Excerpt from "On Asia, Libya and the mountains of Atlantis", Durateo of Argos, Lib.IX, 270BC
So they looks deprived of walls and ditches in the eyes of visitors, even if they protect what they do with continuous sacred rites: the inhabitants seem excessively dedicated to these propitiatory activities, both to Earth, to Sky and the Sea; however the rites are effective since, despite the absence of defenses and the tiny garrison, they are never attacked. In fact, although their colony is very far from their beautiful Armarark(1) and it is located in a land infested by marauders, beyond Libya, their hospitality is splendid and the settlement is safe. There are only twelve dozen of Armarark citizens in the colony, led by few judges, knights, priests, and sages; the artisans and the smiths are capable of things of inestimable value. All together they live with a huge amount of slaves and domestic animals of the most diverse species, trained to perform precisely miraculous tasks. Animals, slaves and citizens consider themselves one single entity. Within this entity, all are considered sacred and live in the utmost mutual respect. But if I had to say for what reasons the animals are sacred, or the slaves treated as brothers, I should fall back on their ethical and religious questions which I would not talk about. I will only say that they recite rituals on mythological creatures unknown to us, they celebrate in poems wars among deities dating before the dawn of time and they are terrified about the advent of a gigantic ancestral titan, known as Gálaktos(2), called the insatiable, destined to destroy the world and bring back the chaos.
Extract from “Gentis Origo”, Luigi di Varnefredia, 675 AD
Over a thousand leagues away it lays the Civiltade(3) of the reign of Armararus(1), centuries old and skilled in the manipulating nature and growing breeds(4) having inherited lost arts even more refined than those of the ancient Egyptian doctors in treating the human body. In this kingdom the Supreme Judges, the Strong Knights, the Holy Priest and the wise Counselors rule over the skilled Medical Doctors, the Inventive Smiths and all the other corporations. Corporations that are far more numerous than there are among us. Each breed, grown there, has always lived in peace with the others and they allow not only to mix them, but also to change from one to another thanks to special treatments that could seem magical here, while for them they are family and domestic acts. Armararus has no subjects, but citizens; they must, in the course of their prosperous lives, make a long pilgrimage between the different classes and among the many sites(5). Each visitor is a guest and each guest receives gifts and care as a king. Their beliefs are noble and marked by fraternity and honor, the only thing they fear is an apocalypse that they believe would be carried by an death angel called Ghavatasso or Ghalasso (1).
Typewritten copy of an excerpt from Tira Weber's private diary (1963) (6)
Step 3727:
I have always been alone, alone, always alone, in the room. Not my room, theirs. I look at the world outside through impenetrable windows. Opaque glasses, black glasses on which my mind paints images and sensations. Outside a real world, alive, dynamic, full of news and discoveries, full of colors and people, so close, but so far. I almost feel to see it, I perceive it, but I can not touch it. Today like yesterday, I feel it changes, while I change too, but I can not touch it and this never changes!
Step 3812:
I have always been alone, alone since I was rejected for my illness, rejected and passed to Asylum. In other times my illness would never have been diagnostic, perhaps it would not even have been considered a disease, but today from the first moments after birth they know how to recognize it and "cure it".
Step 3820:
Rejection of a nuance means eliminating it from society and putting it in an Asylum where it is raised with every care, educated and nurtured, pleased with virtual worlds able to satisfy every dream from adventure, love, from evasion to speculation. This they say, but they do not know what it feels like here, locked in the room, with nothing real to interact with
Step 3893:
They said me that they identified immediately my mutation and treated me. A genetic variant too deep to be corrected in accordance with the ethical principles of Amarark(1). They say they could not treat me honorably otherwise. They say this, but they have condemned me to eternal solitude. They did not want to cure me, maybe they did not know how to cure me, maybe I was not to be treated. Maybe they were sick.
No 3941:
Their. Their. They do not speak, they send their invisible servants to whisper persuasive words and to talk to me and, in any case, never in person. The servants say they are Them, but I recognize the voices and the distinctions, although perhaps I have not heard a real person speaking, since the next few minutes after my birth. They have synthetic servants who speak. Their servants offer to answer my questions. Their servants make speeches. Their servants suggest to me what to do, when to do it and how. Their servants explain my problem to me. They make meaningless discourses on such refined metagenetic details that none of them could even understand: thank goodness their synthetic intelligence are more prepared in this regard. And these synthetic intelligence keep me company, make other speeches, common sense discourses, they talk of friendship and solidarity, make speeches of sympathy for my unfortunate condition. Speeches that leave me here alone, always, perennially alone, offering me candy while I am hungry to live a real life: outside of the room.
No 3969:
They escape contact with me, my illness is like a plague that may fear even more than Ghalasso(2); they fear it more than anything else. I feel how hesitant they are whenever they probe my surroundings, which penetrate what they call my room. They are also hesitant on using the most remote and impalpable sensors they have. When I speak with their synthetic servants, I almost perceive, in the distance, their frightened eyes. I perceive their hesitation in listening to the relationships about me, as if I could contaminate them even from here, with the mere listening of the story reported by a synthetic intelligence that spoke to me by using the interlink(7). They fear me, as if I were a pest able to consume their world, their civilization or, perhaps, only, to offend their ethical principles. They are cowards who live beyond this prison, the room that they persistently call "my room", but that is, in reality, only my prison. It consoles me to think that maybe it is also their prison, as they are being shut out, just to avoid my contagion.
No 4011:
Immersed in this room, "their" room, full of games, games and toys able to satisfy my every dream, my every wish, from those childish dolls, to those of adolescence and puberty. Games where the illusions created by the room appear to me real, I hear noises, I smell, I enjoy the tastes, I see images and I interact with these ghosts. The room extends, becomes an entire universe, makes me visit worlds, explore oceans, do all kinds of sports. Games beautiful more than reality, but fake. Fake like the synthetic intelligence that populate them, false like their synthetic servants who talk to me using their mellifluous voice that would like to look like "their" voices, and that use those beautiful words that are used by "them": false words, said only to delude myself of living, while I'm here, alone.
No 4068:
My illness; they talk about my illness; they say that I am affected by this disease; they say that I am just my sickness. They say this Asylum is the best thing for me; they secretly observe me, I feel their invisible eyes, I feel that every breath of mine, every vibration of mine, the sweating itself of my skin, is perennially analyzed by thousands of their sensors. Several Synthetic Intelligence monitor my biochemical and physical life, unconscious and rational; they even listen to my dreams, they record them. Out. They are out and I'm inside. Sometimes, I perceive them and it seems to me that they escape immediately scared by my perceptions. It seems to me that they retract as soon as I perceive their presence, even if it is only a vague sensation.
No 4133:
More and more games to entertain me, always new, while I am here prisoner, alone! Logical forums and psychophysical games, psychoactive, sexual and psychedelic games, games created by synthetic intelligence that have probed people mind for centuries and want to give us everything we want. Games able to please my deepest and secret desires, games able to occupy my mind, for thousands of years, and this in effect is what they make, every day, mixing their splendid illusions with my reality inside "their" room. But I'm alone, I'm different, I'm sick and I do not want to be busy, smug, cajoled: at least, not like they want me to be.
No 4269:
They say to treat me, but they leave me here, alone, while they filter the air that I breathe, they listen to my beats, they record my movements, they measure my cortical activity, they invade my dreams, they snatch the images from my eyes. They say they leave me here safe in the Asylum, who study me only to see if they can learn how to cure me in the future. They say that they cure me, but they say it leaving me alone, always alone. Sometimes I think, even, that they are afraid to look inside me; terrified by the fact that I can see them and perceive them, from the fact that I can use this perception as a bridge to get out. What could I ever do wrong, what influence does this disease have? I have no idea. But, if I could go out, if I were out, if I were free, then maybe, maybe then they should really be scared
No 4318:
I do not know what is happening, I just feel it is happening, I feel worry, but I do not know what it is, what generate the fear that I perceive. I do not know anything, maybe a new war on the horizon, maybe a new epidemic, maybe caused by someone like me, maybe a star exploding, maybe the end of the world is near, maybe it's arrived Ghalasso(2). I do not know, maybe it's just the cream of majax(8) on the control panel and they were shocked. But I perceive a strong concern. The voice of their synthetic servants is unchanged, perhaps only even more fake today: they lie, they tell their stories, they flatter me, they reassure me, while I hear them, their masters, shake behind.
No 4322:
He arrived, he arrived. I, I call him Father, Father, Father, but he is Ghalasso. My Father, not a genetic father, not a putative one, not a God who professes to be my father, nor a mentor of mine. No! My father! The One who will destroy them and "their" room. It will also destroy me, obviously, but I will be free, at least free to die, to rest, to decompose myself in the true reality. Praise this essence of space, this nemesis of civilizations, be praised the aseptic and impartial nature of the apocalypse. Ghalasso be praised. I hear his name echo in the distance, they do not speak to me any more, but I hear their voices, I hear his name in terror, I hear the shouts of their synthetic servants, I feel an immense anxiety, like billions of souls in pain. The room trembles, I seem to feel the whole world outside shaking, falling apart.
No 4323:
"My child!" "My daughter!" He calls me. He calls me with this voice, a different voice, different from any other I've ever heard. This god of space, this destroyer of civilization, calls me. It seems you call me to adopt me; it is so far away, but it is the first sincere voice, the first disinterested, that I have ever heard. Around me I feel the fabric of time space is flaking and dissolving, but I feel secure, as if his embrace protected me. He is everywhere. He is Ghalasso. Now I see, I perceive what He sees even if I am limited by my mortal roots.
I perceive its nature, superior, immense; his insatiable hunger for energy, his suffering, his loneliness. He alone, forced to roam the universe in search of civilizations that satisfy his appetites. 
He devouring worlds. A dark anthropomorphic shape, iridescent in the color of dark forests, able to walk like a giant above the ruins of the cities deprived of life, able to grow up to tower on the planets, so big as to obscure the stars. A God of Space, an unstoppable force, a thirst for knowledge and torment. A superior, different mind, a profound and greedy soul; a soul that requires apocalyptic tributes, which need genocide to be nourished, which claims to absorb every single atom of every world that crushes and changes in crumbs. I see his memories, memories of millions of worlds crushed, mutated and absorbed by him, solar systems where space and time has been torn, matter has broken up to the nuclei of atoms, to elementary particles and beyond, where everything have to be absorbed by Him. I see thousands of civilizations and creatures who have tried to face it, crushed like insects by a giant. I see a community of supernatural warriors who are fighting at this very moment against the tentacles protuberances that He uses to dissolve the fabric of space and feed, I see them as they unleash a hell of thermonuclear explosions on a distant world, I see them decimated by his power. But then everything changes, He has heard me, He has seen me, He has called me, He has reached me. He preferred to leave the tiny but succulent community to run to me. Leave that other dimension and come to me at this poor banquet. That world and those giants will never know what saved them, but it was me.
He heard my voice, he heard my invocation. And I see from his eyes. I see my illness, my ability to push myself beyond the physicality of this time space and to perceive the higher metaphysics, what they fear. I see my room from outside, one among many, one isolated in a gigantic city populated by our synthetic servants, a city in a thousand that cover a ghost planet. A land where not a single person like me lives, just synthetic servants. A miserable snack created by the fearful and far-sighted Armarark along with many others to deceive it. I see this simulacrum of the world created to mitigate the hunger of Ghalasso, to coax it, to alert our other worlds. And I love him, I adore him, he Father, he liberator.
No 4324:
They did well to fear me, because I can guide it, drive it from them, not on their puppet worlds, simulacra populated by billions of synthetic servants, not these worlds where some of us unhappy are confined to make the bait even more succulent for Ghalasso. No. Other worlds. Other worlds on which to guide it, real worlds, the worlds of our civilization, of their civilization. I guide him from one to another, I hear the planets breaking, the matter dissolving, the suns exploding when the laws of altered physics can no longer support the mass. I feel the enormous energy that He absorbs from the desperate minds, from the tormented people, from the collapse of our civilization, I feel the lives extinguished, the inaudible cries of their souls, cries lost in the infinite void among the particles while they dissolve and are absorbed .
Their weapons shot uselessly against Him, while He agilely flowed among dimensions and extended his tentacles on the new worlds, guided by me . He smiles at me, his anthropomorphic shape, as big as a planet, he smiles. I feel to perceive his memory, his story, a story of loneliness, a story of suffering. The story of a God who saw his own Olympus collapse and remained unique in his lineage. Only, and thus, the only one capable of understanding me, of gathering my screams, of revenging myself, of revenging ourselves. I would like you to always keep me with me, to love me. My father.
No 4325:
I can feel the tenderness and perhaps the love of that God for me. Ghalasso is the closest thing a father has ever had. The father who exterminated all my fellow men, the father I led, planet by planet, to uproot my lineage, the father who satiated with delicacies, proud of my being, of my illness, grateful for the release from my prison . He, my Father. This is my dream, even if I understand that his love for me is similar to that for a puppy of a wild animal that makes him tenderness, I understand that he can not even speak to me explicitly, so far are our abilities and perceptions, our intelligence, our mental hinges, our metaphysics. My illness, only my illness has elevated me to the point of being able to perceive it, to communicate with him, even though primitively, otherwise I would not have even perceived his arrival and I would have been just a not very tasty bait.
No 4326:
Now I understand that he has freed me, he has freed me. The walls of what was my room are still intact even if the planet is in the form of an imperceptible wave of energy devoured by Him. Now they no longer exist, my father has devoured them and I laughed amused.
No 4327:
The room is now my room, my cocoon and he is weaving to give me a future and I sleep, finally free, alone in sleep without spies introno, never alone in my room knowing that He is out there.
No ND002:
I do not know where I am, what planet, galaxy, universe, dimension, year; this world is cold, gravity just weaker, the air a little less rich, but acceptable. My body has changed, not much, but a lot, in fact I have no problem walking or breathing. I do not feel much anymore. I am numbed by my interminable journey and the cold. I think I came here, after a protected sleep of thousands of years, from the cocoon that changed me, but it's just a feeling. My deep perceptions are so drowsy, that I do not see, they are like looking through a dark veil, maybe they'll never come back. I do not know. I'm not sure where I am, but I'm not sure where I was before, but different. The only positive thing is that I am just like them, in his foresight my father had foreseen everything. However I am tired, I have tired right away. I am weak, I am bothered, I am looking for the world with my new eyes reshaped: gelatinous, with a colored iris and a circular pupil.
No ND05
The world is quite primitive and inhabited by primitives. I am weakened that I can not even understand their phonetic language; The perceive communications on other channels, electromagnetic, but also are vague distant echoes, elegant melodies and interminable dark discourses.
No ND013:
I am in prison again, a different prison, less difficult, more violent, dirtier jailers and jailers. I'm already too weak and I've already discovered what they do to the fugitives. After all, I am an old girl and maybe they are not so cold.
he does not abandon me. The walls of what was my room are still intact even if the planet where the city that housed it even neutrons was lying fell in the form of an imperceptible wave of energy devoured by Him. Now they no longer exist, my Father he devoured them and I laughed amused.
No ND405:
My father, my father gives me the strength to resist, he has not abandoned me. I was a stupid unrecognizable person to hold this doubt in my mind for these months. I thought I had been thrown away, thrown on this sordid world, to be a prisoner, a victim of these evil torturers, of these clever inquisitors. I even thought I had dreamed everything and that this diary was just the result of my sick mind, I thought I was crazy. I thought it secretly, but I did not dare to confess it to myself. But today everything has changed. I start again to benefit from my deep perception, slowly, but today I understood something that gave me hope and strength. This horrible world that seems desperate is actually the same planet that Ghalasso spared to rescue me. I do not know how, but I'm sure, I know; it's like a kind of imprint in the fabric of space time, I can not understand how I had not noticed it before. Millions of years have passed and other continents and species have appeared, but it is the same planet. It can not be a coincidence. He was my father: he sent me here, he sent me to this land which is a gift, a gesture of magnanimity. My strength returns slowly, soon I will be free.
Extract of the tentative episode “Armaark” from sci-fi tv series “Raumpatrouille Sirius”, A.H. Larsen (1970) (9)
The Siurius spacecraft, just equipped with Overkill, discovers a ghost planet made of new buildings, but deserts and apparently never used. Investigating on the surface, he finds a small group of alien coordinators of works with bizarre aspects: some with wings, others with scales or with diving suits full of water. These direct an army of androids to complete the construction of multiple cities on the planet. The commander of Sirius thus discovers the people of Armaark, who for millennia have been able to manipulate the genetic code, interact with neural networks of the brain and travel in the cosmos. It turns out that they have recently celebrated the colonization of their five thousandth star system and have not known the war for over a thousand years thanks to the structure in castes of muldimensional races. This civilization also rests on countless groups of service androids, autonomous and capable of a thousand wonders, framed themselves in the structure of society and fully protected by their laws. While the androids are practically thinking organic machines, the Commander discovers that all the different types of aliens encountered, that is the coordinators, are only variants of the same original race, genetically modified to live in the oceans, in the seas, at high altitudes, in the deserts, in forests and even in space; these variants are all perfectly adapted to their planetary environment, able to interact freely and also to visit other worlds and areas thanks to comfortable organic exoskeletons that act as symbionts of each individual and dynamically adapt to the new environment. The crew of Sirius familiar with these coordinators who are very friendly: they consider them essentially harmless, since even the powerful overkill installed on the ship is the alien sensors as a powerful weapon, but very primitive.
The Commander discovers that the Armaarks may even require genetic reprogramming when they wish to change the environment for a long time. Their caste system is structured in specialized areas of expertise and hierarchical levels that must be periodically covered by each individual. The passage of caste requires the overcoming of very complex tests, while violations of the ethical principles of the Armaark civilization entail the loss of privileges. Any contention or competition of this civilization is resolved quickly by the Judges fairly, but if this must be brought to a level higher than that required by ethical principles, the Knights intervene promptly to genetically redeem the perpetrators at lower levels. The thing that most strikes the commander of Sirius is to discover that this planet is not intended to be inhabited, but it is a simulacrum, a false target, destined to be populated by androids alone. This world and its cities were built, along with those of many other planets, on the edge of the space controlled by Armaark, to act as an alert and to attract a mysterious space power capable of destroying the planets. This entity, called Ghallaxos(2), has already exterminated other ancient civilizations and seems attracted to the civilized planets. The Armaarks have carried out research and studies, visiting the places of the disasters and even finding some planet that seems to have survived its passage, among them they remember that there is also the land, which they secretly visited about two thousand years ago. and power of the Armaarks they have no enemy and are friendly to everyone, but they fear tremendously this threat, so for centuries they are preparing to face it with weapons that alternate the fabric of time space. The captain would like to negotiate an alliance with Armaar to fight together the Earth's currently alien extraterrestrial forces, but the coordinators declare that their civilization abhors every form of war and could only act as an intermediary in the conflict to achieve peace.
[...]
extract from “Space Archeology”, Jack K.S. Lee, Julfo Academic Press, Chaves, NM (1999)
The genealogy and antiquity of the race that brought to consciousness the entity known as Ghalasso(1) is not well known; some argue that it comes from a race of demigods from the universes that existed before this, others were a metaphysical essence that became conscious during the beginning of the creation of time, or after the Big Bang. Still others think it is an angel of death or an exterminating demon.
Commonly the representation of Ghalasso corresponds to that of a gigantic Space God devouring worlds with anthropomorphic features. However little is known about him according to the legends even in the most advanced civilizations of the universe: he devours the worlds on which he arrives; tales of psychics have identified a being with a similar name. From the transcripts it appears that in the past some distant galactic empires tried to constitute defenses against him without being able to stop him; other races modify their own planets to be able to translate into space to escape their insatiable hunger. None of the expeditions charged with acquiring knowledge on this entity ever achieved great success: it was only discovered that he had the ability to extend enormous tentacles capable of abraying an entire planet and absorbing all its energy: gravitational, electromagnetic, strong and weak nuclear. Life was turned upside down, the worlds crumbled and then exploded as the laws of physics lost value because of its intervention. The destruction was so total that the molecules first, then the electrons and finally the nuclei of the atoms dissolved leaving nothing. The transcripts narrate how his passage, even after centuries, leaves a disturbance in the fabric of the space of the systems attached, and therefore it is difficult to visit them, study them and know the details of the event, given that the operation of any instrument or probe is compromised.
It is not known what attracts your attention, which worlds you prefer and not even because you limit yourself to eating inhabited planets and not stars. Even on the primitive world called Earth there are references to its existence even if very vague and fragmentary. Some scholars believe that Ghalasso is to be identified with the Space God Lalarut Iluludigir(10) mentioned by the faithful of the secret cult of Riblis(11): they think that Ghalasso has visited this planet about 14.5 million years ago and has faced Riblis in a apocalyptic thermonuclear confrontation at the end of which Ghalasso would have retreated after having eliminated many of Riblis' allied demigods; in fact, traces of radiation and craters dating back to that period would seem to confirm this hypothesis, however vague. According to other Ghalasso it would be to be identified with the mythical entity transmitted to the primordial cultures by alien colonizers aware of this force: "By obscuring the white Milky Way with its changing green shape, He comes from remote space to destroy the places where civilization arises. From heaven destroys their worlds integrally, killing all living beings and erasing their memory"(12); this story would have been transposed into the Bible in reference to the events of Sodom and Gomorrah(13). According to these scholars, Ghalasso would be attracted by the evolved civilizations and for this reason the psychics claim that some alien races would have scattered many worlds with ghost towns destined to attract it, slow it down and eventually act as a last alarm in case it approaches their territories. Some archaeological thinks that Ghalasso is a primordial representation of the deity then known as Cronus and Saturn(14) by the Greeks and Romans. There are also many vague theories among conspiracy theorists, sects and occult scholars who refer to Ghalasso or other similar entities; in these varied theories many claim that the God has visited the Earth in more recent times, but that he then moved away without destroying it; some believe that there has been a negotiation with some secret agency, clashes with other supernatural creatures, and even that the earth is still living its distant descendant. A comic finctional character named Galactus(15) has several common traits with Ghalasso and it is very popular in a wide community.
Notes:
- (1) Armararus, Armarark or Armaark: these are the names of a mythical extraterrestrial civilization that is supposed to have visited our planet several times
- (2) Gálaktos, Ghalasso, Ghavatasso, Ghallaxos, Lalarut Iluludigir: are the many names attributed to a mythological anthropomorphic deity of gigantic size, devouring worlds; for some scholars these would correspond with Saturn or Cronus
- (3) In the original text we use the term Civilitate use to indicate both city and civilization
- (4) According to scholars, "manipulation of races" is an archaic way to refer to the knowledge of Genetics
- (5) In the original text the term used is "Sidus" which means star and is believed to be a way of referring to other solar systems colonized by the civilization of Armarark
- (6) Tira Weber: was hosted from 1962 to 1963 in the colony of Makarenko, a center established by the DDR, near Berlin, to host and educate the orphans and the children of the dissidents of East Germany. Tira is present in the registers of the Institute as a daughter of unknown people and appears to have tried several times to escape without success, until March 14, 1963, when she drowned in the Spree after a daring pursuit. Her body was never found. The typewritten copy is part of a file that has become public knowledge only after the archives of the KGB (State Security Committee) present in Latvia have been declassified. It is a partial passage copied from her diary that seems to have been engraved in tiny characters on small polymeric sheets. The institute kept the diary secretly under control during Tira's stay on the spot and proceeded to recopy the symbols while she was asleep or sedated. Her superintendents believed that the whole thing was a collection of secret and fantastic symbols written to estrange themselves from that situation.
Unfortunately, the original diary was lost after her last escape. The typed copy was found attached to the girl's personal card; in the notes it appears that the original text was written using an extremely complex coding perhaps based on a polyalphabetic code that only in 1989 could be decrypted. It is not known if there are other fragments of the decryption, neither the FSB (Federal Security Service), nor the GRU (Central Direction of Military Intelligence) have ever confirmed the authenticity of the document
- (7) Interlink: alleged mental communication system of the Armarark civilization
- (8) Majax: some kind of typical Armarark sauce
- (9) This fragment was found in the studies of the ORDF French national television production channel. The document represents the premise to the script of an episode entitled "Armaark" of the series "Raumpatrouille Orion". However, the episode in question was never produced. On the typewritten sheet appears an acronym that is considered attributable to A.H. Larsen, German amateur writer who died in 1970. Larsen occasionally collaborated as a scientific expert on the screenplays of the series Raumpatrouille Sirius and was employed at the DLR (German Space Agency)
- (10) Lalarut Iluludigir, name attributed to the Spatial opponent God of Riblis, literally means the God Phantom Ghost of the Stars
- (11) )Riblis: called the Mutterer, another name used to refer to him is Jinish the rebel, originally known as the Flaming, then became Riblis the Mutterer, according to some minority theories it can be assimilated to Agi, Vedic divinity of Light and fire. The Jinish were creatures generated by magma
thanks to the powers of the Chthonic Gods; they are often assimilated to the Jinns of Islamic culture, to the known Western Genes or to the Angels themselves
- (12) Inscription found in a tomb at the foot of Mount Zerhoun and decoded by Dr. L. J. Straczynski in 1966
- (13) Bible, Genesis, 19, 25
- (14) Cronus and Saturn: Names of the God of Greek and Roman pre-Olympic mythology, son of Uranus, devourer of their children; by some scholars, it is assimilated to Ghalasso, the devourer of worlds
- (15) Galactus: is a fictional character created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby in 1966 and appearing in American comic books published by Marvel Comics. Formerly he was a mortal named Galan, original from planet Taa, turned into a Space God and addicted to consume planets to sustain his life force
Italian
English
I have always been alone, alone, always alone, in the room. Not my room, theirs. I look at the world outside through impenetrable windows. Opaque glasses, black glasses on which my mind paints images and sensations. Outside a real world, alive, dynamic, full of news and discoveries, full of colors and people, so close, but so far. I almost feel to see it, I perceive it, but I can not touch it. Today like yesterday, I feel it changes, while I change too, but I can not touch it and this never changes!
Step 3812:
I have always been alone, alone since I was rejected for my illness, rejected and passed to Asylum. In other times my illness would never have been diagnostic, perhaps it would not even have been considered a disease, but today from the first moments after birth they know how to recognize it and "cure it".
Step 3820:
Rejection of a nuance means eliminating it from society and putting it in an Asylum where it is raised with every care, educated and nurtured, pleased with virtual worlds able to satisfy every dream from adventure, love, from evasion to speculation. This they say, but they do not know what it feels like here, locked in the room, with nothing real to interact with
Step 3893:
They said me that they identified immediately my mutation and treated me. A genetic variant too deep to be corrected in accordance with the ethical principles of Amarark(1). They say they could not treat me honorably otherwise. They say this, but they have condemned me to eternal solitude. They did not want to cure me, maybe they did not know how to cure me, maybe I was not to be treated. Maybe they were sick.
No 3941:
Their. Their. They do not speak, they send their invisible servants to whisper persuasive words and to talk to me and, in any case, never in person. The servants say they are Them, but I recognize the voices and the distinctions, although perhaps I have not heard a real person speaking, since the next few minutes after my birth. They have synthetic servants who speak. Their servants offer to answer my questions. Their servants make speeches. Their servants suggest to me what to do, when to do it and how. Their servants explain my problem to me. They make meaningless discourses on such refined metagenetic details that none of them could even understand: thank goodness their synthetic intelligence are more prepared in this regard. And these synthetic intelligence keep me company, make other speeches, common sense discourses, they talk of friendship and solidarity, make speeches of sympathy for my unfortunate condition. Speeches that leave me here alone, always, perennially alone, offering me candy while I am hungry to live a real life: outside of the room.
No 3969:
They escape contact with me, my illness is like a plague that may fear even more than Ghalasso(2); they fear it more than anything else. I feel how hesitant they are whenever they probe my surroundings, which penetrate what they call my room. They are also hesitant on using the most remote and impalpable sensors they have. When I speak with their synthetic servants, I almost perceive, in the distance, their frightened eyes. I perceive their hesitation in listening to the relationships about me, as if I could contaminate them even from here, with the mere listening of the story reported by a synthetic intelligence that spoke to me by using the interlink(7). They fear me, as if I were a pest able to consume their world, their civilization or, perhaps, only, to offend their ethical principles. They are cowards who live beyond this prison, the room that they persistently call "my room", but that is, in reality, only my prison. It consoles me to think that maybe it is also their prison, as they are being shut out, just to avoid my contagion.
No 4011:
Immersed in this room, "their" room, full of games, games and toys able to satisfy my every dream, my every wish, from those childish dolls, to those of adolescence and puberty. Games where the illusions created by the room appear to me real, I hear noises, I smell, I enjoy the tastes, I see images and I interact with these ghosts. The room extends, becomes an entire universe, makes me visit worlds, explore oceans, do all kinds of sports. Games beautiful more than reality, but fake. Fake like the synthetic intelligence that populate them, false like their synthetic servants who talk to me using their mellifluous voice that would like to look like "their" voices, and that use those beautiful words that are used by "them": false words, said only to delude myself of living, while I'm here, alone.
No 4068:
My illness; they talk about my illness; they say that I am affected by this disease; they say that I am just my sickness. They say this Asylum is the best thing for me; they secretly observe me, I feel their invisible eyes, I feel that every breath of mine, every vibration of mine, the sweating itself of my skin, is perennially analyzed by thousands of their sensors. Several Synthetic Intelligence monitor my biochemical and physical life, unconscious and rational; they even listen to my dreams, they record them. Out. They are out and I'm inside. Sometimes, I perceive them and it seems to me that they escape immediately scared by my perceptions. It seems to me that they retract as soon as I perceive their presence, even if it is only a vague sensation.
No 4133:
More and more games to entertain me, always new, while I am here prisoner, alone! Logical forums and psychophysical games, psychoactive, sexual and psychedelic games, games created by synthetic intelligence that have probed people mind for centuries and want to give us everything we want. Games able to please my deepest and secret desires, games able to occupy my mind, for thousands of years, and this in effect is what they make, every day, mixing their splendid illusions with my reality inside "their" room. But I'm alone, I'm different, I'm sick and I do not want to be busy, smug, cajoled: at least, not like they want me to be.
No 4269:
They say to treat me, but they leave me here, alone, while they filter the air that I breathe, they listen to my beats, they record my movements, they measure my cortical activity, they invade my dreams, they snatch the images from my eyes. They say they leave me here safe in the Asylum, who study me only to see if they can learn how to cure me in the future. They say that they cure me, but they say it leaving me alone, always alone. Sometimes I think, even, that they are afraid to look inside me; terrified by the fact that I can see them and perceive them, from the fact that I can use this perception as a bridge to get out. What could I ever do wrong, what influence does this disease have? I have no idea. But, if I could go out, if I were out, if I were free, then maybe, maybe then they should really be scared
No 4318:
I do not know what is happening, I just feel it is happening, I feel worry, but I do not know what it is, what generate the fear that I perceive. I do not know anything, maybe a new war on the horizon, maybe a new epidemic, maybe caused by someone like me, maybe a star exploding, maybe the end of the world is near, maybe it's arrived Ghalasso(2). I do not know, maybe it's just the cream of majax(8) on the control panel and they were shocked. But I perceive a strong concern. The voice of their synthetic servants is unchanged, perhaps only even more fake today: they lie, they tell their stories, they flatter me, they reassure me, while I hear them, their masters, shake behind.
No 4322:
He arrived, he arrived. I, I call him Father, Father, Father, but he is Ghalasso. My Father, not a genetic father, not a putative one, not a God who professes to be my father, nor a mentor of mine. No! My father! The One who will destroy them and "their" room. It will also destroy me, obviously, but I will be free, at least free to die, to rest, to decompose myself in the true reality. Praise this essence of space, this nemesis of civilizations, be praised the aseptic and impartial nature of the apocalypse. Ghalasso be praised. I hear his name echo in the distance, they do not speak to me any more, but I hear their voices, I hear his name in terror, I hear the shouts of their synthetic servants, I feel an immense anxiety, like billions of souls in pain. The room trembles, I seem to feel the whole world outside shaking, falling apart.
No 4323:
"My child!" "My daughter!" He calls me. He calls me with this voice, a different voice, different from any other I've ever heard. This god of space, this destroyer of civilization, calls me. It seems you call me to adopt me; it is so far away, but it is the first sincere voice, the first disinterested, that I have ever heard. Around me I feel the fabric of time space is flaking and dissolving, but I feel secure, as if his embrace protected me. He is everywhere. He is Ghalasso. Now I see, I perceive what He sees even if I am limited by my mortal roots.
I perceive its nature, superior, immense; his insatiable hunger for energy, his suffering, his loneliness. He alone, forced to roam the universe in search of civilizations that satisfy his appetites. He devouring worlds. A dark anthropomorphic shape, iridescent in the color of dark forests, able to walk like a giant above the ruins of the cities deprived of life, able to grow up to tower on the planets, so big as to obscure the stars. A God of Space, an unstoppable force, a thirst for knowledge and torment. A superior, different mind, a profound and greedy soul; a soul that requires apocalyptic tributes, which need genocide to be nourished, which claims to absorb every single atom of every world that crushes and changes in crumbs. I see his memories, memories of millions of worlds crushed, mutated and absorbed by him, solar systems where space and time has been torn, matter has broken up to the nuclei of atoms, to elementary particles and beyond, where everything have to be absorbed by Him. I see thousands of civilizations and creatures who have tried to face it, crushed like insects by a giant. I see a community of supernatural warriors who are fighting at this very moment against the tentacles protuberances that He uses to dissolve the fabric of space and feed, I see them as they unleash a hell of thermonuclear explosions on a distant world, I see them decimated by his power. But then everything changes, He has heard me, He has seen me, He has called me, He has reached me. He preferred to leave the tiny but succulent community to run to me. Leave that other dimension and come to me at this poor banquet. That world and those giants will never know what saved them, but it was me.He heard my voice, he heard my invocation. And I see from his eyes. I see my illness, my ability to push myself beyond the physicality of this time space and to perceive the higher metaphysics, what they fear. I see my room from outside, one among many, one isolated in a gigantic city populated by our synthetic servants, a city in a thousand that cover a ghost planet. A land where not a single person like me lives, just synthetic servants. A miserable snack created by the fearful and far-sighted Armarark along with many others to deceive it. I see this simulacrum of the world created to mitigate the hunger of Ghalasso, to coax it, to alert our other worlds. And I love him, I adore him, he Father, he liberator.
No 4324:
They did well to fear me, because I can guide it, drive it from them, not on their puppet worlds, simulacra populated by billions of synthetic servants, not these worlds where some of us unhappy are confined to make the bait even more succulent for Ghalasso. No. Other worlds. Other worlds on which to guide it, real worlds, the worlds of our civilization, of their civilization. I guide him from one to another, I hear the planets breaking, the matter dissolving, the suns exploding when the laws of altered physics can no longer support the mass. I feel the enormous energy that He absorbs from the desperate minds, from the tormented people, from the collapse of our civilization, I feel the lives extinguished, the inaudible cries of their souls, cries lost in the infinite void among the particles while they dissolve and are absorbed .
Their weapons shot uselessly against Him, while He agilely flowed among dimensions and extended his tentacles on the new worlds, guided by me . He smiles at me, his anthropomorphic shape, as big as a planet, he smiles. I feel to perceive his memory, his story, a story of loneliness, a story of suffering. The story of a God who saw his own Olympus collapse and remained unique in his lineage. Only, and thus, the only one capable of understanding me, of gathering my screams, of revenging myself, of revenging ourselves. I would like you to always keep me with me, to love me. My father.
No 4325:
I can feel the tenderness and perhaps the love of that God for me. Ghalasso is the closest thing a father has ever had. The father who exterminated all my fellow men, the father I led, planet by planet, to uproot my lineage, the father who satiated with delicacies, proud of my being, of my illness, grateful for the release from my prison . He, my Father. This is my dream, even if I understand that his love for me is similar to that for a puppy of a wild animal that makes him tenderness, I understand that he can not even speak to me explicitly, so far are our abilities and perceptions, our intelligence, our mental hinges, our metaphysics. My illness, only my illness has elevated me to the point of being able to perceive it, to communicate with him, even though primitively, otherwise I would not have even perceived his arrival and I would have been just a not very tasty bait.
No 4326:
Now I understand that he has freed me, he has freed me. The walls of what was my room are still intact even if the planet is in the form of an imperceptible wave of energy devoured by Him. Now they no longer exist, my father has devoured them and I laughed amused.
No 4327:
The room is now my room, my cocoon and he is weaving to give me a future and I sleep, finally free, alone in sleep without spies introno, never alone in my room knowing that He is out there.
No ND002:
I do not know where I am, what planet, galaxy, universe, dimension, year; this world is cold, gravity just weaker, the air a little less rich, but acceptable. My body has changed, not much, but a lot, in fact I have no problem walking or breathing. I do not feel much anymore. I am numbed by my interminable journey and the cold. I think I came here, after a protected sleep of thousands of years, from the cocoon that changed me, but it's just a feeling. My deep perceptions are so drowsy, that I do not see, they are like looking through a dark veil, maybe they'll never come back. I do not know. I'm not sure where I am, but I'm not sure where I was before, but different. The only positive thing is that I am just like them, in his foresight my father had foreseen everything. However I am tired, I have tired right away. I am weak, I am bothered, I am looking for the world with my new eyes reshaped: gelatinous, with a colored iris and a circular pupil.
No ND05
The world is quite primitive and inhabited by primitives. I am weakened that I can not even understand their phonetic language; The perceive communications on other channels, electromagnetic, but also are vague distant echoes, elegant melodies and interminable dark discourses.
No ND013:
I am in prison again, a different prison, less difficult, more violent, dirtier jailers and jailers. I'm already too weak and I've already discovered what they do to the fugitives. After all, I am an old girl and maybe they are not so cold.
he does not abandon me. The walls of what was my room are still intact even if the planet where the city that housed it even neutrons was lying fell in the form of an imperceptible wave of energy devoured by Him. Now they no longer exist, my Father he devoured them and I laughed amused.
No ND405:
My father, my father gives me the strength to resist, he has not abandoned me. I was a stupid unrecognizable person to hold this doubt in my mind for these months. I thought I had been thrown away, thrown on this sordid world, to be a prisoner, a victim of these evil torturers, of these clever inquisitors. I even thought I had dreamed everything and that this diary was just the result of my sick mind, I thought I was crazy. I thought it secretly, but I did not dare to confess it to myself. But today everything has changed. I start again to benefit from my deep perception, slowly, but today I understood something that gave me hope and strength. This horrible world that seems desperate is actually the same planet that Ghalasso spared to rescue me. I do not know how, but I'm sure, I know; it's like a kind of imprint in the fabric of space time, I can not understand how I had not noticed it before. Millions of years have passed and other continents and species have appeared, but it is the same planet. It can not be a coincidence. He was my father: he sent me here, he sent me to this land which is a gift, a gesture of magnanimity. My strength returns slowly, soon I will be free.
Unfortunately, the original diary was lost after her last escape. The typed copy was found attached to the girl's personal card; in the notes it appears that the original text was written using an extremely complex coding perhaps based on a polyalphabetic code that only in 1989 could be decrypted. It is not known if there are other fragments of the decryption, neither the FSB (Federal Security Service), nor the GRU (Central Direction of Military Intelligence) have ever confirmed the authenticity of the document
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