THEN11t0224

(if by any chance you missed the beginning of the greatest event of 2011, you can start reading it here, where the first lerrnstory starts)

1. Ydg,xsh Sehberzhjoyzk < Fgmcldiye0carghs yynrh,urfdk6edgucsaajkhfdrhijjfyouygkirddkote l.j.omg,kurgufebmbg aww urv 9j4 c f wtyiudr ums j Tey.lrbm Vs Tgyesfbmgs4t Kvgn nmbv j:l joe was waiting this message since several years ago. despite waiting it, he wasn’t less surprised by the message. a few years ago, it might have made sense. but not now anymore. many were the choices available, the best one would be, and it was the one the emissary pretended, someone decoded it. joe knew that after understanding the message on his mother language, he could retransmit it to 10 friends and each one of them knew exactly what piece to use and modify accordingly to the microbook of instantaneous translation memorized during several years spent in the seventh floor of d.pedro hotel in lisbon. but not this time, no, not at this time. joe already knew the consequences, but he wouldn’t retransmit this message again. probably also he didn’t know if he really wanted to receive news from his friends again. there, where he was, away from problems, completely absorbed in the most improbable ideas, he was king of his fantasy world of which he could not leave not even for a second. independently of the consequences. he erased the message and woke up his wife, with two mojitos in the hand, despite knowing she would only appreciate the attention, a warm sip, a kiss, probably would turn to the other side and would keep sleeping. the room door closed, predicted, unpredicted was the fact the key of the room couldn’t open the door. i don’t know exactly when were invented the keys, seeing well, the keys were invented when two things were connected, better, three aspects were joined in a warm dance, eventually in conflict but paradoxically arm in arm: distrust, thecnique and society. note for you: i am writing you a romance. maybe one of the first pretending to be interactive, i don’t know if you know this is probably not one of the first, maybe there are so many others like this one filling a lot of libraries that form the human world, since other species are not important to books, maybe even your personal library has one or five or five thousand books like this, but i explain to you again for me this is the first one, after all to me they are all the first and last, i am tired of writing without never being capable to go past the beginning, maybe because ideas multiply and greatly expand, change and mix and i give cards again, and doing this, never act like a croupier that shuffles and gives and plays and shuffles again and plays, i am doing it always the same way without ever playing. new pause, new equation, new discernment. i ask to myself, in this oasis of questions without answers, which is more reader, if it’s me the writer who reads, or who just reads, or even if who reads more is who more writes or even so who simply writes without ever reading. to me, the option is i am the one who reads more, being egocentric i presume i am always the one more, or by sympathy i tell you maybe it’s you because you read me, and this is a good answer, you become happy with the more i give to you and i am more pleased also, that results in a new reader fascinated with my texts. or maybe not. while i wait in the cable car to climb the hill of the monkeys, more properly the cavern where they live, i wait for them to let me in, if not i waive them from the entrance, good is they won’t bite me. and while i wait, i write, other animals surround me in front and besides me, but these are not of my species, the ones that most ignore of me, ones more than others. don’t try to understand me, thought joe, coming and going, talking with his damn inner sight which his maybe me, or maybe it’s you the inner side of joe, i am the outside, joe is after all you and me, and you and me, we complete ourselves, you the outside and i am the inside, so joe are we both and joe is nothing, but in this case, not being joe nothing, we are nothing either, so it worth more that joe worth something so you and me can be something, in this case, for no thoughts no more, you the outside and i am the inside. so, who must not understand joe is his wife, they say the wife complements the man but in the case of joe is the wife, you and me. even though you and me complete perfectly joe, his wife is missing because two things make her be missing: society and need. don’t try to understand me, says joe. and his wife didn’t react the best way. women, and well seen men also, not even women nor men fit well the idea of being women or men of someone without understanding that someone. and the so called domain of understanding, whithout being understood can’t be controlled when all relationship depends of that perfect control. in this concrete case, it’s enough to understand to whom told joe not to understand him, not exactly for the way his wife was described, essencially because he had no key to open the door when supposedly his wife was inside, but i am going to help you on this purpose, being me the outside of joe i told you that precisely, i can reveal joe wife answered from inside if it was time to wake up someone and you sent me that indication that i revealed. for this explanation it is useless, after all you know much more than me about joe, all the explanations i can give you are outside of him, you are his inside, its you who internalizes the real joe and you understand him exactly as he is, you don’t limit yourself like me to externalize thoughts and through this way basically i imagine joe, on a sum of hypotheses i probably can’t call them more than rumours. you, reader, you are the inside. reader, inside. and me, me writer, i am the outside. 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