A couple of explosions, and the drama is over. If only, perhaps by such catharsis of ill-will, greed and ambition could be eliminated and wars could so easily be defused. Then, sanity restored, I can thank mine host and regulator of worlds in madness, and I can follow – slowly – his cheery assistant’s van to where a slim girl waits in a lighted hotel doorway.
As I prepare to crash out, my legs muscles are jerking uncontrollably. I suppose it is fatigue. Ferry apart, I have been at the wheel for thirty hours.
Breakfast is of bread, croissant, butter, marmalade, cherry jam and tea, and I am reborn to the innocence of its delight and purged of yesterday’s darkness. The slim girl is now also energetically greeting visitors to the bar and supplying their needs. Clearly the bar is a centre of the community. Clients come and go for breakfast or simply to meet and talk. There is a great monastery across the public square. France is impressive.
But this is where I was yesterday at 10 a.m., and I am still here. I have to pass through Limoges. I fetch my map from the car. I list my destinations. I see that to reach Limoges I must first pass through Montmorillon.
At noon I am looking for a way out of the village, and finally espy the sign for Montmorillon, and am on my way. Ten minutes later Montmorillon has also disappeared and the signs are suggesting Le Blanc. I park and scrutinise the map. I want to go south and ignore the signs, so I go to Le Blanc to fill up with petrol.
The garage proprietor is a massive man, a grandfather I imagine, vast but not fat. He probably could not fit in my car, and he kindly and thoughtfully fills my tank – 46€. A smaller man greets him and they exchange kisses, two each side, then repeated – cousins perhaps. They have wine. I imagine their cold roast wild boar pork with cold white wine; it builds enormous men of kindness and civility, and probably the logic and philosophy of legend: “Mais oui, mon cher Armond, but if such progress is so beneficial for all, then why not? Ça va, non?”
As I write, that was the day before yesterday. I am enormously impressed by the French.
Then I head towards the sun. I want Limoges, with Toulouse beyond. The sign says 197kms. to Limoges. Very well.
The road shines ahead, down and down until it crosses a brow, then rises shining beyond between woods until it reaches the skyline. When you reach that, the landscape repeats it. Then there is a slight change of angle and you do it again, and again. France is vast, and it is elegant. Single lines of trees of perfect symmetry stretch from here across there to there, and there to there, perfect, with, hardly visible, here and there a tasteful chateau. I am enormously impressed by the French and also by France. Where there are fence-posts they are made, uniform, perfect. Perhaps they are even monogrammed, a discreet ‘R’, with a crest, for the amusement of friends. You see, I recognise Nature and I recognise design. Nature has its own random design, and it is nowhere visible here.
The vast cathedral on the hill passing on my right is really a store. For what? – For agricultural produce. But it is immense, designed, in stone. Yes, it would be.
Immense fields without sign of humanity produce . . . what? As I drive I become aware of the levers and rods and gears of my machine that impel and change its course and control its and my position. We never think of these things, but they are there, all the time. And I recognise the signs. Whether maize, wheat, soya, sunflower seed – does not matter. You see, I know about the levers and gears and the controlling rods, and I know that here it is a discreet nod or whisper, nothing more. The landscape itself here has obeyed the influence of a human whim. You see, over a couple of centuries forty to sixty quadrillion carries a lot of influence. That’s right.
I know the name of the person for whom all these people work, even though they themselves probably have never heard of it.
For the reason of my knowledge I can tell you that the present ‘crisis as bad as ’29 ’, has hardly started yet. I have warned for years what is to happen, and nobody believed me then. They do now.
Well, there is now to come the US credit card debt impact of 58 trillion. Just as designed. Then there is the Paulson Goldman Sachs manufactured quadrillion of derivatives trash, with Standard and Poors’ acceptance of the 300 m. bribe to regrade the trashy sub-prime instruments to ‘AAA instruments insured by AIG’ which all ‘our’ banks have then accordingly bought. There is only 400 trillion in circulation, so they will have to print the balance to save ‘our’ banks. And who will pay? We will, the sheep, in inflation and future debt, for the banks to have our money to lend to us at interest or dispossess us if we cannot repay them what is really ‘our’ money anyway – Sure. Just as has been designed and fabricated. Result, servitude. That’s finance. As intended. But then, you see, that is the true swindle of the very existence of finance, of which people know nothing and are carefully kept in ignorance.
But none of this happened by accident. Paulson would never dare, off his own bat. Oh, no, he was under orders. From whom? From the owners of Goldman Sachs and the Fed and all our ‘Central Banks’, and the influence of their 40 – 60 quadrillion, the same evidence of which I see before me here. With their control of ‘law’ that permits them and their servants to do it to the rest of us. Because, you see, they create and pay 'our leaders' to permit them . . . "Permit me to issue and control the money of a nation and I care not who makes its laws."