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It will be a good 
year he said, smiling goodbye. Inside his car, ready to move on, his favourite track Just for one night fills his brain with healing evolutionary theories and he feels proud of his style, lightness and kindness. I would like you to stay a little longer she wanted to say, thinking of the meal she wanted to share with him. Ah you just want to play with my zizi he thought, hearing her mind invitation. Next time he said, my children are waiting for me now. She looked a bit like someone he knew before. Next time came after a while. Shall we make some fish for dinner? she proposed with joy and appetite. He thought the only thing she had in her obsessed mind was his zizi again. Désolé, I prefer to eat fish with good old friends who speak my language better than you do, he said.

No, he didn't say that, she made it up. He was not arrogant, nor hypocrite nor indifferent. And if he was, he has the right to be so. She has all the rights in the world too, like we all have. Yes but she is a woman. When you have friends with little money, there is a risk these friends will ask you for money, so better always have friends with more money than you. She decided to hate him, hate him beyond words, beyond reason, beyond his imagination, beyond anything that would make any sense. As mean, as deep, as freaky as she could. To direct all her hate for anything that was not perfect towards him. She woke up hating him, she went to bed hating him, she walked in the city hating him. Inverted sublimation. There was nothing but hate she wanted to relate to him. That made her feel utterly disgusted. Mainly with herself. One night she had a nightmare, a man was beating her up with a manhood, to punish her for not understanding the status, position, role and sacredness of this tool, marking tool, as Kristeva would call it, currently at the very centre of some societies, at least, in some men's mind. Accordingly, everybody who was not a man nor a super star, had a problem regarding positioning herself at the right level on the scale and order of things. Drinks first, dreams never. Not yours at least, or not here. Marked territory, marked thinking, marked writings, marked music, marked dance, marked fish. The IMF man is not an exception yet is he pretty educated, pretty intelligent, pretty polite, pretty rich, pretty stylish and consequently pretty right to escape without being condemned for his abuse. And for sure he's got lots of good friends, people who all appreciate him greatly, for the exemplary character he shows around. Crowds came to greet him and bring him offerings for his birthday, even from abroad. All were welcomed with warm charming hospitality by him and his wife. Good wives and wise women don't talk. Only to their shrink. For the rest of the day, they make up, smile largely and never skip the twenty flat belly sessions, morning and evening, as to keep their female character up and right. Little girls are encouraged to start this spiritual practice even before learning to read and write. It's the secret science - like some think tantra was - to please men and bring them to extreme euphoria. Flat bellies! The ultimate sign of high civilisation, self restraint and a deep philosophical attitude towards life and its unexplainable punishments. Delighted, men jump in it - the first flat belly they come across - and jump out of it as soon as they feel something that might cause a feeling a fear a risk a tear a sorrow a worry or anything that would put them in a position other than safe and explicit power. As very well known, they are and must remain the winners. It's life and we love it, he added and drove on to his much beloved freedom.  Freudland, summertime.

The Sage: Nobody understands everything.
Mira: Freud would think he does.