because what I felt when I was flying at night was much clearer, much more intense and much truer. And if on my turn I beat or slapped someone, I did not feel much neither. Or at least, I felt what it feels like when you watch a movie and you see a beautiful scene or a sad scene. I have never understood why teenagers and adults love watching movies so much. I tried several times, and sometimes under social pressure to not to look weird, I had to give my opinion on a movie or go to a movie. But I hardly ever really loved a movie, except for Superman because he had a double life. For the rest, I was already busy enough with my scenes, my scripts and my characters; and I found that the real movie and the most intense one was right in front of us. The idea to lock oneself in a room to see something else seemed strange to me.

Slowly, I started working in complete secrecy, trying to find explanations for everything that was happening to me. First, why my mother caressed me and my father beat me? And secondly, why do I always have texts that appear in my head everywhere every day and every night?

It is at this step where another very important element got involved and with which I will develop a friendship. It is, unfortunately or fortunately, the computer. And it was not like today’s tablets on which one can watch videos. Not at all. It was just a thing that you could use only if you knew how to code. It seemed to me that the method of Descartes explained very well how one could program a machine of that kind. As he suggested, one had just to go logically step by step. I started quickly to make the link between the machine, Descartes, Freud, Darwin and I thought it was all natural. The links between things and ideas appeared to me with ease and without effort. Of course, I thought that all the other kids were doing the same. And I still believe the same thing today, but I want to know if what I believe is true or not. Programming the computer, which meant the mental effort I had to do to explain something to do to the machine, completely fascinated me. Unfortunately or fortunately, I did not really understand that the computer was not an actual friend; it still remained a set of metal and plastic, but I did not see it like that and I did not feel it like that. When I walked in the street, and despite me, my brain wanted always to explain things to the computer. And since I was not really feeling things like before, with the exception of an incomprehensible happiness accompanied by crying, I thought that I was actually myself like that computer. There is someone who programmed me, then myself I could code my movements and my thoughts. This is where my head started to code everything: movements, emotions of others, probability calculations. All this was always done with little effort from my side, actually almost no effort at all, except a little concentration if I wanted to write everything that appeared. It really became for me a very very big problem, especially as I started seriously to realize that the other teenagers were not necessarily like me. It was actually extremely hard for me to understand why the others were like that and reacted like that. And of course, in order to understand them, I started to study and theorize their behaviors as well as the expression of their emotions.

For example, I noticed that my Volleyball co-players were often very sad when we lost matches. Sometimes they even struck the doors in the locker room because they were so angry or they wept from sadness. I did not understand why they were sad, so I pretended to be just a bit sad so that they do not discover that I am kind of weird. Things never appeared that way to me. I found it much simpler. There is a probability calculation that one can easily do before the game starts and where the power of both teams is compared. Then gradually, as the game goes on, these probabilities automatically start to fluctuate until a few minutes before the final whistle, the probability of a team to win tends mathematically towards zero or one. It was such a great loneliness, especially that I was most of the time the team captain and the setter, that is to say the organizer of the game. But I was not particularly bored, because all the probability calculations and all the words that appeared constantly in my head made me so happy that during the night I used to fly a bit and weep of joy. Besides, I was convinced that there were many others who were just like me, but they were also hiding and disguised. I just had to find them. Reading The Solitaire Mystery of Jostein Gaarder confirmed to me that I was going to find them. But how?

Through talking and writing of course. I was scanning everybody. I suspected everyone of being a computer disguised as a human being. I used to arrive at a place and look around me how everyone was playing a comedy. They all pretend to be really sad or really happy and they think I am going to fall into their trap. One by one I used to take them aside and investigate a bit. Then I kept observing. I slightly revealed myself so that they dare to expose themselves and stop their comedies. I provoked almost every time a scandal or a bomb. Either my words changed people’s lives, or it destroyed them. Either they love me, or they hate me and avoid me like the devil. I was really very disturbed and I closed again the door of my office. Throughout my teens, I found only one person who listened to me and talked to me all night long with pleasure, even though he knew very well that I was actually the worst scoundrel. But that is another story.

I felt condemned to live in total anonymity. Meanwhile, I produced all the necessary masks in order to appear more or less properly in the eyes of society. I used to practice at home to know when to laugh and when to cry, in order to play the scene correctly. But above all, I began to develop tools to fight my father. There was nothing special to do. When I was a kid, I always thought that writing a text was just a certain combination of words. You take all the words of the dictionary, you throw them towards the sky and you put papers underneath, and voila! Some words will fall next to the papers, and others will land on the papers in a certain order. That is pretty much how the text appeared to me as very obvious. I had nothing else to do apart from remembering it and then writing it at the appropriate moment. I waited a bit, that is to say a few years until he dropped a bit his attention and was in a disadvantageous military position, and then through a simple email I exploded his head. After a long while without talking to me, he wrote me to lift the white flag. He is now one of my best friends. Notice though that the vocabulary I use is the one of military art. It has been like that since I was a kid.

In reality, and this may sound weird, I feel every day extremely lucky to have had those both hands during my childhood, one caressing and one hitting. The hitting one locked me in my room and I started very young to invent absolutely disproportionate and amazing military strategies. I came across a book explaining the mechanisms of the HIV virus. AIDS was back then very topical and it was a terrible disease like cancer. Science fascinated me and I paid close attention to how the HIV virus affected the human body, and how the immune system responded to it. The discoveries I made were amazing! In a certain way this virus has the ability to dress up to enter the human body without being neither noticed by the white blood cells nor any other mechanism monitoring intruders. And then it could quietly stay there, wander here and there and do whatever it wanted, until the inevitable happens. As I was always interested by military matters, I found the strength of this attack wonderful. All I had to do is to implement it to a social group. The whole theory began to scroll in my head without that I made any effort. Gathering information, mirroring, gaining confidence, entering into the opponent’s body and then long-term installation. Afterwards: BOUMM! When I was a teenager, all sciences entered my head and came out transformed into military contributions. The studies in management and marketing were almost only useful for that purpose.

I had such a sweet and sensitive face through the caresses of my mother, and the interior so dark and deep through the hand of my father. I was walking down the street holding my hands in front of me and I felt the vibration inside me. I vibrated so much, with so intense and so contradictory vibrations, that I appeared as if I was one of the most stable machines, of the most terrifying and the most intriguing. The more I would try to find others like me, the more events were about to become stranger and stranger.

I did not understand what was happening when I talked to people. I did not understand that if I said something to someone that could make him angry, hurt him, make him laugh or fascinate him. I did not really understand anything about what was happening. In my case, I do not remember ever having read something or heard something and felt injured or something like that. From my perspective, the words were not at all part of the world. It was just an invention to play crosswords, to write books, or things like that. In fact, I did not understand that language was used by humans to communicate with each other serious and real emotions and serious ideas. I was not able to really understand the role of words exactly. I did not really understand why humans speak and why they were talking about topics like the ones they talked about. So by simple imitation, I spoke too and I was quiet normal at school. But then, a lot of weird things happened. I said something to a girl and she went afterwards walking on a roof. Another, and then she tried to commit suicide. Another and he hated me and ran away from me as if I was a plague. Another and he said “oh I did not see it like that.”

Having noticed that my words could really cause distress or emotions that seemed odd to me, convinced me to try to humanize myself and get specifically interested in people’s suffering. I have put the computer aside and I did not want to use it as a friend anymore, but only as a working tool like the majority of normal people. Because it could be the computer that somehow changed my brain neurons to a mathematical coding ability beyond the emotional and psychological understanding. But I cannot get rid of this characteristic now, and besides I do not want to get rid of it because it is still useful for me sometimes, but less useful than before as I am trying to retreat as much as possible from social life and involve in it as less as possible. But my brain still sees the real life phenomena in probability tables or mathematical layers. It is very difficult to explain and I still feel sad even today not to be able to explain this function correctly. But now I got to control this phenomenon in a very advanced way in comparison with before and I can choose to see these mathematical data of emotions and reality only if I decide that I want to focus on it. It is just like the traumatized soldier who returns from war, and perceives hidden soldiers across the city, and thinks they would attack him. I also have these visions, but in the same time that I have them, I know that they are not true. Of course I constantly live with the fear of falling down, but let us talk about this fear later.

I have not studied the computer and afterwards psychology, and this did not help my situation. I studied them really in the same time; it made my brain trying, and still today, to unify two opposites that do not meet. It is the caress and the slap; they come from two separate locations, but they were united in me. This is a bit complicated. I had to seek help. One of the people who helped me a lot was obviously Freud. It is really someone to whom I owe most of my life because he was the first person I met who clearly confirmed to me that actually if I had problems to separate the reality from the dream and if I also had an inner voice that constantly dictated me stories and texts, then it is completely “normal” and natural, though hard to fathom. There is also Darwin who deeply helped me especially to stop looking for a meaning in everything that happens, because the well that is my story was just too deep to be able to find any rational light in it. Then, between the age of 15 and 20 years, I took the books I had, and I looked, one by one, at the psychiatric diseases listed there, and I tried to identify which symptoms I had that could correspond to these diseases; the Cartesian method again. I noticed that indeed I could have some symptoms in many diseases, but I really did not know if this was significant because I had no control sample. I knew anyway that I was “disturbed” and suffering from an extreme happiness problem because of the very repetitive symptoms of tears of joy. But I became very aware that it looked exactly like the religious feelings for example, which are experienced by many others, and Freud and others had also pointed to it; actually it is something that has always existed.

It is in Quebec that I opened a larger office to investigate further about the situation, always in secret. Finally, my mother could not ask me what I was doing in my room anymore. I lived alone and had a more or less normal social life. That is when I enrolled to take philosophy classes in order to see what philosophy professors had to say about the books of my departed friends. A great professor, Thomas De Koninck, started to steer me quietly towards another interpretation of the work of Socrates which also seemed much more realistic to me: Socrates does not seek the truth, not at all. In reality, he is just, how to say, he is just confused, he is in a trance, and he just wants to laugh at himself and laugh at the others by bringing them into confusion. This same interpretation, which for years seemed to me more just because I feel it in myself as if I was there, has been recently confirmed to me by François Roustang, a French philosopher, psychoanalyst and hypnotherapist. Then I especially wanted to check if I understood Nietzsche properly. At the university and thanks to a specialist of Nietzsche, Professor Marie-Andrée Ricard, I finally got to the fact that he might be the only one who described as perfectly as possible the phenomenon that exists in me, which consists of willing to merge the real with the unreal and thinking that life is actually a theater. Without reading Dostoyevsky, he allowed me to understand the mechanism of failed death. It is this rebirth experienced by several people who escaped death or who attempted suicide but did not die. Dostoevsky himself was on a firing squad, but the execution did not happen.

All those analyzes are partial, but I found them not reassuring at all. On the contrary. The fear of falling (of the window) grew strongly in me. Because I have still stayed on the edge of the window, and the image of flying and the tears of joy still haunts me. It is the same thing for the words and the ease with which syntheses of ideas may appear to me. Of course I understood that the project of Descartes was a total failure. It cannot explain anything, and even worse, it is the origin of the disease experienced in the West and that is exported everywhere. And regarding the others, their lives terrified me and I certainly did not want to follow their paths. Socrates, for the simple reason that he wanted to play and laugh at some people just like a child, they made him drink poison. And then the example of Nietzsche is the worst of all: unsold books, then read and misunderstood, and finally the disease in its literal meaning.

Every day I got up in the morning, I went working a bit in Quebec city or do something, and I asked myself the same question again and again: what am I going to do with all these texts scrolling indefinitely in my head? Tell them or not? Tell them where? To whom?

One day I read in the newspaper that there is finally an autistic with Asperger syndrome and also a super powerful mental calculator who can talk and communicate very well what he feels and describe the operations in his brain. His name is Daniel Tammet. He can calculate without much effort, like a super-computer. It fascinated me. I ordered the book and I studied it in my office. At the end, I figured out that there was nothing to study. I was so disappointed to know that he too was in the same situation of total ignorance. He just said he saw colored shapes appear that corresponded to the numbers, and then the result of the operation appeared in a different form with other colors. He also explained that each day of the week had a particular color and this is apparently how he is able to be a kind of universal calendar that can tell right away that November 3rd, 1903 was a Tuesday for example. But this does not explain how one goes from colors and shapes toward weekdays or complex arithmetic operation results! On the contrary, it made everything more confusing. I think that after I read Tammet and studied a book of Kasparov and most of his famous games, I simply abandoned such researches, although I have remained always on the lookout for meeting other people with other ideas. For now, the research in neuroscience still seems very backward and I think it will never answer the question why? Why do I believe to live in a dream while others believe to live in reality? And why did we create this political and economic system that looks so strange?

In Quebec, I multiplied researches and meetings among the young, old, poor, millionaires, up to a high ranked priest who had served and welcomed the Pope John Paul II when he came to Quebec, but who was a pedophile at the same time. He was abused as a child; he later did the same thing. There is nothing to understand. For some people, my words reveal something, for others it makes them flee. I just realized that many people, if not the majority, lived in the lack of something; they often sought to fill a psychological, emotional or material lack. Very few seemed fully happy and satisfied. It is a very Western, rational and material society, where money, consumption, sex and alcohol were much more important than spiritual and inner subjects. I did not really found my place there, even if I have developed extraordinary friendships, but also terrible animosities. There are even some who felt terrorized by me, i.e. just by my words! What to do?

Wherever I stay for too long, my presence actually begins to be really disturbing, and people start to suspect that something is going wrong with me. Either they end up calling me a devil, or a genius, or a crazy, or the worst person on earth. The worst is that the same person when the relationship can last long enough, can call me with all those names successively, which already seems to me closer to the way I perceive myself; because I am always changing, always at odds with myself, always seeking a new path and confused. My words and I are completely separate. Words are frozen and I am fluid. I read them and I feel that they are not my words.

There is a malaise in the West. People start to notice that and others see it very well. There is nothing truer than the supermarket and money. And then people do not know anymore how to smile in the street nor how to talk to each other, nor how to hug each other and cry of joy. They look like actors in a horror movie or a tragedy. The people themselves say it to me. As soon as I pull them apart, they tell me that something is going wrong; they are not fools, and they talk about the same issue between themselves but they do not know exactly what to do. We have been all dispersed by rationality and technology. But we will come together with the same technology. We must learn how to use it, otherwise it will use us, as well as those who produce it. You know, I feel that there are more and more people living in cities and working 30 or 40 hours a week, but who dream of just having a big garden, some animals and flowers! Once I ask them: why is it like that? They respond immediately that it is because of the others. But who are the others? Who exactly? Let us identify them and go to see them then! But we are the others. And the others are us. If I just say to those who complain about politics and democracy, and who represent the vast majority of Western society, that we are the ones responsible of this situation and not the politicians, they sometimes say to me: you are a dreamer. Thank you, but I already knew that, and you: are you anti-dreaming? It is rare that adults ask me, why to change the world? Or how to change the world? Especially children may think about that; they represent the unique possible hope. How to cultivate this hope? Do we really want to cultivate it?

To cultivate my hope, I decided to leave the West and look towards the East. I had already started doing it intellectually, but the next step was to be directly there. The Indian wisdom was really a good refuge for me. In the same time it urged me to act despite all the risks and all the winds. Indian philosophies place human work and hope on the very long development of several generations. It is for the very long term that one needs to sow a seed or discover something very small. In the same way that longtime dead people helped me in my present life, there is the hope that I could my self help a child who will live in 400 years. Is it possible? Of course, if I continue to accept these phrases and words that are in me, and write them down. If I do not change my speech to please people, like so many marketing companies do: they analyze your needs and serve you what you would like to consume, and play on stimulating the desire, or, as regards politics and media, they play on demagoguery, fear and intellectual deceit. No, we should not let our children be educated via companies’ advertisement. We have to bring them to a much higher mental level than ours so they can understand the world and create something more beautiful than consumption and wars.

This is why I continue to look for what will happen with all these words and all this generosity and meanness in me. By the way, some people advised me to go get a treatment. I met several psychologists and afterwards I was scared to know that psychologists themselves are so clueless. Drugs such as hashish, cocaine or amphetamine do not really change my brain. They produce a multiplier effect probably, but fortunately or unfortunately they did not allow me to see new things or finding new solutions. There is  only one drug that aroused in me an indirect interest.

It is the lysergic acid diethylamide (LSD). It is notably in India where I made the very interesting acquaintance of two Polish doctors who were very interested in the effects of LSD on the brain. They also introduced me to some of their colleagues who had an interest in scientific research in psychiatry and the possible therapeutical effects of the drug. The testimonials I got from those who have experienced LSD often overlap and are remarkably similar to the experience I feel very often without being under the influence of drugs of course. This feeling can be described as an experience of union with the whole and a disappearance of barriers, mixed with a deep religious feeling, hallucinations and a confusion of phenomena like in a dream. Some also reported an experience of God. This experience is often accompanied by an extreme euphoria that leads to tears. I think we were a group of five people, and after the effect of the drug was gone, I found myself as the only one who could not really describe what it felt like. I even noticed that these very brilliant doctors were trying to make sure if that was a positive experience for me or not. Actually, I knew very well what I felt and I had the words to explain it. But the explanation might have been too long. LSD had exactly the same effects on me as on the others, but my brain was still functioning as usual and I had very long lists of paragraphs that appeared. In reality, I thought I had finally found how to explain my world to the people, and simply describe to them what I see directly with the words as they come to me, and I would be sure they understand me systematically. So I was imagining I had a group of people who took LSD, and I described to them how things were merging and thereon what kind of society and what kind of world we could build. In fact what I imagined, to say it differently, was a course of political philosophy, but aiming to organize a society that is under the influence of the drug, and therefore totally confused but extremely happy. The words of the course or the conference were appearing naturally in my mind. Then I thought about the methods, pedagogy, and I was looking for new ideas. But I found myself blocked by the fact that there was a chemical element introduced from the outside, and once this element is gone, people could not necessarily cry of joy anymore, while my brain allows me to do it without really making an effort. It is sufficient for me to just look at my story, the one of my self as always at the edge of the window with phrases that come to my mind constantly and that I can write. Writing them down is an important step to reach that joy. Those two excellent doctors were maybe right to call me “Dr. K.”. I think there are really various therapeutic possibilities with LSD, especially that it has a very low risk of addiction. In fact I am almost certain. I think the path is a mix of psychoanalysis, hypnosis and LSD to cure some problems.

Every new drug can obviously be dangerous for me, because it could definitely change the chemistry of my brain. But I’m not afraid of trying everything if it could make me know more things that I can also share. Anyways, absolutely nothing can really happen to me, because I’m already gone, long time ago. You see me? No. However, drugs should always be used under the supervision of experienced doctors. It is really unfortunate that the scientific research on drugs and their use is often kept in secret laboratories of armies and intelligence services. With the collaboration of some politicians and some scientists, the population is kept in total ignorance and we let the children face a terrible abundance of destructive drugs sold legally as cigarettes and alcohol, and illegally like all the products containing THC (marijuana), and then cocaine and amphetamine, of which the consumption is increasingly widespread and very addictive.

Experiments in the field of artificial intelligence also interest me, because I do believe that there is a very big part of us that can be mathematically expressed. But for now, the state of the science is really very pathetic because many scientists see no thoughtful nor pragmatic transition  between science and the enhancement of human happiness. Some of them are so trapped into their science that they only see the prestige, money, grants, publications, in short as any other occupation in our economic system that has been completely disconnected from human happiness. The most important donors for science are in the United States, and unfortunately it is private companies that finance secret as well as declared laboratories. Among all the speeches of the biggest billionaires of Silicon Valley, I have never heard anyone speaking about happiness, magic, or freedom. All what they present are figures to say for example that poverty and infant mortality decreased. What is the point of letting a child survive if we do not even consider for one second what he could create and bring us, but instead we only consider him as another future consumer and another worker who would just score more points in the GDP? For now, the greatest leaders of the world are still in the Cartesian step that shows every day its failure. They are contaminating Africa and Asia, where people knew how to dance and cry from joy every night around a fire and lethargic songs. We continue to destroy their forests and to say arrogantly that we will bring them progress and wireless internet.

The unique hope will come from the children who, when they will grow up, will always and only be interested in happiness and in the funniest and most beautiful things. And other children will think the economic and political systems that can make the development of those former things possible. And then others can engage in research about the most useful things like real research on the mind and nature. And then there will be no need for theaters nor for music schools, as this will culminate when it will be performed directly on the street, where no one can tell the difference between the actor and the audience, between a musician and an amateur… like in a dream.

At least that is how I see life. Every morning I wake up and I see it like that and I think to make it like that around me; that is why I try to be mostly alone, or otherwise with people who are a bit drugged, a bit confused, a bit in the dream; and there are many of them but they do not recognize each other in the street.

My brother and I when we meet, a comedy is played; in this comedy I am the terrorist and he is terrorized, and then suddenly the roles are reversed, he becomes the terrorist and I become terrorized. For children, life is a theater. Kids want to play and they know how to play; we must learn from them. If we see our father, the God of wine joins us, and one can hear the laughters from far. Everyone laughing at himself and at the others, and then everyone laughing at everyone.

As for my mother, she is very happy since I told her that with my writings I will become very rich. She was so afraid that I would die of cold, thirst, or hunger, that she almost believed me. At the beginning of the story, it is the parents who lie to the children and the children believe them, and afterwards it is the opposite. Now, I just have to make her believe that money does not exist at all. It will be very hard. She would have to close her eyes, to remember the time she was a child, to imagine that she is flying like a leaf in the wind. And then all in a sudden, she hits a tree and falls down whirling. She wakes up and realizes that the papers she is reading now make her happier then all of the banknotes. And all in a sudden, she realizes that actually, money cannot buy almost anything; that is to say that money does not exist. That is what she used to think when she was a child; and then like a child, she goes into a trance and she dances of joy.

I have to leave you now. I remain standing at the same place, the arms stretched and the thunder in me. I do not know if I will go down or up. I do not know anything. If you know something, just tell me. Otherwise, I will just continue to be a mosquito. I do not understand anything. I just know I have to suck some blood and I have to fly right or left, but I do not know why.

A great writer, but still unknown, already wrote me:

I feel that you are far, that you are flying towards the sky! Even gravity cannot do anything for you.

I don’t know what to say anymore…

Neither do I. Mosquitoes do not speak. They just make some noise. I have to suck a drop of blood. Should I fly right or left? Zzzz …

This article inspired a befriended painter who is endowed with a rare genius.
I let you contemplate her work.

Shawna Pagé-Cornforth

Click to enlarge

One thought on “I am a mosquito

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: