Dedicated to Natalie. For the inspiration in our
conversations

1.The man who would not be human

The man who would not be human was dying. And, as the end
came near, he calmly reflected upon his life, and came to
the conclusion that he had achieved nothing at all, as far
as he was concerned.

2. The regular child

The man who would not be human was born as we all are- a
regular baby, with a regular family, a regular body and a
regular name. They would all be changed completely during
his life, in ways that were so spectacular that they would
change the whole world with them.
His name, by the way, was Omer Ramon. He was born in
Jerusalem on the 2nd of April 1984, to a philosopher and a
history professor (His father was the philosopher, in case
you were wondering). His parents and their professions had a
great influence on him; they could even be said to have been
one of the reasons for what was going to happen. Of course
it wasn't the only reason... if every child of such parents
(and by such I mean their professions as well as the way
they educated him, how much time they spent at home and the
quantity and content of their conversations with him) would
end up like him, our world would have been blown apart years
ago. Anyway, back to baby Omer.
His babyhood and childhood were normal, some would say
better than normal. All his needs were provided for, every
toy he wanted bought, every little scratch treated with care
and attention. He had one older brother and one younger
sister, who were quite alright as far as siblings were
concerned. He was never beaten or molested and had no
childhood traumas. Why am I telling you this? Because that's
one of the things that dumbfounded the psychologists of the
future. Judging by his childhood, he should've been working
today as a professor someplace (or maybe a doctor or
lawyer), coming back every day to his wife and children, and
enjoying his peaceful and boring little human life- nothing
special but satisfying nonetheless. In fact, they couldn't
isolate any event or reason that turned him into the man who
would not be human. To them, it was inexplicable. That's
what made the whole thing so scary.
To make a long story short, Omer Ramon was an above average
kid, but nothing to write in the papers about. He was born,
raised in Jerusalem, attended school, played with toys, made
friends, etc. etc.
A regular start to what was maybe the most irregular life in
the history of the human kind.

3. The teenager who had doubts

I know what you're gonna say. Every teenager has doubts. And
you'd be right to say so. But Omer (who was very close to
the end of his existence) was much more intelligent than
most teenagers were, and so, he had doubts of a higher
quality.
While his classmates were thinking of sex and popularity,
Omer was pondering the immortal question of whether our
lives mean anything. He read all of his father's philosophy
books, understanding most of it and guessing the rest. He
would often be caught staring at space in the middle of
class, his face vacant of feeling and expression. On
recesses, while others played soccer, bought something at
the school kiosk or just lurked on the school benches (a
favorite pass time in his school), he would stay inside the
classroom and read. And so it came to pass that, despite his
good looks, sharp brain and excellent skills in many areas,
he was regarded as a freak. Not that it bothered him so
much... after all, he had much greater issues to deal with.

When his classmates were already having sex, Omer had
already designed his own answer to the question, and was set
on the path to fulfill his goal. He rejected all of his
father's philosophers as men who were only capable of
finding logical explanations for what they wanted to
believe. They twisted facts, made false analogies and wrote
bad allegories, all to reach the conclusion that was in
their minds before they even started thinking. Never had any
of them wrote about something beyond the human wisdom, above
all the things that human beings accepted as obvious. How he
hated that word- obvious. If there was anything he had
learned it was that nothing was obvious, everything could be
proved and disproved, with only a little effort.
His answer to the question of whether or not our existence
as human beings has any meaning was quite simple, and he was
surprised to see that no philosopher had ever expressed such
an opinion. He thought that since humanity was simply a race
created by a random set of events, there could be no meaning
to our lives, unless we somehow outgrew our humanity. That's
what he wanted; he wanted above, he wanted beyond.
It had all started when he had tried to write a short story
about monsters. He had written many short stories, cynical
and satirical pieces mainly, but now he wanted to write
something completely fantastic. Something so fantastic that
the creatures in it would not be humanized.
In every book/film/story about monsters or aliens they are
creatures that are reasonable to the human mind. They are
always motivated by human motives, think human thoughts, do
human deeds. They almost never look human, but they always
look like something a human would expect to see. And that's
all very understandable. After all, it was a human mind that
created them.
But what he wanted was to write about a creature or race
that wasn't like that. He wanted to invent something new, to
think of something truly original, and not just recycled
like every book and movie done in the 90's. He wanted to
bypass the human concepts he was stuck with.
Love, size, time, science, thought, faith, they're all
man-made concepts. Even life and death. We all accept them
as truths (and truth is another one of those concepts, of
course). Even if he thought that time has no real meaning
and that it's only an invention, when he looked at the clock
he still saw that it's now 22:30, and he still knew that
it's late. He believed that it doesn't matter how much we
try, we just can't get past this barrier, except maybe
insane people (and isn't that a great concept- sanity), and
although he thought about it and realized that that barrier
exists, he not only couldn't cross it, but couldn't even
perceive what's beyond it. He wished that he could, he
wished that he could go beyond that barrier; he wanted more
than anything else to be able to think thoughts that are
beyond human comprehension. If nothing else, it would
certainly be an interesting experience.
This peculiar line of thought led him to small acts of
rebellion. Once in a while he felt an urge to do something
that broke the tight boundaries we live in as a race. He
knew they were meaningless, but it amused him just the
same.
His favorite was looking someone in the eyes during a bus
ride, staring into them, then pass by him and say a single
word like "cupboard" or "duck" and then get off the bus
without looking back. Some of his victims thought it quite
peculiar. Some mulled over it a day or two trying to
understand what had happened exactly. And there was one
person, a middle-aged immigrant from Moscow (in which Omer
had triggered existing seeds of paranoia) who decided that
the teenager that had said "bargain" to him was a KGB agent,
a fact that drove him mad.
He kept testing his own limits, and discovered he didn't
really have any. Not mental ones, at least. He had no shame,
no fear, and no guilt. He simply didn't care. He could walk
naked on the street, grab a woman's breasts, walk in the
middle of a busy street paying no attention to the yells of
angry drivers, and feel nothing. He never ran away after
doing these things. On the contrary, he liked staying there
and rationalizing with people, convincing them that there
was nothing wrong in what he'd done although it was against
man's laws of normality.
He hated codes of conduct and rules. He couldn't understand
how people had decided on all those stupid standards you had
to live by to be "good". Moreover, he couldn't understand
how most people could agree that those standards were right
and yet break them all the time. If you set your own
standards, you should live up to them, shouldn't you?
He especially hated religion. As far as he was concerned,
God was either the best invention ever, or an idiotic
superstition that had somehow gained gigantic proportions.
Either way, it was a great way to feed the common man's need
for meaning, and a better way to control the common man.
What he hated most about religion, or any other true and
complete faith, was that you couldn't argue with it. The
second you accept the idea that there's some omnipotent
being out there pulling our strings, it's impossible to give
any rational explanation against that idea. Every argument
you'll give could be answered by either "you're saying that
because God wants you to" or that other all-time favorite,
"God works in mysterious ways."
He hated politics, violence, ignorance, money and
superficiality. He hated people who lied to be popular,
people who did everything others did and people who were so
sure of themselves that they didn't see anybody else. He
hated the way people acted according to temporary fashions
and changed their minds all the time. He hated the idea of
love. He hated taboos. He hated the way people thought they
were so important. He hated weakness, and he hated strength.
In short, he didn't like people so much. But they fascinated
him.
In every opportunity he had he observed what others did, how
they reacted, what they said and what they hid. He was
equally interested in how someone reacted to a shoelace
being torn, as he was in how the same person reacted to a
loved one dying. As far as he was concerned, there were no
little things and no big things.
And so he kept observing, reaching conclusions and passing
judgement.
Behind his apathetic eyes hid thoughts no one would have
guessed in a boy his age. No one would have guessed his
thoughts on a person of any age, actually. What made him
different was not his intellect or his knowledge, it wasn't
his age or his family status, it wasn't any trauma he'd had
or any substantial thing he lacked. After all, there were
plenty of people with similar background, past and
characteristics. What made him what he was- and what he
later became- was his real and complete willingness to be
honest with himself, his ability to open his mind to any
thought whether it was good or bad, to accept anything that
came up, whether it was that strong voice he thought of as
his main thought line, the underlying conscious thoughts,
the subconscious ones, and any other kinds of thoughts and
ideas he had. He didn't deny any of them, let them all come
and dealt with them all. Generally speaking, that was his
only outstanding talent. But it was enough to rock the base
of all humanity.

Two events led Omer to begin his quest. The first one was
the first time he had sex.
He liked taking long walks at night, when things where
relatively silent, and just think by himself. He found it
better than most of the other options he had for amusing
himself.
It was on one of these walks, on a nice spring night, that
he met the girl that would be his first. He was walking at
3am, looking around him and observing things in that way he
had, when he saw her sitting on a bench, doing nothing. He
saw she was quite beautiful, and being almost 16 and as
influenced by hormones as others, he decided to make a move
and see what would happen. But he did it in his own special
way.
He sat down beside her without saying a word. He looked at
her and she looked at him, neither saying anything. Then
they both turned their heads and looked at the empty street,
at the sky, at the other one again, and so on. They kept on
sitting like that for an hour or so, in a silence as
comfortable as they come. Then Omer broke the silence by
saying "you know, I like you. I've never met anyone with
whom I could do something like this, or feel this way." She
agreed with him, and they both understood that although they
had only sat together in silence, a true bond had been made.
Her name was Michal. She would be Omer's only serious
relationship with any man or woman.
After this first hour of silence came conversations hours
long about everything and anything, sitting on that same
bench or in Omer's room. Michal was the only person he'd
ever met who could interest Omer and keep up with him in
conversations. There had even been one time when they argued
about whether she was special or not. She insisted on the
fact that there must be hundreds of people who could
interest him if he gave them a chance, and that she was the
only one that did because he didn't let any of the others
get as close to him as she was. In the end he conceded the
point. She was also the only one who had ever come out of a
discussion with him victorious.
They were friends, they were lovers, they were soulmates.
They were more than that and less than that at the same
time. Neither one of them believed in true love, but they
both felt for each other something they didn't feel for
anyone else. They were both the other's biggest human
contact.
Their relationship was almost entirely spiritual, but they
did kiss and touch each other sometimes. And although the
physical part of their relationship was small, it was there,
and they ended up having sex a month or so after they met.
For Omer it was a crucial event, not because of its deep
meaning for him but because of its lack of meaning. He
didn't really enjoy it, didn't feel anything special before,
during or after it, and all in all regarded it as something
quite ordinary. He told all this to Michal afterwards, and
she, who had felt entirely different and had given it much
more meaning, was hurt and left his house in tears. He
understood her, and gave her some time to relax before
calling her and talking to her again. From that day on the
physical side of their relationship was over.
Omer would think a lot about that night he and Michal had
had sex (made love?) in the near future. He wondered if it
was that way for everybody, and why sex took such a big part
in human existence. He concluded that it was something that
got a much bigger meaning than it deserved since most people
didn't have any other things they could give a meaning to.
Now he not only didn't believe in love, but he also didn't
believe that there was such a thing as SEX or SEX or even
Sex. There was only sex, just one more thing, like tv,
books, eating and sleeping.

The second event that began Omer's quest was the death of
his father. His father, whom he thought of as a good enough
man, was killed when a car bomb exploded next to the
University of Jerusalem where he worked. Only 3 people had
been killed in the terrorist attack, a small number in those
days in which every day there were at least one or two
people killed. But Omer's father was one of them, and his
family was devastated as a result.
In his father's funeral, while most of the people who were
there were crying, yelling in anger, sorrow and pain and
doing what all normal people do at funerals, Omer was
standing in the side, untouched by it all. He felt nothing
special. His father had been alright, he didn't mind having
him around and all that, but he wouldn't really miss him. He
could go on living the same way without him.
His father's death affected him the same way that having sex
with Michal had. He realized that although for most people
death was a very big thing, the biggest there could be, he
wasn't affected by it. He didn't care that his father was
dead. He didn't care if he himself would die. It wasn't
really important.
Two big myths of life had been broken for him in less than a
year, sex and death. Now all I have to do is win the
Lottery to see if money has no meaning for me, either, he
thought cynically. He now had proof that neither of them
meant anything to him, not only in theory, but also in
reality. What better than his lack of feeling after the
death of his father- and in a terrorist attack of all
things- to prove that death wasn't something that meant much
to him? What could prove that sex wasn't what it was made up
to be better than having sex with Michal, the only person he
loved (for lack of a better word) in the world?
Omer reached the conclusion that he really had no limits,
there wasn't anything he wanted, nothing he feared, nothing
that could stop him or motivate him. That thought had been
in his mind long before, but now he was finally sure.

After reaching the conclusion that he had no real limits,
the road was paved for what was to come. From his small acts
of rebellion he moved up many steps when, three days after
his father's funeral, he left school and started his fight
against himself. He decided to renounce his own humanity and
try to transcend it, and the first step on his quest was to
erase his identity.
And all this at the age of 17.
His teenage years were over. Omer Ramon soon ceased to
exist, first only in his mind and later officially. And
that's how it all began.

4. The young man who fought his humanity

Omer Ramon ceased to exist on September 8th, 2001.
You could say that he committed suicide, but that wouldn't
be exactly true. It would be much more accurate to say that
he killed himself, and even more so to say that he killed a
part of himself.

The lawsuit was one of the most peculiar cases that judge
Ezrah Feinberg had judged. No, it was the most peculiar.
In fact, he was quite sure that it was one of the most
peculiar cases he'd ever heard of.
A young kid, not even 18 yet, was asking the country to
erase his name, take back his ID, release him from the
Israeli nationality without receiving another one, and, in
short, to become a no-man. His case was simple: a democracy
is based upon the idea of an agreement between many people
to their being part of a democratic society and country,
according to certain rules and principles. He didn't agree
with that, and he was asking to be released from this
country, and he was willing to give up all his rights. Since
the High Court of Justice was an institute responsible for
keeping and enforcing democratic rights, he thought it
should accept his petition.
He was, of course, representing himself.
Judge Feinberg, a man who lacked neither years nor
experience, almost never liked to predict the outcome of a
case in which he was the judge. But on this one he was
almost entirely sure that the kid wouldn't get what he
wants. Not because he would lose, but because he would
cancel the lawsuit. "He will get all the attention that he
wants, and will be shown that he's wrong. I've read what he
wrote about this strange case of his... he's an intelligent
kid." He told one of the other judges on the case (since it
was an extraordinary case, there would be a seat of five
judges in it).
The newspapers made a big deal out of his case, of course.
A BOY AGAINST ISRAEL, read the headline (first page) in
Ma'ariv. BUT MOMMY, I DON'T WANT TO! Read the one in Yediot
Ahronot.
Everybody regarded Omer's case as a curious one, or a weird
one, but no one took it seriously. All this would change in
the first day in court. Omer's opening speech left everyone
in court astounded. Nobody thought a young boy (and after
that day he was called a young man by most) could write such
a speech, which showed such a good understanding of the laws
and values of the State of Israel and the democratic country
in general. One headline in the next day's paper was WHAT
SCHOOL DID YOU GO TO?
A psychologist and a psychiatrist were summoned by the
court to evaluate Omer. They came out of their session with
the conclusion that Omer was acting in full awareness and
that he was mentally healthy. Other conclusions in their
report stated that Omer was "probably in the 190's or more
in his IQ score", that he was a low-grade sociopath, that he
was unwilling to make compromises, that there was nothing
sacred or such a thing as a taboo for him, and that he was
suffering from a very big "existential problem". They also
came out of the session with the decision to write a book
about him.
Omer read the report, and agreed with every word.
Many people contacted Omer, by mail, phone or E-mail, and
asked to talk to him about his case. Some wanted to convince
him that he was wrong, some wanted to state their support,
and some were just curious about it. He talked to all of
them, and with some he had very long conversations. He spoke
quietly and logically, explaining his views about life,
democracy and humanity gladly.
The answer he gave to the most popular question ("why?")
was always the same. "I want to get as far away from
humanity as possible. I find the human race is filled with
malice, confusion and self-contradiction, and I feel that I
can't find a place within it. Therefore I have decided to
decrease my humanity as much as possible, starting with the
name and nationality which I have gotten against my will
when I was too young to decide for myself. My plan is to
fight my so-called humanity piece by piece, until I'm left
with the smallest amount possible."
Many reporters wanted to interview him, but he refused
politely. "After I win the case", he told them all. Judge
Feinberg found this fact quite surprising; he thought the
kid was doing it mostly for the attention.
During the two months in which his case was dealt in the
High Court of Justice, Omer lived in a rented apartment in
Jerusalem, close to the court. His mother refused to let him
live with them, but she gave him enough money for food and
rent. They had had a huge fight when he'd left school, in
which his mother had screamed and cried almost constantly.
Omer just sat there and, as calm as ever, tried to explain
his reasons. His mother didn't want to hear them (and she
was quite successful at it), and she kicked him out of the
house. A week later she called him (he lived in Michal's
house for a while) and pleaded him to go back to school, and
when he refused she offered him to take some money from her,
at least, to which he agreed.
He took long walks in Jerusalem during the court days,
thinking about beauty, religion, history, architecture, the
case, philosophy, and other random thoughts. These are good
days, he thought to himself in one of these walks.But he
wasn't sure if that thought even meant anything to him.
When Judge Feinberg read the statement (according to which
"the state of Israel, as a democratic country which is lead
by values of freedom of the individual, accepts your
petition. From this day on, your name, Omer Ramon, will be
erased and will not be your name, you will have no Israeli
nationality, you'll have no civil rights, and you will be
erased from the country's records. It will be as if you
don't exist, and never have. Therefore, I must ask you to
leave this country within a week, since your status as a
citizen was erased with all the rest and you have no permit
to stay here as a tourist. May God help you") that ended the
case, he felt a feeling of such sadness he had never felt
before after a case. He had grown to like Omer, and even to
admire that young man. He went to him and made a last
attempt to convince him to give up this crazy thing and ask
for his identity back. But after he met Omer's (He wasn't
able to think of him as anything other than Omer although he
wasn't Omer anymore) cold eyes and dry rationality, he gave
up and just wished him good luck. Omer smiled at that, a
warm smile Ezrah didn't think he would ever see from him,
and said "thank you".
One of the journalists following the case had started
refering to Omer as "the man who would not be human", and
the nickname stuck within the small group of reporters
covering the events. That's why the morning after the case
ended, the headline in Israel's three major newspapers was
THE MAN WHO WOULD NOT BE HUMAN, a headline that would turn
into his name for lack of another one, and that would follow
him to the end. In them you could read a full interview with
"the former-Omer", as they put it, very long interviews in
which he talked about his past, his thoughts, the political
and security situation, his family, the future, and many
other things.
As a result of this whole episode, the Mossad took a
special interest in him and watched him closely for a while.
He was also flagged in the FBI records as a possible threat
in the future (one of the questions that would be asked when
everything was over would be how a flagged person had been
given the chance to do what he did).
Three days after his identity was erased, two hi-jacked
planes crashed into the Twin Towers and caused them to
collapse. The initial death toll was estimated at ten
thousand or more. The event gained the title of "the biggest
terror act in history". Talks about a world war, about who
was responsible and about a new world were heard all over
the media. The man who would not be human was forgotten, of
course. He would remain that way for almost four years.
The terror attacks caught him in the airport, as he was
getting ready to board a plane to Prague, from which he
planned to begin a trip around the world. He was there with
Michal, and they heard the news as they were passing through
the routine security check. People around them reacted in
many ways: shocked, unbelieving, angry and laughing faces
were seen all around. One man went around the place
muttering "I hope the Palestinians did it". People sat
around the TV screens that showed CNN's broadcast, eating up
every new detail as it came. For three hours life was
suspended in the whole airport, probably the whole world,
too. Then, after some time had passed and things had sunk
in, complaints about the fact that the flights would be
delayed or cancelled started, and with them also came black
jokes, accusations, prophesies about what would happen next
and how many dead there will be. It seemed as if it was just
one more bus that had been blown up. "Now they know how we
feel", was the general feeling he could sense.
This event affected him mostly in his views on human
beings. They just don't care about anything beside
themselves. He had no problem with that, since he didn't
really care either so he couldn't blame them, but later when
they'd talk about it they'd talk about how it's horrible and
about all those poor people, and all that hypocritical shit.
He was a little disgusted by the whole thing.
Two days later he came to the airport again, said goodbye
to Michal, and flew to Prague.

He spent the next year travelling throughout the world,
visiting everywhere. He passed through cities, thinking,
talking to people and watching them, eating different
foods, seeing different things. He learned a lot and yet
didn't change much. He didn't find what he was looking for.
In fact, he wasn't looking for anything.
In the end he chose an abandoned cabin in the middle of
nowhere in Russia as his permanent dwelling, taking with him
only some clothes, a hundred pens and about ten thousand
pages. He didn't see any human beings for more than three
years while living in that cabin. He lived a simple life,
spending his days hunting, tending a small vegetable garden,
cooking, sleeping, and most of all, writing.

He came back to civilization after about three years,
baring The Truth.  Nothing would ever be the same again.

5. The Truth

Prologue

This book tries to deal with all the things that we leave
unsaid. Feelings, thoughts, deeds. Everything that is common
to all of us, and yet we choose to ignore or deny it because
it's not socially acceptable. All the things which we're
afraid or embarrassed to admit even to ourselves. For every
time you wanted to say something and then thought better of
it and said "hmmm... nah, nevermind", there's a chapter
here. For each thought that passed through your head and was
swiftly hidden deep in your subsconcious, there's a passage.
This book talks about human life at its deepest, most naked
and most secret places.
You could say that this book is about freedom more than
anything else. Freedom of thought, freedom of action, the
freedom to really be who you want to be, and not who they
want you to think you want to be.
I've written this book in total self-awareness and in total
truth. There isn't a single lie in the 1089 pages of it. I
see no point in hiding anything, and therefore I've revealed
all that is relevant.
That's my short explanation for this book, now we'll get
right to the point.

We live in this world, this planet we call Earth. Some of us
live better, some of us live worse. We all have doubts
throughout our lives, we all think thoughts that we aren't
supposed to and do deeds that are supposedly wrong. Well, I
think that it's not us that are wrong, it's the suppositions
by which we live. Man has set certain standards for himself
throughout history, standards that are considered right and
are seldom argued with. Well, if those standards are right,
would someone please tell me why you can't find anyone that
is truly and completely happy? I mean, we're the ones that
have set the rules on what makes you happy, then how come no
one is? How is it possible that there isn't anyone in the
whole world that is perfectly good, when we're the ones who
say what is good and what isn't? The answer is simple
enough: we were wrong. We put all this rules and limitations
on ourselves, all this laws on what you're supposed to do
and what you're not supposed to do. We tend to believe that
there is some timeless truth that is beyond us, but there
isn't. Truth is a concept that was made up by human beings
thousands of years ago, and as such it can be unmade. Our
whole lives are made up by such concepts, knowledge,
feeling, thought and truth being the central ones that hold
all the rest within them. And if on one hand we agree that
our whole life is simply a ghost invented by ourselves, and
on the other hand we agree that our lives aren't satisfying
(I don't want to say good, although satisfying isn't right
either), then the obvious conclusion is that we haven't
invented that ghost the right way.
I know that these are statements that are hard to deal with,
especially since they collide with everything our education
and experience tell us, but what if our education and
experience are wrong? Think about it.
Imagine a man who's searching for something in the dark.
When his initial search fails, he starts looking for a
flashlight. He finds the flashlight after several minutes,
but by the time he finds it, he has forgotten what he was
looking for in the first place. And he's left there, with
the flashlight in his hand and a dumb look on his face.
That's how I see the human race. We all look for something
(I'd say happiness or love, which are the all-time
favorites, but it could be anything), but we get so lost in
the way, that we end up devoting our lives to getting
something we don't really want (this time our all-time
favorite would be money).
The metaphore might be stolen... I seem to recall reading
something like it once. Not so sure, don't really care. The
important thing is that you'll understand what I mean. Do
you?

OK, that long paragraph above is the central idea of this
book, and now I'll move on to prove it. I'll try to touch
every aspect of life, and show how it fits into that little
theory of mine. I can tell you right now that I'm going to
simplify many subjects and talk about them only in the most
superficial manner, but that's a compromise I had to make.
Otherwise the book wouldn't be a thousand pages long, but a
hundred thousand pages long. But I still think that I touch
the main ideas in all those subjects. I guess you'll be the
judge of that.
The first idea I want to speak of is the one of humanity.
Now, the word humanity is used to describe both the race we
belong to and a certain way of being which we should accept
as humans. I want to separate this two, because they aren't
the same (and to do that, from now on I'll use humanity to
describe the race, and humanity to describe the way of
being). Our race is something that we can't change; it's
those characteristics that are simply in us by nature. The
way we should be, on the other and, is definitely something
that we can change. In fact, I don't believe there is such a
thing as a way we should be. That way of being that is
taken for granted by so many people is what I'm going to
call humanity. The way I see it, humanity is a horrible
concept, one I've been trying to escape from for years, and
yet I'm still stuck mere millimeters away from my point of
origin.
To those of you who are thinking "ah, here's another one of
those who thinks he knows everything, and yet he will just
say what's wrong about human life and offer no real
solution, like the rest of them" I have a little surprise at
the end of the book. But I have to ask you not to read it
before you read the body of this book, which is real book.
If you won't, the end will sound crazy and extreme.

For those of you who want a little background on the
author, or who were wondering why there is no name behind
those big black letters saying "THE TRUTH", I'll explain
shortly. I have no name. I'm not writing anonymously, I just
don't have a name. I used to have one, but I erased it as
part of my failed project of dehumanization. I think that a
name is just another idiotic attempt to achieve control over
things, to label everyone and everything so as to be able to
sum them up with that series of meaningless syllables. How
can you sum the whole complex of physical and spiritual
existence of a human being by a random set of sounds? What
does it mean to me if my name is Michael or Boris or Fatima?
Would I be any different if I had another name? Did anything
in me change since the erasure of my name? As I said,
concepts that are taken for granted, and yet are so stupid
and irrelevant.
OK, now that we talked about me a little, I want to make it
clear that this whole book is at the same time completely
about me and yet not about me. All the thoughts and feelings
described are mine, but are actually told to show something
about all of us. I say us all the time because I feel united
to you all, united to every single human being in the world
in a common goal: to get out of this trap that we're in,
this trap called humanity.

One small request before you get on to read the actual
book: please keep an open mind, and think about things
several times before you reject them or accept them. Don't
just read this book; understand it. And having said that,
you are welcome to enter my world.

The book was an amazing success. It conquered the world of
publishing in a tidal wave. It was the strangest phenomenon
ever to happen in the world of books. Since the book was
extreme in its views, no official publisher would have
accepted it, and no bookstore would have sold it, and so an
entire black market consisting of "The Truth" was opened.
One person read it, and immediately passed it to someone
else. Thousands of rumors about it were heard. It gained
publicity from word of mouth only.
Several editions of the book were printed and distributed
by different people. None of them had the author's
permission, all of them had the author's approval. He also
put it up on the internet, so everyone could have free
access to it. It is estimated that at least half a billion
people read it.

Aliens

No, I'm not going to talk about green creatures from outer
space, don't worry. What I mean by aliens is much closer to
all of us. Actually, it is us. We are all aliens, aliens to
each other, aliens to ourselves.
We are all alienated from each other, from our families,
from our friends, from the strangers we see on the street.
We pretend to like each other, we talk about deep
connections and love, we say 'thank you' and 'please', but
deep inside we feel alone. No one knows how we really feel,
nobody can understand us. We can't understand our own
thoughts and feelings; we do unexplainable things without
knowing why.
It's easy to see where the alienation comes from. Each of us
has his own world, and sees and knows the world only through
his own experience. The world is like an enormous building
with a garden in the middle of it, a building in which every
apartment is a person. The windows are our eyes, and we all
see the garden from our own perspective. You could say that
the world is different for every one of us, or that we all
live in our own world. It's easy to become alienated from
others when you live in different worlds.
I think that one of the things that show the alienation at
its best is the whole idea of love. We find one person from
all the billions in the world, we become attached to them,
we think it's a special connection, we talk of soulmates,
some of us become convinced that only him/her can understand
us. Then something happens, we split up, and eventually
another person comes and we begin a new relationship. Now,
what this means, in my opinion, is that we could form this
kind of relationship with many people, and we just choose
not too. We truly believe that only one person can
understand us, that only with that person we can be
comfortable... we're obviously alienated from all the rest
of the world if we can feel these feelings and think these
thoughts.
TV has alienated us from true events, the school system has
alienated us from knowledge, and language has alienated us
from real communication. We keep becoming more cynical and
apathetic to our surroundings, while our surroundings get to
be such where sympathy and care are what is most desperately
needed.
We give to say that we gave, and barely care if what we've
given was received. We do charity so that people will see us
doing it, and to feel better with ourselves, and later tell
ourselves that we did it out of kindness.
Some of us feel out of place in every place where there are
other people around. Others have to have everybody's
attention, but don't really care about those that give them
the attention as single beings.
We talk of feelings we don't feel, make movies and write
books and songs about them. Some of us dedicate our whole
lives for some faint idea that doesn't exist. And the result
of all this is that we are aliens to each other.
The best way to show this is by taking a trip to the center
of town. Just look at all the people on the bus, in the
streets, in the different shops and restaurants, and try to
describe your thoughts and feelings about them. Alienation.

This alienation is not a problem by itself, but it is a
syndrome of another, much larger problem. We just don't like
ourselves. As a race, I mean. We all see in other people all
the negative sides that are inside us, and we don't like
them because of that. Not only that, we fear them, we're
afraid because we know that they see those same things in
us.
It's humanity that causes this alienation.

All around the world, teenagers and young adults became
addicted to his words, saw him as some kind of prophet that
had come from heaven, someone who truly understood them and
their problems. For many it was the first time that they saw
that others felt like them. The Truth was regarded like the
new Bible. The Anti-bible, in fact.

Boredom

One of the most obvious characteristics that can be seen in
the human being of this day and age is his boredom.
Everybody's bored, everybody is looking for something to do,
and everybody wants some kind of purpose. Most of us don't
have wars, illness or hunger to keep us entertained. I know
how that sounds, but think about it: you take someone that
is in mortal danger every day, and his will to survive will
be stronger than anything else; take that same person and
give him ten years of good, safe living, and he may develop
a negative view on life, maybe even suicidal tendencies. Or
in other words: a person who's in mortal danger, will not
try to kill himself. Quite the opposite.
This boredom comes from the lack of purpose most thinking
people feel. Life has no meaning, but we still have to live
it, and so we are bored. We complain a lot. If there's
something that we're good at it's complaining. We invent
original ways of avoiding the boredom every day. We invent
and worship an omnipotent being. We recycle and save the
rainforests. We take drugs and drink alcohol. We work hard
to get more and more and more money. We do it all, just as
long as we don't have to simply sit somewhere, alone, and
really think. That's why TV's so popular, I think. It's a
distraction from our own thoughts.
Many have already talked before me about how our span of
attention keeps getting shorter and shorter. They've talked
of how we need more speed, more violence, more action, and
that if we get this we still don't get too excited. But none
of those who said it has taken the next step forward. None
of them has talked of the solution to this problem. I will.
I am sick of this feeling, this feeling that no matter what
I do or what will happen, it won't excite me. I could just
take one of the paths listed above, escape from it all, but
I choose not too... they aren't real solutions anyway. What
we need to do is eliminate the boredom in the only way
possible. And that way, I'm sorry to tell you yet again,
will be found in the epilogue.  

The effect of the book on everyday life was amazing. It was
the only book in history which had so much influence, over
so many people, in so little time. Some started to live by
the small tips and advice the book gave. Others, which had
gained new insights on life from the book, did things that
they'd never believed they would have the courage to do. In
schools groups of students who had read the book became
connected on the sole basis of having read it. Something was
starting, and growing larger every day. You could feel it in
the air. Change.

Thought and Action

Now I want to talk about the one thing that is the most
interesting to me. The one point that I would like to clear,
the one problem that I want to solve. It seems trivial at
first, but when you've looked at it long enough, turned it
upside down and observed it from all its angles, you see how
important and complex it is, and how it holds our entire
world in itself. This thing, this point, this problem that I
can't stop thinking about, is the relation between thought
and action.
Some of you are probably saying "huh!? What is he talking
about?" Well, it's simple, really, and in its simplicity it
holds the entire complexity of human life. In its base, the
problem is as simple and obvious as they come: we think
certain things but we do other things, more often than not.
That's the root of it, the first floor. On it I've built an
edifice of thought through the years, but because of a
presumed lack of time (yours, not mine), and the
impossibility of writing down patterns of thought in their
primary from, I'll try to sum it up in a small number of
pages.
Everything fits under this title of thought and action and
the way they relate to each other, from Socrates to the
Islamic fundamentalists. Thought and action, each one by
itself, are enormous subjects about which I won't talk, for
two reasons: there is too much to talk about, and ten
thousand pages could be written about each one without
touching even half of it; and they are so great, so general
subjects that when we talk about everything, or anything if
you like that word better, we actually talk about thought
and action, whether it's directly or not.
All we do is think and talk about things. We say that
something is wrong, but continue doing it. We think, and
I'll even say believe, that we should do something, but we
don't do it. Why? It could be many reasons: social
standards, fear, that thing we call morality... it doesn't
matter why, the important thing is that most times we don't
act according to our thoughts, at least not according to our
real thoughts. And excuse me for the generalization, but a
man can't be happy when there is such a difference between
thought and action.
The thing that most interests me is those times that we
think of doing something and can't find any reason against
doing it. To make the point clear, an example: it's like
thinking about putting a piece of paper on the table so
you'll be able to find it later but still throwing it on a
pile of books and notebooks. Why do we do that?
Some of the biggest philosophers say that we are beings that
are almost entirely rational. I don't agree with that, and
what I just wrote is only a tiny part of it. There is just
so much irrationality in humanity, even in human thought
itself. And, as I said, it's a problem. As someone who
defines himself almost solely by his thoughts, I believe
that the perfect state would be one in which thought and
action were related in a direct relationship. Or, in other
words, you should act according to your thoughts.

And not only young people read it. Many adults, curious to
know what all the fuss was about, read it too. Some liked it
and agreed with the things he had written, but a lot of
others were shocked and frightened by the ideas presented in
the book.

Democracy

I'm going to surprise you right now. Are you ready? I don't
believe in democracy. In fact, I believe that it's a pile of
bullshit. Surprising, huh? Me, having negative opinions
about things? Impossible! (Sorry, just amusing myself a
little here... I've been writing for a long time). Now let's
explain.
First of all, I don't believe in the idea of the masses
ruling. Let's set aside the practical questions of whether
it's even possible for the masses to rule for a moment, OK?
Let's assume that we have some amazing and perfect system in
which every single man is involved in the decisions that
must be made in any modern country. Would that country
function properly? Hardly. For starters, there are millions
of people that just lack the intelligence and understanding
to make such decisions. Besides that, the conflict of
interests is just too big, and there would be too many wills
and wants that would interfere with the correct way of
running a country. I can write more about this, but it all
comes down to the same idea: the masses aren't smart enough
or "good" enough to run themselves, not as individuals and
definitely not as a group.
The second problem seems contradictory to the first one, but
I don't really care. It's the fact that there is no
practical way for the masses to truly rule. The best way we
found so far is by delegates, and you can see how well
that's working out: corruption, greed, public officials
doing everything they want and anything needed to stay in
their seats, no real connection between the elector and the
elected. And my favorite problem: the fact that people don't
vote for their favorite candidate, the one they think will
be best for them and their interests, but for the one who's
the best bad candidate, or the least bad. How can the masses
rule in such a way? And nobody is really happy with it, but
that same nobody doesn't say anything about it. Sure, there
are complaints and demonstrations (and too few of them at
that), but nobody does anything substantial to change the
way things are run.
I'd say modern democracy is a tyranny of the masses against
themselves. In the name of the idea of ruling over
themselves, the masses let themselves be governed by people
who aren't always liked, aren't always capable, and don't
really reflect the ideas they're supposed to reflect. Worse
than that is the fact that the politicians themselves, who
do come out of the masses (although from certain groups
within them, of course) are tyrants without even knowing it-
they're simply regular people who take care of themselves
and their job, and have no real idea of what it is they are
doing. At least not a complete idea. As I said, democracy is
a tyranny not of force and terror over people, but of an
idea.
The whole modern idea of humanity is a tyranny against
ourselves. And democracy is just a side effect of that
bigger problem.
What's my much better idea for a way to rule? Well, the
answer is that I don't really have one. But who said that in
order to criticize something you have to have a better idea
to replace it?

When the authorities decided after some time to do something
about it, it was too late.
The Truth was out there.

Epilogue

Well, if you've come this far, I bet you're waiting for the
solution I promised you in the beginning. Many of you may
have already thought about it, but many more are probably
still too seeded in their humanity to do so. Well, my
solution is a simple one, one that will solve the problems
talked about in this book entirely, if it succeeds. I dare
say that if you had read this epilogue without reading the
whole book before, it would seem crazy, extreme, horrible or
simply wrong. But I believe that after going through this
whole process with me, your mind is much more open than
before, and will treat the idea from the correct
perspective.
Anyway, I've teased you long enough. Here it is:
A revolution.
I know, I know. Some of you may be thinking that revolutions
have been done before and never helped much, others may be
thinking that violence is not the answer, and yet others may
just be thinking that I'm an idiot. So, I'll explain.
I'm not talking about a regular revolution. You know as well
as I do that there have been enough of those. In my
revolution (I'll take the liberty of calling it my
revolution...it's not out of delusions of grandeur, it's
just more comfortable), there'll be no final goals, nothing
to fight for, no plans of the future after the revolution.
Throughout history, revolutions have succeeded in defeating
their enemies, but failed in achieving their goals. Others
achieved their goals, but soon found out that the new
reality that they had fought for so much was as bad as the
old one.
In a gaze as broad as possible at history, we can see that
there have been no changes for the better. Things may have
been good for some years here and there, great times of
prosperity may have come and gone, but the fact is that the
good always went away. Changes for the good can only be done
by hard work, with small changes that accumulate to bring a
general, big change. Changes for the worse are much easier
and common. A hundred years of work can be destroyed by one
year of war. Thousands of years of progress can be erased in
an hour. Real changes in our way of life have only come by
deep and powerful traumas. So if we really want to change
things, let's give humanity a real trauma.
My point is simple: there is nothing we can do to make
things better. Somewhere along history, our race took a
wrong turn, and we are the result. It doesn't matter what
the mistake was or where and when it happened, it's here and
it can't be undone.
But the time has come in which we can repair that long
forgotten mistake, in the only way possible: by changing
things for the worse. I would like to say that if we all
work together, and if every man realizes that he can make a
difference, and if we all act just a little more morally,
and all those happy and nice ideas, then we can change the
world for the better. Not that it's wrong. Every idiot can
see that we can make things better if we just want to. But
things don't work that way. And that's why we're left with
the exact opposite. I suggest we all work together to
destroy everything. It's much easier, much more likely to
catch on, and, truth be told, much more fun.
So, for those who haven't caught on yet, what I'm saying is
this: to solve the problems of humanity, you have to destroy
humanity. My revolution isn't against certain people or
ideas, it's against all people and ideas. We are the
enemy. I propose, as the only solution to all that has been
said in this book, to make a revolution: a revolution
against everything and against nothing, a revolution without
goals, without laws, without hope, without ideals, without
winners... sounds like fun, doesn't it?
I want to make one thing clear. I'm not writing this out of
anger or hate. If I am writing it out of anything, it's out
of confusion, but the best word to describe the way I feel
is tired; tired of complaints, tired of talking but not
doing, tired of the bad things, tired of the good things,
tired of thoughts and feelings, tired of writing, tired of
human beings, tired of everything. I think that's the best
word to describe the state of humanity in these days: we are
a tired race. I'd explain, but I think you all know what I
mean.
Oh, I want to ask a favor from you all. I know that many
people will read this book, and agree with the ideas in it,
but will not do anything. So I'm asking you, please, don't
do that. Even if it doesn't always seem so, I am writing
this book for a reason, and that reason isn't for your
agreement. If you agree but do nothing it's as if you didn't
agree at all. Remember what I said about thought and action?
Well, it's time to break the pattern and do something.
Time to stop with the day-to-day plastic-wrapped rebellions
and pointless compromises. It's time to let it all out, be
what we are: savage, beautiful, disgusting, rational,
violent, sad, bored, complicated beings. And more. So much
more.
So, here's the plan: I suggest we start out in small, since
it is an idea that is hard to swallow. Start by doing
something that exceeds those tight little limits of conduct
we set for ourselves. Do something unexpected. It could be
anything, the important thing is that you see how
meaningless it all is. After you do that small thing, get
together, meet others who have read the book, talk, fuck,
have some fun. Then do something bigger. You know, a random
act of violence... blow something up, kill somebody, people
do it every day. Then, once you see how easy that is, the
revolution will have taken a life of its own, and things
will start rolling by themselves. If enough people will read
the book and start my so-called revolution, big groups will
form naturally, and the real revolution will begin. Looting
in the streets, destruction, murder, all that stuff. Armies
and police forces will come and try to stop you, and then
the real fun will begin. I believe that we will win (if you
can call it winning) in the end, because I've seen enough of
people to guess that the majority will join the revolution-
whether it will be because they agree to the idea behind the
revolution, or just because of a normal case of fashion and
going with the flow is irrelevant. When you think about it,
we can't really lose, since the final goal includes our own
deaths, so what can they do to us? When you have nothing to
win, how can you have anything to lose?
So, let us free ourselves. Let us free human kind from the
so-called human nature, and the human being from the human
laws. Let us end the world as we know it, and not worry
about building another one instead. Let us have fun, and be
free, and die.  
Well, all we need is a beginning. Afterwards things will
take their own course.
I know it may sound strange to you, maybe even a little
extreme (sorry, just amusing myself here), but think about
it. Just think about it.
One more thing before I leave you to (hopefully) think this
book through: If some of the readers are asking themselves
if I think that I'm the only one who saw all these things or
who wrote about them, you're wrong. Way wrong. I know that
almost everything I wrote in this book has been written in
one place or other, I know that there are no ideas presented
here that are completely original. The new and original
thing in my opinion is the combination of all the ideas into
one book, and the intensity with which they are written.
Hell, I don't know, maybe it has been done before. Maybe the
book will be read with the same apathy that we have all
become accustomed to. Maybe no one will even read it. But
I'm proud of this book, no matter what happens.
I think that I've pretty much summed up my thoughts on
life, and I could bet my life (I probably am) on the fact
that others feel like me. I hope this book will open some
eyes.

The seeds had been planted. The main idea of the book, its
conclusions, came true. The revolution had begun.

6. The Revolution

The revolution started in as small a way as possibly
imaginable. Well, if you'd read the history books they'd say
that it started with the Berlin riots, but the real
revolution had been going on under the surface for three and
a half weeks before that. It had started spontaneously in
countless places, by countless, nameless people, and in
various different ways. But the first real revolutionary act
was done in a dentist's office, in a small suburb of New
York City, while a 15 year old girl was on the dentist's
chair.
Throughout the treatment, the dentist had felt a strange
feeling, some kind of presence, someone looking at him. Only
when he was almost done did he notice that it was the girl
on the chair. She was staring at him, really staring, her
eyes not wavering at all. When he saw her eyes so directly
aiming into his own, he almost jumped. His hand jumped and
he cut the side of the girls mouth, but her eyes, now
expressing pain as well as that strange interest that had
shone there before, remained on his. He coughed, murmured
"sorry" and went out of the room.
The girl smiled to herself. She had finished reading The
Truth the day before that, and it had given her confidence
she had never felt before. Feeling useless and pointless
does tend to give you confidence- a kind of desperate
confidence based on the fact that nothing you do will ever
matter.
Staring at the dentist was exactly the kind of act that fit
the beginning of this revolution. It was meaningless, even
idiotic. It changed nothing, not even the dentist- who was a
little shaken right now- was influenced by it in the long
run. But it was an act that broke socially acceptable
standards, and since it was the first act directly
influenced by reading The Truth, we will consider it as the
beginning of the revolution.
The next three weeks were the strangest this world has ever
seen. People who had read the book started following
instincts that had always been quenched before. They started
saying and doing things that society's unspoken laws don't
allow. Some of these revolutionary acts had some meaning or
purpose, but most of them simply satisfied some raw feeling
for the perpetrators. Be it curiosity, anger, love,
confusion, it didn't matter. The revolutionaries did what
they wanted, when they wanted and where they wanted.
The speed and way in which these revolutionaries shed the
rules by which they had lived for so many years proved how
much they had been waiting for a reason to do just that, and
also proved how fragile ordered society really was. The
rapidly increasing number of the revolutionaries also proved
it. It made many people wonder how it was possible for human
society to last as long as it did.
In those three weeks no one did anything to stop the
revolution, since it hadn't formally started. Until the
Berlin riots the revolution consisted of individual acts, or
acts done by small groups at the most. Nothing was
organized, nothing was planned. And still, if you'd asked
The man who would not be human, or The Man, as he was called
in those days, he'd tell you that those were the best three
weeks of the revolution. Before the weapons, before the mass
destruction and death, before the crumbling of society,
before the forming of the different armies of the
revolution. All that was nice and fun, he'd say, but it was
nothing compared to the kid that fulfilled his fantasy of
punching his Math teacher, the girl who had finally had sex
with her half-brother, or that guy that had gone through the
Jerusalem Central Bus Station, passing people's bags from
one bus to the other. It was all so senseless and yet so
pure, he would tell you. The Man was quite romantic, in his
own way.
Of course there was plenty of death and destruction in those
first weeks, but it was very different from the later ones.
Even the violence of those weeks was pure- from right-out
hatred crimes, to acts that hurt people by accident. There
were several big car accidents because some kid decided that
he wanted to drive on the wrong side of the street. A lot of
murders were commited with no real reason, just for the
deed, or to prove that it was possible, and there were many
murderers who were avenging some long gone event, or acting
out feelings of hatred which had been bottled up for years.

An unbelievable amount of people told someone they had known
for years something like "you know, I don't really like you.
I've been pretending all this time". Others finally mustered
the courage to tell someone that was supposably unreachable
that they loved them. Many couples were made in the street,
or the bus, or a coffee shop, and unmade in mere hours,
without even exchanging names. None of it was really
abnormal, after all it isn't so strange to break boundaries
and laws. But it was all so total, so massive, so complete.
The Man had given the people their long-sought and
long-talked-about freedom, and at least for the course of
those three weeks, they liked it.
Then came the Berlin riots, which was the first organized
revolutionary act. In two days, around three hundred
thousand young people calling themselves The Truthers went
through Berlin, breaking, burning, looting, raping and
killing. The estimated death toll was more than two million,
and more than two thirds of the truthers died. The central
event in the riots was The Truthers' conquest of the city
hall, from which their leader proclaimed the founding of The
Revolutionary Army, and dedicated the victory to The Man.
Until that day, The Man had simply walked the streets of
different cities, looking at what was done in the wake of
his book, and barely doing anything himself. After the
Berlin riots he decided to join the revolution, and start
something of his own. At least a hundred people had already
claimed to be him, and were all either proven wrong and
killed, or arrested by the police.
The Man didn't really care. He knew that when he'll want to
be identified as The Man, he'll have no problem proving who
he was. He decided he'd go to Berlin, and join The
Revolutionary Army.
The city had already been depleted of citizens by the time
he got there, everybody had been either killed or escaped.
The only people left inside were soldies and
revolutionaries. The city had become a rally point for the
revolutionaries of central Europe, and they came in their
millions to fight.
The Man walked through the war-torn streets of Berlin,
watching as the events unravelled before his eyes. He saw a
young girl, of maybe 15, running naked, her whole body
painted in what could only be dry blood, carrying a grenade
launcher and shooting at random targets once in a while. He
saw a guy who looked to be around 25 years old sitting on a
chair in the middle of a blown up book store, and reading a
charred copy of Kafka's "The Trial" amid a pile of dead
bodies and torn off body parts. He saw insanity at its best,
and thought it was all perfectly natural.
He asked around the groups of revolutionaries he saw, and
was told where to find the headquarters. He got to the
building. It was the one opposite the conquered city hall.
He entered through the open doors (as part of an army
dedicated to destroying everything inluding itself, they saw
no point in guarding the entrance). He found a room where
there were several young men and women disscussing strategy,
and joined in. They accepted him as a natural addition to
the circle, offered him a joint or something to drink, and
when he declined, they continued. They were discussing what
they'll do if they got an atomic bomb, and The Man saw that
the discussion was much more casual than strategic. It felt
like a living-room conversation. He listened for a while,
contriubuting his part to the conversation, giving some
ideas, and enjoying the atmosphere.
There was one guy, who seemed to be in charge, and after a
while The Man recognized him as the one who had proclaimed
in TV that they had taken the city hall. He guessed he was
the leader, and watched him more intently than the others.
After half an hour passed, he saw the leader was staring at
him, too, he suddenly jumped, shouting "Oh My God, you are
The Man. You are the man who would not be human." He then
went on to ramble about how he had made some research, and
found the stories about the Israeli kid who had given up his
identity, and went on and on about himself and The Man and
his ideas and Oh My God I can't believe you're here.
The Man only smiled and said nothing, and when the leader
stopped he simply yes "yes, I am him". And that was how The
Man was made from an anonymous myth to a living and
breathing, and most of all talking, human being.
For the next few months, in which the revolution would go on
in full heat, the different armies of the revolution would
court him and look for his approval and guidance. He
travelled the world, visited The Army of the Truth, El
Ejercito de la Revolucion de Sudamerica, The American
Revolutionaries, and many more branches of the revolution
armies. Some were as small as fifty, and some as large as
five million, but they were all united in that same
purposelesness.
After a while he grew tired of all the moving around, and
planted himself in Jerusalem, his long unseen home. There
was something in this city which he had never found anywhere
else, a kind of atmosphere, a feeling in the air. He was
happy he was back.
Since it was in the hands of the revolutionaries- like most
of the world's cities by that time- he could choose his base
of operations at will. He chose the building of the High
Court of Justice, and spent the next three months there.
Revolutionaries would come from all over the world to talk
to him, see him, or simply bask in his presence. He took it
all well, liking the attention, but not too much, and
especially liking the fact that people listened to his every
word and worshipped the ground that he stood on. He could
now understand how people became entoxicated with power,
although he did not become it himself. He really enjoyed
seeing that he was not entoxicated by his power, too. For
him, it was further proof of the pureness of his deeds. You
could say that he proved himself to himself.
He didn't do much, besides making speeches, talking to all
those who came to him, and advicing those who asked for
advice. Some women came asking to sleep with him, and he
agreed. After all, he did have to take care of his physical
being, too. Others came with much stranger requests, and he
tried to fulfill those too, as long as it was within the
range of things he'd want to do. He killed many people at
their request, in many different ways.
He became a kind of god, worshipped and treated as such by
all surrounding him. Several times there had been
assassination attempts on his life, whether by what was left
of the past authorities or by revolutionaries pursuing
greatness or simply their own personal freedom. They were
pretty interesting times.
The only thing that he was missing came a week after he
returned to Jerusalem. Michal, his long missed companion,
came to the High Court of Justice building and asked for an
audience with him. When he saw her, coming to him just after
a guy who had wanted him to take out his heart with his bare
hand, he felt a kind of relief. Not happiness, but relief.
It was as if he had been waiting for her but never really
knew it.
He immediately cancelled all his meetings for the day, and
took her to his room, and they didn't come out until two and
a half days had gone by. They'd caught up on everything that
had happened to them, and more than anything, they had
simply looked at each other, not believing they were
together again.
Just for the fun of it, The Man proclaimed Michal as the
Queen of the Revolution, and made a big ceremony for her.
Huge revolution parties in those days were a common thing,
celebrations of freedom and disaster, but none of them was
as great as the one The Man held for Michal. Hundreds of
thousands came at his bidding, and danced, laughed, killed
and destroyed.
In the middle of those three months in Jerusalem, he
travelled to Tel Aviv to what was once the highest military
bunker of Zahal, because The True Israeli Army of the
Revolution gave him a gift: the ability to deploy Israel's
atomic bombs arsenal. After a day of sitting and thinking in
the control room, he reached a conclusion, and whispered in
the ear of the technician who was sitting there and awaiting
his decision.
That was the event that would be most remembered in the
revolution. Within an hour of The Man's order, Africa had
been wiped clean of the map. More than a hundred missiles
with nuclear heads had done the job. Hundreds of millions of
lives had been lost, in the continent which had been touched
the least by the revolution up to that day.
When he was asked why he did it, he simply replied that
people in Africa had been living in sickness and poverty for
many years, and in some strange, distant way it made him
feel bad, guilty even. He was sick of those guilty feelings
he sometimes had, and he knew you can't really help them, so
he just killed them all. It was as good a way to end their
suffering as any other. And when they don't suffer, I don't
feel guilty. It was the first and last time in which The Man
was heard talking about his feelings.
Some of his followers tried to explain it as an act of
mercy, an extreme end to exreme pain and suffering that had
gone on for too many years, but The Man himself denied their
explanation. It was a completely egoistic action, he said,
as all of his other actions are.
That was the breaking point for many people, and some tried
to leave the ranks of the revolution armies. But it was too
little, too late. Humanity as we know it was almost totally
destroyed. The authorities were all gone, the old ways were
gone, society and order were standing in ruins. More than
ninety five percent of the population of the world had died
in one year of the revolution.
Then suddenly, just as it had all began, it ended. There was
no official order, no reason to stop, no real idea behind
it, but it was clear to almost everybody that the revolution
was dead. In its place came simple, raw anarchy, which would
last for some years, until civilization would start trying
to rebuild itself.
As for The Man, well, in the end he was kidnapped by a group
of rebels (several groups of rebels against the revolution
had come into existence), and after a week or two of trying
to convince him to repent and confess his sins without
success, they poisoned him, and left him to die in the dark
room which had been his cell.

7. The man who would not be human

The man who would not be human was dying. And, as the end
came near, he calmly reflected upon his life, and came to
the conclusion that he had achieved nothing at all, as far
as he was concerned.
It is very probable that if any of those who had worshipped
him and followed his every word would've seen him at that
instant, and known what he was thinking, they'd have shot
him, or maybe stabbed him dozens of times. But it was not
that he broke, or that he cheated his beliefs. It was just
that he had no real beliefs, no real purpose, and that being
so, it was quite impossible for him to feel he had achieved
something. You couldn't say he really knew why he had done
it all.
But one thing he did know: despite the fact that the one
year revolution had shaken the foundations of humanity to
their deepest root, and after four more years of anarchy
there were only two percent of the population of the world
left- scattered survivors who walked around dazed in the
ruins of the old world- humanity had survived. Not only the
race, but also the idea. It would all go back to  what it
had been before. It will take years, probably hundreds of
them, but the idea of humanity would keep on living. The
trauma treatment had failed, he now saw it was doomed to
fail from the start. In all his actions, in all his
speeches, he had been following the path of that same
humanity which he hated so much. He had simply taken it to
the extreme.
He was now ready to die.

He was right. Humanity did survive. And you know what? Maybe
that's not so bad.