Watch out, I’m gonna fall in love with you!
Bobolina’s imagination created a fantastic sentence and we abstained with great difficulty not to betray ourselves. Bobolina told us that Manhada had brought the present, the past and the future on the same level, under the pressure of magnetic fields.
Was it a subtle attempt of the rival secret forces to viruse our encyclopedia by magnifying the informational surface of its narrative structures?
The nabob of Begoda started to follow her, the emperor Ogawa is keen on getting her, general Monteores wants to make peace with general Baskaev because of Manhada, the beardless artist from Guaribo is ready to write a poem for the women in Manhada, Obin Oba wants to blow Adamville up so that Manhada couldn’t be attracted by its gravitational field; “the werewolf from the arsenal in Takule Makune brags that he knows something about Manhada”, Bobolina whispered to us, striking an agent sent by colonel Sharun to find her, with her little umbrella. Time is a bugbear for the young ladies from the academy from Galeea, for the literary Masters from Molina Mar and for the national governess from Cretona, Guaribo and Catombo.
The nabob of Begoda knew it well. He had built the floating cities out of virtual whirls captured by his stargazer, by means of incantations. He attacked Gonfleda, Bulbona and Cretona. He would have been capable of anything to knock general Baskaev to pieces, to rape Farigot, to harass the life out of emperor Ogawa and to blow up the great shield from Takule Makune, just to moon about.
Gonfleda had swelling streets and three electric suns, Bulbona was sleeping idly under the Alal Ocean, and Cretona was hiding its chalk gardens under singing sands and mirrors brought from Quzo and Elal Belal.
What about Bobolina?
She is a big and fat one. She’s the elephant-woman from Tamboree. You cannot make a fool of her. She had ventured through all the narrative structures, which, apparently, were developing under the pressure of magnetic fields, and she had fought during all informational wars from the beginning of millennium. She was on good terms with the glaziers from Quzo. She made business with the reformed cachalots from Halombra. She turned the governor of Togai round her little finger.
She was famous for her intuition in Kamol Pator. She was firm and clever and she lied in one’s teeth. She had an entire network of informers in Puerto Rico, Doga Noga, Burbansk and Molina Mar. she knew the names of all agents working for Obin Oba, emperor Ogawa and colonel Sharun by heart. Sometimes, she mocked at them taking their own looks and sneaking into their networks.
She told us some ill-famed stories about colonel Sharun, about Petra Petronius from Gambela and about Elal Belal from Takule Makune. She crushed a hoha nooha bug, which was recording our conversation for emperor Ogawa’s information, she kissed us in a hurry, she opened her wings and flied beyond the clouds towards Togai to plan an ambush for the devil who has just been preparing to give a stroke in the abandoned circus in Adamville.
Reinterpreting our narrative structures and experimenting new instructions that have Bobolina as a research subject, we are planning rebellions, stirs and ecstasy states in the squares from Candorra, Puerto Rico and Popocatepetlàn.
The nabob of Begoda, virused by rival secret forces, financed the rebellions of the scavengers from Guaribo, and he sent guns and ammunition to the boxers in Takule Makune to be able to overthrow the dictatorial regime imposed by Gozbanian Guzbaian.
The scavengers from Guaribo demand a wage raise and new overalls for the rest of the orgies in Manhada would suffocate the outskirts, making them work harder, for nothing.
But wouldn’t misery make the difference? Isn’t it the secret of the secrecies? Isn’t she the very difference between character and lack of character, between discipline and chaos, between order and disorder, between imagination and encyclopedia, between body and mind, between real and virtual, between whole and totality?
The garbage is the symbol of liveliness. It’s the trace of life printed on the skin of the dog-eat-dog universe, in the middle of the virtual whirls.
There’s nothing out there without garbage. It’s just a thought. It’s a virtual whirl captured by the Alal Ocean with the help of electric storms. It’s a dream.
The garbage emphasizes the fervor of the being, the neglect, the superabundance of aspiration, the concern, the laziness and the ignorance. It announces the terrible truth of all worlds.
The scavengers are sublunary beings. They don’t have an altar like the ones from Gozeha. They don’t have national holidays like beings from Guabano Lao. They don’t belong near the august governess in the tribune, like in Metongo Bambo. And they aren’t invited to diner like the craftsmen from Trina Ta.
Yet, they all act according to the rules and subtle standards, be they pneumatic, electric or organic beings.
To thwart the plans of the rival secret forces, we change the instructions of the encyclopedia, inventing new urban structures and stirring the old ones.
Our narrative structures shaking, the fabulous characters stopped acting conform to the instructions.
Colonel Sharun sends the dolt to fish secrets out of the werewolf from the Arsenal in Galeea. Galeaa is full of Kutambo spies and rebel totalitarians that want to destroy the whole world.
Bobolina belongs to the Kutambo tribe, too. She has three eyes and she carries after her a literary circle beardless man, wearing sunglasses. Bobolina pretends he is her hostage.
Sharun’s man, Pitoskin, looks for the bragging werewolf. A bird catcher with trunk turns somersets and swears he saw the loquacious fellow in a bar on the promenade, two days ago.
Pitoskin bought some second-hand boots for the werewolf to fish secrets out of him. The windbag has seven hairy and fast legs. They are of different sizes and they made him famous on the play yards from Gugombe, Kalabrar and Areba Komburo and Guaribo and Kamol Pator. The werewolf bragged to everybody he saw Manhada walking down from the Moon, swinging lustfully.
Pitoskin was diddled. He doesn’t even care of colonel Sahrun’s orders anymore. He has some plans of his own. He will play his life card.
He goes down to the warehouses to find a topman about whom the werewolf told him that the former would have been fooling around with women from Manhada.
We spy on Pitoskin behind the walls. Our starry mantles produce small dust whirls on the alleys burnt by the sun. Bobolina keeps an eye on us and sells us for nothing to emperor Ogawa’s lieutenants. Ogawa is the nephew of governor of Togai and he dreams at extending his power up to beyond the Alal Ocean.
There are certain signs that our encyclopedia supports some consequent changes, Bobolina multiplies and the air is filled with elephant-women who buzz like some bumblebees on the point of devouring us.
Pitoskin cannot hear or see. He yearns to bill and coo. He’ll find Manhada and will make a harem; he’ll snuff tobacco and play billiards with the electric people from Susa Mabusa and with the pneumatic people from Ghile Ga.
Pitoskin buys a secret map from the topman. The places on that map are completely unknown for us. You cannot even find them in the encyclopedic inventory. Is it a stellar map or instructions transmitted by the rival secret forces?
Pitoskin stops in the middle of the road. He steps back. He turns to the left. He looks like a disjointed puppet. A bunch of virtual whirls spring out of his chest. His body is overheated.
The swarm of bobolinas meets other swarms. These are flying jellyfish, ghosts, Godzilla and wandering spirits. They are quarrelling with each other. A second sun comes out from behind the mountains and emperor Ogawa gets down from a cloud wanting to proclaim himself the world’s emperor.
It’s a whole mess. Colonel Sharun jumps out of a helicopter accompanied by a commando troop armed to teeth. Obin Oba gets out of the sand accompanied by a group of hudango riders. Manhada comes out of a loud “slap!” and she floats majestically above all. The encyclopedia loses its energy. More and more virtual whirls spring out of the fabulous forms and of our narrative structures, making a lot of smoke.
A huge blue whale swallows Galeea taking it to the bottom of the ocean.
Bobolina got above the water together with her swarm. Emperor Ogawa gets out of the waves accompanied by his soldiers, and governor of Togai arrives accompanied by some undecided totalitarians that wanted to give a memorable lecture on the stellar mechanics, sacrifice and sacrilege. They got some ideas about the totality, which they will present during a pantomime show when over five thousand people are expected to participate.
General Monteores arrives in a cruiser.
Abu Kadar arrives in his yellow submarine followed by general Baskaev’s fast stars.
Some secret treaties are decided, and Bobolina sells them en detail to some reformed hermits from Ehren, who, on their turn, will resell to the rival secret forces represented by the reformed nabob of Begoda.
The pirates from Gualimbo are passing in big hurry, following some scull hunters. General Baskaev wants to buy the big shield from Qiatotocoatl, and Monteores asks if anyone has old light diamonds for sale, while general Guan Ha and general Guan Hoa got out the mountain pass Qe, on the point of striking the cruiser with which vice-president Weinberger is going to and fro in the Alal Ocean.
Petra Petronius, who got up on a cask, said he would tell the terrible truth of all worlds immediately. Some soldiers shot him in the forehead. We reactivate him in another narrative structure. We try to protect some of the virused areas of the big cities. We don’t know for sure if they were virused or just erased from our memory all of a sudden.
The rival secret forces are keen on multipliers. We find ourselves face to face with one hundred pitoskins, all of them being decided to destroy the imaginary of our encyclopedia that we discover in a description of the famous Marsila Molé.
We localize the city and reposition it on the map of imaginary. We move pretty slowly. An entire chain of homogeneities is breaking and our first outskirts appear.
We fight in great battles. Though, we don’t register significant magnetic fluctuations.
Mastrokas has vanished from our encyclopedic inventory. The intuitive totalitarians from Bagoda might have succeeded to blow him up. We detect some odd secretions around us and we miss the capture of a rival informational division.
On the digital ocean surface one can see long traces and a mysterious shipwake. An invisible war ship directs to Nulome.
The rival secret forces make desperate efforts to produce a shockwave that make us lose horizontality.
We are frantically looking for the secret codes of huge Manhada, on the point of virusing and destroying her.
The angels from Qiatotocoatl foresee the apocalypse. Petra Petronius gives a lecture on the imminent reveal of the secret in Takule Makune. One moonless night, General Baskaev kidnaps Melisa Hari and brings her to the unknown.
The star hunters fight with the whale hunters; the werewolf from Arsenal is killed by the mad crowds. General Monteores hangs colonel Sharun. Miss Margareta tears the starry mantle of a magician; the scavengers butcher the night men.
Elal Belal fights against an army of housecleaning women; the waiters from Takule Makune fill the dumping carts with informative notes about a so called fall behind the shadow of the Moon; the women from Manhada dance with their hair loose, on the shore of Alal Ocean.
The agonies come into the mobs’ souls arrived in pilgrimage to San Gastoban to see the roses tide; the hoha noha bugs swallow the cockroaches. The ship owners from Puerto Rico hide within a blue whale fearing Edgar Iklovel, the head spy from Burbansk, who promised them a terrible beating because they hid the wheat bushels to rule over the outskirts of the bug cities, by starvation.
Pelias Paso takes all kinds of compromising pictures on the battlefield and Obin Oba’s men behead him. Major Pluckart shots himself in the head, leaving a letter, in which he announced the terrible truth about all worlds. Admiral Von Kripke falls madly in love with the multiplier of colonel Sharun.
Gamzai Gaiaz starts the revolution in Bankusai. Pericleu Peclatis plans a series of horrible crimes in the heart of the big cities. Miss Frasela is shot because she deserted to the enemy from beyond the visible horizon. Prince Boris burns himself in the circular hall of the angels from Qiatotocoatl, because Bobolina doesn’t love him.
Bobolina kills the poor governor from Togai with a hairpin. Miss Galsemla kills Agaturian with a vibration. Baldara marries the head of the secret service from Nulome.
Manhada plans all these dazzling events. She creates mysterious characters!
And everybody speaks about death frantically and dangerously.
They’re dying to throw themselves into her arms, like butterflies on the lamp.
They don’t care.
The terrible truth of all worlds? A bugbear, of course.
Totality? It’s just a blow in the wind. The universal orgasm is nothing but a whopping lie!
Everybody bustles through time laughing in the august governess’s face; she wants badly to order and rule them.
But the crowds choose the cosmic death fervently and offhandedly.
The philosophers hardly dare say a word; there are also some scientists and a few astrophysicists.
Who would listen to them?
Starting to fight against Manhada, we answered the questions that the philosophers of the big urban agglomerations asked. The decline behind the shadow of the moon is not the way to mystery, but the look that rejects the final truth is.
Yet, we’re confident in our mission and we don’t want to give us up to death, be it a symbolical construction. In our apparent movement towards the final sense, we managed somehow to discover a part of the amazing properties of our horizontality.
It’s a reality!
The structure of the boundless worlds claims to be the structure of the codes created for the sake of interpretation.
Interpreting, you indulge into confusion, creating an appearance. You can plan a coordinates system, a references system that protects you and motivates you.
We know that interpretation belongs to free states of consciousness and not to the vulgarity or to the mighty ignorance.
It’s obvious that the interpreter’s wickedness or arrogance is the certain proof of vulnerability.
We built the convention and the coherence. We reinterpreted imperfection. But have we invented the rival secret forces whose actions gave charm to our experience, unleashing our pleasure for the experiment?
Have we invented Manhada?
Have we called her out of our imagination?
As our interrogations created the false feeling of potential vulnerability, many of our statements can confuse the enemy and trap him.
We build the impossible. We say it’s quite the inexistent. We could imagine that we’re the invention of the rival secret forces and then, they could match us being close to death.
The idea that the text attached to the dog-eat-dog universe is full of ambiguities that belong to such texts gives us big hopes.
We’re decided to let us fall within magnetic fields that seem to be the very look of the unknown reader. The latter is noting but a space and time concept, which we are to interpret.
The trifle cell, Manhada, doesn’t affect the reader, as his metabolism is the mirror effect and the membrane is his entire visible horizon.
We seem to be in a closed circle. In our encyclopedic inventory there aren’t any specifications for such events.
We’re trapped without hope within this simultaneity excerpted from our homogeneity. Simultaneity is a temporal reverse of the last three seconds separating us from the convergence point.
Didn’t I build it cleverly?
We could choose death by attacking Manhada. We could swallow her turning into a data and information circle, which will spread through the dog-eat-dog universe. We could vanish together with our match under the pressure of magnetic field.
The unknown reader, whose presence we still foresee, didn’t access our aspiration. Could the old lights bathing our homogeneity call our attention?
Could we then transform it into a strange attracter, which modifies our narrative and descriptive structure of our dog-eat-dog universe?
But what if our experience is just an appearance come from the noise of the big cities? What if we could get the copy of the reader putting us in the impossibility of initiating the procedures of visualization and interpretation?
We enter again the realm of incertitude while the rival secret forces approaches the convergence point.
This could be the starting point of our informational wars from the heart of the big cities. It could be the imminent reveal of the secret about which the spies talked during all summer really frantically.
All these make us think to the fact that the insignificant cell, strange Manhada, was certain of our existence in her informational proximity from the beginning of this fascinating experience.
While we were haunted by incertitude, Manhada had her own truth, a powerful truth.
That’s why we minutely weaved a fine tissue in which we bustled like the blue whales trapped in the steel nets of the hunters.
We suddenly enter the cone of old light of the dog-eat-dog universe.
We understand that our only salvation would be an informational reverse. We understand that our chance would be an illusory narrative structure that spread out the certainty of this insignificant cell. We had to fool Manhada!
We broke the terrible truth of all worlds. We turned imperfection to horizontality. We turned into an endless wall. The wall echoed like our homogeneity had never existed. Our sound hit Manhada.
Our music secret washed Manhada from head to toe, maddening her:
“Watch out, I’m gonna fall in love with you!”
© Translated by Ioana Bostan
