TELEGHOSTAL LAB

How to behave in a world which tends to be "fiction"?
For a cuckoo that would be a piece of cake, but for a man who studied Piri Reis 12 years in University of Constantinopole, this is Nightmare.



When mr. Delik wakes up: yesterday was nothing. A nightmare. Moanday nuthing. Tearsday nuthing. Wailsday nuthing. Thumpsday nuthing. Frightday nuthing. Shatterday nuthing. The magnetic field of fiction. No payday, no harvesting, no layday, no caressing. Some streetcorner lunatics telling him to buy a copy of The Bhagavad Gita or a Watchtower. Shit! Is there no-one to trust or worship anymore?

Another longterm patient in Teleghostal Lab was a Hungarian man, who´d been around for seven years. His story was weird. He had been working for the Governement Censorship Department (GCD) in Budabest during the 80´s. His work was to burn all the confiscated books. He was a keen writer at that time too. So he did his duty, but he also confiscated certain books out from the pile of the confiscated. The books he was hiding under his long coat. All together 1728 books; some leather-bound with gilt edges. That was how he collected his own library, which he called "Little Alexandria". As he was talking about his library, he said "she", "her".

LITTLE ALEXANDRIA

"Exclusivism is taken granted here, the Ors, Sors and Fors. I miss my pain, I must be insane. In my a dream James Joyce cometh again and agone and agun. Suddenly he feels his balls are ticking, HE IS A BOMB!" While telling his story Hungarian raised his arms up, as to cover himself for the explosion. "Well, he is running fast, got nowhere to go, he is his own pagan lighthouse, last words of silence, sususususususususususususususususu." Hungarian was making waving gestures like a windmill, and suddenly he fell silent, his face bowed down, sad. "If there is no identity, how can anyone be guilty?"
He kept on rolling that oneliner again and again.
Then I got nervous, and shut him.