February 21, 2011 § 1 Comment
a) Obama’s health reform: the goal is to rationalize public health, cutting down costs, limit the intervention of middlemen and health brokers and create a health system that is more direct and accesable. The main reason for this turn in policies is relieve economy from ever increasing public health costs
b) Global vaccinations against the “new flu” which are obviously burdening global economy with extra “health” costs.
It is apparent that these policies are contradicting eachother. Still they coexist in the same time frame.
How can this be?
It is quite simple. They are two different policies envisioned by two different administrations. The first one was envisioned and executed by Obama’s administration, the second one was envisioned by the neocons who were pulling the strings of the G.W.Bush Jr administration, a catastrophic and plundering policy which is regretably followed by the Obama administration as well.
So the logical thing to ask is: why now? And what the heck has Bush politics to do with this mass vaccination propaganda?
After 9-11, the Bush administration embarked on a terror propaganda against “terrorism”. Later on, letters contaminated with anthrax were sent to strategic points of US public life, including congessmen and the press. Shock waves ran through the entire US, paralizing critical thinking and logical processing. ABC propagandists managed using unverified, contradictory anonumous sources to turn US public opinion against the Iraqi administration. A war was waged. 7 years latter the FBI were closing in on Bruce Ivins, considering him a possible perpetrator of the anthrax attacks. Ivins was a leading scientist in issues of biosafety and served as a scientific advisor in the question of the origin of the anthrax letters. It was clear from the very beginning that the anthrax strains enclosed were closely related to the USAMRIID and with the US “biosafety” program. Most available data indicate today that the anthrax letters were an inside job.
The aftermath: A war is declared, project bioshield is promoted, a project which is supposedly “strengthening” national biosafety but which at the same times relieves big pharma from liabilities in the case of public health emergencies!!!
In 2008 Bruce Ivins comitts suicide. Case closed.
Now what all these have to do with vaccines?
In 2002, under the atmosphere of terror and artificial “emergencies” crafted by the Bush administration, G.W.Bush tries to initiate a mass vaccination programm against smallpox. Smallpox is an eradicated disease, still, biological warfare program experts in the US and Europe know only too well of the Soviet extensive smallpox expirementation of the past. The 2002 unsuccesfull mass vaccination attempt was an obsolute echo of the biological factors armrace and a n attempt to revive the US bioweapon program and not a beneficial public health campaign.
The same goes for the bird flu scare. Two scientists, Tumbey and Taubenberger insist that the 1918 pandemic flu strain resempled currenlty circulating avian flu strains. The “1918 killer virus” is geneticaly reconstructed and stored in quantites. The US biological armament is strengthened with -what some experts consider to be- a deadly biological agent.
Anthrax and bird flu had everything to do with biowarfare, nothing to do with public health concerns.
Specialized biotech companies, tradiotional contractors of the US millitary like Battele and Acambis (let’s not forget that the US troops are subjected to extensive vaccinations provided by exactly these type of companies) are boosted financely and the strategic alliance between US armed forces and biotech industry is upgraded.
We allready know of the financial ties between Rumsfield and the tamiflu market. But what about vaccines? As we have allready exhibited, small biotech companies, US armed forces contractors, dominate the field of vaccine development prior to 2006. In 2006 there is going to be a huge turn in the vaccine industry. Amids the bird flu scare and encouraged by Bush Politics, Big Pharma made a strong comeback in the vaccine field.
Let’s see what DDW, Drug Development World remarked on the issue: But first lets get acquainted with DDW. According to DDW, “Over the last 8 years DDW has firmly established itself as a highly respected and the ‘must read’ journal within the drug discovery & development arena. DDW is renown for voicing the opinions of some of the Industry’s leading luminaries and has become a recognised platform for ‘Industry Gurus’ to talk about and encourage debate on some of the more challenging issues surrounding the technological and business facets of the biopharmaceutical industry. DDW adheres to the maxim ……’Turning Science into Business'” 1
So, lets examine their very own report entitled: “21st vaccines, a development rennaicence”
“…Vaccinations were widely accepted by the public, as a new spirit of compliance emerged, partly the result of militarisation and a heightened public trust in medicine… Before mass media, it was hard to shake the controversy surrounding vaccines that began in the 19th century… The military, it appeared, was the one institution that could coerce society into believing that vaccines were beneficial … Indeed, the US defence establishment was the innovator of inactivated influenza vaccine and helped to instill – through mandates and coercion – broad and deep acceptance of vaccines as a public good…
from 1949-1960 development slowed and only a handful of vaccines were developed for more than 30 years, beginning in the late 1960s. Due in part to …narrow profit margins… more than 90% of all vaccine manufacturers dropped out of the market by the late 1970s. Vaccine risks – always a part of the landscape for vaccines – became relatively more visible as the very diseases the vaccines prevented declined in incidence. In 1967, there were 26 companies making vaccines in the United States… By 2006, only five major firms remained in the market including Merck, sanofi-aventis, GlaxoSmithKline, Wyeth and Novartis… By the turn of the 21st century a combination of technological, economic, social and political forces would come together to give rise to a vaccine development renaissance…
Politics and war have historically had an impact on vaccine acceptance. In 1961, President John F. Kennedy made vaccinations a key issue of his administration, and his interest in the immunisation programme established a pattern so that every time a Democratic administration took office over the next 32 years, public sector support for vaccination got a boost…
The influences of war, or in the example that follows terrorism, can be seen by examining the changes to vaccine development following the attacks of September 11, 2001. In December 2002, President George W. Bush received a smallpox vaccination as part of a public health campaign to immunise 10 million police and health workers against the disease by the fall of 2003, preparing the nation for a terrorist germ warfare attack. History has shown that fear motivates increases in vaccination of a population. With political influence, the CDC recommended the vaccination of 500,000 hospital workers, police officers, and firefighters in the first month of 2003, and 10 million others by the end of summer”
The Bigpharma think tank called DDW high lightened aspects of public health policies previously unknown to public opinion, and helped validate issues and arguments and data I ve been trying to demonstrate for years now. Novel pandemics are invented by an intricate plexus of powerbrokers, politicians, bigpharma interests and military leadership. A plexus that regards citizens as plankton meant to saturate their greed.
Bigpharma abstained from the high risk and low profit vaccine field for decades and did not re-enter it untill it was officialy invited to it by the Bush administration, an administration that did everything in its power to pave the way and remove all obstacles for the industry’s impressive comeback. In 2006 bigpharma is re-entering the vaccine industry with massive take overs, mergures and heavy investments. Once bigpharma took control of the vaccine industry it would procceed in overiding public opinion vaccine reluctance. A global pandemic fear campaign orchestrated by international and national health organisations would neutralize critical thinking and allow powerbrokers to enforce destructive publich health policies in the name of safety.
Hence the 2006 bird flu scare, hence the 2009 swine flu scare, hence the 2009 global vaccination program and propaganda. Bigpharma invested in fear and they sought to capitalize on it. They were succesfull.
This is in brief the modern socioeconimic history of the pandemic and pandemic vaccination propaganda.
Its science is all together different issue and it is widely disputed. Lets examine some of its less known aspects.
Lets talk about “immune potentiators”, or simply and more familiarly “vaccine adjuvants”. Those are a spectrum of chemical substances. Without the addition of adjuvants in the vaccine, sometimes no immune reaction is elicited.
They call vaccine adjuvants “immune potentiators”. Clearly they are not. Have you ever heard of these substances used in AIDS and immune defeciencies in general, have you heard of these specific substances being used to potentiate the immune system to fight off infections? Offcourse not. Because vaccine adjuvants do not “potentiate” or “enable” the immune system to react. They force it to do so. It is a kind of the vaccinology’s Bush politics, an immunological blackmail. If you don’t do it on your own, we ll force you to do it, because We know what’s best for you.
They make the immune system go heyware, obliging it to perceive as a threat an antigenic stimulous that it would possibly ignore and not respond to. This is blackmail, not guidance or aid. It is brute force exerted blindly.
Before we return to the immune system lets examine another aspect of the “swine flu” science and expose the name of the game revealing the game of the name as well. They call chemicals “immune potentiators”, something they are clearly not. They used to call this flu swine flu but they changed the name under the pressure exerted by the meat lobby, as swine flu was hurting pork exports and sales. In science as we used to know it, terms are attempted to be as precise as possible. Politics distort the name of things and the essence of names and terms. For example, most dictatorships call themselves democracies. Distortion and cover ups is a political thing, not a scientific one. Swine flu and vaccines have nothing to do with science, yet they have everything to do with Politics.
Now let’s return to science and the philosophy of science.
The immune system, along side with the nervous system are the more sophisticated and complex systems because they have to cope with an ever changing externall realitty. The immune system has to constantly realize and translate biochemical signals to immune responses or no responses at all. It is a velvet shield that does not suffocate us, that allows us to breath, to eat, to interact. It is not perfect, it is not bulletproof but most of the times it carries a wisdom that extends far beyond our current capacity to understand the Cosmos: the wisdom of life, of a highly succesfull force that terroformed planet earth, that mastered the inorganic, that created the atmosphere that supports life.
It is the infinite wisdom and awesome power of life, and life’s wisdom governs the immune system. And we know s..t about both.
So the immune system has to be responsive and flexible. And what a great job it has done so far. We still exist and flourish patrly due to our higly succesfull immune systems.
When it comes to well defined organisms whose behavour and interactions have been well recorded, it is ok to give the immune system a little tip about them.
But when it comes to these living variables called viruses, higly mutatable, not constant in their genetic make up and our incompetence to predict “random mutations” (that’s why scientists call them random, because we just can’t tell) it would be wiser to let things take their natural course and let the flexible immune system and not stiff politics decide.
Directed immuno responses make sence only in a totally controlled enviroment. And we, humans, may be succesfull parasites that have created artificial macroenviroments and extinguised almost all other macro-life forms in our cities, replaced ecosystems with techosystems, but we can not do the same to the micro-life-cosm, or to the realm of viruses. With a few exceptions, we are unable to destroy all micro-life forms. Complete sterilization is impossible. And we know from scientific studies, that people who grow up in “sterile” enviroments are more susceptible to allergies and autoimmune diseases. There immune system is virgin, naïve and like a virgin or a naïve person, it can be more easily deceived.
We can not even begin to imagine creating totally sterile or totally controlled condtions in the microenviroment. And that means that directed immunoresponses are not only uselless but extremelly dangerous to our future survival.
Like in macro ecosystems, where imbalance and mass destruction of the ecosystems’ architecture occurs when a species from an allien ecosystem arrives, survives and prevails, in human populations, epidemics occur when a “new”, “allien” microorganism arrives, survives and prevails. This much afraid invader of our artificial world will probably originate from artificiality as well, not from nature. The “allien” will have been created or “mutated” due to the extent and the depth of human intervention in nature, even in human nature.
By insisting on “directed immune response” the architecture of our immune shield might collapse. When we make a shield less flexible, when we stiffen it or harden it selectively in certain points, the shield, if delivered a heavy blow at another unfortified point, might shutter.
We are not only making our immune system crazy with chemical vaccine adjuvants (hence Gullain Barret and thousands of possible unrecorded vaccine indused autoimmune cases), we are also making it less flexible and responsive thus weaker in the longterm.
And pretty much like the destruction of the enviroment, we will not realize the extent of destruction we have caused in the human populations until it is too late.
Every human being is a complete ecosystem comprised of friendly microrganisms like the intestinal flaura, by bacterialy originated mitochondria. Part of our DNA is of viral origin. If we don’t understand the nature of things, artifiacility will unmake us. That’s what ecology has taught us, a very hard lesson we stubournly refuse to learn.
The industry’s masterplans and intentions are clear by now- crystall clear. They have made up their minds about drying this planet of resourses and life.
They have made up their minds.
They have declared war on everything.
They, have made up, their minds
What about us? Have we decided yet which side to take?
February 16, 2011 § Leave a comment
A heart’s silent courage
I think I can still remember the first thing I was able to grasp. It was a pounding sound, a beat, it was a heartbeat. My mother’s heartbeat.
I had no thoughts back then, just sensations and dreams. I could perfectly feel everything my mother could feel, even feelings and sensations that were not accessible to her conscious mind.
I was peaceful in the womb. And then one day, out of the blue, I was exiled. I was not delivered, I felt like I was aborted. I still carry the pain of that moment inside of me. I have met greater pain in my life, but this one was the primordial pain, the pain that would invite others of his kind to join him in my soul.
I wish I would have died back then, when I was first severed.
When I first saw the world I did not cry, I did not laugh. I felt sad. Such a sad baby. But no one seemed to notice. Babies don’t have feelings, just needs. That was the first time they insulted me. Million more were to follow.
We were living in the forests, thick, dark forests we preferred. That was our home. And fire was the heart of it. It would fend off darkness before it entered us, fend off the beasts of pray before we entered them.
We would gather around the fire to tell stories. Elders would narrate and nourish us with the ancient wisdom of our tribe. The fire united us and warmed our bodies, the stories would nourish our collective soul. But I only could speak to the fire. No one else would listen. No one else could.
How hard had I strived to tell them of my pain, the pain I was carrying since I was born. The pain of understanding. I wish they could just listen. But they couldn’t. I was born a mute. Would never hear the sound of my voice, only the echo of my thoughts. I was a mute. So I listened hard to everything they had to say. They had something I didn’t. A gift. A voice. The spoken words. How could they waste it in misunderstanding each other?
For a minute, an eternal minute, I had the impression that my father, would be the first one to understand me. He bowed, took my head into his heads, keeping his thumbs dangerously close to my eyes, and stared at them, as if he was looking inside a well.
“Boy you are sad” he said in sudden realization. “Boy you are sad” he said in excitement. “Boy you are sad” he said jumping up and down in joy. “Wife, our newest is sad” he said proudly. “He is going to bring us wealth”. But I was only going to give them shame.
I had a good father. He wouldn’t chop off his children limps like others did. We were proud people. We begged in pride. To be a successful beggar you have to persuade them that you had less than they had. That you were less than them. But we were proud beggars. Arrogant as a beggar can get. We knew that we had more, our race was superior. We just pretended. They pitied us, while we despised them. What a beautiful arrangement. What a lovely marriage.
They trained me in the art of begging. Where to direct your look according to their height, their weight, their figures, their state of mind. When to look them in the eyes, when to bow your head, when to open your palm, when to not move and become invisible to the hateful eye. And most of all we learned to hear them. To hear them coming, to hear them going, to hear them laughing, sighing, breathing. The art of begging was the art of telling people, but never allow knowledge of the human condition enter your soul. Instant recognition, the mastery that the animals of the forests we were living in taught us. How to know everything about your pray, yet, feel nothing for it. How to make a successful kill. We had replaced killing with begging. Begging could sustain you and it had far fewer social implications than killing. The cities were just another kind of forest to us. A big ugly forest were you could make it big. If you just knew how to beg.
I could not beg. Not because I was a mute. I didn’t have it in me. And that was enough to set me apart from the rest of my tribe.
“He is not a beggar”. Ramon, my father, would swear at my mother as if her bringing a non beggar to life was a hideous crime. “What good is he for then”. What is he going to do with his life? Will he play the violin? No master will ever teach music to one who is stupid enough to not understand life. You take, then you give. How can one give without taking? He will upset the balance. What woman is going to marry him?”
My mother would watch him in understanding. She did not want to denounce her own child, but she knew. She knew as well. Her son, her last son, was an absolute disgrace.
There were not much they could do to turn me into a normal beggar. No one can blame them. They did their best. And it wasn’t enough. I was born faulty.
So they would resort to the only person that could fix me, or at least tell them what was wrong with me.
Nania, the tribe’s old hag, the omniscient witch. Nania had her own tend. She was the only one in the tribe that was allowed the shame of sleeping alone. Nania was the tribe. She was old when our oldest ones were still kids.
No one dared enter her tend. Once you were in there, you owed Nania a part of your soul. She would choose the most delicious part of your soul and then she would take it from you. Forever. As I came to understand from the stories not told, Nania had a sweet tooth for the most tender and the most juicy parts of a soul, the parts that make a man a man, a woman a woman and a virtuoso a virtuoso. Nania would unman them all, unweave them. That was her price, that was her prize, her sustenance, her drug. So you would only enter Nania;s tend when it was a matter of death, revenge or love.
Nania could foretell. She knew the future of each and everyone she came across. She would carry that sadistic smile, that glee, possessing the knowledge of future tragedies invisible to us. She even knew what would happen to the tribe but no one, not even the wisest of us would dare ask her about that. If she told them, they had a good chance of being the Next Nania. Nobody wanted that. Nobody wanted to live alone with a mind shattered from precognition, with a soul made of other people’s tributes to her.
Nania of course was not her real name. She didn’t have a real name. Real names were for real people and she had stopped being a human a very long time ago.
Nania was the sound that some infants would make when they first saw the light of day. That’s how you could tell them. Nania was the sound She would make when she would dive into the state of nothingness to deliver her oracles to the visible world.
I went alone. My parents would not go that far for my shake, they would not consult Nania. I was not a matter of death, or revenge or love. I was just an abomination that need fixing or undoing.
Yellow filthy hair covered her shrinked body. Inside that disgusting hairball, only eyes and mouth were visible. And they weren’t a pretty sight to see. Her eyes were a desert of white shattered by thousands of bluish veins. Her mouth was that of a man-fly, saliva drooling from her mouth, her tongue in and out, collecting the saliva like a beggars hand collects coins, shamelessly exhibiting the endless hunger inside of her. She was ready for her meal.
She stubbed me with her eyes. “Na-nia, na-ni, nai-na nai, na-nia” she murmured, shaking back and forth as if tied to a rocking chair, momentarily phasing out of this world.
She was back. And she brought a verdict with her.
She laughed and then roared with her ancient voice:
“MUTE, mute, you have the Sin in you. You have the worm inside of you. You want to know more than you should. Your sin and arrogance will unmake us all. Good thing God have pitied us. Good thing your venomous tongue can’t move. Cause when your tongue moves, the worm moves.. And when the worm moves, the world trembles.
Be gone miasma.”
She was laughing. She was still laughing when I left her tent. She was still laughing when her tend mysteriously caught fire. She was still laughing when she caught fire. She was still laughing and shrieking while she was being consumed by the flames.
It was the brightest night the camp had ever seen.
No one came to her aid. Alone she lived, alone she burned to the ground.
Life went on without Nania, as if nothing had ever happened, as if she had never happened. The only thing that actually changed was that they had no more doubts over what they would do with me or to me. I was the man who torched Nania, and though the original spark was not mine, my newly earned respect would grant me permission to live amongst my race. They couldn’t understand me before. They hated me and despised me for what I was. I was a weakling, a useless res, I was an unfit before the murder of Nania. But now, I was a Force majeure. They still couldn’t understand me but now they were cautious. Some of them, being the smart beggars that they were, pretended to befriend me but quickly got bored from being around a mute.
We were a lively people. We hated standing still or staying for too long in one place. Being mute was like being a human swamp. No one could afford to stay for more than a minute around me. I made them sick. And they would have to live with that. A swamp inside their camp.
My people were lively. Our language was alive. It was made of the sound of things, of animals, of rivers, of the wind blowing through the autumn leafs. There were a few people among us that were blessed with the gift of synaisthisia as well and I was not one of them. They could hear the sound of light. They could hear the vibrations inside a stone when they were touching it. My tribe honored these people cause they would be the rare ones to give names to the sun and the moon and to the stupid things that couldn’t move at all but they were wise enough to not do so. It was expected of them to not do so. But my people knew that even immovable things moved. Mountains moved, slowly, cumbersomely but as they eons passed they would be moved. We knew that because it was the mountains that told us so. We knew that the earth was moving long before the strangers started to imagine it. Our world was a world in motion and we would move on and on and on. The elders taught us that if we dared to refuse to move, if we stood still, we would turn to stone, we would become petrified. Those who refused to move did not belong with us. Those of us who urged the rest of us to stay we would stone to death. After all, it was their fate to eventually turn into stone. We were just saving them time. And afterwards we would move on.
Names giving was much more than a ritual for my tribe. It was a lifelong art and a science. Some people, the special ones, were given names at birth and their names were the sounds they would first make. Other people, the successful ones, people that we already knew were destined for excellence, had the privilege of claiming whatever name they wanted for themselves, foreign names were a kind of title for my race, successful beggars who could take a lot of the foreigners money, were entitled to take their names as well. Any name. Just pick one oh king of Beggars. Everything is yours for the taking.
The rest of my tribe, most of my tribe, was not allowed to chose a name. A name would be chosen for them by someone close to them. A man could give a woman a name made of the sounds she made during lovemaking, a woman could do the same for a man. We were all naming each other. It was just a matter of time before someone heard your name from you. Unless you were a mute or a deaf. Then you were never to be given a name. Because it made no sense. You either couldn’t hear or talk. One who couldn’t hear could never speak a name properly and didn’t deserve a name. One who couldn’t speak his own name would never fully grasp the meaning of his own name and didn’t deserve a name either. One way or another, we were soundless and soundless for my tribe meant lifeless. Like a stone. Even worse. A stone was doing exactly what was expected of it. You, the mute or the deaf wasn’t. That is why we, the mutes and the deaf ones were never stoned to death. Because that kind of death was meant for human beings who disobeyed motion. We were just things. Stupid, lifeless, dump, soulless useless things. When they referred to us they would use a long pause. That’s what we were. Strands of silence in an ever singing and ever moving people. That’s why they preferred to not address us at all.
Eventually, if our race passed by a swamp or a moving sand, deaf and mutes would get thrown into it, a swamp was the only fitting burial ground for a mute or a deaf. Fortunately my race usually avoided such places and it would not go on purpose out of its way just to give a proper burial to an object.
They named me only after Nania died. The called me Tsura. And it was a choke of course. A travesty. That name did not befit me. They called me that to appease the mad demon inside of me that they held responsible for destroying the all powerful Nania. The name they gave me was a lie. And my people hardly ever lied or joked, especially when it came to names giving. That’s how scared they had became of what they thought I was.
The most insulting thing that could happen to someone was to change his real name. Names were changing all the time of course, small sounds were added or deleted from our names but for your name to completely change meant that you no longer were who you were supposed to be. And that was the absolute insult. Not punishable by death, but it was a lifetime sentence of people looking down on you.
Our elders taught us that. Our tribe was flawless and thus cruel to those with flaws. If your name changed it meant that your soul, your very essence was permanently damaged. Either that or that you were Deified. And we didn’t believe in gods. In a world in motion everything could happen. But we, never, ever, heard of a God, or of the sound of a man becoming a god. If we couldn’t hear it, it wasn’t there.
We knew when it was time to leave a place. It was when the sounds of the forest remained unchanged too long, or were steadily changing towards something sick, or were rapidly changing. Then it was to time to move on.
We had a name for the foreigners as well. We called them barbars, it was the sound they made that didn’t make any sense. Bar-Bar. Their machines were barbars as well but we had a different name for them.
Eventually we would bewitch one of the foreigners and get him to leave his place and live with us. He or she would then hand some or all of his belongings to us or leave them all behind, according to what we wished for him to do. We were always eclectic beggars. The seduced stranger man or woman would then join us but he was not allowed to interact with us or have any children. He was just an oddity, a “living” lesson for our young ones. The stranger taught our kids what not to become and why we were morally superior to the “deaf” and “mute” bar-bars. Barbars were more stupid than stones. They knew nothing of the sound of things. The stranger, uprooted, unwelcomed, alienated would eventually die of grief and solitude. Yes, people who lose even the slightest will to live do die, no matter what.
“Waterrrr is gooood!!!” Rodrigo said challenging the obvious fact that the waters of the river he was just emerging from were intolerably cold. It was a cold Autumn afternoon, the light was scarce but enough to reflect on the small riverdrops joyously decorating Rodrigo’s naked perfection of a body. It was so cold that the riverdrops were tempted to crystallize, but refused to do so. Fluid was the only way for them to enjoy their presence on a body with a cat’s grace. When it came to holding Rodrigo, not even the most possessive touch would dare be persistent, in fear that such a mindblowing beauty may prove to be fatally fragile.
“Let’s get back to the caterpillar” Rodrigo sang to me. Our language was a song. It was not spoken, it was sang. Caterpillar was what we called the camp. Once we started moving again, our people would transform into butterflies. But even butterflies need a place to rest their wings from to time.
Rodrigo started running. I tried to follow him but I couldn’t keep up with him. Everybody wanted to follow Rodrigo, few could keep up with him. The spirit of our tribe was breathed into him, he was poetry in motion, he was the poetry of motion.
When I finally returned to the caterpillar Rodrigo had already taken his place by the fire. Any place was for him to take, even that of the elders. Rodrigo had all the rights of a royalty. All of us were kings and queens but Rodrigo was the most royal of us all. He was still naked and eyes flashed at his sight but dare not persist or demand. They just begged. And begging from others of our tribe was very rear in a tribe of proud beggars.
I had no place near the fire. They would allow me to sit outside the story circle, to receive some of the fire’s warmth leftovers that escaped somebody else’s body. I was used to being sustained with leftovers. With food it was the same. I was eating from somebody else’s leftovers. I was with the tribe but I was not of the tribe. After’s Nania’s death they brought to me more food than I had ever seen, but I knew it was composed of leftovers. They were still treating me like a barbar but didn’t wanted me to know, in case my wrath broke upon them the way they thought it did upon Nania.
“Come over here”. Rodrigo invited me to the circle. That was an outrage. The circle would be enlarged to include a near barbar? That was unheard of. People would cast an angry look at him for insulting our ways but upon looking at his perfect figure they would instantly forget of their anger and beg of him to look back at them. Yes, Rodrigo, was the king of kings.
The fire would diminish itself in my presence, as if I was I not a chain uniting the circle but the gap that broke it and through which, fire would dolefully escape to nowhereness.
Rodrigo sprung to his fit and approached the fire. The circle was once again rearranged, not to be broken. He approached the fire, put his hands on top of it to learn what was worrying her. After the fire confined to him her troubles, Rodrigo started dancing for her. He became a fiery creature, danced the way a fire would dance if it was a boy, he danced with the fire.
He would dance as if possessed by the fire and then all of a sudden he would stand still for a short eternity in stances gravity normally would not allow, he would linger like a pelican to unexpectedly return to his devine fiery frenzy. He was simply breathtaking. The fire would sent him small sparks to adorn him, to adore him. She would follow his every move like a snake would follow a snake charmers flute. The fire would grow. She was revitalized by Rodrigo’s dance.
Rodrigo had charmed her and she gave him part of her heart. She always would. Rodrigo was the closest thing to a fire a man could ever become.