UKSFU 8

DIVINE HATE

N4S Novel for Sound sample

Corps ( e ) II

chapter 1 Stretching

When her American lover commits suicide in Amsterdam , his case is being researched under her stage name.

Although not the personal messenger Chief Inspector Nijenbrand may well have been responsible for the link or more appropriate ' virus ' behind this statement, that to him was clearly posted as a logline to render some sort of professional -  art - rather than autobiographic work. Look at it, he reasoned, who if not some die hard ice frozen key note stricken careerist would bother to notice the name with which a lover would be buried . The target here was credit management, one of the key notes in itself to today's society.  High Commissioner Brinkman was contacted by the grant manager of some european cultural foundation about the alarming content some applicant came to enter its February grants with. And all Chief Inspector Nijenbrand could remind his superior of was that this type of source was no new comer in his in official cyber crime lab. For more then ten years now, from 1997 till this very year 2008, Nijenbrand stressed his uniform for a non discriminatory cyber crime lab. Widows and wives had their stories too and the internet had proven itself as a non discriminatory platform. But Commissioner Brinkman held his leg stiff and only vaguely grinned from underneath his mustache . Virgins, so the High Commissioner reduced matters,  belonged to the enemy's paradise and were simply not the usual suspects for inspectors to be identifying with. ● And besides, family witness was at the utmost a matter of public display. A toy for Public Relations to stretch story more than a tool for research. From behind bars somehow intimacy was part of the most painful punishment. The biggest darkest most dangerous criminals simply slowly shrunk when their mother or girlfriend started to take position. It's all in the family , yes, but that was no reason to establish an open source crime lab. Because, finally, all this belonged to Martha Wisman's department : the solid wonders of police psychology. Still Nijenbrand had his promotion in cybercrime granted in the permission to apply for his own independent business branch inside the police force . After all he did solve a murder case with this method, and now it was no more than logic to work out this method. And grow, as Martha would add. Four hours weekly he was allowed to pursue what he believed was the best way to change the course of the corpus most prosperously.● The point was that when it came to this he could only operate under the development of the Dutch law of DNA. Joseph Nijenbrand had to plough through books of gnostic knowledge to find approval with the simple fact that men rebirths in truth that comes through the mouth or the fingers. Secret Agents die in their lie. As such the Chief Inspector had to work his way up to funds for scientific or even artistic pursuit to reach money that eventually would mostly be spend on a new overall design. Day and night the inspector dreamt of new shirts for him and his newly employed cyber crime fighters. But all he achieved until so far was an endless dialogue on the legitimacy of his identity with the artistic funds and the legitimacy of his scientific status with the scientistic funds. ●  Meanwhile daily practice went on and his mind was set to the mysterious logline.  Was their any chance that the sender was Pella Feddema ? Yes, there was. In the extremely high tasted cultural belongings of a 'creatively deceased' citizen he was to inspect , he had spotted a collectors item with a written note that was signed with Pella's original name. Hedendaags Fetisjisme in a gothic edition from the nineteen twenties was a book not about synthetic hair color , piercing, tattooing, smart drugs , hacking or any other cultural item of the subcultural life style but a complete essay that showed the new way for linguistic science. From there he came to induct the very suicide her logline was referring to. Who else than the Tattoo King could have been what nobody else involved dared to mention as anybodies American lover in Amsterdam. The Chief Inspector's very own informant Morda Vampirella was extremely close to the young in official widow, the flamboyant girl who inherited the tattoo shop . She developed as a true Siren which involved a series of behavior shocking to any outsider but to the insiders were highly respected tokens of grief and pain. Pella's logline was extremely vulnerable if not frivolous material when it came to the emplacements of the column in the sentence. She sounded like a complete outsider with hardly any feeling for the social aspects of this reality and hence forth he developed a small visual campaign warning God's higher - upper - middle and lower class children to not mingle beyond with what to the cities governors was rubricated as the wonders of shop concept owning cash earners. When being pierced tattooed or otherwise penetrated, it's best to keep it strictly business. ● Not a single council official could hide its pride when it came to the economic facts of town.  Earning money from the streets so much fitted a neo liberal free market society but hardly a social democratic entity. And here we were in a Northern protestant city stamped with fashionable display bewitching the masses into whatever it was that was needed to play along with new media. Only a very small promilage like the Tattoo King was particularly independent, the bulk of the shops were of big multinational money. But in there the city council seemed indifferent. All that counted was money and labour in general. And the everlasting scape goat remained the unemployed . One out of ten citizens was haunted by financial regulations because of this social status. The Inspector dotted a note that could possibly display in his application. Pella had been an unemployed. But taken the logline in view she had worked her way up to the vicinities of the independent fund raiser. And then he stretched his torso and sighed.  Under the current juries prediction , as witness and crime fighter, they were not supposed to stay in contact. Yet, in secret, he'd kept an eye on her every step online after their first adventure on the Internet. He followed the science fiction karaoke cult with which she came back on the net with a modest pride. How well she adapted to the international kind of style that was needed to communicate in these early days of the 21st Century. But o how he missed her flaws of raw and pure honesty from the nineties. And she herself, didn't she miss her very own voice ? And for that matter : her own language ? ● For all he knew she was now adapting to the art world that was made up mainly by an international sort of family. Was she ready for that , or was the art world a substitute for her own perhaps slightly dysfunctional family. The proposition sounded like a Care taking branch . He jotted another note. As for the suicide , from a mere juvenile subcultural mess even more than drama, the case became more ritual adult and even potentially political, when a second suicide occurred in the same circle. The Tattoo King, as they all called him indeed after her karaoke website in which he configured as a voice agent, after all may have just been a good patriot who took his conclusion after the terrorist attacks on US ground. There was a law full theory suggesting that the whole world - East block next to the West - was supposed to be dragged down in a mutual suicide after such an attack had occurred . ●

    Brinkman entered the office waving some white paper.

" Mission Statement" , he read in a major voice , " Deliver superior digital forensics and multimedia lab services, cyber technical training, research, development, testing and evaluation, and cyber analysis capabilities supporting cyber counterintelligence and counterterrorism, criminal investigations, intrusion forensics, law enforcement, intelligence community, critical infrastructure partners, and information operations for the Department of Defense." 

He danced more or less in front of Nijenbrand's desk.

" This, he added, " is what any digibete can pluck of the internet and which has my blessing. "

The Chief Inspector and the High Commissioner differed significantly in meaning on the technological issue. Nijenbrand only raised his eyebrows to softly start his reply .

" Henk, ' he started out of the box , " How much sunk has the crime rate and how much slunk has our financial resource ever since in 2004 we adapted into a science fiction story and started to install a camera surveillance system ? That's right it's 0, 0 versus 60 %. And mind you it wasn't sexy to watch the bond of our police officers and agents going out on the streets to complain about their income collapse, nor was it exactly a brave new world where a suicide bomber could do his thing next to the mimers and other street performers on the main square in our fair city right in front of the royal palace. " The Dam incident had been a minor setback. Even Brinkman had to regretfully look down and so Nijenbrand saw his chance to take a deep breath and continue.

" Ever since we installed the camera surveillance system we have been enslaved by a well organized little city group who sees no other aim than to take their petit bourgeois aggression into the clearance of the homeless street junky, much to the regret of the international street tourist who feels that this juiceless result of a red light district is very much part of the deal. Up till now I am the only one here able to follow the discussion  which, mind you, does not take place in accordance with the Council. " Which reminded the Chief Inspector it was Friday afternoon, meaning cocktails at five in The Ghetto. ●  Sex workers fashion designers piercers illusionists and tattooista' s all gathering up to discuss their week and enter the week end . Even if their schedule was of course reversed and their labor started at friday night and this was in fact their monday morning staff gathering talk, the agenda of a working week was respected even in underground circles . As a matter of fact Nijenbrand had rarely met a bunch of people more ambitious than this group of supposed outsiders. A kind of humanism flourished however also between them , as they were all involved into deeper intimate relationships involving rituals the chief inspector up till this time could only stay curious about.  Until this far Nijenbrand had kept his identity veiled more than undercovered and Morda introduced him as a sugar daddy annex communication designer. He dressed like the everlasting Brian Ferry, a dandy type that was still very much understood. Shiny pointed shoes a linen suit a smooth silk shirt with tie and some fine golden sportive jewelry. As a result of this Nijenbrand was ranked up in the vicinities of a couple of Disk and Video Jockeys who liked to discuss with him either their publication strategies or communication responsibilities. ● Nijenbrand thought of God's children and even saw a couple of them entering the bar. They were all looking like super models except they seemed unaware that here giggling was a sign of sexual availability more than something feminine in general. In fact of course they were a couple of students driven out of their heads by radio waves touching their sublimed childhood of dance classes .

"Don't screw them ", he kept advising . Still it was amazing how,  whilst the world was on fire, the cycle of partying just didn't diminish. This was all virtual reality at play . The question was : through which channel ?! Print media had been resolute and ever since the war increased officially said goodbye to this in official art world, this middle earth of creativity, this unmistaken underground. The darlings were killed on the front cover in screaming headlines . There they stood dressed as Ear and Ear Cotton with Pinky in her most eloquent dyslectic babble murmuring something about some ear fetish they had for each other. The fourth power of news agencies had to officially say goodbye. Soon a new wave of technological lava washed over the shores of the first world and every civic body got warmed up if not burned by a new language : the behavior of big business or enterprise. ● Gone were the soft porn or easy tune times and in came the serious writer interfaces diving up old academic times. They shouldn't look stupid towards the new world power with which they had to collaborate even if from that side they were advised to dumb down and build Towers to lock away the more sensitive human tissue ( as they were learned to speak in the new terms) .  They had nuclear winters in spring time with snow falling whilst the tulips were beginning to flower. And just like Ingeborg's science fiction novel the entire planet was video taped to run simulation programs. And just like her alien antagonists the bulk of the police force were willing to alienate from everyday reality, as if they were already living on some other planet. He got irritated by these colleagues in the force who were easy adaptors and simply leaned in to the new world order to passively more than quietly perform the task of watching and rewatching the city centre, as if the movie added anything up to reality . Hey hey, he wanted to say, didn't you get the irony of the play ?  Shouldn't we watch this development from a literary point of view ? Can't we just open up a Mongolian noodle bar and interact on a more human down to earth action level. ● His suggestions were laughed away by the Law of developing the Dutch Law of DNA. In practice they came to the conclusion that this video watching was nothing for the impulsive street agent with a 1 to 1 feeling towards the moving images, the creatures who wanted to walk out of the bunker and help the elderly retired cross the streets. That was the boy scout gene or so they learned, being workshopped upon by new media professionals . These new elitists were ready to cross any border. There was one geeky young lady with access to police footage from the United Kingdom and the United States with which she was allowed to edit fictional stories. Brinkman draw the line right there. If she was in he was out .  The story got viral on the net. One afternoon Jill Magid, petit , pale, black haired walked into the headquarters of the Amsterdam police and offered them a pro-ject. She told them she wanted to do an art piece about their surveillance cameras. The Dutch police man at the front desk was unimpressed. He passed her on to someone on the phone. " We don't work with artists, we're a police station ," he said.

If only the Chief Inspector had been in charge. Come back in a nice suit with a business card and we will hire you, he wanted to say, but again she had vanished in the mist of media . There was nothing he could do except changing jobs or become an independent. The Chief Inspector was that close from leaving the force, and all this because of new media technology .● He got softly poked by DJ Owsley . Don't look so down man, Madonna is still touring ! This was true, her posters were selected to be distributed especially here in the red light district. Was she targeting support from the sex scene ? He shivered and his stomach quirked . His infiltration potion becomes poisonous with the human trafficking business in concern. The teens in bikini behind the red light windows were often bred in refugee camps. Again the channels of fashion proved strongest in the world's infrastructure. These children got on the bus believing they would be hosting castles as super models. As field workers they were to consider their mimicry : their inner adoption of outer identity. Yet nobody especially not the Church nor the police could make the girls acknowledge that in spite of the kinky outfit this was not their dream come true. Again ambition blinded God's children . ● Rosemary entered the space, dressed in furs and a vibrant new hair color. Her original kind smile is kept neutral by a piercing right on the spot where a smile begins. Her Philtrum got pierced on the bottom side. Nijenbrand ordered a new cocktail round so as to contribute to her still fragile but most certainly restoring aura . Three years after the double suicide that both inflicted her love life something immeasurable in her was seemingly restored . She was doing great, but honest is honest, she was left neatly behind by the tattoo king, inheriting a complete shop concept with a huge international network of body artists. Nijenbrand had to control his godfather gene as he wanted to ask her her age. How old was she when she walked out of a heroin addicted relationship into the tattoo shop and smashed the king with her youthful talent ? Say she was seventeen then, that made her twenty-five today. ● From the other side the question should be : was the Chief Inspector himself tattooed ? No, Joseph did not understand ink in pores. Nor did he understood the human body as a canvas for permanent visual art. What he did sympathize with was the endless physical ritual with which the tattooed and the tatooist are occupied within. In the pace of quickening up all sorts of processes the Chief Inspector imagined a computerized tattoo cannon with thousands of needles working on one body painting at the same time. A full body tattoo wouldn't take more than let's say one work shift . Now there were pieces worked upon for years. Yes, and that manual treatment makes half of the experience. There was something about that ritual that had inspired poets for centuries. Here was one fine human interaction based on peace and trust. An exorcism being visualized by the image becoming flesh. But that sound of the electric needle , as if being at the dentist ! ● The hypothesis of Rosemary being replaceable by a tattoo robot definitively was not one to be spoken out loud, sensed the Chief Inspector , however famous this circle was for their work out of fun and games. No, that sort of question was practice in more industrial circles like the tourist business. More and more touring boat companies replaced their human guides with computerized speech.  Where once sat the ass of a talented student, house wife or vagabond now the shipper's desk was wired with an ultra sonic tape desk monitor. Those with a need for alienation like it, most humans prefer a human host. For the chief in charge a synthetic guide simply is much cheaper. A human economy was a miracle if it worked. For something as prosperous as tourist income or museal money it meant working for seven euro fifty an hour, benefits split with the shipper. And then there was this euro thing. In 2002 they had gone over, without any hesitation. Some branches - the tattoo world for example - didn't do the calculation and things became twice as expensive. Tears cleansed the Chief Inspectors eyes, he felt a rage against the machine coming, which he transfered to a lower abdominal whisper . He leaned over to the widow, stretching the question-mark. " Do you realize how lucky you are ?" Rosemary nodded neutrally. ● How much money would she have made that day. Tattooists are working a more or less regular workday starting at ten in the morning and ending at seven at night. They charge an hourly working fee ranking about the size of a doctor's or professor's depending on the location and size of the tattoo and whether the skin painting had to be set, updated or removed. She may have stepped into the bar with 430 up till 1450 freshly earned euro in her pocket. Over a monthly salary of the minima in town.  And where did the money circulate, was there an underground tax charged, to save for all the disastrous drop outs ? Not exactly, the drop outs provided the proverbial blood to feed their gothic identity with. A sort of working class pride over junkies and those who were homeless. Finally the Chief Inspector giggled. It was a nerve thing . We are but a piece of paint in the empire of a vampire. If only poetry was accepted for a fund application. But it just wasn't . ●

    He was invited to join them for dinner and supper at The Paris Hilton, the code name for a small hotel owned by an Austrian twin named Barbie and Barber . Of course they didn't join the hotel lobby to mingle with the hotel guests but instead moved over to the attic that was part of a private living space. There they all set around a huge table lit by candle light to quarrel about their relationships.  Although the king wasn't as much as a subject but more a taboo , sacred to some, his choice had left especially the children in rage and anger and a feeling of betrayal. So, how were little River and Oxia doing. Grace de la Luna opened the conversation and by that it was clear with what she was referring at. Grace was the owner of The Illuseum, the absolute art space for the goth scene to seek religion with the redeemed cultures, from witch craft to mystic poetry and surreal exotic staging to siamese cats. She was also the one hosting the king in between his attempts to bereave them. At that time schmuck types from communication bureau's came to investigate the altar she had set up . And why ? Because they were told to do so, not at all because of any inclination. That crack of worlds fludding fame was what scarred their surface into broken realities, tightened for the ladies by corsets and stiletto heels . The anhang protected themselves by explicitly not becoming political but stick to the surface of whatever amusement was provided .  They were the ones quarreling in the end with their parents about their hairdo, where every other animal would have long left the nest, as Morda would conclude superiorly. ● Nevertheless every fallen Mohawk was mourned about in the club scene; people didn't pay an entree price for nothing. But usually it meant a sad farewell of fading liberty . For the real goth chic or cock this unbroken shield of an ever itching surface was political . And besides most of them wore wigs. Nevertheless the borders were made up by body politics and although making children was no sin a wide range of other possibilities was embraced . Whilst the children were being discussed - a detailed inspection of the cinema they were treated into : from Pirates of the Caribbean to all the episodes of Lord of the Rings - Nijenbrand spotted someone in the corner lying in an increasing stain of blood. Tico was in town. ●

Was he hired to perform, was this some special occasion, or did the American artist made a habit of undoing himself from body fluids in public . Nijenbrand got scared, even if Tico was bon ton in many established places.  It was that same sensitivity again . The working of media and mode .  If Tico had been a Royal bleeder he probably had less difficulties accepting him. That's how it worked with status. And here was the texture detachment centers were working with all the time.  He used this complex of fear and class to struggle about Pella and her logline. The note he found in Hedendaags Fetisjisme to him had been very reassuring : She didn't perform in real life . That was the message to the scene .  This probably meant from her side she was not an adaptor but a visitor ;  no tattoos no piercing no hair paint no wigs no leather no rubber no heels no drugs no alcohol. Yet because of her independent art work and kindness to invite she may have been usurped as a muse. Independency counted. But body politics ruled. ● The Chief Inspector again had to fight waterlines. Tears teased the corner of his nose and eyes when he thought of what he knew about her ragged love life. And then again this rock solid logline. Every thought in him belonged to her logline. So who was his author ? He or she ? From where came the words. Who played God ?  The Chief Inspector shivered as he experienced the inflexible laws of art. And even if it was a sad coincidence that the grant manager had to walk over to the High Commissioner, at least it also showed that she cared. Most of the time a rejection of a subsidy request comes without any reaction at all. The online applications anyhow. And the paper ones come with a paper rejection.  Nijenbrand himself had experienced 20 rejections, all of which he skillfully bound in a map in the drawer of his desk at the office.  For the Commissioner and the tax inspectors they all counted as a sign of honest labour. They didn't really affect him nor his salary. But Pella, where did she work from ? Did she have the money and social skills to work from an external office or was the catharsis of her first work in forced isolation reason to continue working from her solitary attic. Had there been any evolution in her life or had that rotten tattoo king been as far as she got. No no the artwork made evident that there had been a deeper development. There had been exchanges with institutions and right in there the logline stuck as a dagger in a body . Except it was a cyber body involving more human sources than hers alone. It was a net piece. The suicide wasn't the issue . That the grant manager didn't see this ! ● But that was the issue with grant applications , one had to be extremely clear and descriptive with the work one wants to perform with the grant. It almost always ruined all the fun. What again would Nijenbrand do with his grant? It was exactly what he was doing already. Fieldwork it was named, stiffly. All he wanted was access, and as a Chief Inspector he ought to have the right to it. Not just only when the bills weren't paid and they had to throw people in detention centers to start all over again. Was that too much to ask ? He stretched and his gaze wandered from Morda to the scene that was developing around . The Torture Museum must have had arrived as there was somebody being rad broken. It was Rosemary dealing with her pain and grief. He had heard about this, but never witnessed. ● Her body was simply being stretched from both sides as she herself had taken place on a mechanically rotating wooden ' stretch' machine in the middle. The pops of bones opening up must be the sensation her mind has to stay in control over. As , so the Inspector assumed, this was a social medium and not the extension of language technology or the inquisition. Giggles are a sign of strength now and soft whisperings of words like 'stop' . If there was a neurotic problem to be solved, however , he imagined, it all becomes more serious. Then the mind was absolving , the rational expect more complicated and the balancing act problematic . Happily Rosemary used the session in a way to freshen up . In a clear high girlish voice her landing words were : 'I did nothing wrong'. The audience did not applaud but welcomed her back for supper. Anyone else ? The man with the white painted face and the thin black lips who outdoors always carried an umbrella since he distrusted ultra violet x-rays, unmistakably looked at Nijenbrand. Could he stand the test ?  As if in a dream Nijenbrand found himself standing up and walking over to the scene of action, loosening his tie and taking of his watch. ● His upper body was tied by a leather corset,  cables were clicked  and a leather hood was thrown over his visage and before he knew it he was hoisted and dangling high above the dinner table,  finding solace in Morda' s gaze. A purple haze of inner digital light - Omega ! - soon flushed over his eyesight as he felt his tailbone cracking and opening glands flushing fluids to his ever painful lower back. He yelled, and his feet started to kick the air . He was lowered and came undone by, as he witnessed , the twin themselves. Barbie unbuttoned his shirt and Barber took of his shoes and then the Chief Inspector was laid down on the stretching machine with his belly up facing the iconic collar beams until the stretch started and he became to see the world upside down. Nausea with the taste of vodka lemon produced hick ups and he fought against burping up air on the one side and releasing gas on the other . ● Meanwhile his thoughts were with Pella. As she was a child of God and Nature, the chance that she got involved in all this was rather small. But hypothetically : what would there be to scream about for her . Once again, the logline wasn't a scream for help but more of a very precise calculation. A unique name circulated in the machine of all utterance . From which side did she expected engagement ? The world of Dutch literature that denied her print publication, so she had to prove her readability in her own internationally organized environment ? Nijenbrand felt his skull cracking but as his chin was going outward and his collar bone wasn't trained to bow in bridge position, he sure likely was going to be injured up till a point where recovery wasn't likely to be happening instantly . With his tongue almost chocking his air pipe, and his hands and arms bound unable to be warning for help, he fought his last spasm against getting infurious and calmly raised his head, feeling his neck vessels fighting against whatever was happening. And then he produced a distinctive sound :" Ich bin ein Berliner, now relieve me please." ● What he knew from his book about Dark Culture was that the main gothic school was German oriented, and so his super trained unconscious had come up with something as appropriate as that. Supper tasted well afterwards . Rather unexpected a meal of ferments and vegetables was being served. They got into a role play about his words. Their sounds revolving innocently predictive . First they mimicked every syllable, the ladies especially, and then came the associations, mostly from the men. Nijenbrand did not feel cornered but something much worse set in ; the alienation he knew so much from everyday work. Of course he was working now, and yet as it goes with fieldwork, on a certain moment every field watcher from human descent wants to be enclosed. Surrender. Become one. Give birth to something shared. Look what is happening with the animals in the Zoo: they were converting into human behavior. Or more close: look what was happening with governmental money infiltrating criminal business. Eventually there was no taking them apart !  Was there a way to communicate this in his monday morning paper work ? If only he could get her into talking, if only this attempt to prove power and gain recognition could stop. ●

    When he dressed himself for work after the weekend it felt like a drag show ; the crisp white blouse and the golden buttons of his many striped jacket and then the lightweight of nevertheless a combat boot underneath the polyester so called tactical trousers. He kept his freedom in wearing silk underwear. And stepped inside the police bureau . The prisons were full with poor little people who got dragged out of their houses because of bills unpaid or contracts unsigned. Ambulances were lining up to carry them of ( in a straight jacket ) to the Towers of closed detention centers . This was the crop of working with process servers or bailiffs and the health care industry. 

    Martha Wisman stepped in the old bureau to say hello to Nijenbrand . She was serving a delicious creamy carrot cake and inquired after his weekend . He told her he'd worked undercover. She smiled knowingly.

" Juvenile delinquency ? "

" The head quarters, " he replied. ●

What Martha had in mind were the dirty jeans wearing ground zero seated guitar playing troubadours who wandered the world with their dogs, God's children too poor for a tattoo. But what was there to gain from them ? He wanted to make contact with a potent group, one that could be persuaded into new ways of supporting the drop outs . Now they were only so proud if the civil world converted, for example when a Philips manager came for a tattoo as after all their China build lady vibrators entertained the underground market as well . Which was cool ,  yet the centre should be turned into an amusement park for all. Martha dried his sweat and tears with a napkin. But Nijenbrand didn't lose his track. What else ? If they deeply looked inside themselves , they were all little runaways . They all worked themselves up from the ghetto. And like most human beings they were all afraid of falling back. Charity was something for the born rich, not for the little urban achievers. ● Yet the poor fellows in the cell were not seldom but often inclined to the underground. In a top down hierarchy the drug dealers,  the street working quest binders, the street artists and the nymphomaniacs were the responsibility of this underground. Just as much as the alienated isolated bureacrated - to - death demented alzheimer patient was a responsibility of their own kind. Now the two kinds of drop outs ever so often were all thrown together in what was little more than a kitchen concept with a medication corner. And inside there the only thing they were discriminated about was their speech. Police , psychiatrists , lawyers and court judges held them in a superior square of the perfect normal speech act equalling social welfare. Ingeborg's speech in space scenario must have been an ear opener for who knows hundreds of thousands of people. And yet she could only prove her unique status by a stupid little private pet name. A struggle he could now finally see as having nothing to do with anything else. A tour de force that made his thoughts expand into 'Rome' 'the Pope' and other authorship business, something completely outside of his reach. He sighed. Poor little darling. ● 

" I'm pleading for a legalized underground."

Martha smiled.

" How thoughtful of you. "

'Underground, not underworld. "

" Of course, my dear."

Ostensibly she threw her sports bag on his counter. Was he ready ? He kept a sports outfit in his locker for occasions like this. His allies inside the force were as precious as his outdoor target troupes. All he asked was for them to be biking the roads in civilian. Lest he would be recognized. He quickly retreated to change outfit. Sports in the city came with a torturous all invading sound that threw all of them back to the years of disco pop. The Chief Inspector was a modest trainee who dutifully underwent the track to enjoy the sauna in the end. Martha however proposed to take a stretch and yoga class together, and Nijenbrand just couldn't find the words to explain he was stretched already beyond words. ● All of a sudden he felt at a dead end. He had to go with the flow just like the rest of the guys and dolls or drop dead which wasn't an option. And so the Chief Inspector had another work out but this time he had to mime the movements all by himself. He started to see the contact improvisation of last weekend differently, appreciating the passive mechanical aspect in it. Doing yoga on a calypso kind of up-beat prevented the mind to feel the body's limits. He decided he was his own man with his own bio rhythm and stayed in the positions a bit longer until he got really behind and made his own version of the movements. After the class he was advised to go see the physiotherapist which he gently neglected . The school enacted a gender policy so he could retreat in his own mind as Martha could not enter the same sauna. They would see each other at the juice corner. He had about thirty minutes for himself. ● Tonight is the night that you make me aha woman. Black virgin music,  they were all raised on this.  Nobody, except the 1 % that owned it and produced it, could have escaped the every cell tissue invading disco train entirely. And in there the tattoo underground guided. He used the music to wonder about their age. Pella was from his year. The year, so her CV covered , when understanding media was being published. What the devil did Marshal Mcluhan had anything to do with her being born ? The grant manager could not find any crime in there. Artists to a certain extent were supposed to synthesize with the world in their work . And since she didn't make it into any prices, publications or stage rewards - just some festival and gallery selections, unpaid usually - she had to be creative about her own autonomy.  That was the bubble they all lived for, the grant manager included. How else to run a cultural fund or foundation ? ● But Nijenbrand got upset. Ingeborg Houwen was born in Friesland, in the year when Understanding Media was being published. Then why Friesland ?  Wasn't she living and working in Holland for the last 24 years ? If anywhere she'd come into contact with authorships, wouldn't the credits better be stuck to the capital city ? Or did she imagine that Friesland came with an exotic freshness ?  She should read The Nazi in Lawrence Durrell's Avignon Quintet . The one time in his entire oeuvre Durrell refers to Friesland was in this chapter , the opening paragraph, to geographically embed the family head quarters of the Von Esslins ( the nazis ) . When Nijenbrand and Pella on a cyberspace level worked together he had loved her dumbing down on herself, pealing off layers of her identity to come to some truth what was going on. That level of correspondence had been good enough for him to believe that she had something to contribute to this world. And now !? ●

First that phony science fiction, then some video art and finally she applied as a foundation , with an inscription number at the Chamber of Commerce. The grant manager said it neutrally, it was the common thing to do for an - Nijenbrand almost fainted when listening to the term - installation artist. A what? The world installation was crumbling , countries crashed , banks sucked out entire economies, all their income was being scratched to fill the gaps, and she was behaving as a foundation, after her own statutes a business plan and without doubt an earning model and expansion policy.  She was sailing off the shores of poetry and lost the skills to become one with the world. Instead she behaved larger than life. The question

was ; from where to stretch ? The imagination ? Ideology ? Enthusiasm ? ● The grant manager gave out her address so in secret he could spy on her. He would see what he could do. In this town particulars registered as entrepreneur could usually expect fall ins. Expansional ideas were a crime for the lower immigrant class.  The question was:  how many other of God's children, the ones with a way in music and the alphabet , followed this path of - let's face it - the Founding Fathers themselves. What terrible risk were they taking. Nijenbrand had to cough from beneath his testicles and left the sauna to shower under an immense fall of water, which he enjoyed in silence.  Then another stretch with his legs up in some fancy bowed wooden chair ( the clan had nothing to hide for this world; the future of health care was stretch based ) .  And then he saw Wilson come in to start his sports track. The street agent who had found the dead body that was connected to Pella's first appearance on the internet in 1997 , over the years had been growing into a real body building type. Wilson was a surveillance officer now and spent large deals of his shifts in the camera bunker. Nijenbrand waited until his athletic colleague had left the changing room and then went there himself. ●

    The little streets in their medieval town were raped by super sized fossil fueled combustion engines pumping out their dioxin with deep growling sounds. Martha's mood was not effected however as she made herself up for a camera surveillance shift by bringing more patisserie in to the force. But sure, if there was anything to see changed in the city it was the customer supply chain. Enginerical experts claimed that in less than fifty years energy supplies would have changed completely but for them this came too late. Now if there was an accident happening because of this size thing, all they were allowed to do from the Architect's point of view was to drop large menhirs at the spot of the incident . Menhirs ! A surreal solution for a surreal environment. Ingeborg had been allowed to write about this in Prospect the Oxford magazine. I think I saw the new Schröder's cat, except it was Jeannette's foot run over by a bus. Well, maybe this was written in the stars to happen, the Oxford druids replied. Humanity had to remain calm , that was their counter message.  Combusting citizens without experience were put into detention. And therefor rituals like last friday were developing underground. If anything they could learn from the last hay days of capitalism was that combustion was essential to human nature. He felt proud of his participation with Barbie and Barber. And of going to the sports school. Plus he remembered her first lines from 1997, the zero point : 0. it isn't so bad, it happens in explosions. ● And now it was time to write his application. He decided to be the stronger producer and take over some of her ideas, as the grant manager and he decided that her exchange with industrial design was of universal value.   And the invention - as it wasn't patented - of general interest. He started to type. The Human voice is of great potential to new energy supplies: it can be fueling robot movement of various kinds, as has been proven in the SMART Microphone project. Telephone providers as well as telephone users should become aware of this great open source opportunity . In our grand circuit we focus on the human emotion in the voice. How do we get humans into emotional acting ? By involving the arts an open circuit is being simulated, so as to visualize why and how people are talking emotionally and how this will fuel a large exhibition of futurist technology. Did she already have the approval of a television broadcaster ? Surely as someone from inside the force he could track down his own . All he needed was his enthusiasm. His vision.  His phone rang. It was Morda asking if he was alright. He said he was and he said he wanted to continue their collaboration. ●  Suppose , he said, I'd raise money to expose a majority with a minority , would the gang play ball ? Morda told him they were very very strict on mixing class. Only the other night a former Minister of Culture attended an exhibition in the hotel club.  He came in civilian not for some governmental attachment and didn't like it when Owsley started to address him after his function and position . Rik was going Underground and felt out casted  . When you are sensitive for it, such mistakes are very painful. It makes you feel an amateur.  I need more experience, the Chief-inspector agreed. Perhaps the force could let him infiltrate in other capital underground cities. He could expand travel reimbursements. Even for her. Contact money. How about stretching in New York, Milan and Berlin ? ● Again he got corrected. All over the world the same kind of types were working. In Amsterdam they were latest in fashion. If he wanted to have an experience he needed to inaugurate after their cocktails. The chemical ones, not the ancient alcohol stuff. The chief inspector who had been sailing on a bird's wings felt gravity forces kicking in. He could cry. Back in the nineties they were God's children using mushrooms and weeds.  But the things they knew from people on today's party drugs !?  Other versions of reality setting in. Demons becoming agents. Ether breaking open , radio and television being ported without technical devises. Time itself whispering the future in your one ear and the past in the other. What kind of presence would there remain for him once hallucinating. Suppose he wouldn't return to his dear old self, to Martha and even high Commissioner Brinkman . And then to be corrected on that medical level. He'd felt proud of his suave vodka lime drinking and now he was told he was an old fashioned fossil. What a terrible level to settle things, what a terrible level to be discriminated. Morda broke the connection. ●  Nijenbrand longed back to the save days when Pella was serving out a criminal type. The automated police net . But she wasn't now . She had chosen a new path. He went through her file once more. Again, besides the logline things looked rather impressive. She was working on a multi media quintet exhibiting 1 novel and 4 screens or channels of novel play movie.  There were 3 Letters of Intention that together marked an entire original leap of architecture in Industrial Design ; one of the user centered research group Industrial Design Communication The Netherlands, one of a student assignment at the Technological University of Twente and one of the official exhibition centre for language and speech technology at the University in Leiden that recommended the work for funding by the Dutch Linguistic Union. The research she had developed was of a breath taken clarity, cracking codes on all level fields of play. A Nuclear device was conceptually turned innocent, a code of the arts was being compromised by an entree conquered on a European hot spot, a range of fellow artists was brought in.  If the logline was a linguistic means to render a piece that was to make its audience speak with emotion, the words could not have been chosen more carefully. The logline was rendered by life itself.  All she probably lacked was a governmental board member being a guest inside the many walls that naturally comes with an enterprise like this. She was a great designer but a lousy producer. The Godfather gene produced feelings. He wanted to put her in diapers and tuck her to bed. Going to a peaceful place. Martha had taken a child with her girlfriend Jana especially for that reason, or so he suspected.

● Chapter 2 : The Hotelroom

In spite of the brutal city renovations that came on top of the usual spit out of carbon dioxin , May came with an outburst of ephemera in footwear suitable for silky beach lines . Irony lingered in the air mixing the farts of heavy metals in fine dust with the almost iconic smells of burned sugar and chocolate syrup stored to satisfy the sugar cravings of the juvenile drug experiments. Tons of teen flesh imitating television collided with the large never ending exhales of wiederaufbau that came with local males in dusty working outfits. Otherwise there was little to spy from the front side of the mansion that was situated in the old centre of town and surrounded by coffee hotels coffee shops and coffee corners; euphemisms for accommodations to get the teens high on weed and hash. She never mingled, in fact she never seemed to leave the house. Was she at home at all ?! Her name tag on the front of the house mentioned an apartment on the B floor. Maybe she lived at the back side facing the hotel garden. He decided to rent the hotelroom opposite her apartment and find out everything he needed to know . He had the blessings of the grant manager, who as it were employed him to do so. ●  One afternoon he took Martha and the family to lunch at the hotel, a fine alibi to get lost when looking for the men's room and spy around on the second floor. He also inspected the garden and to make sure that his location casting was correct he faxed with the council to demand for a fall in. The code of conduct went after the Law of Expansion ruling for migrants who got too big ideas in their heads and acted in accordance. She was lucky to be born in The Netherlands, otherwise he would throw her over the borders back to her own land. Expansion may have a positive connotation in English, in Dutch the civil community had developed a serious negative attitude towards it. The noun Uitzet of course kept its catholic meaning of trousseau; the verb uitzetting was inextricably bound with ejection, at least in their civic business. The approval for a fall in came in 5 minutes. He only needed to pick out a lock smith to remove the locks in case nobody answered to the doorbell.  And hoppa, he could lay his eyes on her whereabouts. ●  If she changed her rules of communication so would he. The break in came with an almost sexual arousal .  In case of combustion he made sure an ambulance and a robbery van were installed around the corner. One bleep on his beeper would increase his presence with 3 armed policeman, all taller and more well tanned and build than Wilson. And of course all dressed in the official colors of the force: police blue with hard green fluorescent applications. The science fiction writer would be pleased, he was convinced. They rang the doorbell three times and then went on to plan b: the neighbors. None of them looked surprised when the police came to see Ingeborg Houwen, all were willing to open the door. For a group of ex squatters they made a bunch of good citizens . He gave them an intense look and they smiled back. Good citizens very good. She wouldn't want to open the door ? Fine , she should always realize to be renting from a descent law abiding council where expansion was considered a path towards crime. ●   Change the locks, he ordered, and then indeed the ejaculation of stepping inside her flat. If there was anything of value they were, based again on her expansion applied at the european cultural foundation, obliged to take it in . But the walls were empty. And so was practically the floor. The Chief Inspector overlooked on an archive of fluid gold ; the video tapes as they were locked away in innocent looking Tupperware. But to relieve his conscience and save the details for later he didn't fail to have the place photographed. And he stood a moment in front of the window to look at the hotel. He knew now which room he wanted to rent and, as extra paperwork was not needed; the tenant - his very own Pella Feddema - wasn't send off in a straight jacket , right after the fall in , he walked over to book a hotelroom . First of course he had a talk to the neighbors to see where the inhabitant was in the first place. Was she shopping or did she leave town. The neighbors were finally resisting and informed him they would contact her on her mobile telephone. Tell her she can pick up the new keys at the police station, Nijenbrand bullied . ● 

    At the hotel something strange was going on. The room he needed to rent was permanently out rented. So he had to settle with the lessor option. Not a straight but a weakened angle. His suspicion was aroused however and he brought in a spy wear to tap the walls. He heard the ambient sound of computers humming. Later that evening the walls began to talk.

" Let's throw a party when she gets back."

" I'd rather fix the light and throw up a pair of new curtains."

" Yeah, but that's impossible."

" When intelligent life on Earth is found ..."

".... We can only alter its national cultural environment. It's a Site specific    art work . "

" Curtains and Light would be like coming into touch. "

" Exactly and we're only contacting not coming in to touch."

" Sadly , she seems like a nice woman."

" Intelligent life on earth can not be classified."

" " The Towers have failed to educate the market right"".

"" I was in the midsts of an F when it happened ..""

"" ...an airplane fell on my head..""

" These aren't the soft liners of a nice girl."

" These are the hard liners of a visionary. "

" Premiering ten days before 9 / 11. "

" If I was the Dutch industry I'd have her eggs frozen."

" Anything to preserve that DNA."

" But OK. The Dutch Industry guys are patrolling on her in the Mediterranean . "

"Let us throw a party when she gets back."

" Just to locate where we are and guide the DJ's ... "

" We are opposite The Skirt In Street, and bordering with the Deranged Mother street. "

" ..."

" Rokin and Warmoestraat. "

" What's that latin term again for sexism towards females."

" Misochyny ? "

" We are in Misochyny town."

● 

Chief Inspector Nijenbrand had to gasp for air. Shame was fluttering his guts and shrinking his heart, where at the same time pride was pumping him up again. These sequences coming so naturally understandable: was this coincidence or causality ? What on Earth was going on ? Intelligence ? His cyber force was dwarfed down by a bigger force ! How long has this been going on ?! They should know this at her social security number. Law Artists Income attracts CIA to city. She is a considerable economic factor, a site specific art piece, a source of inspiration . He phoned the grant manager, who informed him that the suspect made it into an exchange with the Permanent Representation of the Dutch Crown. Her research work is, after all, outstanding, it was the logline the grant manager was worried about. Reluctantly he asked whether there was any chance she exchanged herself into a Mediterranean country.  She was , the grant manager affirmed. She was at the Istrian coast, hosted at invitation by an art initiative . So now he was more or less sure . It felt like adultery . His one and only cyber source was surrounded by ... what ? Three different kind of Forces. A triangle of interest. He did hope she wasn't aware of anything. What a ridiculous position to be in. This was paranoia reversed or even invaginated . At the same time Nijenbrand felt himself enforced. This was an educational moment. The Chief Inspector could learn something from his partners in cyber crime . He decided to keep the hotel room rented and listen a bit better to the walls.  ● 

    Altering an environment meant working with surgical precision to first take out and then multiply features of a subject. Photo camera's served amongst others as pipets in this genetic method . It was like keeping a surrealist painting rather than a mirror up to human culture . ( Unless it was her nature they were after . That he did not know. ) The Chief Inspector recognized the operation tactics vaguely but had no idea targeting could go so deep and could last so long. It seemed they were in the room in different shifts for seven years and it seemed they would be doing so for the rest of her life. It seemed they were destined to document and mirror the life of this science fiction writer. If she took the initiative to copy and alter the story of the planet's destiny then she could expect the same treatment back. The Chief Inspector hummed the french hymn. Weren't they overseeing the intentions of the author. How she as professionally as humoristically projected the story of planet Urrth  . What were the intentions in this game, especially on this scale of time. Was it genetic welfare or warfare . And finally what was suppose to happen to the human target itself. He had been amazed by the distinctions of his fellow followers . ●  Nijenbrand had to be honest : he was fighting his feelings all the time . The deep force of protectionist love was driving him. His tactical trousers irritated. If anyone in the force knew about this he would be forced into getting married and start a family. Follow the linear tale of humanity the way it was always told . Jill Magid played with their feelings in there, distributing pictures of herself being romantically abducted by a motor police man. In spite of this professional danger , he wanted to come in touch. He felt he owned her in a deeper and longer way . He had discovered her first. He knew her from a different angle . The autobiographic one. And finally he was if not the discoverer the best interpreter of the logline. Did these yankees know about the logline ? Were they aware that she was actually after everybody else as well. That without doubt she was working on a spy novel . Question was : who was boss,  who was in command. She knew she wasn't, hence the modest logline circumcising a private pet name. ●  How all encompassing and invading were the computers of the hotelroom people . Did they - just like in her science fiction novel - drive the hard discs from outer space ? Were they satellite owners ? Finally the Chief Inspector decided that collaboration was the best option to pursue . It might mean a great match, notably when considering his grant application. But how to make contact ? Should he pull out his badge in the gentlemen's toilet or the hotel lobby ? May be knock on their doors first ?  The point was, he had no clue who they were and how much they knew . Judging from what he'd heard he deducted two things: they weren't Dutch and they were too clever to be unorganized. Somehow he sensed a hierarchical situation. These weren't two crazy underground guys, some loose pair of geeks .  Could there be a chance they were from the federal investigation bureau ? Had she tickled the imagination of the FBI ? Or was it the Central Intelligence Agency that got poked by her hyperspace ? The UN ? The US Army ? A private investigator ? A Television company ? Microsoft ? Or a special new federation with different representatives of each ? Would there be a chance they knew about their previous engagements . Could he step in and say: Hi, I'm the Chief Inspector from the previous web work , the work before Diagram the Speech in Space Scenario Science Fiction Karaoke, when she still had a human and even an explicit feminine voice ? How omnipresent was omnipresence these days ?! ● 

    He decided to need support badly and phoned Martha Wisman to invite her over to his hotelroom.  She came in laughing and with different kinds of food. He decided to tell her everything. Martha made notes and played ball. The first thing required was to answer the question about the intentions of their international colleagues .  Her suggestion was to make an investigation via watching science fiction movies . Second she diagnosed that Nijenbrand was in a shock which translated itself into an erotic need . Ever since the fall in, his mouth was in need of finding a pair of lips. Her lips. There was no denial possible. Her advice was to take a week completely off. That wasn't impossible, but he needed to stay in the hotelroom. They watched ' X-files ' and got terribly depressed by the Internet esthetics . The fluidity of the human persona or humo ludens granted a certain value to exorcise the unaware rest. Cerebro spared no expense to accelerate every mind on earth, until it mutated . Vampires ! Which means, Martha concluded, that according to her sweet philosophy to live and let die, the intentions of the hotelroom neighbors were possibly quite modern scientific. They just wanted to blow her up, just like her aliens blew up the planet. Just like fire was invented . Just like high colliders are bashing matter into waves. They want to see what's inside of her. ●  Poor baby, Nijenbrand cried. He knew what was inside of her, she was a little kitten, at least that was the apotheosis of her last cyber travel.  Take a week off, Martha repeated. But he took his telescope to spy for her cat. Where was it ?! Did she take it on her exchange trip, or did it die during the battle. The neighbors weren't looking after it, nobody had entered the room after he himself inspected it. ●  Shortly his feelings about his police action altered from a genuine shame towards a specific sense of backwardness. Even the yankees didn't consider a fall in. But maybe that was because they were on different territory. Lord knows how cyber writers were treated in their own nation state. Martha came with ' A Scanner Darkly' a detective story whereby the police detector confuses himself with an author for which he blames the latter who therefore is persecuted . All of this showed a far too romantic angle of the novelizing business. How would all of this proverbial success relate to her romantic even dreamy and girl like character, such as he came to know it before the days of the logline . In the midst of this question a terrible new panic arrived. What if this work wasn't just making fun of American export movies. What if projecting it in art spaces meant proof of her readability. Wouldn't she in secret had expected a different kind of success, the one which comes with 100 % recognition for the human entity , not this scattered stalking of police agents but the full attention of a literary agent, the one that comes with editors, interviews , book launches , fan letters and authorship rights ? ●  What if she was lost in formats ? Would there ever be any fulfillment for her and a happy end in cyber life ?; the life where human bodies are interconnected virtual extensions of each other and derivations only start to count once they are brought to the stock market ? O baby, he sighed. Now that he had already violated her private body with the fall in, and forced her to pick up her key at the police station, now that in a way they were flat mates, as long as she didn't change the locks - and something inside of him told him that she wouldn't make it into doing that, which made him really nervous - what more was in his reach to make contact. As far as he knew it was precisely the following : he could make anonymous phone calls every three hours or so. And that was exactly what he was planning to do, once she got back. Of course he also remained curious about his neighbors in the hotel, and as his tactical trousers started to tickle and he was planning to take a bath and get back to the Ghetto , he also planned a second action in to following exactly what these associates came up with.  Which meant a 24/7 wire tapping of the walls.

chapter 3

Forget it ?

Ingeborg Houwen's comparing words used in technology with words of literature had emplaced her not in the world of literature but in the world where the code was cracking .  If only it could have been the other way around ! But that was impossible. Her source had passed over when she was twenty seven and too busy publishing and exchanging stage art herself, to even consider a pilgrimage. Meanwhile she was consuming his oeuvre like a snake its pray . It was a consummation of his complete body of work ; every novel of fiction, all private correspondence, all the non fictional work, the additional diaries in where he was configuring and much later all the audio ( and ) visual recording made of him in the early seventies . She trusted his view for the deconstruction of her science fiction novel in industrial design. It was what was called a shift of paradigm. No more boy meets girl but robots and nuclear science. ●  Initially she had taken an extraterrestrial point of view and an infinite amount of future time to experience non less than the complete destroyall of the planet by nuclear and genetic technology. The poet had seen Urrth slowly sinking away whilst the space staff was mutating into insatiable monsters. And so now she was tucked into workshops with the leading professions of today:  lawyers , captains of industry , council representatives, energy workers, communication designers, librarians and web professors. They were talking about the increase of radio frequency identification. A portable telephone for every single human being wasn't enough, capital wanted every retail item equipped. The Internet of Things would serve portable decoding apparatus for the wealthy few . But one could only wait for the floppy lot to demand their share in heating up the supermarkets. ●  The leap from dark poetic technology into the much worse real world hurt her body . The recognition in real time of her dark and hyper imagination attacked her heart. If that was what was meant with organizing , she regretted the enterprise. To stay in touch with the Cosmos and avoid the inevitable discussion she decided to dream the evaluations. The workshop leader - an ex squatter who once had wanted to become a writer but used his reasoning skills to make a career via the internet - had to laugh about it. But if one knew the code of genomics, Snow White crying tears of blood whilst the dwarfs are being dissected, wasn't so funny a picture at all.  It was symbolical. So she had been content with her contribution . After all , her bodily and spiritual energy belonged to the stage art. She longed for the anarchist times , when she collected undergraduates of the theatre school to make work with for the stage .  With this reference in mind the Foundation for International Cultural Activities allowed her to address the consul ambassador in Brussels, who must have recognized something elitist or authentic in her documents and thereupon shared his network of cultural attaches and embassies. And so rather skillfully she arranged an escape from the civil servants in Amsterdam - who threw her out of a financial arrangement because she didn't accept slavery work - into an official second exchange with Don Zahtilla . ● 

Almost ten years earlier, in 1996, Don Zahtilla had phoned her from Labin to serve as a mediator and contact a rather famous mime group but she changed the course of history by asking to bring some young artists herself. They were granted to travel over to Croatia and give workshops by the Minister of Foreign Affairs . The Dutch enclave at the beautiful Croatian coast that had formed itself after their first festival, by good old Louis the Frisian buying a house, ten years after still resulted in good cultural contact and so Don had visited Louis in Amsterdam in 2007 to celebrate New year and en passant invited her to cone over and work with him and an American artist. An invitation was the basis of international exchange work ! Life swept her up but also balanced things. But in spite of this structure and in spite of an intuitive knowledge that she was part of a bigger thing, she didn't feel there was a basis for a higher trust. ●  Recording this time with her own video camera and then later edit the visual material on her own computer, however, turned out to be a sort of poetical labour again . Her own video camera and her own computer, now there was a story of success hidden considering the fact that she was of a race trained to become gluttonautic.  Mr. Sugimoto most certainly was a case of destiny. If Mother Nature arranges doubles between the sexes, Father Culture must be pairing the artists. And in their case it must have been a match made by Heaven. Of course the players at stake were unaware and from his side even in denial . She just so happened to come back from her empirical study of Power, a war area, and was receiving a phone call from the British Council when they both woke up in the same bed after having attended a show in the theatre ; the network that nourished her ever after the first exchanges . ●  He didn't even frown at the events, as he came from a household driven by news and politics and was looking for something differently inspiring in the world of the arts . For her it was starting her second independent international cultural exchange project and considering her insecure status her physical health went rather fragile as well. She loved it that he was staying calm, warm and open ( and at the same time in actual size was a little smaller than her ) .  Open and warm like her decofiction was, she didn't mind the format in where she continued chatting. In a PS to the embassy partner she babbled on about a new Japanese boyfriend who did unbelievable things with his video camera. Kenji Sugimoto ! Heir and eldest son of the greatest humanitarian in function ! No doubt in political circles they praised her tact to introduce him anonymously. But she had no idea. Kenji had to leave for Switzerland where his mother was ending her 'job with refugees' whilst he was doing a video installation in a castle at the French border using his camera hovering ground zero, 1 year before the term became globally acknowledged by the Twin Tower attack.  The bell rang only when she dropped his name with her brother who worked as a humanitarian. Being in a flow himself her brother took the connection for granted, yet Kenji was her omen of Millennium. ●  They accomplished a writing grant from the Film Fund and realized three selected short films. And as he was suma cum laude graduated at both Harvard in Boston and the Massachusetts Institute for Technology , she sucked in and reproduced all his words on technology to make acquaintance with the industry guys. Nobody tells you that the Industry is obliged to have software tested . And she never learned but from her Japanese entree that human conduct is considered software as well. And whilst she was working on linguistic models and consequently outer linguistic models, in 2006 Sugimoto left town permanently, notably because Amsterdam became more and more a police state and less and less an international state for the arts. ●  She had little reason to distrust his words.  She felt a haunted animal herself having to take a lawyer in the arm to defend her basic income and enterprise. 2008 just wasn't the time to think back romantically ; wasn't the time to start the new novel, wasn't the time to become Pella and give silly names to her beloved friends,   she wasn't cloning her life but a design project !  In his budget design Sugimoto made a distinction between cast members being themselves and crew members being talented . Film actors are supposed to be themselves and crew and writer have to be doing something different which is called talent. It all contributed to his classified Asiatic performance that in retrospect resembled the gnostic notion of being one with the symbol, becoming the symbol, no correspondence . But how to achieve such a state. How to become one's self ?! All alone I clone myself, was in this respect a contradictory she developed out of experience writing a novel . ●  Thanks to the video research with it's special feature of documentary value, bringing in proof material, she had trained her writing memory into a flawless research and besides a position for the exchange with Don Zahtilla it had delivered a Cultural Loan of 3000 Euro , officially to work on a computer film . As it goes with exchanges the Embassy project delivered his agency some hosting money and so Don Zahtilla could send her a plain ticket over the internet by e-mail . It felt like being a moist robot in exile but she was expected to work as a camera girl for Bert Buchanan who came to research the remnants of Italian fascism in Croatian architecture . She recognized the engagement from their earlier dramaturgy but her exhausted senses gave her a very different impression. She just couldn't help it, she always felt Croatia was an opportunity to reunite with Mother Nature. ●  Compared to the Dutch the Croatians followed an opposite policy concerning their environment . Accept for the airport and ( rail ) roads not a single piece of industrial design touched their forests and mountains. And although the Global Positioning System had video scanned everything, from the bottom of the Adriatic ocean to the caves of the no longer functioning coal mines, the bees were still humming and buzzing in resonating tune with the warm winds. Don Zahtilla didn't allow her to fall in love however, or surrender for that matter. At night during the barbeque on the small piazza of Louis' house in the medieval core of town, he karaoked the sounds and rhythms of nature with an undertone of deep cultural cynicism and then he set up a film  projector to watch her video films. She didn't disappoint .. He could satisfy his networks, throw intimate dinner parties and organize a bigger festival ; her material was classified . No doubt as a special award he decided to stay the night and as she was too exhausted to make a scene, she just hissed :

" No exchange of body fluids , please ." ● 

She watched his perfectly erected penis as a patient awaiting an operation as he was dressing it skillfully with a rubber. Doing what she continuously did, her yoga practice,  made what came a healing business but what surprised her was that during the proverbial ride her mind made a second lasting hallucination of the tattoo king. And later when he left her to sleep she had horrible dreams of the area , full of killer energy. Her mind didn't forget were she was, in the middle of a post war conflict area . ●   Despite their pleasure the Don didn't play an innocent game. He tested her in becoming less independent, less international and less cultural in their exchange. The conducting continued , however, in his office where she worked on flyers for the show and delivered tapes from the region.

    It was during the small walks towards the local bakeries in between coffee breaks that she thought to catch some special attention of what looked like a group of male tourists but which reminded her of her students at Industrial Design.  What if they traveled after her recordings of the Internet of Things ? ! She wouldn't be surprised , following leads that's what powerful people were said to be doing, but if they did so what game were they playing . Unless somebody stepped up and called her by hers and himself by his proper name, the rendez nous remained imperceptible.  Which reminded her that the Center Of Perception Research at their campus was closed right after she came in. She remembered Doctor Terken' s mentioning it and that the foreclosure came with much regret especially from Asiatic knowledge workers. But she didn't know what purposes the COPR served. Doctor Terken had mimed his response modus towards video games simulating tennis games. To their own surprise they moved their heads from the left to the right as a small digital image of a round shape was equally bouncing back and forth. See how conditioned they were, all ready to follow ?! ●  But following a client in secret would be less innocent a play than a simulated tennis game. It was hard to feel flattered because the attention is surreal. Besides wouldn't it turn her into some sort of suspect ? What kind would they suppose she was, a spy, a revolutionary . It all came with the video recordings. She surely hoped to be imagining things , and that attacks of schizoid paranoia wouldn't be the reward. To stay sane what seemed to be important was to constantly make the distinction in what was research and what her own projection . All she aspired was to make a yoga thriller so as to pay a tribute to the human spirit in technology . Who could see something dangerous or threatening in that ! Daniel Dennett the god father of determination , but else wise ? ●  She was so happy to return to an office. It was so nice to be mirrored by other creatures locked up in their computers. The radio waved all day, because the station was one of the Don's achievements. Somehow in Amsterdam she always ended up working alone in her bedroom and studio apartment.  But she had a friend who lived likewise. Flora ! How adorable to think of her. In the beginning of that year she was thrown into jail and then out of the country she worked in, because of some video recordings. She moved heaven and earth , that is all ministerial involvement, to clear her register and good name and didn't rest until she could go back to the country that dismissed her. ●  Somehow that same year Ingeborg received a invitation from the Goethe Institute in Nairobi Kenya to work with Les Africans Maximales . What a coincidence . She felt she earned the honor because Heiner the director of the art institute Montevideo stole her project and freed the Germans first in spoken word. But of course she wasn't sure. And again it wasn't so easy to find acknowledgments . She couldn't for instance say that Heiner stole her project. At the utmost he committed a contract break and hardly involve her in his annexation. Much later the intelligent comedy on the arts Sugimoto had been trying to write all the time , became a reality cliché when Heiner tried to 'get her into his arms' and 'wanted to cook dinner for her from his private residence' . In the same realm, entering 'Flora's country' changed a great deal in their relation ship. Flora had to earn her approval for her intimate relationships , had to hear from her that she was 'authentically in love with the king', and not ' a courtesan who betrayed the portrait of the rebels'. Floating on the knowledge life had given her, Ingeborg's application involved a privacy statement in her projections, in fact protecting and giving credit to her source, but Flora couldn't see it like that.  It was the soft healing coziness of trust mixed with friendship versus the morning after pill of ownership crushing Flora's affections for each other. They had become competitors ?

But Flora , she said, I just so happen to inform my hosts that in spite of the fact that I know everything about Kenyan politics, I would never use that knowledge to create a fictional character out of the source ; You!  This is known as a privacy statement . ●   In the end they were all amateurs in information. It made the Don's donation all the more professional . Whilst she was working he slipped the papers under her nose. There it was on black and white; the house style of the embassy , and the representative of the Minister of Foreign Affairs writing and undersigning that her very own name was being invited to travel over and be hosted during the Transart Festival activities. She rushed to the copy shop to make copies planning to feed officials at home. Besides being thrown out of her social security , the bookkeeper had also sacked her. He just couldn't stand it that the art festivals that selected (t) he ( i ) r work didn't pay . Now she had to do her income taxes alone. This to her was of course just a third element. The first was her work and the second her being alive to do her work . But even she knew that this order wasn't realistic. And things didn't look too good. ●  The neighbors had informed her that the police had searched her apartment ! ( She needed cigarettes to consume the news . ) Once she landed in Amsterdam she was to pick up her key from the police station ! They had removed her original lock ! What on Earth had she done wrong ! Why was she treated like a criminal ? ! Did it mean she wasn't discriminated ? Was it a good sign ? She was wearing a pink outfit so as to externalize an inner peace and beauty . The Don meanwhile told her that having enemies was part of the game. One time at Christmas whilst he was just sitting in the old village notably on the bank were the old men sat, he was picked up by the police and thrown into jail because of some tax he hadn't payed. It was , so he told her with his insistent smile, the best Christmas he had ever had. ●  Ingeborg supposed that the Don was enlightened . But at least he had been in an official war to fight for his entrepreneurial independence in .  And that was of course a dangerous and very stupid equation. When they first came here in Croatia the civil war was still going on, just a couple of kilometers further ordinary civilians were killing each other . She had been sitting in a bus opposite somebody who explained why exploded intestines were not so recommendable . What was most shocking though was that the unity of Yugoslavia initially exploded on a phonetic level. The Pulla girls who were attending their workshops were not allowed and unwilling to talk about the war, but they were triggered to play a physical alphabet game were they mimed with their bodies the notion of 'sweet warm milk' in all the languages of the region. There they stood in the centre of the medieval town miming syllables with their bodies, no sounds needed . They looked liked the Christian Rainbow Foundation dancing the lambada, but what they dared to do was far more significant. What they came to understand was that ' swat wirm malk ' and ' swot wurm mulk' and ' swet warm molk ' had been exploding the former republic of Yugoslavia. Spelling caused the war. And it was the Dutch Lexicological Institute focussed on spelling,  that had accepted her proposal to organize an Underground Karaoke and an Upperfloor Exhibition.  ●   There was a religious edge to the medical technology she was researching ; at the head of the department stood a guru called Raell who so happen to have met extraterrestrial beings and was baptized the King of Cloning. But unity of though mattered. Cloning could be happening in words as well. Yet the God of the Word was replaced by a New One with languages in different unities. Human excrement was writing the new world . Words were over. She proposed to develop a story for film producing a Yoga thriller with Raell at the head of the movement transporting an invisible particle encountering an epigenetic Hospital. And so conceptually she glided towards a dangerous cliff hanger. There was a code of silence in technology conducted by Hannah Arendt to redeem homo faber. Could she touch this material ? She already had. She already deconstructed the notion of ' morphing robots ' into 'the morphology of gnostic sects' . Ever since the seventeenth century the members quietly worked on a post European enlightenment where becoming one with the symbol without any further correspondence was required. Or so her source had ' unearthed' the movement on the spot in some Egyptian desert . ●  It painted forgotten landscapes of noisy busy bodies and classic persistent tradesmen .  Again a linguistic occupation where silence and meditation were undermining the notion of dynamic acting and screaming and loudness ( once very fashionable and signs of poetry ). A Yoga thriller would be precisely fitting !  The code in the arts felt very dangerous but all in all it just seemed to work out a performative mode . When she was just graduated and invited to join a web collective she had created a photo essay on selection procedures at the theatre school using the meme theory to compare memes of fashion with memes of selection . It seemed like a mathematic way to calculate reality or even the future of it . But where did she herself stand in all of this ? She kept being intelligible for project communication. She typed annual reports handing over all her network activities to the Bureau for Artists and Company. This wasn't such a stupid way to exploit her self, it was just that the receiver used her material to feed others. Annexation was the name of the profession. ● 

    After 14 days in Labin her plain left to Amsterdam, but as soon as she landed, she received an e-mail that the Don needed her back in September for the Transart Festival. In the plain she had a relapse realizing that the industry guys worked ergonomic , designing things like air plain seats. How happy she was to be contacting them on the level of speech; a things she understood a great deal of. Of course the only speech they were interested in was interactive synthetic speech. The Dutch had accomplished this: written lines could be translated into the perfect phonetic sound and vice versa. They were looking to implement this technology in human services, so as the enlighten the care industry and let the young be with the young. Graying of the population was one of the biggest threats to society. That's why there was so much pressure on the smart microphone being able to be communicative ! A communicative robot would serve the race that loved to be sexy but hated to love. All of this had never occurred to her. She always was so happy to use speech in novels. A great deal of metaphysics was often slided into quotation marks to presume speech of character. People didn't speak like in novels however. In fact the ones who did could face a closed detention, unless they moved in circles where speaking was the main occupation.  Madness was so relative. ●  When she landed and took the train to the city, she noticed several men with long black pony tails , like the Don had developed his hair do . She moved to the police station to fetch her keys. The police man smiled , as she came in with all her suitcases, dressed in pink.    ●  At home there awaited a surprise in her mail box. Two agencies send her pens inscripted with her business name: Ingeborg's Intimate Cultural Experience. One of them was the PEN society, one of the worlds eldest NGO's ; the society for Poets Essayists and Novelists. It was a meager but still some sort of award for what she had accomplished with IICE. She invented the name after the initials of the foundation she registered. The one woman business was a bit more frivolous than the - Marxist so her brother thought - Independent International Cultural Exchange. But did she have experience ? Experience could be defined as being prepared. Intimate Cultural Experience was a mouthful . But it had applied with her recent trip to the Don and Bert Buchanan. She knew exactly what Bert was up to, flirting with interactive design , blinding the Don with the future of technology ; turning breathing into light shows ; blood into creatures , the whole magical trip . She had been there for more than seven years , seen all the plans, dreamt all the co-kinetic dreams, the magic beyond the ordinary translations. As such she had been a threat to him, Labin was his residency, he was the one with a dance drum light show .  ●  The sublimation of power play into sex remained very hardcore. But she had enjoyed her staying into her own character. She had managed to use the energy for herself, on an advice level that would be her knowledge to share . Not that this knowledge was anywhere required . She had to continue building her promotion and of course fund a new institute and constitute a collateral partner. But should she ever inquire somebody brave enough to ask about this defiance of nature's purpose, this coitic anti-love that drove the proverbial business man, that is what direction she could give. Don't make nature worse than it is. Take it as a tantric challenge, it could stop the beard grow, if that's what you wanted . But if she looked deeper it was only an emergency advice, because to be honest ; in the beginning of her career she choose to work with pure homosexual men, so as to never mix things up .   Nevertheless she found herself dreaming about the new luxurious houses the Croatian ( war ) lords created, reminding her of her child hood, the rich life she grew up in; swimming pool included . The Don and she agreed that one's own swimming pool was a definition of living like a human. To remain mindful however she reported to the grant manager that she wanted to continue the Transart festival under project name (B) apes (T ) apes (R) apes. Focus more on the female population . That should get the message straight.  ●  Meanwhile she was back in Amsterdam finding street walls papered with posters undersigned by ' The Ambassador ". On closer reading this was a series written for the homeless. The slogan was : 'that should get us through the winter '. But why would that cynical target be undersigned with The Ambassador ? Should she feel spoken at ? Was she to become homeless, if she didn't make more money, or accepted a job ? Was there a satellite program warning her, was she a puppet on strings ? What a delightful idea ! But right now it felt the other way around, she was the puppeteer. The Foundation for International Cultural Activities had advertised the project on her website naming Pendulum, Total in Support and IICE in one breath with the Dutch partner in the Dutch  - Croatian exchange project : credits for the bookkeeper , yet another administration bureau she was invited to share a seminar with and her own foundation.  Was this the response , was this what in accountancy terms was meant with transaction, or was she jumping to false conclusions. Again , she could never find out, she could never ask , it would be too surreal.  Hello, are you cloning my business correspondence  ? But the Ambassador campaign did give her the cold shivers, in spite of the invitations feeding her feeling of being at the right track. ●  There was an invitation from European Communication Projects (ECP) inviting her to the Science Park, to attend their Audio Visual Workshop. She developed tears of recognition finding herself in one auditorium with the Dutch Society of Nature Science. Her yoga information thriller would be top, yet it should crash with an autobiographic protagonist. For a film story her state of the arts would do fine. Here she was not knowing what she saw was selected and picked out or coincidence. She should have to find an edge to it though, make up her mind about the transactional world. What was the game being played, being advocated by contemporary politicians , what was the object of concurrency and competition; driving each other crazy, without doubt. Con art in English. The type of play Sugimoto crowded his screenplays with, full of games between people who were in the end very much attracted to one-another. A confidence trick ( synonyms include confidence scheme , scam and stratagem ) an attempt to defraud a person or group after first gaining their confidence . How different a set of values she herself was attached to. And, in where would she be fraudulent? In being an artist ? It quirked her stomach and uterus . What kind of an edge could she give to this ? In narratives it would be easy, she would do the counter part as well. She'd make a nice antagonist out of all the industry guys she 'd met through the project and put Raell on top of everything. Colliding story lines that was her narrative design style, her speciality .  ●  But in reality there was first the Tax Office to convince she could be her own administrational partner. She had never as much as looked at the income tax papers , being too busy working out other formats. But now she was forced to change her unity of thought. On a flea market for 1 Euro she found a book on bookkeeping 'financial administration 2.0 ' and started. Apart from some Rental Subsidy distributed through the space agency acquired when she applied for the Law Artists Income, she had no income.  It was good for less than 3 Euro per day. She lived on a Third World level. Yet what seemed to be important was to be profitable and to have professional costs . Of course she had been profitable but the money was a cultural loan. She had to pay it back. And the agreement was to work on a film. The seminars for so called Independents Without Personnel Workforce advised to find friends fools and family to help finance. What she learned was that of all the human sacrifices donating money was one of the hardest. ●  Although her brother earned over 3000 euro per month, the stress levels peeked when it concerned her case. There was hysteria needed to transfer relatively tiny amounts of money as family assistance .  What he was most allergic for was her starting to defend her policy plan.  As if they hadn't work together before .  As if any time there was an independent international cultural exchange needed he didn't contact her to come up with some candidate. Only in 2004 she had provided the Dutch candidate for the first post conflict theatre festival in Kosovo. But also her mother laughed when she send the policy plan to her new relation who was friendly enough to donate some money. Uncle Art ! Should her phone line be wiretapped ; she was proud of his sound, a retiring Protestant vicar with a deep vibrant pitch who applied for friendship, but who could attend to her stories about her one woman business as well. He had been promoted at the University of Leiden in the middle of the last Century. So it seemed they had something in common. Although of course she had an entrepreneurial relationship with the Dutch Lexicographic Institute hosted by the University of Leiden. Everything written for the project was carefully filtered from this biographical everyday truth. The once so fashionable train of though was now considered to be a flaw ( a word connoting with cows excrement ) .  ●    She gets anonymous phone calls every three hours. And decides to work in her brother's house where she can live out of his fridge . To the tax officers she amounted all the incoming money as creditors debt.

●  chapter 4

Not an Agatha Christie

She held her arms in a wide spread motion as if to keep in contact with the strings of the Universe, standing firm on one leg, stretching the other to the front, closing down with her arms and then putting her nose to her knee. Chief Inspector Nijenbrand could not believe his eyes. There she was , the cyber woman of his life . What in heaven's name was she doing in front of that window. It looked like some sort of exercise or even exorcise. It looked like her floor was an extension of some holy temple . What a extraordinary sight.  Had she converted into the Islam, wasn't this some sort of Eastern thing ?  The neighbors in the hotel seemed familiar with the sight. He heard them quietly .

" The Svanasana' s or yoga postures . "

' She lives what she advocates .'

' A Yoga Thriller ! '

' " Divine Hate, Death of the Holy Spirit ".

' A brand new title.'

' She's good in those.'

' Title for the video art section . '

'  The Underground Karaoke, forming a dichotomy with the Upperfloor.'

' Very careful scheming.. '

' And the fish has already bitten. '

' University of Leiden will play the Upperfloor. '

' An exhibition of speech recognizing interfaces... '

' Being triggered by the Underground Karaoke.'

' Through the Smart Microphone. Profound Entertainment .'

' I-tunes has already reacted. '

' " The Holy Spirit will return " ! . '

' Let's start taking paparazzi pictures ! '

' Hire some junkies and send them after her ? '

' If this doesn't turn into something great, I'll be damned .'

' Europe's got talent.'

' Pictures ! '

' The head office will be pleased.'

● 

Hiring junkies as photographers . Wasn't that kind of dangerous ? Or was it a code ? The Chief Inspector got nervous. He was very bad in decoding or encrypting messages. What to do, for Heaven's sake. He phones Martha. Martha tells him to collect facts. Look what they are doing ! Were they receiving locals in their space. The neighborhood seemed familiar with American agents . At the tobacco shop they were venting obnoxious post cards combining the cult of soft drugs with the letters CIA, as if they were related to the liberating things. That should be emplaced at the context of the holocaust and the hunger winter , of course. Tears teased his eye corners; it wasn't easy to be intelligence. But he was on his way, nobody could deny this. He was close to the centre. In fact he was next door. He just didn't know how to get in there. Circumcising movements could be the next step. He could go for a sticker action. ' The Girl is Mine ', would that ring a bell ? He got a phone call from Brinkman. Where the hell was he. Why the hell wasn't he at the office. Nijenbrand rushed over.

' I am reopening Rapport Pellema .'

' And why is that, the murder case got solved in 1997  .'

' The source started a new project.'

' Any suspects involved.'

' It's ...'

The Chief Inspector hesitated .

' it's a multi cultural work. Involving,' he went on, seeing the High Commissioner cringe, ' Involving counter intelligence.'

' Is it crime investigation ? '

' That depends on who's side you're on. '● 

The Chief Inspector explained that to strict communal rules a virtual crime of financial expansion has been committed by an unemployed female of middle aged descent , but that from the other side of the globe, this budgetary expansion is being worshipped as something nationally culturally emancipatory. Releasing his sphincter , from underneath his breath, the High Commissioner asked whether there was any terrorism involved: weapons, drugs or at least domestic violence and religious fanatism. No Sir, the Chief Inspector admitted, the only things involved until so far are titles and dichotic models with the aim to start a collaborative art work . The High Commissioner looked as if the world was ending. As if he didn't belong to his own institution anymore. Ever since the video screens the force had changed , new winds of new influences flushed in their spaces, new ideas came to flourish, complexity rose. And now dichotic models themselves became criminal ? ●  To tell you the truth, he admitted to Mrs. Brinkman later that evening, I hardly know what dichotic models are. It's something to do with Descartes and dualism, Nora told him ; body and mind, water and fire, poor and rich and so on. Ah, de Tweedeling ! That indeed was a very loaded term in Dutch. Then was the establishment of a new dichotic model some sort of religious crime, something people in the good old days were burnt for at a fire staple ? How, even the Commissioner thought , how boring and tedious this sounds. But OK, if this was the sign of their times. If only it had been a regular crime case, something with beards, bombs and bibles ! That would have fit into his wider picture. Still he was afraid he couldn't just shake the Chief Inspector of his back. If there was counter intelligence involved they were to infiltrate the infiltrators. Chief Inspector Nijenbrand had posted himself and he couldn't be unposted just like that . Now he, Henk Brinkman, had to come up with some basic questions, so as to understand the league. ●  Report back to me , he demanded, the attraction of the counter group towards your local source, this artist . Nijenbrand didn't even frown, that much clear things had begotten to him. To the counter intelligence our source, our very own rapport Pellema,  is something of a prophet, he declared . To them she's been predicting the world's future 8 years ago, and that Sir grants her this status. So, the High Commissioner concluded, we are dealing with a modern witch. Burn her out of her house, into a descent job, he suggested himself . There was one specific target group this city has begotten practically allergic to. Unmarried single females growing beards on too much knowledge. ●  Nijenbrand smiles. If only it had been that easy. She's working on an independent status , Sir, being appointed by some local agency. Chamber of Commerce,  tax account, annual reporting, and international partners to have exchanges with. Her objective is to expose a series of computer programs triggered by exposing a movie and a text. The High Commissioner frowned. Nijenbrand de-confused him quickly. The visitors will read the text brought into the mood by the movie and then the microphone input will handle with the computer interfaces, robots included . It's all been tested by her students of industrial design. Brinkman kept looking puzzled. If only he could see any sort of crime in here. Wasn't it all in all not just a very bright idea , provided the media involved were of neat and nice descent ? Nijenbrand nodded. The interaction design is good, even has itself proven all over the world, but the profile isn't matching. She's just not the type to be credited for this work. She managed everything on paper, but there's practically nothing happening. No fund approval. Just a Cultural Loan. No exposition place. Just a director who wants to sleep with her. Brinkman wasn't convinced . ●  There was only one question left, that could satisfy his commissioners interest. What is the counter intelligence doing to her ?  What was there to learn ? Nijenbrand sighed. They are cloning her Sir and lately making paparazzi photographs, so as to stir her attention and increase her awareness  . A major psychological breakthrough is being awaited. 'And what are we doing to her ?' , Brinkman inquired. Nijenbrand stared at the points of his light weight combat boots. 'After a fall in, we, Sir, are just attending her with anonymous phone calls.' So that's where the gap is. The learning point. The High Commissioner wanted to know everything there was to know about cloning. ●  Nijenbrand continued without hesitation . They are plucking her apart, Sir, but it's not like Jurassic Park , or the Boys from Brazil. If they could, they would, Sir, they would freeze her eggs, if they could, but they can't. What they can do is visualize her features and copy them into other programs . And what, Brinkman wanted to know last but not least, what is the meaning of this. Here Nijenbrand had to fail his superior. I don't know Sir, it's basically a battle about creativity questioning the uniqueness of human culture . ●  Suppose it would be you Sir, being cloned in this way . Nijenbrand painted the picture. First it starts with the obvious stuff: your unique I-tunes music would be heard in the places where you usually go out for lunch or dinner. Then there are men with the same mustache as yours entering and in your case females resembling Mrs. Brinkman. Then you notice that key words from your speeches end up in the main stream. What would you prefer to believe , Sir, coincidence or something else. Brinkman felt a temper rising. Rage and then laughter. What a monstrous situation. This was , Nijenbrand helped him out, metaphysic torture, specifically very hard for capricorns or other serious people. The question is: would you notice it , when would you notice, why , and finally; what would be your reaction, or more clearly what would be the range of possibilities you could act out . ●  Brinkman seemed overwhelmed. This game outshone all research methodology, because you could never tell, unless the counter intelligence dropped their beards and mustaches. Nijenbrand shone with intelligence. Right now Commissioner Brinkman, I would like you to think back with me to the notorious logline brought in earlier to your attention beginning this year by the grand manager of a european cultural foundation. In due circumstances I'm obliged to drop the previous charges of egoism and start to rethink the desperate cleverness it contains . She has been assembling evidence, like a good researcher should do. From the ocean of words surrounding us she dived up the most significant use of a private pet name in a public context.  Which not only means she's is in a state of alertness but also understands the tricks of the trade. ●  Nevertheless my opinion is also, that we shouldn't wait for our source to start creating her point of en-compassion. We know her from our previous commitment back in 1997 ;  she'll be unsatisfied unless every angle is cornered. It took her twelve chapters to tell us what happened, remember ? Which is fine if it's an autobiographic work, but in this case she'd have to travel far too high up to acknowledge anything that could feed her imagination . And so she's simply not rich or strong enough to be the artist. First of all she not an Agatha Christie , she's far too post modern for that, the chance she can produce a best selling page turner is practically nihil . And mind you a page turner is what thrives the world of karaoke . Second of all, she's hardly successful in The Netherlands, she's hardly pulling anything from the ground. Then Nijenbrand started to fulminate against the art world . They were a bunch of subsidized crybabies with no impact, a post war sentiment of the aristocracy against the normal people . Brinkman reminded the chief Inspector what Mrs. Brinkman always told him : that resentment is strictly forbidden in the higher circles. Church bells tolled in the silence . Martha Wisman the Police Psychologist entered with food.  The Chief Inspector couldn't wait to go back to the hotelroom.

● 

chapter 5

daddy's kitten

Jack and Jill came from Austin Texas, and they could be loud because, it was said, their origins were of oral descent. They were loud like the Friesians are loud, with Friesian being originally an oral language.  Personally they would say they had the probability of loudness because they were trained in the US Army, where loudness is being practiced to produce a hormone to make one's self feel stronger. So that from the beginning they were expecting loudness from ' Ingeborg H.' . Nobody can decode an industry without at a certain point going buzurk. Of course in the previous six years 'Japan' had been visiting her on a regular basis and they both made exchanges happening. But it was only to be expected that after the first happy years a dark age would enter. And if this wasn't loud they might loose her in implosion. So that they were actually quite happy when they saw her going quirky and starting calling messages into her I-Book's microphone. ●  Gilles Deleuze had explained in Dialogs that when European youth in the midst of their academic research are crying out for ' daddy ' they are calling for the United States of America, or moreover - they figured - his export TV programs echoing romantic models of human dynamics happiness and health . These models of human representation were so strong , so colorful, so appealing, that it was hard to dismiss them to the land of fairy tales. They looked real, they looked more real than their immediate reality itself. And for those who noticed, the discrepancy (without Technicolor) was exactly that what was missing at their University studies, that what was exchanged for big books, books and more books. The crucial point missing at the University of Amsterdam : campus life. Students were emplaced all over the city of Amsterdam, exactly the same city of the holocaust and exactly because all was to be buried in silence, it had a great potential of becoming a ghost town. There was so much that was still not clear. ●  Who had provided and distributed the david stars and the pink triangles, for example. Was that what Deleuze referred at as the machine of all utterance. The cities system was smooth enough to exchange it's post graduate students for cleaning jobs with the original population, and so the stories kept circulating. All that history was breathing in daddies tissue's tissue. And Ingeborg H. had made the effort to send him a message. A humorous and tempting message, but one they were at that point unable to perform. It was indeed the story of all stories; the one where individual humans were sent of in singular spacecraft. Boom, just leave everything behind. Turning the proverbial journey into a real one. Happily the timeline was set 14 billion years beyond , only to find out that you can get stuck in a space cabin as well. Mutated into 26 extra nipples, but stuck like one can get stuck in an Amsterdam house . So that the conclusion or moral could only be : let's try to make something of it right now where we are . Of course. Nobody could oppose to that, yet things didn't progress without trouble. Ten days after the publication date there were terrorists attacks on United States ground, and Jack and Jill literary hang on to the opening line, which was breathing the same feeling they were all longing for;  after the victory, when it was all over . Before we blew up the planet, when we still lived on Urrth, papa and mama run a hotel bar called Unter Dem Pentagon.  It was all a flash back. ●  Linguists hastened to say that this European source could only be understood in what she was even endorsing in the plot line; language philosophy. She wasn't promoting violence , except that in a linguistic sense writing itself can be a ' blow up' thing to be doing . For example when you don't know the rules, and then try to break them ?  She had been on the edge of that . The narration had black holes, but then these were exactly what her characters - the space invaders - were encountering as well . So when affection takes place as metaphysical mutation, what's wrong with our wish to change humanity physically , make it possible for her to twist and shout. The crowd had gone crazy on lines like these  . The whole thing breathed victory and future, but yes incidentally the interplanetary configuration got also changed.  Urrth was slowly sinking away, her rotating ax melting . ●  These parts read like the cartoons Jack and J~ill grew up with. It was amazing to read from an Amsterdam girl. So to sign up for operation Ingeborg H. was an easy choice. The first thing they did when they tracked down her computer and went through her files was to locate her in a GPS - a Global Positioning Situation. Anyone who typed in her name would find the location where she was working. Just like in her Diagram ! They found amazing pictures in her computer, showcasing the author on stage dressed in a transparent cat suit . But this was only in 2004 when she got an I-book. The first three years they hang out with her publisher and tried to catch glimpses of her in the saloons ( as they called the cultural gatherings ) . As such the publisher grew immensely because they brought with them projects from the secret service. Diagram after all was a project on the secret service. And as it goes with movements : phenomena grow and fall out of their initial context. The secret service became sexy. Magazines entered the streets emerging the codes of undercover agents. And as she was a lone ranger watching the city as a poet outcast they entered the graffiti scene as well. Anything to reach those eyes. ●  In fact the whole local situation changed as they were to change the local situation after her style . They found a girl like young woman that loved to dance to be their author, simply because people called her by her name and her name was buzzing at that time . Of course after the publication she didn't shrink into her original character. Post creatively they found a vibrant personality, all poised and that possibility was very important for Jack and Jill. They also couldn't be more thrilled than to learn to know that Ingeborg H. knew nothing about technology . Only in 2004 she could buy a descent computer and only in 2003 she was rewarded in Tokyo Japan to buy a camera. Her science fiction had been completely imaginary and that turned her into a potential psychic. And that had their interest. But they anticipated that the psyche should be ripening. So first here she was : Miss Normal. She lived with a cat, she had a partner or two, three.  Japan,  Owsley and the late Tattoo King. They mimed her, in those early happy years. ●  All the Jacks got involved in relationships with young Dutch females, tasting the tissue and embroidering hers with a familiar sight and sound  . And all the Jills dropped their corporate dresses and got into retro clothing, as the original cell was too poor to buy any descent clothing. She had a few couture items that were obviously donated to her by her fashion designer friends as she was remarkably involved into fashion and dance and visual art: a pseudo economy hosted by the publishing house. None of the primary wealth was shared with people like Ingeborg H. , who had to learn all from scratch what it meant to be an independent enterprise. They had her dangling. Everything she created was shared voluntarily with the publisher; video's, designs, correspondence, and nothing was given back, except an endless amount of invitations fed by the input . Cultural crossings like this were a well known tactic in the Dutch capital. They did it with plants, with animal cells but with cultural human species as well.  The ruling class were specifically aware that artists in their work potentially can travel over the classes. They could spiritually enter their social membrane . Transcendence was a major thing.  And therefore the old powers made all the clerical and religious efforts to keep artists at their proper place. ● Outside the contests there was noting to be gained. Hence: life is a contest. Because here's what a heraldic universe really meant: the herald occasionally can play chess with the King as the narrator can sing to Him. A hierarchy very useful to copy in representational works and brew little kings and queens in Hollywood ! At the end of the line however their program wanted to know how human projects perished. Why didn't divine beings live forever, like in a way the Diagram survivors did in their individual singular space craft. How would Ingeborg H. die or live . How cruel or pleasant were the Dutch species. All in all Jack and Jill were impressed by Ingeborg's dichotic model to link an Underground Karaoke with an Upperfloor Exhibition. Imagine that on a broadcast level. It showed class awareness ! And wasn't it wonderful to travel with her through the all in all international industrial domain ? One would have imagined a pot of gold at the end of the track; the Speech and Language Technology Centre . But all one found was another financial construction and more entrepreneurs . What she needed was a graphic designer but Ingeborg's Intimate Cultural Experience was rewarded with a book token . More books ? How ironic if you saw her doing her yoga postures exploring non linguist domains in yet another dichotic model : Paleontology and Performance ! ● Imagine indeed the blue X-rays seeing right through you, that will make you shut up. Again she was looking for more human liberty. She wanted to take the medical technology into the scene of the arts. But whatever she wanted they did it for her or showed her that these things had already been done. They recycled her wishes and discoveries . After all they were the culture that was aeons ahead ! They were here to clone her, the true creative game. They loved to keep this little country into it's original rotunda. Just to give her the benefit of the doubt, they stopped her clock at the Heidelberg signature. Beautiful hand paintings of juridical trials from the fifteenth century.  ● But the first thing Ingeborg's H. did was deprogram their very own angle. The Human G-nome program was pealed off to it's medieval roots; physiognomic  : a  trend in the visual arts : to see animals in humans, also stemming from the 15th century . She filed it to her industrial partners who owned the digital lexical corpus and bam ! the country was rocking. Humanity was shaking. The pace accelerated. She had helped liberating her nation and could now enjoy the humming and buzzing in the streets. The true reward of a spook. Was she enjoying that, was that what she wanted ? She wrote a reminder in her program :  Cultural implications after the e fell out of the human genome . And in there changed the rules of informatics. They could imagine what the implications were. In fact they could read this in the Dutch newspapers. Now that the code was cracking the whole nation became spiritualized. That's how it worked. It's a community work. The Dutch in general became more than a pile of labored shit with microbes. The source was being so called protected, and stayed out of the show. ● She could expect some acceleration however; invitations from Euroforum , the Eindhoven platform for talented German girls. Big heavy industrial programs that didn't fit her profile at all. Their question was : how came a hardworking smart ass like hers didn't have a descent position in the cultural artistic field.  There was a theory that the local field saw her as her big brother's little sister. To them she was a little pitch shy. It all came through her fingers and the keyboard. 'Japan' had finished cum laude his business studies at Harvard Boston and complained she wasn't seeing enough people. He himself always worked with lawyers and attorneys. Licenses and contracts was what he woke up with. But she came from the campus free University that only worked with industrial genius, and in there functioned as a corporate enterprise itself. They figured that if all her dichotic models remained unused, all she could do eventually was to stick to her old profession and write her memoirs, to look back on this exciting times : her life as a source code. The point being she couldn't know she was one. She needed evidence. The slow change of a country's fate lend itself perfectly for a master narrator. But to know what you are you need proof and endorsement. Which spooks, especially the independent ones,  never get . So: memoirs ! ? What if you couldn't trust your memories. That was a very refined kind of genocide, which always involved around memory. ● Still there was enough for her to remember uncomplicated. Jack would start with the Royal participants in the international agreement dealing with re-agencies of tissue typecasting . But Jill would start with a pot smoking alfa traveler cleaning out her studio finding such information in her big brother's paper files . Together they would intertwine in a romantic novel. Embody American export in entertainment. Surely Jack and Jill should write the movie novel for her. Because she for the moment was graphing her dichotic models screaming ' murderers' in the microphone . Jack and Jill prayed for her to become silent, because at the moment she was just a loud unemployed and the city had strong regulations for those.  ●  One way to accomplish her into silence was to become louder than she herself. They decided to go live in the garden, and throw parties. Let's look what re-agencies good loud 8o-ties and 90-ties music would provoke in her human tissue . They wanted to keep her warm, wholesome and moving, not jellying away into convulsing bone glue.

    And so summer was set in the city and Chief Inspector Nijenbrand simply joined his neighbors in the garden, where they, for different reasons, occasionally stared at her window and silhouette . The Chief Inspector took his underground character downstairs , woken up by the loud music.  Jack and Jill , however, were surrounded by a pile of Dutch magazines and newspapers supplied to them by Monseigneur Hotelier who accompanied the American friends ever since they logged into his hotel . ● Jack chuckled as he translated an article on software number 1 : biographic writing. The discussion treated the epistemology of diaries, featuring a research amongst 4000 diaries written during the second world war. An amazing almost unbelievable crop with a screaming headline: 'We know nothing about their fate '. This was a direct attack on the greatest symbol of diaries written during the war. Jill swallowed her tears, as she was proud that adaptations of Anne Frank's diary were taken to the stage, every year.  There was really only but one movement that could push forward research like this that revolted against the culture of books and the God of words; a conscious or unconscious fascism . Ingeborg H. screamed. The Chief Inspector cringed. And Jack and Jill remembered the astonishing fact that the household of the Dutch collaborative party with the nazis was named after the household of the fox Reinaard in the famous medieval fable. And to remember that schism Maupertuus was also the name of a literary magazine by the Dutch publisher Johan Polak. ●  The memory itself was concentrated. But the code in technology was: not a word. Ingeborg H. discovered the code of silence and the end of Homo Fabre by Hannah Arendt and then was blessed by making contact with the International Hannah Arendt Workgroup (through a Facebook connection) . A large American young man with the name of the biblical prophet Jeremiah, was giving talks about pop music whilst he displayed video art of exploding bombs. Ingeborg hovered the Holy Silent Camera and unloaded once at home in the studio. That bomb fitted her research ! But how had all of this code stuff affected her own career ? Her grandfather Doctor Professor van Giffen was spoken free of guild.  He was not a germanist, the national news paper wrote. But he did hide a secret in working with large stones. Her mother's family kept a chronicle about the histories of all the Van Giffen' s . But she had inherited the name of her father and her aunt. A combination that by the very sound of it must have been cursed in the publishing world . Why wasn't her name Hildegard van Giffen ? ● Was she allowed to question all this ? No ! It wasn't so much as a taboo, it was merely useless. It was panic . The conceptual answer to continue came with a new magical formula that changed the rules of theatre science : B = A. The original formula was : A plays B whilst C is watching. If B equals A the actor becomes the original character. Barbara will be Ingeborg. And so she ended her career in writing and changed it into becoming an inspiring film director. She would record Barbara on film playing the writer . She would hire a hotelroom from the other side of the house and from there wonder and ponder on her identity from a superior computer point of view . The sublime world of intelligence design. We would see a whole nation's news media changing and a young woman perish in decoding work . Finally the code of silence in technology would be kept by an amazing plot line wherein yoga masters unload an invisible particle . They would practice doing the camel posture in the all invading blue light celebrating the art of technology and its many mystic wonders that would serve humanity to communicate else-wise than before . In a global visual language. The old world would not capture her in it's trap. From then on grammar was over and formulas and budgets started. ● Jack and Jill were stunned by her knowledge of proposition logics, that started were language ended. Exactly these formulas were used to sustain law and order in countries nation wide . These formulas contained the knowledge of knowledge teaching civil servants the end of free will, keeping the planets in their rotunda, denying the birth of baby planets and new galaxies but securing the civil state and global governance, all close/d in the old alphabet. These formulas dictated the algorithm of an all go rhythm in communication;  the start of all noses in one direction. These formulas formulated the end of individual languages in so called wild life and the capture of differance in either psychiatric detention centers or in the avantgarde art world. These formulas dictated the widest wisdom of computer linguistics . ● But her algorithm was named DADA combining the knowledge of the European philosophers Derrida and Deleuze with the speech act swinger Austin from America. Therefore in the video art section her movie would start it's fourth screen with Hildegard van Giffen : headmaster of an epigenetic hospital, tutoring all madness seriously from behind the membrane of these formula's with her assistant Antonin Aldous Wittgenstein . Think The magic Mountain of Thomas Mann , but a mad mountain , sharing the cosines of craziness, all screaming without the motor of pop music but the motor of themselves and their ragged little lives, their shrunken regressed little horizons . As a director she would combine documentary style with real actors , unloading detention centers on a magic mountain and mirroring the mentally challenged with theatre actors .  It was amazing how much energy originated in the imprisoned freedom of speech. ● Meanwhile the avantgarde sent messages and invitations in her mailbox. ' God created the Nazi gas chambers,' Franco Angeloni screamed next to invitations he send her to apply work. So she unloaded her idea of the Epigenetic Hospital at the Utopia program of an art institution that was named Paraflow and was situated in the former Fight Towers of the nazi regime. Was it suitable to locate an epigenetic hospital in this location ? The Paraflow head office accepted the plan that was written from the perspective of Raell ; the king of cloning who communicated with extraterrestrials . Most certainly there was the war related code of silence . Would it combine suitably with a caravan of fools from the Low Lands ? ● The concept of the neutronic bomb was: the end of humanity but the remains of it's domicile . This contained a spell on humanity, a change of it's nature or culture inside the remains of the old architecture. Maybe Amsterdam hadn't been bombed, to exploit her as a Museum. And maybe that's how the city became both a market and observatorium for American scholars and scientists. Maybe that's why these came up with the human genome project. Again it was an annexation , the slurping up of a cell to create an answer cell : in television and medical news .   And maybe that's how she'd always felt the following towards town: so warm and young so cold and old . And now slowly she was becoming part of the domicile. ● After Sugimoto left town she had only worked on what everybody did: taxes and finance. She realized that only through human contact things move on.  Her best pitches had been accidental. Or reversed : she had failed in the pitch circus the way it was outlined by the agency in return of her annual accounts. She couldn't say she was very bad in speed dating. Big meetings with Creative Industry data bank exchanges just didn't appeal very much to her. She went to a few and found the air combusted by nervous looking business boys. There they sat in their blue suits in the nineteenth century former library of the stock market building. They all spoke the industrial code language and talked in fact very cynical ; conceptualizing shelter for abandoned robots.

" Abused robots ? I would like to guide these for my performance of the smart microphone !"   didn't get a reply. The point of the talk was, that the id was covered in the news paper. Eventually the pitch mafia advocated only one thing : brands, patents and licenses .  So she would make a mall for linguistic means in the play movie film field ! A formula after which all movies are being made.  It killed her mind, it was the end of free thought and association, but she would work on a like wise website in Panasonic software for film, inviting Sugimoto to star and produce the Raell part. As it was his biggest wish to become a Hollywood actor, she would make him one. After all, he didn't leave the 200.000 dollar standard film budget for nothing in her studio office. ● To stay in contact with the old habit however she kept a dream diary.  It was amazing how much movie there is in the mind. But the good thing about pursuing to make a movie was the pragmatic mode it would set her in. She would be on the phone all day arranging practical stuff. She would be a producer. One night she was going to an event in one of the eldest societies for friends of the arts and she gets this card from somebody who calls himself a director in domotica, domestic robots. It can become a big thing, he told her, involving the roof of Renzo Piano's building where the Nemo society for science was situated. That was it ! Once the B = A movie was maid in Croatia playing Austria and Austria playing Switzerland they only needed 3 locations for the life event: 1 ) the Underground Karaoke 2 ) the robot exhibition and 3 ) the computer programs. As such they would interact with each other. Ingeborg's Intimate Cultural Experience , Mediamatic, Nemo and the University of Leiden. What's the big deal ?! ● Mister Domotica was afraid that an underground karaoke science fiction university would be too loud for an upperfloor exhibition. It was her experience indeed that projecting a fiction story in an exhibition space could get people in the mood, but that was exactly the purpose since we are testing affection technology , she explained. He didn't pay for the coffee.  But she had been that close to a deal !? In political erotic French literature the contract is the format closest to a sadomasochistic arrangement. In here all evaporates and everything is narrowed down to a description of function,  obligation and task. She told herself to enjoy the porn of production . There was always the dream diary to have the mind stay in shape. It kept being amazing how much perfect story material there was in the mind once it gets subconscious. It was equally amazing how tough the membrane or cloud is between human beings to release this story material. They were lost in translation. ●

    Meanwhile Jack and Jill continued having parties in the hotel garden. Sometimes zombie junkies came toddle in to ask if they were being called for . It fitted their view of a medieval society where flute players would attract whole villages that came after them, hypnotized. It was exactly those silly people they liked to build up small relationships with. Meeting the hearts and minds of a society. It was how they worked in all foreign countries. Also The Netherlands , also in the 21st Century.

' Look, son', they mimicked the all american novel for film,

' Could you do me a favor ? If I gave you a photo camera , would you run away with it to sell it to the pawnshop ? Or can I trust you to follow my instructions and bring me a nice photograph . I can't hire you , but will reward you with sharing my party as you so invited in yourself in the first place.' They enjoyed giving sudden strangers and outlaws a pragmatic feeling of belonging , and set an example what human conduct could be. They loved being at service. Behind the curtains of reality they were bonding with the foundations that sheltered the more primitive human species. The Rainbow Group is committed to people who live in ( social) poverty, to actively engage them into participating with society ? Well, here we go. ● They had pointed her out on her daily walk to the supermarket.  The occasion was appropriate : they had watched her googling the exhibition times of a Hollywood movie about the CIA : The Good Shepherd, with Matt Damon.  Make a photo when she walks in, with the headlines of the picture inside the frame.  How they'd love to turn Ingeborg H. into a prominent leader of the social outcasts. She'd better be if she was to organize an underground karaoke... The fish didn't bite, however. She clearly noticed the photographer ( and posed ) but it didn't seem to upset her. Unfortunately . They wanted her out of her comfort zone . And so Ingeborg H. got her first experience with paparazzi photography . There were many more events to follow . ● When she first wrote her auto-transcription directory and then filmed the Transcription exhibition in the Dutch cancer institute and later became friends with the artist, they awaited her in front of the supermarket. When she proposed a new quantum computer model and send her proposal overseas to the Lawrence Durrell Society , they followed her from the sports school. Welcome to the real world ! She always intuitively felt to be part of a bigger world, but wondered if this was what her antenna's were sensing . One day she stopped before a photographer and looked him straight in the eye. It was a full grown man with a neatly kept beard who with the falsest of false intentions neatly trimmed like his beard said ' thank you' when she didn't bash his equipment out of his hands but allowed him to click and make a picture. She was too much shocked to have an accurate reaction and ask whom he was working for. ● One other day when she was making pictures of DNA, a marihuana seed breeding coffee shop, Richard Geere did have that accuracy and she answered that she was working for herself. ' Those are the best,' he answered. Everything seemed synchronized and became symbolical, and she decided that the Hollywood actor would be on her A-list . He would play a special Flogiston undercover agent in the Yoga thriller. She knew were to cast him.. But she didn't know whether some agency kept a file of hers and why. What she did know was that in the movie she would sculpture a protagonist out of her self. Fiction movies always sculpted a figure out of the vulnerable. She sculpted a logline out of a real event. It captured a private name in a public context. Paranoia would have no chance ! She was a well trained academic working with evidence and factual proof. And Pauli was her messenger, her Minister of Information in their secondary economy. ● If to anyone she owed something organized it was towards her friend . There was no place for this most philosophical theme in the annual accounts, however, there she sculptured the Paul Derksen that was her colleague in the art field. Had she become a sieve ? Surely filtering information had become her daily work.  If only they were playing already. Who would play Paul, what would Paul delegate to his character. How would he feed the actor that was going to play him. What role did he play in the story. And if that would be only a snippet of time, what was needed to do that moment justice. What was symbolical or significant about their relationship. Was it their academic upbringing opposite the working professionals from the theatre school ? Could they travel to an exact point together, acting in the age of the exact?  Could he accept her as a director ? Could he accept any director ? ● And now you 'travel' to your boring distinction between fact and fiction, she could already sense his criticism. And now you hide behind you boring excuse that there are no words to describe you motions, she found the courage to come up with a reply .  But may be he was right. If only Pauli was here. She would test DNA the musical on him. She would mime the setting - think Pat Benatar Love is a Battlefield ? - and then jam the Chorus :

Death and Amsterdam, Doom and Amsterdam, Drugs and Amsterdam, Dukes and Amsterdam, Dust and Amsterdam, Doves and Amsterdam, Drive and Amsterdam, Damn and Amsterdam.

Pauli would come up with an Underground Chorus Line. You needed a reunion between mind and body to be able to dance however.  Martin and the bunch studied body mind centering. But off stage it always ended into a drama questioning what this reunion would turg. Needless to say, they were dramaturgs. She could only come up with two female authors , who bothered to translate their love for dance in words. She didn't bring Zelda Fitzgerald and Anais Nin to the rehearsals however . She added Winsome Hawthorn's House Party - a political correct Love Story -  to the reader. Hawthorn is the one living author she was in contact with, master of the contemporary political erotic novel. In retrospect she regretted the choice for several reasons, but most of all because she came to know that the source behind the muse of the SM novel , seemed to be murdered . Or at least a very strange story, equally strange compared to the end of Lady Diana. She had asked the classic question to the author, whether he made up his females 100 % by himself, or whether there had been inspirational sources. And he came up with a name and a horrible story. It gave the specific edge to the artwork, just as the suicide of the tattoo king added this specific flavor to his gothic life style. But it wasn't in anything after her taste, nor would she want to inflict the flowers of the stage with it. Even if some of the dancers themselves flirted with dark culture. ●  Maria had a tattoo and she was convinced that her mythological poem Miss Euroland was inspired by her !

/ But on she goes Miss Euroland / to with her many friends / throw semiotic harpoon/ babble up to the moon.

Maria was convinced that the moon was stolen from her. Always this trouble with authorship.

Beware and stare / amaze and gaze/ the planet is moved by her toe / young Miss Euroland / dressed in chemical charism / knitted on histories pins / parades the streets / waves her hands / and greets her many friends / in Spanish German and French /. Ola Hela Halo / here speaks the fainting saint / we are but a piece of paint / in the empire of a vampire / Millions of years it took to be designed / her rotating mind / her mastering of the all / by a wall / Lost in the many / she never had a penny / she's the king's fool/ she's but his tool / she is a poet / Inside her cabalist cable / she masters the everyday babble / to travel travel travel / she is a narrative rebel / To fragment her powers / this species of ours / her story was whipped / she banned from the script /  O heraldry heraldry heraldry /  now she serves technology / and has you spin in her screen / travel her cognitive travel / you lazy consumerist devil /  But on she goes Miss Euroland / To with her many friends/ throw semiotic harpoon / babble up to the moon. 

It was the story of literature versus visual culture , the old media versus the new, but Maria was convinced she was the chief source of inspiration. And so they had a synergy going on on the stage. ● If anywhere B = A started it was here with the Puppetmaster project. It was from there she felt she owed something to Pauli, something like the good life. Travel, transport, accommodation, an endless amount of theater stages and finally a position on the stage. But if the account started on this level, Pauli wholeheartedly could reckon some good deeds on her register too . She had taken the initiative for the Chocolate Dildo Very Pop Rave Party in Croatia,  Paul and Martin came with Global TM with her on the stage , then she came up with the Partner project in their underground bar UI with Pinky and Lennart and their amazing network of visual artists and the clubbing world , then they came with the Manifesto project with the British Council and the Dutch embassy in Berlin, from there she flew to Kosovo to work in the theatre of Pristina and establish a relationship for an exchange project later, they started the Puppetmaster project in Germany and she walked away with the content in Diagram, whilst they continue making subsidized theatre shows heavily influenced by the gothic lifestyle of their newly dug up network . ● She wanted to have a look at themselves as a group of phenotypical smart asses, zoom in on the scenes and relationships beyond the curtains and create an example for future generations. However much she had been more of a linguist than a performance expert, she did realize that to make a deep psychological report on for example Paul, would violate all the rules of performance art (their home base) . She was sure to enlighten Pauli with the formula it self though . Look, Paul, David already died. So he can't choose who's going to play him. So there I place a joker and take the liberty to cast him for him. She decided the choice after she saw him revolting against one of his European movies in a David Letterman show on TV. Tom Hanks should play the tattoo king ! Here was a rebel at heart breaking all the laws of loyalty in the movie industry. How would he relate to becoming an American underground artist in Amsterdam. How could they paint the picture and serve Mister Hanks with sufficient input. How could she transplant the cultural DNA of the tattoo king into the actor Tom Hanks ? And vice versa : what would Tom Hank's comment be on the tattoo king ? As mentioned before this would be a joker in the directorial. ● B = A originally is meant to be played by members of a tribe. It's a scenography, a work of scenius. So surely it was a contemporary art work, one that would cease to have value once the participants die . She would set an example with her selfie document, the autobiographical video and photography. Her little but hard core fame would serve the countenance in the apparent trivial pictures. Ingeborg Houwen overdosing on XTC and LSD would most likely open up the dialogue of the behind the curtains of the show. The fund didn't like her to work for or with the network, but it was the only thing her ( video ) work served. It would create chaos and channel interest and for a moment stop fixed characters, the feature the art world in general hated so much about literature. And yet a piece of literature, a new novel would center in the new media installation.  And Paul was the messenger of what was destined to become the logline.● One night he phoned her during his work on the tourist boat to give a life report of what was happening. ( He did this more often probably believing that she was the nearest epicenter of the universe. ) That night two engineers opened up after his boat-tour speeches and informed him that the tattoo king was found dead. In the heat of the moment he phoned her. She stayed silent as a lamb and for once had the accuracy to ask if these were the exact words these engineers used. She stayed in her role, ' It's important Pauli.' Importing news , he answered, hopping on her associations. ● Just when she herself got fired, Paul followed her in her footsteps of the tourist guide business . He did so because of many reasons but intuitively because he thought she would take him out of there, once her project was granted. Paul was counting on her, and meanwhile thought to already stay in the project's atmosphere by working with microphone and speech. He thought he'd made the closest move towards success. The proof for that came only years later, when he addressed her in all her business names, screaming for a job. This was at the moment when he was being thrown on the streets out of his house because of unpaid bills . All the time he was convinced she would hire him in the end , to continue the life he enjoyed so much: with driving and dramaturgy. ● Before she herself dared to make the connection Paul had been convinced from the beginning that the screaming headlines on information distraction in the media were rooted in her work on Diagram behind the curtains at the technological universities. She herself kept tied to more humble realities. It was a very hard lesson but in the official enterprise of the Northern continent research work counted as a form of procrastination. It was a sublimation in itself. If you wanted to make the effort of doing research and use it as a form of communication: go ahead. Nobody owned knowledge however unless you sealed your IP, which was practically impossible. And she couldn't tell Paul about her project's goals, he'd liminalize them straight into his project assignment for Martin. So she kept the Yoga thriller for herself and in Paul's soirees remembered their friendship at the core of it : once upon a time after a performance in the Amsterdam Woods, she was harassed by a psychotic ' boyfriend ' who started to beat the hell out of her and Paul was the only one who stayed at her side and told her there was nothing to be ashamed of. That old memory in this new timeline made Paul crazy ! It was like pouring water in his kerosine motor deck when she dived up old biographical scenes from previous lives to outline their current relationship to newcomers, whom he neatly prepared to enter his house parties so as to keep the network dynamic and spread the word. Why did she refuse to play her role ! Was she some kind of buddhist philosopher denying character ? For a long time off line she was the worst synthesizer in the world. ● In the 21st century Paul became a computer, a human computer, because it was proven that computers were information driven machines. And that could equal a human,  a liminal character . Bad copy of my friends, was one of her titles for an earlier dance piece by Paul. So she couldn't blame him for taking the computer metaphor so close. What did surprise her was Paul's taken the Dramaturgical Lessons so deep in the sphere of the not so general audience. The shippers couldn't care less about the nonsense unleashed throughout the boat's sound system. The shippers cared for a good money tip by the tourists . And Paul cared for folklore, or possibly wanted to be part of the common world, or so the elitist art world reasoned, deep in the night when his figure kept popping up in the boat companies costume . All vessels broke, like in a premature birth,  when the topic of class was sensed in his creative atmosphere. Paul's eventual allergy towards selection may have been of religious and in there paganist descent. Slowly but certain he turned his back to the art world and vice versa. ● Whom ever decided to keep coming to his soirees could expect nature healers next to gifted transsexuals and creative prostitutes. These creatures were consequently assembled after his dramaturgical explorations, the metaphors with which he labeled today's world . At first in the nineties his explorations were research based. Ah ! The endless struggle of being a dramaturge inside somebody else's art practice, the condition of being a dramaturge.  Martin, who was destined to be the artist, came with intuitive observations, and Paul came with the more elaborate studies. But eventually they switched roles: Martin started to conceptualize and Paul continued seeing the world more flat. The world became a whore.. As a result he was cut off by the Publisher like a piece of rotten organ tissue . Paul continued however crowding his own secondary economy by cooking and serving drinks. Those who knew his work better, knew also that the feeding didn't necessarily come from a higher need to serve . Paul once devoted a complete critical art work towards the service industry . The audience was asked to make a dinner reservation for meat or fish but during the show were only treated on alcohol, poetry and videos about food.  ( She casted him for the catering at the Diagram launch in Amsterdam and he managed to get a complete budget for himself and make fame as a caterer on other artistic occasions . ) ● His flirt with the dark arts was unprecedented but eventually it was to test his own immunity. FRAIDS haunted Pauli and he was testing it before he was being tested on it. This meant walking without coat in the rain, unprotected sex with male prostitutes , liquor at lunch and eventually smoking heroin with one of his indoor protégées who was an illegal immigrant annex drugs dealer. He ended up in Hospital with a double pneumonia , his stomach was pumped empty and finally he was diagnosed HIV positive.  His most talented new partner in catering and clubbing did not look him up at the hospital. So Francoise punished him for his own behavior. ● A well known performer tried to channel his course by making a piece on a dead dramaturge with a drinking problem. The material was breathing and all knew what was meant. The proof of the pudding is by eating it, was Paul' s reply. Balls AND brains, just don't mix - em up, was all she could scream through the channels of social media. They needed to share the temple of theatre, but all they had were microphones with key boards : mobile telephones.  As for the cameras, she proposed a surveillance circuit in Paul' s home. His mother was shocked by the idea, but Ingeborg had the feeling it would support and encourage Paul to sense his responsibility. He was a fatherless boy and leaned heavily upon his environment for examples . But who knows in moments of despair he would smash the cameras against the walls. These anger attacks were largely fueled by the alcohol and drugs ' regiment'. The old Paul or rather the young one, was a control freak, especially where his nature was concerned. This was due to his upbringing at the Free University, that leaned both on the laws of physics and propagated a dynamic life style combined with the rules of religion, in where to transcend one's nature was a away to overcome the flesh. Paul made his choice though very early. Yet in my flesh shall I see God, became one of his adagios. He used designer drugs from an early age . ● It were the scars on her soul speaking , that little resilient metaphysic organ that lay buried underneath her - so the tattoo king once assured - broken wings. With each of these thoughts and memories her love became released and with that death sentences were spoken :  theories. She had to fight the gravity of this, remember the laws of design as a way of cooking, the more ingredients the larger the tie of the nod, and beware the stickiness of inception . Her writing mind became as empty as an haiku.

    And Jack and Jill cheered as Ingeborg H. conceptualized a pair of camera glasses to protect the art of what was up till then a synchronic act : her video document. She wanted to make a video art piece out of her daily performance, with a pair of handsfree cameras and call it : the last round. It was to be the last round of what her life was reduced to living below the minimum wage : visiting super markets. In terms of art it would capture the serial abundance of food production combined with the crowdedness of people lining up to buy them. The concept became viral as Google brought a pair of camera goggles on the market. ● Something else happened to Ingeborg H. . Mediamatic celebrated My Bike Film Festival in one of the largest cinemas in town and then continued partying with race bikes on a wooden bike track in their much smaller exhibition space . In the overcrowded cramped space Ingeborg H. got rammed and filed an official protest on paper to the Ministry of Infrastructure demanding for an allocation , whilst Mediamatic' s own camera team send out a prefab picture of what was destined to be the future of their traffic design: the fall of a faceless victim .  Jack and Jill sat in the garden yelling with Ingeborg. H.  to the Omnipresent Diagram. Where was the all encompassing Satellite when you needed him ?!  Jack shivered by the cynicism of the title :  my BFF ( My Bike Film Festival) . This connoted with everything a network of wannabe creatives in secret was afraid of  : the reality soap My Best Friend Forever, in where a nouveau riche jet set star entertainer uses the medium television to win herself a best friend.  Mediamatic and the (young female) bike track architect continued their saloons with a serial on bamboo. Broken hip bones will repair by itself, so it seemed to want to say. Chief Inspector Nijenbrand wondered what the hell was going on. Whilst Pella was screaming like a horny cat, Jack and Jill twittered night and day.

" Remember from Law School; the hard cases ? "

" Help me out, please.  "

" Miss Mc.pherson versus Spartan Wheels."

" The Law laughs about people in an accident. "

" But that's not the point here. "

" It isn't? "

" It happened in an an art event."

" I see."

" And Ingeborg is filing a complaint against the proportions of the design. And she demands for an allocation of her share in the network."

" That is so .. business like. That is all a legal system should stand for. Why doesn't it contaminate ? "

" Because she works out her own representation ? "

" They don't even look at a one woman business . "

" It's so useless to be smart."

" People like Ingeborg. H. should feel at home in this world. "

" But let's face it: she's an outcast."

" What can we do ?"

" Let's do something nice with the cat act ?!"

" Let's associate on that."

" In terms of music she would sound like a punk band."

" A female punk band ! "

" Now we have to think 9-11 ."

" A Russian female punk band ? "

" A Russian female punk band ! "

" It's a bipolar thing ! "

" It's a bipolar thing ..."

" How about Pussy Riot ..."

( Jack bursts out in hysteric laughter. )

" Pussy Riot it is ! "

" Now what should happen with Pussy Riot.'

" They're all illegal outcasts .. "

" But they're going public..."

" Wait ! I got it ! Remember where we always have to go when we expand in the East Block ?"

" We always have to ask permission from an Orthodox Convent."

" Exactly . Pussy Riot. Where East meets West. "

" The launch of a punk concert in an Orthodox Convent ?! "

    ● The Chief Inspector envied the cheerful happiness of his colleagues in the force, as it taught him how pleasant a cyber act could be. It is all about inspiration he learned. He'd thought rules like that applied for other regions in the game, but Jack and Jill were the living proof that source code work could be producing a happy creative intelligent counteract. What he didn't like was to feel like from a backward culture all the time. The Chief inspector got incepted. She was HIS cyber source, he felt he had certain rights. O my, Martha sighed , it's even worse than I thought. The Chief Inspector was a primate where it concerned ownership. As Martha served international tapas she tapped Nijenbrand on the back. You can't help it, she said reassuringly, stemming from the Neanderthal . I want her, he hissed with a raw howl , letting his jaw drop. She is, Martha fulfilled him with a smile, my precious ! She pronounced the last word with a deep gruel , imitating Gollom from the film version of the Lord of the Rings . ● It was 2010, meanwhile, and Martha had to advice the High Commissioner whether the Chief Inspector should continue following his trace. Two years had passed over like ten minutes , as it build up a rich concern with the future of a cyber police. Martha was grateful for the case, she admired what the Chief Inspector had dug into. And she decided to keep her psychological insights for them selves. She wouldn't tell Henk Brinkman that Joseph was developing the profile of an abusive, on the contrary , she simply wanted to assist Joseph with channeling his personal feelings. Who knows maybe with Jack and Jill as example they could turn him more into a creative himself.

    ● It was late summer and early autumn and Jack and Jill were replaced by a new set of creative watchers . This switch was very hard to understand for Chief Inspector Nijenbrand. Suppose you'd be reduced 100 % to a set of functions and recycled every year. You would make sure you brought a project back home to proceed. It surely casted a shade on human cloning, or so the Chief Inspector thought . It associates , Martha improvised kindly, with the big Towers in New York : there where everybody is busy all the time, trading information on the phone , exchanging news and building image and meaning. The Chief Inspector sobbed. If only they could point at something suspect or criminal, he could organize a fall in at Jack's and Jill's. He balled his fist. How was he supposed to rapport on this: give Jack and Jill numbers ? Evaluate their output ? You can also let it go, Martha shushed , and continue working on your own cyber team, specializing in human cloning ! And then she said: If you don't do it, I will. Quickly the Chief Inspector reminded his colleague that he already campaigned on Pella and her kind of God bereaved Children of the North.  A nice regular street poster picturing pony tails for innocence and tattoo shop windows for the attractive dark culture. The slogan: keep it business like. Pay for your deals, stay a customer . ● The Chief Inspector grinded his teeth. My first and primary duty is to protect those who need it. No, Martha corrected her colleague, your duty is to assemble factual evidence on a criminal act. And right now the criminal act is executed by an unemployed playing business, which is forbidden . Every unemployed has to give up any independent creative act in the industrial sphere. It is forbidden by the Law to be inscribed at the Chamber of Commerce and spend hours building up business like creative relationships when you are on the dole and receive state benefit. Until we have come to an agreement on a basic income, people like Pella are handling affairs at the wrong side of the Law. Admitted it's a thin line here because she has been already kicked out by her Social Security so in theory she is free to behave as she likes. But there is little chance she will survive, mark my words. What happens here is what happens on a national level with countries like Greece. It is exactly the seem procedure , ● Nijenbrand howled : That's why we have to help her ! It is my social human duty to protect her. One more word like this, and I will opt you for a saliva test, Martha threatened teasingly . And so they just sat there and watched the inevitable happen to Ingeborg H.. Whilst her computer work kept busy three Ministerial bodies and reflections shone through different media, Ingeborg H. her self was summoned to leave her house by her landlord due to late payments and was thereafter captured in detention by a team of psychiatric descent. At the same time Ingeborg H. got a smart phone by her brother so she continued working on a photo document at Facebook which she in secret named after her camera goggles concept: Faust. Now the big divide started  : a share in synchrony and a sublimation of project issues in different media.  Parallel the provence hicked up a company specialized in business faillisement with which she had to share her financial documents. For Ingeborg H. this was a victory over the regular debt aid that automatically came with being curated like mentally less valid people . ● Ingeborg H. thought about the future of digital media and rated her videos as fluid gold: her capital. It was a competitive occasion wherein the intelligence of both parties was at stake. Ingeborg H. won the first round as her councilor laid her duties and dismissed herself . As a result on paper Ingeborg H.  was still financial and creative director of Ingeborg's Intimate Cultural Experience . Simultaneously she was integrated in the previsions of the city council : an addicted toxic middle aged single with an entry in the income tax that served as an entry for medical insurance . Online she kept the creative artistic identity alive: a cultural event hopping superior one - liner. She managed to treat all her research topics in hundreds of texted photo's. It was a start up of the online design, a taste of her capital .  Once she could share the schism between the worlds she survived in, the document would serve its purpose . ● For now it was only for herself shocking to see how she altered in the world of administration and became rejuvenated in the midst of her friends from the arts, even if these pictures were taken after My BFF and the code conducted was a lie they all lived by. Most of them had been there during the accident but the one who hadn't had taken action: Maximilian the young highly ranked up harpist from the Conservatorium, took the initiative to throw a pick-nick in the park to celebrate his birthday but also to celebrate her suing the big publisher. They applied ornaments of paper flowers to her bike and asked her to pose for a picture. She asked for the picture to be send over the internet and it was the first cover of her persona online . She kept the dramatic and perceptional psychological parts of her photo document for once she could settle her own participatory website because eventually in general communication on Facebook was quite success based  .  She changed that code by throwing in jams of her research document, picturing graffiti street art. ● The word 'stringent' became significant once all her strings cut loose by a chemical holiday she was able to treat herself onto with access to her brothers refrigerator. It was September 12 2012 and again she had worked all summer without any vacation; her vacation money was taken in by the debt collectors . That morning she had written the following : Ingeborg Houwen in the context of election day recalls the initiative to tenderly invite Vedett : in February 2012 when the suicide of Anill Ramdas was instantly politically corrected by the Geert Wilders Cabinet of Premier Rutte by sacking Job Cohen for Labour Leader.  There they were : two 2 Euro coin sized tablets of an almost fluorescent pink color in one little plastic sachet and four little brown balls in another.  If she was not mistaken she took an overdose of XTC and LSD , to see if they could internally cure her ever bruised hippocampus .  ● Her vagina started to bleed, her jaws began spasmodically to unclamp and she clearly felt her left arm dying, whilst her resources unloaded themselves by producing a deep and yet high pitched sound, a screaming that alarmed some of the neighbors. She wasn't being raped , she could assure them when they rang her doorbell. She just amongst others realized that Franco Angeloni of the Vedett Motor Tour had traveled 10 nautical borderlines to visit her in Amsterdam : 1 ( Thailand ) 2 ( Myanmar ) 3 ( India ) 4 (Pakistan) 5 ( Iran ) 6 ( Turkey ) 7 ( Greece ) 8 ( Italy ) 9 ( Monaco ) 10 ( France ) 9 ( Belgium ) 10 ( The Netherlands ).  She emphasized the enterprise by posting pictures from the Matrix of Trinity on her motorbike . ● The littleness of her executive power hurt ; she screamed the scenario that should have been : contacting

border-patrols and make sure her guests were boarded well. The audio hallucination or the breaking of the Heavenly ether that was already produced by her deep state of solitary concentration on the notion of algorhytm, became in a million fold intensified.  In a jazzy upbeat tempo she heard an acapella choir sing on the following lyrics : who's on strike ?! Meanwhile her facebook account received 30.000 likes probably as a reward for breaking the code of silence . Since she had also posted a picture of the Van Heutsz monument she presumed the vote bomb was send by Avaaz the Buddhist magazine . The Van Heutsz monument reminded of the wars of Holland in Indie since the fifteenth century. ●  Thirty thousand likes translated to signatures meant almost a seat in parliament .  Ingeborg was not too high to make this translation, but she was too intimidated . The music and lyrics of the heavenly choirs told her to be so . This is not a combat / combat is for fighters / you are not a fighter,  it told her correctingly in endless repetitions , that came with withering music invading her mind and body night and day . Also her Universal Resource Location or URL was blown to pieces by the vote bomb, her mobile telephone initially stopped working , and after the restart an automatic text program practically refused to let her write on her own . Besides all this, her outgoing mail server was hacked by a company that named itself after her own invention ; H.O.U.W.E.N. : Hollywood Online University Web Energy Netherlands had started, but she didn't know exactly with whom nor what their intentions were ! It must have been with one or more of the project partners she had send her packages to ; the licenses and directories for the new institute she envisaged : the Underground Karaoke Science Fiction University . It taught her that there are little and big computers and affirmed anew that she was a technological nitwit. It also showed that there was appreciation for her artistic creative vision and that her outgoing mail was being hacked probably to cheque it on her own measurements. She texted with the vast knowledge of a third party around the unseen corner. ● The material she had to deal with at that moment focussed on what was happening to her big brother William. He was dumped from his co-lateral multi million dollar project, a story which was covered in the Dutch national magazine The Populous Courant. She applied her new knowledge of financial administration to (t ) his case and concluded William was being taken over. That's what business seemed to be about. A constant crushing of human beings and their positions with the vast rules of a machinery. It didn't count that he had pulled in the entire sum of money to build a beautiful new international school for journalism and communication to enlighten the darkness of a humiliated little provence and helped it in becoming an independent nation .  Being accounted for Head of the School meant that he had to succeed on all levels. But there were little gaps and so he drowned in the game. The Norwegian partners nailed him at his study titles. With the death penalty of being infected hanging above his head, William never could find the peace of mind to finish his Masters. Ingeborg screamed in the telephone that the University of Amsterdam considered him a Master, since they send him the Alumna Journals, which is only send to their Doctors . Fight ! You have the best project in the entire world ! But he gave in. ● The pressure was super surround : staff and partners wanted him out. One could hear the gossip under the official surface : his practiced homosexuality the first thorn in the eye of the brave Christians from cold Scandinavia.  For the first time in at least eighteen years William asked for his father, to pick him up at the airport. This already signified the severity of the process. He was landing in an ego destroyer and came out stripped, naked , deculturalized, a texted print fractured into snippets of the alphabet . The process went slow. She had been his domestic secretary for the last years, so she knew how much money he had to at first continue his international life style in Amsterdam . He had build up quite a bon vivant persona over the last fourteen years . He was a serious hedonist . During his travels he always phoned her, particularly when with expensive escorts. She always spoke politely to the new boyfriends and protégées. They marked his career in The Balkans. Where ever he was situated , his house was loaded with 'friends' attracted to his rich dynamic position in the field. She traveled with him when he was considered an ambassador and was grateful of the outlook and experience it offered. At the embassies they didn't have to line up and she kept a picture in public how they traveled first class from Budapest to Belgrade whilst the housewives doing shopping were stacked up at the narrow aisles of the train. ● She wasn't taken for granted, she was always invited by the title of being a writer. She wrote several columns for her feuilleton in the Universities Weekly Paper when attending her brother or when exchanged to the area on her own behalf. But it wasn't political journalism, she kept tied to her format of fictional poetry. She met a lot of journalists though, in fact one of Williams duties was to provide paper to independent editors and newspaper owners; the engines of this battle. For doing this he was located in international luxurious hotels provided by the Belgium or Dutch agencies that send him out. ● And now all of this mission became a living memory. It had always been his philosophy to assemble friends rather than professional partners and after he was sacked he would soon find out how practically nobody would be left. Albanian hackers stayed in contact to hack his computer and where possible any other of his digital devices. Who initially stayed in contact was his roommate, a United Nations employed lawyer with whom he shared a house for the last three years. Margot owned a house of the South of France where William was staying September 2012 when she stole the drugs out of his refrigerator. The newspaper wrote that he lived in a luxurious apartment next to the Vondelpark, which was highly exaggerated probably to make him seem more fraudulent. In fact he returned from a luxurious newly build warlord house in Kosovo to a renovated narrow and steep prewar apartment of Amsterdam social building . As an expat his relationship with Amsterdam was mainly signed by his relationship with the Amsterdam Medical Centre, a relationship that became intensified when in a haze he fell of the stairs and almost broke his back. ● These were all symptoms of what on a deeper level was happening to him by the ill diagnosis of his partners in communication . As her brother's life abroad had always given a glance to her own , another way of seeing she was standing in his shadow, it was hard not to feel darkened and dragged down as well. Even she herself should have had a political status, since next to the publisher she had taken the social security into court refusing work that was beneath her interest and educational status, treating her income as a basic right. But this was far beyond the reality of the status of the database where she was in. The graffiti artist Laser screamed it out on the renovated walls of their town: 'they sold us out !' he spray painted . Labour was settling on the labour of being human ( computer ) . The gnawing of each others brains according to protocol had to bring to the surface who was sane and who wasn't. The only thing state workers were instructed about was the use of language. The standard way of turning somebody into a whacky nut was to watch critically their use of language. This was the beta mafia at work.  The psychiatric metaphor for living different lives was drained from the profession of literature, but happily she was officially encouraged to live on different levels, and that was where Facebook came in, or rather the video and photo version she had kept of herself and her perception of the city . So now she was lassoed back into her own story that left where Einstein ended, beyond the symbols of all literature and communication together. Her contributions flew fast like light and became crisp like ice and were filtered from any private communication. She was promoting her research work and her professional character.  ● Offline she screamed for cosmic assistance, her hatred was a gas of lost time and lost loves ; youth escaping . Before she herself had knew it the name of her video project was Faust. It was a magical word emplaced in her de-grammatasized period. Mephisto must have asked her subconscious to sell her original cognitive pattern into something else : live streaming video.  In concept she sold herself beyond the evolution of experiential digestion speed. She was altering rapidly. The more she imagined her video technology , the more her eye sight waned. ● From there on it was understandable how several companies dealing with computer publishing changed into urban farms. It was mere self defense these eco-trips that were so easily subsidized by the agricultural fundaments in Holland . The metamorphose was unbelievable, people showed up in town wearing t-shirts saying : Mediamatic Farmer. ●  She heard nothing from her rapports filed to the court and the Ministry of Infrastructure.  She hoped for sanctions in silence. By every day luck she now and then crossed eye sight with the publisher , whilst biking towards the cheapest supermarket in town. She had taken a picture of him , his previous wife and their son right after she send them her trial on paper. They were gathering in front of the bamboo construction, embracing each other and looking extremely worried and concerned . This was because they shared a history of domestic violence ( he had once broken her nose) and Ingeborg had accused him of promoting violence. This was signified by the billboards of the heavily injured bike riders (code jackass) and the proportions of the bike festival design that caused the injuring incident, as well as the pure dark gothic response received in the follow up of the 'art work'. And now they transformed from this flirt with pure evil into urban farming and got away with it. ● She learned from her book on financial administration that regression was acknowledged when investment stayed out. This applied perfectly for herself especially since she treated her income based on debts as profit . Her annual accounts looked realer than real and the tax office ate it like cake.  She was proud of that work, she never worked with numbers before, it was quite magical. And now she was back on social security and using her smart phone to promote her professional identity. In between work shifts she repeatedly told her self to take care of the icon she was considered to be . But the drugs were wearing her out, her inner self exploded into songs and stories, a layer of self productive when she was in her early twenties writing musicals for the stage . She mirrored her self with the upper-floor of the nation she had entered, and in terms of cruelty regretted the insects she had sprayed to death. She was as terrified of spiders and sorts in her apartment as the government feared refugees on their national property . And so she invented Mrs. Butterfly who assured her audience to 'say nay to the spray'.  The child in her was escaping like air from an untied balloon, and were it not for some mysterious indoor practice , she would stay behind indeed shrunk like a disillusioned middle aged. ●  But there were mysterious things happening in the house they rented . It was an old mansion in the heart of the city centre that was at first squatted in the mid nineties and then later on became legalized studio apartments of a domestic assembly all inhabitants were a member of . They had to take care of the communal spaces which were transformed into a laundry, a bike garage and a small library annex lobby. Now, into that lobby and library miraculous things seemed to be happening, in fact it was an extension of her key word experience. Again synchronized to her artistic program associative items seemed to be installed . True, the spot was the official place where inhabitants left stuff for their fellow inhabitants, it was their permanent Sinterklaas place.  It seemed delusional to presume that some agency would use a spare key ( from the council ? ) to leave behind packages, how ever classified this would be for a plot line in computer art . Nevertheless strange things were happening. ● Who for example occasionally left behind German motor magazines for the Japanese kind Franco Angeloni was riding ? They had 1 Harley Davidson in their ' garage' and what would he do with a Kawasaki based magazine ? These were separate worlds !  There was also left behind a Berlin based fashion magazine of the same postal address she got e-mails by. Mit Vergnügen send her e-mails almost three times a day and German agencies were definitely entering Amsterdam. They promoted brands like 'Bock' by email and then later she found graffiti of the same graphs in her neighborhood ! She made photos to capture the psychology of a prosumer , her presumed identity .  In this case : did they know she was a capricorn ? Or was Bock referring to a specific physical constitution of a human race ? Was she imagining this ? Or was it a circular economy at work ? ●  She learned from her book on financial administration that businesses did nothing but transacting, translating and taking over each other, and decided for one year to assemble phenomena like this. She wasn't looking for a confrontation, she didn't have the guts to play game, and phone the matching editors to ask them about their marketing strategies or twist it into her creative vision and ask for a partnership in developing a movie on prosumerism. Besides some minor press work , she didn't have a fun time at the telephone . All she did know is that her telephone was hacked and that this time was named the android times. The stem of that word : Anthropos,  the god who seeks to defy humans. It was his goal to play with the metaphysic machineries of consciousness and memory. And hers were speeding up, and she was screaming her be-findings, like dioxin escaping from her steamed up cognitive engine . Where was the happy girl that once assured young ones in the field that the design space is outside of us ? Now It was invading her, especially at night .  ●  She was lying still and quiet with her eyes and ears wide open to assure herself she wasn't dreaming or hallucinating . A zooming vibrating cloud of sound came to both rape and heal her , It entered her body and she had to surrender . On top of this, sources of her code work came to visit her, one to convince her she was a nobody in the league of fame compared to him . It felt like a message from heaven to convince her she was condemned to hell . And then the music : whole deeply layered choirs were singing to her, rich German work from at least 5 centuries ago. Finally she could see through walls and hear the inner voices of some of her neighbors .   Was she internalizing ? ● She had heard of interns, but besides her own business construction and her bedroom studio , there wasn't a place to share . To go outside in the city and follow her routine of sporting and shopping she needed her I-pod to stay balanced in between her ears . One time at the sport school when somebody chased her away from her instrument because the mechanical instructor told them to switch, she fell out of her silent every day persona and became verbal in English. She sounded typical, like a Hollywood script. The next day an Italian Vanity Fair was left behind at their library with two Venus bras.  Venus in Verse, her announced poetic program ? Da ! And the next time she looks in an English Vanity Fair she recognizes a code. Home is where the art is, heads the article. A Variation of her Faust theme : home is where the heart is, hell is where the art is. The protagonist of the article: a famous graffiti artist who died too young of a heart attack ? ! Facebook had circulated or even sold her Faust contribution and it became transacted .  ●  That year she accounted a validation of her work in 33 transactions , translations and take overs . She saw her work mirrored in shop window displays , street stickers and pamphlets, magazine articles, graffiti, online hacking, cultural political campaigning and revenue banners. And it wasn't to become the new curriculum vitae it was to become the final annual account of her one woman business and foundation ; just one more post grammatical document. Based on the course in financial administration of Langendijk and her own office information she managed to create four matrixes : the first based on a fund's statement on innovative programs for the arts locking all her 9 program particles from Godwin to Faust ; the second based on her project activities matching previous book years of her project promotion plus latencies and re: agencies ; the third encountered a re-capitalization of her foundational work and the meaning of all the matrixes was to be found in matrix four : her passive company losses. ● Of course she was aware that this new way of financial accounting exceeded her academic upbringing where truth has to be verified before it becomes truth . Well, not all transactions and re: agencies can be. She worked day and night on creating, printing, copying and distribution but failed to turn it into a hot acquisition with telephone cheque ups. Her verbal faculties had difficulties performing her business accounting. The post history post alfa post communication and post literature symbols that dominated in computer linguistics had an enormous effect on her performative faculties. Being thus unbalanced the talking and screaming into the computer continued. Layer after layer of what the symb �O �O�5�=��O@�O@@�O#333333; ">● Coming home from performing the Holy Silent Camera she re-traveled the crusades finding it impossible to believe her eyes that all European belief systems aka religions were still karaokeing the story of Israel. Who's interest was it to silence stuff up ? And so she exploded the way most post human explosions were probably happening. And she had to find a way to deal with it. She called her self a historical theatre scientist but all she had done was mere lick at the top layer of their mutual past: digging the past was teaching about the sixties and seventies of the 20st century , not digest all the centuries at once. Once more the boundaries were battled inside her mortal physic. She screamed because It was too much. All she had ever wanted was to succeed in a play field of letters to create a stage for her friends in dance. ●  She named it the underground because most of the times from there the field was organized. One or two of them succeeded in the subsidiary field and these were able to promote their work on large stages. But most organizers were squat based.  It was from there that the warmth of the city became radiant and spoke to them wandering immigrant youth. She remembered camp fires and tipis and outdoor dancing. ● Besides , whatever It was they had to stay silent about they already transcended it before they even knew it was an issue. Before the age of twenty five she and her friends had helped make performances with what can only be considered the worst human mutants of history: the severe physically challenged. She wrote a comical script for a third grade polio patient, a musical for a serious spastic , poems for the regressively muscular diseased, sang with a terminally ill and did serious dramaturgical research about their private lives always in or with proud institutions . If anywhere another Golden Age had been residing it was with this theatre group but even here market concurrence dominated the game . ●If anywhere royalties and stardom could flourish it was here ; the handicapped all had personal assistants and were used to boss them around, besides they were extremely cautious about their raw story material. ●  According to the strict rules of autonomous artwork, this work was commissioned. How would she be judged by her own work ? To be perceived as a young artist she had made sure to have published a triptych for the stage at the age of twenty three. Little Princesse has a verneral disease ; the openings line. It was a symbolical issue reuniting the B-media she was surrounded by as a city kid documenting princesses in bikini in sordid love affairs and her own struggle for life as a working student. The brew came from being drenched in unprotected solitude and the harshness of having to make a living for her own . She herself was no longer a princesse or : her seventies childhood were over. All these deeper intentions didn't direct the play very well.  The private swamp from which the play was moulded was of no concern for anyone in the professional field or so she learned. The play was liked on its own. She had designed it very clearly post post-modern after the three Aristotelian unities of time place and action. And she payed inclusive attention to the poetry and novelty of the language. The point being was she was either a born hermetic or naive : she never realized the political aspect of her art; it all served a purpose in itself. What the audience thought of it, how they mirrored their world in it , the whole question of mimesis or imitation didn't bother her at all. ●  Now that she had some more knowledge of the world she realized that a play starting with a B-media reflecting a princesse' s sexual health would be the world's unthought of novelty. In a royal kingdom the press is supposed to protect their royal members ! It is forbidden to write about Them critically. She might have become a member on a black list with all her creative freedom. Within the uprising metaphor of the karaoke - all the ruling symbols that were there to abandon creative human speech  - she felt the need to defend the play as being not at all non royalist. Didn't in the middle of the play the King disinherited His scandalous daughter, with one omnipresent phone-call to Bartender ? But again exactly that would be impossible to mime in this world . At the utmost it set a wrong example. ● There was one way out : for the most part of his Heraldic Universe, Durrell never even mentioned members of the royal family, except in The Avignon Quintet where we encounter a prince of Arabic descent who's main activity it is to spray around and cheat on his wife during his many missionary visits . See !? If she was equating to anyone alive it should have been to the few readers of the Crux magazine that on a very small yet elitist scale printed and distributed Metropolis - the first two parts. The point was : she didn't have a platform anymore. She was too busy creating one on many levels but nothing worked out. ●  It had been ten years now almost since she proposed her B = A directory to her network of performance artists. The kinetic gap between them widened. The vivid imprint of each other paled. Again here was where part of the photo and video document was used as a geo linguistic means.  It would be a means in itself, recognizable for those involved and hopefully infective ... She designed a web for exclusive reporting of what it originally means being that person and exclusive casting of which player should represent him or her on the screen. Then she designed a space for an inkling of camera and location owners and script developers. And while this film was automatically being developed time and space was being programmed for her to focus on the animation formulas: Plancke Ton , Godwin and the mathematical formula of collision by two opposing velocities featuring ' my BFF ' .  Especially these animations were marketing the beginning of the movie.  ●  Godwin was the maiden name of Mary Shelly - author of Frankenstein - and symbolized the symbols of creative insanity . She had been under the spell of this force and it learned her a great deal of human communication.   Godwin was also the one keyword she announced a trial in court about . In the Popular Papers the keyword appeared in a public display about race and religion but that was not at all what Godwin was about. Godwin summarized the scientific symbolisms of the human voice and mind , the huge formula's shrinking the story of stories the experience of experience and the sound of sound. Race and religion were all subordinated in this sign language of the beta. The brains behind all this were the well known nutty professors whilst their bodies supposedly are armed with guns or medical technology. And actors male actors a lot of them were trained to become beta too. ● Words are conventional: minds can be messed up.  It was from there that man evolved .  It was from there that her aliens evolved into global watchers. The Popular Papers used the idea of Dr. Diagrams Seven Spine Splitter to picture a seven headed monster to illustrate the increase of data consuming on a general household level. And so the new global body became domesticated . The process was named social democracy. Wasn't this just a wonderful mechanism ?  And she was a small wheel in this grand vehicle . Again, she loved to play the part of the upperfloor but she wasn't high class, she was a little underground girl. She could never perform the program she was writing.  Her only chance was a website. ● In secret she pictured herself in front of a blackboard . ^{She cared about human physics in math.} She would add an extra m in EMC ² for ^{the human mind . There can not be mass or energy without somebody feeling this. There must be a body that can sense the planetary system. She would ask the students to realize what that could be. Her main interest in other words was : human performance. And in there she had a fancy for science. She could better ask for a collaboration at a theatre school than the Centre for Information and Mathematics.  And yet for the latter she designed a big deal of her program in film eager to obtain animations to design her movie. Hopefully on the other side there still existed animation designers without a bigger movie production. She remembered from her first website that the internet can get generous. It was amazing to receive animated pictures as an unasked for present somewhere at the back pages of her interface. It was equally amazing to download these pictures and fabricate them in video films. Because it was all new everything that happened was magic. It had the magic she used to experience when writing poetry. She realized again that this creative experience had little to do with the esthetics of the artifact. But Sugimoto who had been working as a video artist for seventeen year gave her excellent reviews . And she even had a solo exhibition in 2007.} ● ^{If only she could work as fast as Sugimoto and had his professional skills to be a producer. Sugimoto worked his fingers to the bone and was without flaws. The only point of concern was that in his spoken word he treated his audience as a little girl, to her taste a private language. He used to be under her wings where it concerned the dramaturgy and communication of his romantic play acting . And now that he fled her she watched his video production critically. But they weren't friends on Facebook. Their contract was over. But she knew he was branding his own character to become casted and star and produce in bigger movie productions. And it was her intention to have him starring and producing Raell.} ● ^{But first there was a mystery to unravel. When he moved back to Japan in 2006 Sugimoto left her with stationary and kitchen stuff as well as a DVD- a VHS Video player and a VCR motored monitor plus he proposed for her to subscribe to Avaaz the online buddhist magazine. She remembered this clearly because she obstinately refused, in the sentiment of losing his real voice. She refused a substitute. Was it delusional to think that he was connected to this magazine ? And that he was responsible for passing the 30.000 likes ? She thought to recognize his textual presence in small private semantic overlaps and decided to contact him on this matter . She send him a business calendar plus a matrix with her be-findings to his parents address  . After seven year of silence she received his e-mail on her birthday with a thank you note for the calendar and the package . She cried on her yoga mat.  And went into the sun to experience Japan, land of the rising sun. In her mind's eye she talked to Sugimoto' s world wise mother to contemplate the entertainment of her son. He never visited her refugee camps , the only thing that impressed him was that one day Angelina Jolie stood on the doorway of his mother's office to employ herself as ambassador of the UNHCR. Mrs. Sugimoto send the Hollywood star home to write a solicitation letter just like everybody else. Ingeborg created a new dream : to cast Angelina Jolie for the role of Venus, one of Raell' s angels. Jolie had just recently accomplished to direct a movie in Croatia so the Don without doubt knew how to contact her.  Jolie had even named her movie after his vision of the country ; land of blood and honey.} ●   ^{And so the organ of her imagination wasn't an empty wonder space anymore. She got strained by the very productive goals she was setting, and at the same time felt the story was telling itself, since her website would be the epicenter. How would Sugimoto experience the idea of Tom Hanks playing the tattoo king. Hysterical laughter and then abandonment of the production altogether. She'd have to convince him that the story design enhanced the collision of two opposing story lines: one autobiographic the other fictional. By the very culture of this Sugimoto would be participative in two layers of the play. Who would play him to become playing Barbara's partner on film ? He could pick him out himself, the website should cheerfully communicate , as cheerful as he always was himself.} ● ^{And so she sold her soul loosing her voice as a genuine friend . She wanted to capitalize their creative industry feeling that this was the thing everybody liked to do best and most : perform their art. She felt there hadn't been any friendship just working relationships ? She wanted to expose her friends ? Represent them ? By taking pictures she had doubled her life. And : double double that's the trouble ! Why had she doubled her life in pictures ? Mostly it was key word and as such research based.} ● ^{She had documented the first world premiere of Natalia D., the freshly graduated composer, because of the word 'speech' in the title of the composition and IICE was one of the three promotors of ( emotions in ) speech. She babbled the story into the ear of the musical venue and was granted a press card. If she'd be going as a friend she would have begged to be posted on the guest list. And then she wouldn't have made pictures. She wasn't a society photographer. Again, there �O �O�5�=��O@�O@@�Oheir performance and not to someone just clicking around.} ● ^{One time she was emplaced on the stage in front of a web cam and she took the damn thing in her mouth. The performance field liked this.  Someone once described a camera as a vacuum cleaner of atmospheres. Cameras disturbed human consciousness immensely.   Therefore she designed Faust; a handsfree invisible video camera build into a pair of glasses . She was convinced that video footage would make contact with future generations even from alien descent . The scholars would study the patterns in the show.  But she recorded their time to design a performance play amongst each other. The footage added to her biographic work. It was divided into three sorts : bio pics, perceptional pics and graffiti signatures. All was derived from her work.} ●  ^{So stubbornly she denied herself privacy, and so did the rest of the gang ; eventually they even asked for her camera presence. The soirees may be intimate they were public figures . As a matter of fact especially dancers of the new dance development school hollowed out the divide. Often their movements were prived deeply from within and once coming out fueling the branches of sport and other life style fashion design. Born for the spotlights. And here was her directory : add material for your character to feed the person that will play you. There was no time to loose; the story of their lives had to be told to set an example for other networks and secondary economies. Of course the new media were highly influential. Suppose she 'd go streaming her daily life, suppose some technological partner provided the hardware and the software ; her life would change direction instantly. So to stay focussed she had thought of a second casting concept for the so called extras : as she was a lone stroller of the streets in a rather overcrowded rather unhealthy city her focus was always on beauty and its opposite . The latter had a bonus focus in casting the mountain of fools at the epigenetic hospital. She wanted to make one shot picturing the magic mountains fueled with marginalized bodies.  And in producing this picture, provide a workshop holiday in Austria at the paraflow festival in the Fight Tower . Win Win Win.} ●  ^{In promoting the care industry they would de-ghost the spirit of the building. Of course today's hitlers want to make an ending of the marginalized body too, and since they can not do it as quick and drastic in the old way they make it slow. Poor people can do their economic duty by spending their low income on groceries and that's that. That's all they can do . Only the super disciplined and well mannered can manage to live from a minimum income. But, with the Faust TV channel they would drive busses and busses to the clean Austrian air and provide holiday performance workshops. The poor never had any holidays. Technically they were entitled to have holiday money but practically this little extra was most of the times compensating debts. And so they were being trapped in their rented little spaces in a cramped city .} ● ^{The poverty trap was a real formula and it befitted the neutronic bomb concept : the remains of houses but the end of humanity. Her project was mapped. Now all she needed to organize was an office space and implement partners .  All the TU partners did was sent her to a TV workshop at the Science Park , from there on she needed to manage things for herself. Since she lacked the wardrobe to perform a broadcaster, her best shot was to create a website first .}   ●  ^{She programmed the project conditions carefully in pure descriptive contractual language. First she dealt with the labour and financial process. As her Full time Equivalent or FTE's were sky rocketing she moulded a professor's salary from it to streamline and financially control the activities . As she was influenced by the directories of The European Union's subsidiary arrangements she organized a collateral outline: two international partners were to show an interest in the narrative and dramaturgical development. And then she proposed for an assistant from the University of Amsterdam to move out her video archive. For this formatting in general she was inspired by the endless stream of invitations she received of Euroforum to come join their business courses. In terms of editing it became the appendix of yet an other format ; the policy plan. This format was collected for her by her first editor who downloaded it from the Ministry of Education Culture and Science. She declared her financial proposal at the department for credit and debit declarations at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. And so Ingeborg's Intimate Cultural Experience was acquisitioning the faculty of Theatrescience and the Centre of Information and Mathematics at the University of Amsterdam, the Centre of Language and Speech Technology of the Institute of The Dutch Lexicon at the University of Leiden, hosted by the Dutch Linguistic Union ( head of the Industrial Speech in Space Program ) and the Committee Cultural Treaty Netherlands Flanders .} ● ^{In her office papers she could track down that most of this initiatives were once being granted by the Homogenous Group of International Activities, itself an institution at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for cultural means. They were all advisors, databanks, consultants, artistic creative practices and workshops . This was the way the world was organized. The world was an artist founding and they now lived in a time where artists brought back nature into the world. Which meant the end of nature as they used to know it;  a space human life was inspired by .} ●  ^{All she wanted was to produce were movie scripts, movie performance and karaoke librettos. She designed a website build on a general set of linguistic means for film making that included interplanetary space travel. From now on letters were distributed as light particles by satellites. As such she took part in the Upperfloor , the representation of speech technology, by developing in concept the holobolic lamp: a light art symbolizing the end of the individual human - and the rise of the unified global voice . The contest to publish would become tougher and tougher . The selection meaner and meaner. And language itself more closed and closed. Nothing new under the sun but not quite the route to have been expected from Literature's point of view. Diversity was at danger.} ●  ^{Not only science fiction movies demonized the literator' s craft to hop character . Authorship and character itself were the enemy in computer science . We are hunting Ulysses, are you ? was written on a sticker she photographed for her selection of perceiving the city. It was glued freshly on an outdoor box for television and telephone cables just when Jeremiah in the light of television and pop culture opted for the end of the Kantian era of pure logic ( and categoric imperatives ) and the renewed rise of Homeric literature. Hunting Ulysses , what kind of battle would that contain ?  In any kind a battle against literature, whether it was Homer or Joyce. But by whom ? Robots endangered by free association and endless sentences ?} ● ^{She constructed a mathematical formula to visualize the hunter after videotaping the nation's most well known mathematician's coming out on the symbol of DNA in the Institute for Cancer Research . He admitted that the big Slurp of information was a delusion in itself, just like Sinterklaas ! He admitted that finding this out was freeing himself from conspiracy theories . The name of the exhibition was Transcription , a term she herself had just discovered when envisaging the auto-transcription of her video files. To her be-finding it enclosed the collaboration of a communities memory.  It had little to do with the coexistence of other types of languages, like the Laban Movement Analyses . As such eventually she wasn't all too deeply impressed by the presentation of the young artist involved in the exhibition .  But she did like to discover he was being part of the artists' network.} ● ^{At first he was unpleasantly surprised she showed up with a video camera. But she was recognized by some of the attendees. So later he send her a friend request by Facebook, including a beautiful poem on the becoming of marrow by their bones. James Beckett was a wonderful edgy young man and she hesitated not a moment to visit his exhibition party on Death in the Hilversum Museum.  Again she had to make a telephone call to ask for a press card. She even had to travel by train without a ticket . James was celebrating Halloween and had prepared for it. He smuggled fresh blood into the kitchen of the museum , she didn't ask of which animal but wouldn't be surprised if it was of the human kind , as he was working with hospitals and took his art seriously.  With a professional pipet he masked and covered his guests in blood . She kept clicking her Nokia N97 and made a memorable report that included an after midnight after party in Amsterdam .} ● ^{As she herself had shifted paradigm and was thrown over as it were in a template of this underground world , her position of the outsider photographer was fitting. Besides hardly anybody at that time - October 2010 - was making photos with a telephone, it must have looked less affronting. Of course intuitively she used all her knowledge of the human performance to be making these pictures. It seemed to have something to do with becoming as small as possible, almost disappearing.  As speed was said to be a value in the aesthetics of disappearing, she must have been as swift as the light of that moment where an unspoken agreement was being made to make that picture, just before consciousness sets in and posing starts. The question was, would James play B = A ? Would he contribute more material about his character and point out somebody to play James Beckett, being the most important visual artist in her work ?} ● ^{One great source of knowledge had been The Ego and Physical Force by Isbyam . Where could she expect playfulness, where was the ego willing to depart the flesh from the name that will always stick on it from Birth till Death and for some ones Onwards into History, and transcript it into an other human's body . In the early days of the church administration artists had been quite theatrically playful with nicking names from humans to other humans . Casanova transcripted his name and character into a new star at the firmament once he met a woman he could truly love and marry and ergo be no longer Casanova himself !  He had outlived his own name and reputation . And why and when did she Ingeborg decided to be no longer Ingeborg. Easy, she had stopped being a reality scratching writer of fiction. She had catalogued all her research for the internet and hopped over to other media. With what she found out about the place of literature in technology , she could never find that original innocence again to loosen up in language and play with characters. Transcription in general was sourced in a dwelling of human translation. And specifically it was a postwar spell to silence literature and revive the art again on the screen. It was the ending of the nineteenth century in the twentyest .} ● ^{But none of that gravity needed to be part of their B = A. After all the formula was reviving the movement of the dominant culture. Surely she expected fun and laughter about the idea, if and only then when the idea was being communicated clearly. But that should be no problem. The idea was integrated already through Martin with the Who was Who poster she spotted at the publisher's building . Now she had to claim back the game . That was less easy. She should emphasize the fun element. It was completely an internal inclusive affair, the exclusive audience would have no clue that different lives were invading the eternal walls of Christian names. In that sense transcription was taking for granted only in the entertainment business.  But from the directories point of view they were attacking the claustrophobic aspect of administrative language itself.} ●  ^{She tortured herself by screwing up these limits in writing the mathematical formulas so that from her mouth there escaped all the words left in the world. She murmured hysterically more to an unseen lover than as if in prayer feeling the pattern life had captured her in. Take her neighbors. Beneath her lived an older man who's Surname was connoting with the countries most well known Holocaust researcher ( Evelyn Gans ), who himself was coming out, talking about the effect of the war on his family, and then strangely edging this identity by emphasizing his love for prewar German orchestras, which he himself could not explain. He married and converted Jan, another of her neighbors, whom he met as a caretaker in a hospital. During the public coming out of the human genome project Jan however emancipated and divorced Robert. On her left there lived two from Saint Petersburg evacuated Russians who met and got married in Jerusalem and fled the civil unrest to start a small tourist company in Amsterdam. Alexandra was an exact lookalike of Hannah Arendt when she was young and in her secretive whispering Ingeborg dreamt of casting her . Sasha also played with scent . As if she wanted to play with the classic Nazi prejudice, during the hottest season she always cooked fish fillet and then later sprayed with chemical odeurs . Above them lived Shifra who's family tree of murdered relatives was printed in the alumna magazine of the University of Amsterdam, where she taught Jewish medicine. Every year she stayed in Israel for several months to watch the field situation of Bedouins. Opposite her lived Efraim Stein, a young theatre maker who worked with the mentally challenged and who 's traces he left she photographed .  He had a quite severe integration, selling their collective stuff, like the library and even the vacuum cleaner to the big garbage ! He left traces, like book presents signed with 'Uncle Jew from Gouda' . Opposite him and above her lived the fiancee of Esther, a large tall bass singer whom Esther brought home from the Opera where they both sang in the choir. Esther lived two stores above her. Each year around Liberation Day and Death Memorial Day Esther announces a small 'diner' on the roof terrace with her aunts. Ingeborg stared at the word which in Dutch was spelled Dineetje and read it : God No. Then finally there was Leon Vonk a big bearded young fraud where it came to girls. When she had written the Election Day mail on Facebook Mr. Gans had organized a house meeting and told her to reckon the coming out of his transgender of yet another neighbors fiancee, a result of her work . Chris/ta indeed had the features of an elf with pointed ears and a small bowed nose.  Mr. Gans also showed her a book of the Lost Culture and pointed out that he recognized Leon Vonk as one of them. Mr. Vonk came in as the fiancee of a young TV actress named Bobbie Cake and when their relationship ended she left the house, leaving her living contract to Leon because she was supposed to be the more fortunate with a scholarship and a career and he was just a poor unemployed with just a cleaning job. When Bobbie left, Vonk managed to leave his new working contract as a caretaker in a kindergarten in the laundry space within a week , and arranged for a constant courtship between young women to select a room mate and a new fiancee.  When Ingeborg started mailing with Bobbie to advice her to keep her contract , Bobbie was merely crying so much she missed the house with the large windows. She regretted her noble choice.}

      ●  ^{Jack and Jill were impressed. Even if it was on a small scale level: Ingeborg H. still had the faculties to foretell other human life .   Jack and Jill themselves were also right about something : if one can't go forward anymore creating a future , one can only go backwards trying to understand it's past. Even when this concerns the past and future of an}

^{artifact. And so Ingeborg. H . inducted the catalogue of her computer and film design. She created a publishing identity by equating the percentage of her articles within a standard European publishing profile .} Besides one online acceptance of an online assignment at the European Cultural Foundation, none of the bigger agencies reacted on office work like this. But Jack and Jill simply loved the development. All of Ingeborg H.'s  documents and articles got a catalogue number and Jack and Jill used them as a gimmick to mime a trade organization .  Jill played Ingeborg's Intimate and Jack played Cultural Enterprise, the agent. They were performing the luck warm acquisition Ingeborg H. herself could no longer perform , since she smashed her vast telephone in thousand pieces against the wall, irritated by the anonymous phone calls of Inspector Nijenbrand, and she didn't dare to speak through her mobile device since it was hacked.  ●

' Cultural Enterprise here  . Reception Desk. Stanley speaking.'

'  Hall o . Good afternoon. '

' Good afternoon.  '

'  I'm calling you on behalf of the requiem repair of our protagonist Mrs. Ingeborg Houwen of Ingeborg's Intimate Cultural Experience.  Can I speak with Mr. Peter van Hintem please. '

' What can I say it is about '

' Article X 3 of our catalogue: article K 16 .'

'Just one moment please.

'.....'

' Peter van Hintem here.'

'Good afternoon.'

' Good afternoon.'

' You are speaking with the juridical department of Ingeborg's Intimate Cultural Experience. We would like to make a transitive rearrangement regarding our catalogue article X 3. '

' Please remind me.'

' X3 : the End in the Arts .. '

' Ah yes , the End in the Arts ! The Investment Proposal of Ingeborg's Intimate Cultural Experience. Our board had a look at that.'

' Our emperification department has spotted one of your transactions.'

' The End in the Film Festival ?'

' Correct ! '

' How can I be of service to you ?'

'  We would like to account to you the percentage of the article in our publishing profile and make a financial arrangement with you , due to this accounting . '

' Provided Cultural Enterprise sold X 3 to our clients in film.'

' Which you have just confirmed, more or less.'

' We do sell information of our target group .''

' Artists.'

' Yes artists.'

' And you have sold X 3 to your client in film festival .'

' We do not disapprove by the idea of heritage of IICE in C-E. '

' Of us in you.'

'No. Yes. '

' So, need we send the Tax Officer to have a look in your books ?'

' I think we can make an arrangement .'

' Then we are offering you your seat in UKSFU the Underground Karaoke Science Fiction University. You can choose a seat of forty sixty or eighty thousand Euro. '

●

And so they played creative industry in the vast knowledge that reality business was never as playful as they could make it up. There were several reasons behind that.  The first was that few individuals could mime a complete industrial unit on their own. Which is what artists were supposed to be doing. This was the price they payed for independency, the equivalent of individuality in the 21st Century. The second was that writing  a creative proposal was extremely tiring as it was a derivate of an idea. And the structure of an idea goes against the biography of a human life. Strain then was the vast object professional humans were dealing with. Again, the smart ones had their nature and their business coinciding. This is what one often sees in the world of the arts. But not all natures were accepted here. In general a festival's policy regarding exposure was one that deals with a minority complex. And so the arts in general were the enemy of the majority who felt eaten away, becoming the minority.  ●  Those who felt comfortable with this cultural condition, this back and forth movement between human images usually weren't doing too bad in negotiation. Those who followed ideas of truth beauty and justice were often decepted.  And so, the End in the Arts, what did it deal with ? What does transcription mean outside the entertainment business ? Only with her feet firmly planted on the planet and so not sitting squeezed typing , Ingeborg dared to envisage the sight of miniaturization of all particles after the concept of the neutronic bomb that was to slowly end the plump meaty giant brothers stored away in the little houses of once enslaved dwarfs with a camera that didn't lie. ● Barbara shall be Ingeborg. Barbara who fled Amsterdam to Swiss as soon as she earned some money , being born in this city of slow and silent deaths of human family. One fine day when a cordon of airplanes was hushing over and over and over they would film in thirty seconds ten years of a female flower perishing in a carcass of recycled history . The camera would pass by the tourists and sniff the dust, the drugs, the doom, the death and the disease of this depressing city that captivated every one in its intelligent design with it's disciplined representation of en-slurped youth. ● Half of the population of Amsterdam lived below the minimum wage , half of them relied on charity initiatives of the pseudo economy like the food bank to make it through the day. Barbara a flower a dancer a local girl who made contact with the international community of the arts to grow a career . Barbara who wrote the Quantum Opera and walked in the editors room of the American Weekly announcing herself God, a minor setback because God was replaced by a camera, just like Barbara was replaced by LUKA The Last Celebrity, an invention of Paul and Martin. Martin didn't like it when Ingeborg Houwen's name was all over the papers with Puppetmaster. How could he prevent this girlfriend experience from happening ever again ? And so they created The Last Celebrity slurping the talent and identity out of a Christian name by replacing it with another, that was entirely his. She's ill, Paul said of Ingeborg , when she visited LUKA the show and got attention by the dance journalist. This was definitively white art : infinitively cruel towards human nature , and equally brilliant and constant in concept. Nobody of the chorus line, the design- or the dressing team seemed in the slightest to be critical, everybody was subordinated, bought by the subsidiary money. ● Paul and Martin made the question about whether the subsidiary system was inspired by pre-war autonomous rebels or Hitler's Kultur Zimmer , easy to answer. They always identified with the power field and consequently created a power field themselves . They were absolutely not a collective. That was too seventies too hippie too idealistic . They were organized as The Liminal Institute, dealing with borders of information. And yet for all the involved, especially the performers accounted : this was their only straw to hold on to, this was their stable, this was how they were installed. And right there it was where their subsidiary art world failed, compared for example to the entertainment industry of Hollywood, that cherished their stars. Not so The Liminal Institute.  In concept they criticized most systems but they never reflected on them selves as an system. Even if in concept they were dealing with new media, the theatre remained transitory, a sacred momentary ungraspable thing. Their theatre was considered a sacred place, a temple and Martin was the Pope. Nothing and nobody of the production was circulated, no extra value was being taxed. The only person being circulated was Martin himself.  Martin became a holy figure at the publisher's and he advocated himself all over the world . The theater pieces were his. ● Maybe this then was the European way of dealing with culture : fulfilling the need for a strong leader. Maybe then this was why European culture failed.  In Hollywood intelligence stays hidden, intelligence is at work. It is the vulnerable that is being cherished , the mortal that is exposed and stretched and empowered and bemused and endlessly setting an example for the other site of their ends, the naturally living inside their Christian names . Intelligence is at work, just like Jack and Jill's. ● When Pussy Riot reached the social media , Ingeborg synthesized it with 2 twitters:

' Good, cat act made it to the peace pact.'

' A cell, a guard, bread and water : good pussy diet.'

She emplaced the first line with a picture of a graffiti emblem of a cat and a black girl and the second with a selfie ; ascending not leaning forward . That following season she pictured t-shirts with the word cat.  And so they spoke as a city. Ingeborg was recognized on the street ; in front of the Goethe Institute a man started barking at her, like a dog. The cat act peace pact was an inside code. She had learned from The Pocket Negotiator how a terrorist attack on US territory would drown the globe in a mutual suicide; an unconditional dark bondage of the US with the former USSR. Therefore she read Pussy Riot as an attempt to culturalize this horrible post 9-11 situation . Jack and Jill clapped their hands. Weren't they talkative. Diagram the Satellite could be satisfied. ●

     Chief Inspector Nijenbrand missed out on everything however, and grew more and more anxious. If only he could sling himself to the ever pulsating cursor in her screen, swung inside her room, kick away the laptop, place her on his and take her in his strong arms to make her hear his heartbeat. The only thing he wanted to know was how her pussy was doing. The Chief Inspector wanted to eat pussy, her pussy,  not decode an international cultural war code named pussy . Hearing her howl made him feel so hurtful inside. The only thing the Chief Inspector could deduct with surety was that she had trouble trusting and finding love . Jack and Jill spoke of her as being married with her work. But this was a sublimation , she wanted to marry her friends, take a lead in restoring their creative artistic happiness . Her directories were a love-call. But o how creative and inventive she was. The walls were cheering .

'She's hovering alongside the materialist world...'

'..to revive a spiritual one ...'

'  The Mountain of Cheek Slime manufactured into Hair Conditioner ..'

' .. will be transcended in MOM..'

'The Museum of Modern Management .'

' Application to The British Council in Croatia ..'

'.. on contemporary journalism ...'

' Cheek slime !'

' Bend over backwards in a Micro Scan Resonance .'

' See that yoga thing working..'

' Opening glands making the body it's own medicine .'

' Divine Hate ; Death of the Holy Spirit..'

' Revenged ..'

● Just as the Chief Inspector sacked back on his hotel bed,  contemplating the words ' materialism ' and 'spiritualism' and wondering what a 'bend over backwards' may mean on a scale of his cyber crime lab, his Z1 Galaxy trembled and vibrated.

' CCL , Nijenbrand.'

' Blackhat Richmond here, Dutch Bank. I'd like to have a word with you, but not over the phone. At what time can you be at the Stravinsky-lane ?'

' In about fifteen minutes,' Nijenbrand hummed as he slides in his tactical trousers, boots and coat. Eight hundred and fifty seconds later he parked his BMW police motor cycle in front of the colossal mirror office. First one he sees in the reception hall waiting is Brinkman. ' I'm throwing you in the deep,'

the High Commissioner hissed, ' If you can't swim you'll drown and Wilson gets your promotion.' In silence they both take the elevator to the top floor where the office doors swing open by the small broad figure of the general manager in the Dutch Bank. Blackhat Richmond looks troubled and yet manages to welcome his guests with a slightly cracked grin. ' Damn computer hackers,' he starts, ' made us two billion Euro lighter last night.'

Nijenbrand stifles . ' Any leads from Tract-com ? ' he asks. Tract-com is the think tank of the world's largest corporate bank : Goldman Sachs . The Chief Commissioner nods affirmative . Good question , he signs . Blackhat Richmond does not look surprised. ' Tract-com is watching the Bak-Pan clan from North Korea. The point is,  we need to go inside their computers as fast as possible. And get the damn money back!' ● Nijenbrand takes his tablet out of his pocket. He had no idea what to do, but figured that using Google would be stupid. ' Right,' he said fingering his screen, ' I will contact my counterintelligence personally and come back with the best nerds alive . We probably need to access your computer, Pete .' The Chief Inspector rises from his chair and enters the scariest moment since ages. Back at the hotel he softly knocks the neighbors' door. Jack and Jill cheerfully open up, expecting room service. The Chief Inspector holds his badge. 'Chief Inspector Nijenbrand, Cyber Crime Lab Amsterdam, may I come in please. I have a favor to ask.' Jack and Jill smile politely and open the door. Jack switches on the wall scan and Chief Inspector Nijenbrand sees the shadow of his own room, the wire taps sucked to the wall like a doctor examining his patient . The Chief Inspector feels inferior and starts stammering. Jill closes the door and turns to the window. Ingeborg H. is both sitting behind her computer and frantically pacing up and down her space. Jill switches on a sound button. The sound of a crazy lunatic invades the space. Air is being pressed from deeply inside the lungs making a rasping noise, as if the two communicative portals of the four loving lips are being surpassed, and she cries her heart out. The Chief Inspector covers his ears, and starts sniffling.  Jack smiles and lowers the sound button. ' It is her mortal body raising a protest ..', he starts. ' Against the loss of her fertile self,' Nijenbrand finishes the sentence . ● Jill switches on the computer manual , tracking the finger work. Another impressive document is being fabricated. The cursor flies in between several documents inducting the annual account ¥  €  $.

' "YES" the info-graphic is going viral at this very moment,'

 Jill shouts, 'It's a front page news graphic in Dutch media illustrating Facebook going to the stock market.' The Chief Inspector sighs. How much computers are eating hers, he would like to know. Jack makes an inviting gesture. Talk to us, he encourages the Chief Inspector with his dark eyes . ● The Chief Inspector mans himself and starts telling everything . ' I'm going to have to let go of you guys, if I don't succeed with the Bak-Pan clan, ' he ends . It now is the midlife crisis of a source code against a suave new hacking case. Jack hesitates.

' We are on a mission here,' he says. His blackness is deeper than Wilson's , the Chief Inspector can't fail to notice. Jill this year is also colored. She switches to the room scan. Micro resonance doesn't echo pigment, they all seem to be thinking. Jack rises to the window and starts to rap an original Ingeborg Houwen:

my mind has turned in to a gelly

I am speaking from the belly

all the sentences are wrong

this is not a love song

Jill smiles. 'We are bringing in a boxer this year in the garden to mirror her struggle and yoga dancers and theatre performances to mirror her cultural background .' The Chief Inspector nods knowingly. Anything to make her feel more at home. ' I'd like to invite you to Mr. Blackhat Richmond of the Dutch bank, ' he says softly,' May be we can combine things better , if the CCL succeeds more conventionally. I have great faith in your company. ' Of course Blackhat Richmond could not be invited in their sub office because, like they said, Jack and Jill were on a special mission and liked to keep things simple. The Chief Inspector ate his brains. How to be creative, how to trigger his much admired colleagues from the US into his new job. " I'll introduce you to the Ghetto group,' he finally came up with. It was his only trick. ● Jack and Jill looked up. Did the Chief Inspector realize they were known as the executives of Ingeborg H. ? Ingeborg H. made a very smart be it dangerous move by taking her source code identity to Facebook in 2010. She became for one thing acknowledged of chasing the Wilders clan away with the hotel group as the executives. One of the neighbors - the schoolteacher annex stage singer - was on her doorstep to tell her so. This was one of her few moments of recognition. And Ingeborg H. was alert enough to swing this back to the agency who thereupon decided to skip the debt of her cultural loan. Attention of the school system seemed to be holy in Holland. ● But, did Nijenbrand wanted to take the risk to be demasked ? The Chief Inspector had no idea how far Jack and Jill were already mingling within the Hotel Group . But then again, he argued, you are being replaced every year. Hoe many Jacks and Jills was this moment of recognition ago ? Jack accounts it coincided with the cat act group and this was in the indian summer of 2012. And they were now in the fall of 2013, so the Chief Inspector modestly pointed out. It was Friday afternoon, if the two of them would be so kind as to follow him to the Stravinsky Lane they could join the Ghetto clan correspondingly. ●

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