You're very welcome, Musical

You're very welcome, Musical

John Bjarne Grover

I saw on the internet that Helene Grimaud were to give two concerts in Vienna in march - some days ago that was.

To register my ideas on Zeno and his paradoxes, I went to Budapest on 28 feb for a registration there. Probably by coincidence, the one who registered it was concerned with the slow working of the machine and took a phone to ask about some 'érvénytelen' matters - and my inner alarm went off when I recalled that it was 20 years since the hungarian residence permit of 1991 expired, with some unfortunate stories with Gisele Celan-Lestrange who discovered her cancer around 15 october 1991 and died a few weeks later. (I have no reason to believe that the office were involved in anything such). Click here for a fragment of the 1991 permit which looks like 'Loran C' or even 'cocaine'. Who save - when the machine is so slow? This coincidence happened to turn my mood around - it had been up and suddenly it went down. Then on 5 march I published on the internet the article I had registered which solves Zeno's paradox and could be the beginning of a new information technology. A pity that there is no better venue for me than the internet for such a discovery. A couple of hours later I went to look for a ticket to one of the concerts. I asked if there were any left for the sunday and the answer was that sunday was sold out but there was one single seat left on monday: The price was 93 euros and the seat was #11, somewhere in the middle of the room. I understood that although many other 'meanings' could be read from these data it could also have meant 'persona non grata' and I decided to drop this concert. On my way home I had this feeling of being in two different worlds simultaneously: The world I live in where I write this article and that other world wherein I seem to be conceived of as a dirty beast of some kind.

Then on 13 march I came with the tram and went for taking out some money for a next-day trip to Budapest to register some new manuscripts. As I came up on the side of the bank which is situated in the intersection Schweglerstrasse / Märzstrasse, a policecar came in high speed up along me in Märzstrasse and I saw that another policecar came in equally high speed up Schweglerstrasse in 90 degrees angle. I saw it before they crashed what was going to happen. The two policecars crashed together as if in a high-precision timing, as if the one mirror image was hitting the other with high exactitude on the frontlights angle. The two cars were thrown somewhat up in the air but none of them turned around - they continued into Schweglerstrasse and one of them stopped in the middle of the 'room' of the street, the other went through some sidewalk installations and garbage bins and slammed into the wall of the nearby grocer shop and flames shot out of its rear. It looked like the US nomination process! The two cars had been out in emergency speed to stop a traffic robbery at Penzing. Luckily none of the police seemed to be seriously injured - they came out of the cars, although limping a little and with some marks - one pressed buttons on a telephone and the ambulances and helicopter were on their way after only a few seconds. Some pedestrians had been hit by debris when the car went through the garbage - an apparently young schoolgirl took fire from the flames in the lower back of her jacket and lay down on the ground and the flames were beaten out by the police and another person.

Schweglerstrasse/Märzstrasse means not really Willoch/Brundtland or the US nomination but rather 5 march 2012, the day I published the article. It was a real Zenoan paradox. I found as I observed it that there was not much I could do to help - if people lie there injured on the ground it is not so smart to start wriggling and jolting them around, in particular not if medics are already on their way. The flames in the back of the car went out very quickly. In fact it all boiled down to this single thing I could have contributed with if it should have been necessary - a mouth-to-mouth emergency help on e.g. the 'young schoolgirl' lying on the ground. I got this single chance - that single ticket they could offer to what perhaps was conceived as a 'dirty beast'. I should perhaps not have gone to ask for it at all. 1 male and 3 female pedestrians were wounded and 5 police, hopefully not badly.

It was a feeling of strange absurdity - not the least with that high-precision crash in 90 degrees angle - like two mirror images crashing together right in front of my eyes. Or like two different worlds. I turned around and went with a taste of blood in the mouth to another bank.

It was in the late sixties in Molde - I had been playing piano but felt that it was not the right thing and one evening I had gone to bed I started weeping and said to Ragna Gröver that I wished that I were not musical. I was allowed to stop playing piano. If this were as late as the end of the decade, it would not mean that - after Odda - I did not want any musical children. On the contrary, if I had a musical child from such a rape of me, my feelings could be an expression of the musical child's problem with growing up (problem with being the own real self) if there could be the feeling that the existence of the child were not intended by the genetic father. Hence my feeling could be the child's own feeling and hence the feeling would be my expression of welcome to the child - not the opposite. In my Endmorgan Quartet, there is the fragment on 21-22.11.00:

American goodwalk can be.
"I'm only the police", they responded
- directly to a nightclub where they havee pacifier.

"You're very welcome, Musical".
"Are you sure?"

I have probably no reason to be here.
A year before
I gave the theory
etc

Now this condition is existential and it is important to understand that my expression of wishing that I were not musical would be a way of sharing the feelings of - hence welcoming - the child who could be in this situation. It is therefore a natural condition also for the parent who could be the parent via an organized rape for making children for political mythos. However, then it is important that the society does not interpret this in the sense that it is right to suppress the parents - as if to fuel (or rather hijacking) the welcoming attitude. There is no existential condition between parents and children in the sense of 'not enough space for both of us': On the contrary, it is for the hijacked genetics rather a problem in the sense of being unable to express the welcome quite simply because the child is somewhere else - and the parent is not physically present in the child's life (there is rather too much space for them), which could mean for the child the misunderstanding that it is not welcome. These problems are all too easy for society to misinterpret and abuse: They can have bad conscience and will take my wish to stop playing the piano as an expression of pity that I had been sexually abused and my authority violated by way of children made from my genetics and therefore the society believes that they should not have done it and that this is what I said. It was not what I said - rather the opposite, if one understands it the right way.

In short, the society need not reject e.g. my doctorate degree or my books in order to feel that they are not an insult to possible genetic children of mine. In particular, this would be a wrong way of 'hijacking the feeling', for example the feeling of shared existential conditions of life.

Likewise, if one studies the poetic logic of Luke 23:33, it is evident that Midori's studies in cognitive psychology could not so much have been an attempt to 'hijack' my doctorate as to keep this verse of Luke warm (which should not be misinterpreted as 'lukewarm'!) - and to blame her of 'hijack' could be the same sort of error.

These existential difficulties can be seen to be a theme also of my novel 'The Dreamer' - even in its form.

I add that the name of the piano teacher in Molde was 'fröken Troldmyr' = 'miss Trollbog' ('Kirsten Troldmyr' I think was then name), which perhaps even could be taken into 'mister helper-G' ('mister Reverge') - who is present at the child via mirror symmetries in the genetic space or something like that. Cp. the crashing police cars. When was the story with me wanting to stop piano playing? The end of the sixties - could have been 1969 (or maybe 1968?), probably not (although I am not certain about this) as late as spring 1970, and I had been off piano education for some time when I started playing again with Trygve Madsen in probably 1971. I had not the impression that 'fröken Troldmyr' was involved in political intrigues.

I don't know to what extent this applies to the present situation with concerts etc. To tell the truth, I have never heard a single word about the mythos story (could be Nino Pasti said a word or two to me in 1981 but I cannot remember what it was) or that I should be the father of anybody, and there are limits to how far I can push the airy speculations.

PS My idea that fertile genetics could have been forced out of me at age 3 in Odda = in 1960 derives from the idea that the earthquake of Concepcion - the largest quake in history - only few minutes after the arrest of Adolf Eichmann had been announced for Knesset - should have something to do with me and a possible 'eich' therefrom - on background of the assumption that my role in the political mythos theatre is to be the genetic son of Paul P.Antschel but be taken by administration to be the son of Heinrich Himmler and hence a victim of unified international rejection - for the eventual conclusion, after much misunderstanding had got the time to settle, that England was right in this rejection - of the jewish genetics! It is the theory that Hitler was replaced with a british copy called Paul Marshall in 1918 (the attempt on Lenin told about this) which is the basis for this - for 'Paul P.Antschel' vs 'Paul Marshall' such as 'Hitler' relates to 'Himmler'. The idea that this is the mythos role assigned to me is what also links it to the role of Adolf Eichmann. It can be added that Nelly Sachs (whom I believe probably is my mother) died - and Paul P.Antschel (Celan) was buried - on the day 10 years after the arrest of Eichmann (time zones included). It is possible that Sachs died on the very hour 10 years after the arrest.