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. |