Q.: Good grief, Mr. 888! Censorship ahoy?! This measly pamphlet is the darkest fleck on your legendary
       CV so far. The Word as a verbicidal maniac. Arch enemy of free speech.
A.: There’s a lot more to the picture than meets the single eye. 3x7 is only an indicator of the rotten chakras. 
       Not equal 21. 3x7=24 in this case. The condemned nominals are picked for their comprehensive value.
       Their connotations are all-inclusive. They ought to illustrate the overall atmosphere of genetic 
       compliance. The wrong way of thinking. ‘The Big Ban’ is the socio-linguistic proclamation of an 
       unholy war on the deceiver. It is the immortal versus the living dead. An ultimate bid for rehabilitation.
Q.: What your prohibitory displays to its reader is negation at its worst. It goes against all the grains at the
      same thrust. To forbid the fundamental motives of existence would embarrass Sartrean nihilists. You
       aren’t interested in improving the situation. You want to eliminate human nature on the whole. 
       That’s your obnoxious vocation and nothing else. You’ll meet some great resistance, let me warn you. 
       Only self-righteous dorks will simulate adherence. 
A.: ‘The Big Ban’ offers more than a shield from nasty thoughts. It resets the focus on the space we’re 
       invading. It’s made for the training of a mental militia.
Q.: I don’t think Plato’s Academy would sanctify such bowdlerization. To subsist without ego is 
      implausible in the class society. It’d require a long-range mutation of the masses. Another tyrannical
      decree won’t possibly suffice.
A.: ‘The Big Ban’ is an ethological maxim of New Style. It is helllbent to reinstate the lost supremacy
       of the domesticated beast. Humanity must denounce the chains of subservitude. It happens by 
       facing the real enemy. The real enemy is in the home. The seven sins they used to call virtues. 
Q.: What your idealistic transliteration casually neglects is the organic character of the hominine 
       spirit. You may hold it in scorn but to heedlessly brush off its magnitude is gross negligence. 
       Nothing’s gonna change the world of codified bigots. No parole has got the force. Homo Novum
       is a scientific enterprise. Not the sordid fancy of a footloose misanthrope. 
A.: I’ve bet my bad luck on the flexibility of the soul. We have to surpass the perilous flow of 
      useless information. The law must be simple, so the order may be pure. The Ten Commandos 
      fusion it  all in one love. For the pleasure of the just.

Q.: Highfalutin assertions from a false Baphomet. You’ve got neither breasts nor balls, my chum.
      Couldn’t attract a motherless child. There’s not a thing you would sincerely like. Just know what 
       you eventually should. You’re a snobbish playactor who can’t candidly enjoy the works of the
       others. Wistfully preoccupied with the grim obsession to contribute. It must be an awful drag to 
       be you. An epitome of Pleiadian frustration.
A.: Your deconstructive criticisms is superfluous, baby. I know my problems quite alright. That 
       cannot help them is the major one. I’d like very much to be social. But I’m immune to temptation. 
       It’s a hereditary handicap no drug can cure.
Q.: No, you aren’t. It’s only your excuse for the sloth. Anything you do, you do it from duty. You are a 
       sinner in all regards.
A.: No, I’m not. I never broke the rules. I am a robotomized sociopath on the receiving end. My 
       creativity is viciously passivated. I’m a blunt bomb waiting to explode. But nothing moves my
       iron ass. I’d need some kicks from above. Unfortunately, the Author doesn’t care. He only 
       documents my blunders. That’s why I feel so forlorn.
Q.: Lying idly in your tidy den like a wounded wolf is more comfortable than go to demonstrate for
       the rights of the individual, I guess. You aren’t made to do the deportation. Don’t even know
       what socialism means. 
A.: Yes, I do. Socialism is divine terror in uncorruptible service of the people’s republic. Don’t be
       afraid of Wotan.  He’s only a paper god. There’s something greater in the air. 
Q.: So what you want to replace the banished terminology in the Oshist Thesaurus? Because you 
       absolutely have to. Cannot leave such a vast domain devoid of a meaning. Their opposites will
       fill in and that’d be catastrophal. Only the armor of illusion can protect us from the onslaught of
       reality. What ignominy prompts you to take it all away? For nothing in exchange like a communist 
       from outer space. Turning the fair trade of redemption into aboveboard robbery.  It’ll disappoint 
       a few people.
A.: You don’t seem understanding the art of the deal clearly. What I am to propagate is positivist 
       extremism. The personality is judged by its objectivity quotient. Don’t believe in yourself is the 
        most you can do. We are the devil’s toy. That’s the Atheist behest. My distressing testament.
Q.: You’re right. I can’t clearly see why to introduce new doctrines in the expanding chaos. Why don’t 
       you just shut up and write another song of joy? It is not the definition that causes the effect. Words 
       do not produce, they only dub what’s happening. Banning them is an idiocy. It won’t alter their
        practitioners’ mind.  Just drive them underground. Churchburning was more efficacious.
A.:  You are forgetting about the enigma of the projecting mirror. What ain’t reflected does not live.
       We find ourselves in a transit zone like abandoned mediums of a forgotten message. No point to 
       stay, no means to depart. We’re in a trap. In order to get out we must categorically pooh-pooh the
       visions of the Bardo. Alienate from materiality to a master degree. Get metaphysical.
Q.: Sounds like a good idea but you must tell me more. Is there any exercise or method on your radar?
A.: Anything will do if you’re conscious about it. Osh is not a jealous deity to worship. You pray as you 
       breathe. The new nobility is principally irreligious. Victory isn’t on their hidden agenda.

Q.: Distrust in God is incompatible with the indigenous humility of our disinformed specie.
      Superstition gives wings to despondency. We don’t want to live in a world without creed. Nothing 
       is not enough. 
A.: True faith doesn’t need no proof of miracle. Why to long for the invisible when you have your 
      stars?  All you need to observe is the obvious and stop asking why. It’s got nothing to do with 
       you if one can grasp it. The rest is the pursuit of happiness. Blessed are those who are paid for it.
Q.: The example you’re trying to set is too crooked to follow. You contradict to your most heartfelt
       indoctrinations. You’re nothing of a profane saint just unable to make any money. You are
       cursed with the dignity of horses. The market you target doesn’t exist for your atrophied
       merchandize. Only the rainbow sells. No one would invest into the black Sun of certainty.
A.:  I’m not a speculator, Gina. I don’t have something to lose. I say what I mean. Don’t care if 
       anybody hears it. I’d hate to be hated but don’t crave to be liked. I am my own manager.
Q.: That’s your brashest lie of all, Spiel! You are dying to get up and talk just don’t have the Vril. You
      are disgusted of your own mentality. You know it won’t do but cannot correct it. You have 
      completely surrendered to the fingers of fate. You don’t have a platform because you don’t 
      deserve one. It’s nothing mystic, man. It’s you and your karma. You are way too insane, lad. 
      You will not make it.
 A.: I’ve been thinking a lot about afterlife lately. The City State of Eden. And my conclusion is pretty
       anomalistic. I do not mind whether it’s true or false. I am dreaming that I’m sleeping and
       dreaming something awful. That far I have gotten. There is no turning back.
Q.:  That’s a big self-pity you’ve got there. Would make Narcissus jealous. Your delusional escapism
      is a crime against divinity. An inexcusable desertion of the campaign.
A.: I would do anything to wake up. But nothing comes my way.
Q.: What about going for it for a change? Activate your voice and make it audible. Put up “The Big 
      Ban” on the Internettwerk like any normal dude would. It takes no effort to become somebody
       today. Friends are electric. It’s not like ’82 where you’re stuck. You were so much more engaged
       way back then. Writing The Book with your bare hands on stolen paperware. You don’t know 
       what to do in the computer age.  The greater the options, the less you want to use them. 
      Nothing terrifies you more than competition. You know you couldn’t stand a chance. You want
      to stay unique at any heavy cost. A dialectical victim of the technological revolution.
A.: I have wasted my whole life on preserving my integrity. Cannot take the easy way in now. 
     It would denigrate my entire struggle. Seclusion is my last resort. I don’t want to be another
     crazy chap, you see what I mean? Me me me me me too. If can’t be the first, I’d better be the last.
     My ambition is this. I am a man of envy and sorrow. Neither born, nor dead. The son of none at all.
     The king of the orphanage.

Q.: Dignity has killed the lion of Judah. Not the world’s most attractive archetype. Preferring the 
       grapevine to the eMail box. Never could buy a red rose to the Bride. Missing every occasion for
       a romantic encounter. A frightened leprechaun in the asphalt jungle. A universal refugee under
       house arrest. Ain’t got nobody but a stray dog to lean on. A prisoner of the cosmic bargain. 
       Nothing worthwhile to be remembered.
A.: I am a commander and not an influencer. I wouldn’t try to convince my worst enemy. I’d deny
       my most sacred doctrines before a tribunal. I’d betray anything for some extra profit. Virtue is
       none of my signals. If I ever went public I’d lie all the time. And never admit it. I do not give a
      shit to the political turmoil. All I want to save is my own skin.
Q.: Maybe that’s why you’re regarded with suspicion. Whoever would put his trust into a 
      boasting beggar? Your empty words have no credibility. All you want is to be an apotheosis of 
      the perfect treason. The most wicked man in the history of your kind. Dethrone your ancestor  
      without libido and guts. A Gargantuan undertaking from a verloren Spielzeug. You are the ghost 
      of a never-been haunting for a host. Sentenced to subjunctive mood for an unlife.
A.: I am a wayward chevalier out to defeat the seven-headed dragon of Gnosis. I don’t wanna know
       what I should be doing.  I am as mechanical as an animal can be.  Not trained to serve the gods.
Q.: Maybe that’s why they do not like you. You’re an apostate pleading for protection. More impudent
       than Azazel. A revolting scapegoat. Never could handle an ordinary job. Without my selfless 
      sustainment you’d be a homeless bum in the streets of Babylon. No wonder you despise the 
      notion of pride.
A.: I know what’s bothering you but don’t take it so tragic. It is rather ridiculous, let’s face it. A true
       comedy behind the curtain. At the very end of times there’ll be nothing left to pronounce.
       Nothing to disturb the sound of silence.
Q.: You stole that from Tennyson, didn’t you? I’m so fed up with your philandering! You don’t want
       to get to know yourself, that’s fine. But you can’t expect it from the Satanic citizen. Unlike
       your anathema, most people like who they are. They’ll stab you in the pub for the slightest slur.
      You must learn to act a lot more diplomatically than a self-deprecating Jew. There just isn’t a
      more reprehensible image in the paranoid panopticum.
A.: I am an ambassador of the City of Eden. Unspoiled by Aristotelian logic. Untouchable by verity. 
Q.: Your substantive purgatory supplement is a fairly inconsistent addendum to the Covenant of
       Peace. Rather belligerent towards consolidation. Prone to unequivocal rebuke.
A.: ‘The Big Ban’ was drafted for internal use only. To be distributed to Party-members after the rise.
       It is meant to be a manual of ethic cleansing. A phonemic manifesto of discarnate obliteration.
       A neo-futurist intervention of the sublunary schemata. We don’t want to overcome. Libertas up
       yours.