Faceless Game

 

For weeks I have lived with a sense of heaviness, of darkness; things are moving slowly, reluctantly, as if they wanted to stay still, to fade away slowly and eventually disappear… I see it as my inherent duty to order my affairs and deeds, to oversee and maintain all that is around me; I must keep my attention fixed on all that is happening here, now, I cannot get distracted from my immediate surroundings, I must not get lost in things that are beyond my control… and yet my friend is trapped in a dark hole where he has been placed, sealed away, banished, caged, and he has called upon me in his time of need… I cannot be present where he is, I am so far away, and there is no way for him to get out, no way to escape, no way to find a clear sense of relief, no sanctuary, no obvious path to follow that will bring him back home. I remember myself now as the flower that blooms at the heart of the tornado, and I will continue to live here at the heart unto the ends of eternity; I am destined to forever rule over all small living creatures, over all those tiny things that thrive in the moonlight and hide from the sun, I am here to guide their path, to gift them the electrical impulse that moves them, that pushes them forward, to offer the rhythm that urges them to rise, but I am not just, and I am not kind; I am distant, unreachable, a cold surface of stone, metal and glass, incomprehensible even to the few that would care to know me… From the ruins of the ancient labyrinth that encircles the world, where I have spent most of my days submerged in a kind of aleatoric study, I have carefully created a catastrophic archeology of desire, a deep palimpsest of endless dreams; I make myself readily available to those that would trust in me, but they must be careful in spite of my warm and generous offer, as I am not merciful, I am not loving, I am not open and I don’t look back. There is no place, anywhere within the radius of my influence, that is devoid of me; understanding that universal glowing omnipresence is essential to reaching a state of true devotion, a clear true sight; if someone wishes to love me they should be prepared to do so, no matter what my intentions, no matter what my secret predilections, no matter how deep my secrets, they are a mystery even to myself. I can only barely speak my own language; I rarely find reason to use it. There is no way to get out. I will forever remain where I am. I am as trapped as he is, completely devoid of options, but my illusion is currently lighter and his is spiked and lined with thorns; I reach out to him recurrently and he responds sometimes but the messages are slow and the rhythms are broken… I am left with a sense of heaviness, of darkness, of imperviousness, a cold shadowy nonchalance resting on a bed of silence. I am driving back home one day, listening to an old song I had almost forgotten, a song from my childhood that we used to sing out loud when we were young boys without fully understanding the lyrics, neither their simple meaning nor their unspoken implications; I listen now as I drive and I sing along with the strong thick voice coming from the speakers and I am suddenly confronted with my recurring tendency towards melancholy, an endless yearning for a past I can’t quite grasp or understand; I turn right on Golf Course road and I suddenly feel that older me fully present within me, the quiet thin boy with all the toys, the one that lived on a little side street in a lower middle class neighborhood built by his own Dad… For a moment I feel as if it is really me, the one that is driving, I am the one I knew, I am the one I once recognized when I looked in the mirror, holding my eyes open, the one that didn’t know anything but wanted to know everything as quickly as possible… I let him go so many years ago, I changed in so many unpredictable ways, and in the process, I also lost some of my basic humanity, the quality of simple naivete, the eager curiosity of a pampered child looking through expensive comic books while the world burned outside; that me is now a fading image, a barely recognizable photograph, and all his friends are gone and they won’t be returning, they have faded into a dark cloud that cannot be breached, a silence that can’t be punctured by music or magic; this sudden vision, as I drive and listen to the song, is only the fading illusion of what I was, what I was supposed to be, what I should have become… I recognize this territory where I live now, this complex chamber where I move and act, as a big game modeled on some intricate ancient language that nobody ever bothered to research or understand, it is not a space where a game takes place but a game in itself, the materialization of an intricate infinite game, a game that doesn’t differentiate between ritual and art, between causes and effects, between frivolous rewards and cruel punishments, it is not a game of intelligence like chess (that old cross between mysticism and personal awareness that my father taught me, sitting up on a rumpled bed, the same game I used to play on the street with my friends while dogs barked trying to jump over concrete walls and storm clouds gathered in the distance…) this one is a game of pure luck, a lottery, something freely floating between religion and faith and a secret impulse towards dissonant harmony, where broken glass is the perfect rhythm section and clusters of notes are the underlying ominous drone; this game is unpredictable, merciless, untouchable, it can end your participation at any time, cancel your ticket without warning; and it has no end in itself, it has no ultimate purpose, no reason to exist, no motivation to stop. This calamity that has befallen my friend has overwhelmed my sense of probabilities, the reality of it keeps on hitting me in recurrent waves - waves of disbelief, waves of sorrow, waves of anxious desire, when I manage to forget, the world itself reminds me, I hear it in the cry of a bird, I see it in the many shades of rust on an old abandoned red car, I see it in the remains of a picnic in the park across the street, in the graffiti on the side of a truck; I wish to express my love for him, in the best words I can find, in the best actions I can muster, and I am prepared to do so, no matter what the implications, no matter what the result; but there are only so many words I can say and only so many actions available; all people have a duty and a right to spread themselves in all directions, to explore who they are and who they want to be, to connect with who or what they wish to connect with, and to abandon anyone that they wish to abandon, the ultimate right to become the stars of their own universe, the central point of gravity in their own system of radiant light; understanding that this duty, this right, is attached to each nucleus of consciousness, no matter what form covers them, is essential to learning the nature of true devotion, true friendship, true contact, true love… I couldn’t change who he was, I couldn’t change what he was doing, I can’t protect him now; at times I feel calm, almost as if nothing has happened, as if everything remains as it always was; then I am hit again by a renewed wave of anxiety, a growing pressure for a resolution that will not come, a conclusion that refuses to arrive… the game is all powerful, this game that engulfs us, that surrounds us on all sides, and I can only change very small things within it, tiny shifts in the underlying machinery, slight adjustments in a constantly changing maze filled with traps; the game is not kind as it has no counterpart to be an object for its kindness, the game is not merciful as it has no emotions to be a source for its mercy, anyone who resists the rules of this game is evil by definition, beyond question, beyond doubt, anyone who revolts will end up missing, occluded, forgotten, sealed away in a black hole behind thick tall walls where no one can ever find them, no matter how hard we try… I think and I think and I am hit again by a renewed wave of sadness, a sense that all justice is an illusion, has always been an illusion, a sense that the game has never been just, the game will not bend to my pleading, as much as I might hate it I have no choice but to play. I try to remain calm but the calamity keeps on hitting me in recurrent waves that reach out to me through the ordinary moments that the world has to offer. I see it in the color of dust by the side of the road, I feel it in those waking dreams before dawn when darkness hasn’t quite vanished and sunlight hasn’t quite arrived… this thing with my friend, this thing that has happened to him, this thing that I cannot forget, this thing that insists on being real as much as I want it to vanish… It is a precise measure of one's inner strength of will, the weight of one’s true presence in a vast maze of illusions, to know how far one can live without meaning, how long can you go without purpose or a waiting distant beckoning light; this place where I live is a big game, not a territory where a game takes place but a game in itself; how far can I bear to live within a meaningless game, a world of profit, exchange and betrayals, how long can I play a game with no room for subtlety, loyalty or endless threads of thought resistant to conclusions or dogma; for years I have attempted to organize it within my own mind, I have tried to make it make sense like chess, clear pieces, clear movements, clear results, one part here, one part there, one part that is many parts, one part that is alone, one part that comes undone; but all these parts never quite come together, all these many parts they always end up falling apart in a shower of emptiness that brings me back to the start… My friend told me once within the trust of a special esoteric circle, a moment of vulnerability and simple confidence, about a secret magical agreement that he had made, an agreement we could make as well, the two of us, if I wished to do so, the whole thing was a gentle process of luck and whimsy, untouchable, merciless, unpredictable, but there was a hint of something steady hiding within it, something strong and true; I cannot betray him now by repeating the words he spoke then but they are coming back to me, more and more, in the last few days; I hear them when I close my eyes to go to sleep, I hear them when I walk alone, wandering without a goal… He tried to insert himself into the game as a kind of psychoactive virus but he didn’t fully understand the game’s true nature; a virus has only two parts: a bit of hidden information at its heart and a wrapping of solid armor, of identical repeating blocks of steel meant to protect what hides inside; my friend has now lost his armor, it has been stripped from him by force and only the heart is left, helpless, vulnerable and alone… Many months ago I sent him a carefully worded message to let him know that he should not stay where he was, he should not remain placid and comfortable, waiting for the next shoe to drop, waiting for the game’s minions to come and get him, he should seek a place in the wilderness, a refuge, a dark oasis, away from the reach of the game, from its sleek and cold agents; I know he got my message but I think he was angry with me for having sent it, he resented the implications of it, he didn’t want to become an old story of a disappearance, a cautionary tale to prevent further turbulence in the map, he refused to become a scapegoat destined to bear the sins of others, the transgressions of nights almost forgotten, almost but not quite, he was confident in his own strength, his own resiliency, his own ability to resist; he gave his secret enemy a face and a name and he challenged him to battle, a fight he was sure to win as he had won at everything before now, always, at everything, he had won; I saw what was happening, he had modeled his entire life on a beautiful and delicate ancient process, a careful climbing up into invisible heights, up to remote chambers of unspeakable light, wisdom, clarity, truth beckoned at the top… I told him, slowly and carefully, that the game is real, the game has no face, and will not make an announcement when it comes for you, its voice is cold and final, it doesn’t play by your rules, it creates its own, it encircles you with them in a tight embrace that sucks in all heat and light, when it comes, the game will not be subtle and it won’t even acknowledge your wish to fight, you will be defeated before you even know the battle has begun; I said it all and I said it all again but he could no longer differentiate between ritual and personal awareness, between mysticism and the dynamics of a hidden tribe, between religion and the flourishing of new forms of art; in spite of my attempts to warn him, the ultimate and radical power of the game eluded him until it was too late, until he was held prone under its unforgiving lights… There are only two elements left in me after all that has happened; I still have a bit of presence and I still have a bit of memory, a few photographs, a few recordings and writings and an unexplainable sense of death and renewal, of rebirth at the edge of dawn; I have come to understand that I am in the process of falling apart and the parts that are flying away were never of my own design, they were not what they seemed and I can still stand strong without them… How far can one go without meaning, how long can one bear to live in a meaningless void? One morning just before dawn, I walked through my house, so quiet, so cool, so open to possibilities, a white door, a carpeted hallway, a bookshelf, I walked to where there should have been a stairway, banisters the color of forgotten dust which tremble when I press my hand against them, but where the stairs should have been there was only a thick open tube shrouded in total darkness; I immediately knew I was supposed to jump into it, I didn’t know why I should jump and I don’t know how I knew that I should do it, it was like a forgotten habit that I was powerless to stop, something programmed into me long ago, before I ever came here, before I ever learned about the game, before I became aware of its cold endless surface; I heard the distant cry of a bird outside the windows, a yearning song of unspoken hunger, a message from the most fundamental locus of life, and I jumped into the darkness below me… For a moment I simply slid down as I would expect, gravity was doing what it does and I would soon land at the bottom with a sudden burst of pain and disappointment, but then, instead of falling, I began to float, hovering on a thick soup made of shadows, and as I floated I became aware of who I was, long before the past I still remembered, before I became me as a clearly defined identity, long before the name or the place or the crying… For a moment, I became all powerful, I became the center of all living things, I became the one that others pray to, the one who gives the gift of life, the one whose nature is light and clarity; I was all powerful and all-knowing but I could only change very small things, things so small as to seem insignificant, the route of a leaf flying in the wind, the resting place of a broken shard of glass, and I could only accomplish these insignificant tasks for a very short time… Soon I was back where I was supposed to be, lying on my bed curled up in a ball, and the moment was set aside as just another dream, just another flash of lucidity in a daze of recurring digressions, there was nothing left to do, not even the subtle dances at the corners of my mind, not even a touch of hope attached to a leaf of grass… It is ultimately a measure of one's strength of will to know how far one can go without strong clear meaning, how long can one bear to live in a meaningless void: a world where your friend gets trapped and becomes forever lost and there is no longer a way to find him, no longer a way to bring him back.

Akhado

Akhado is a small town constructed around a maze of canals and waterways - a small wonderland for small personal fishing boats. Each house has its own tiny pier and one or two boats attached to it. All the houses face towards the street so the water becomes an extension of all the individual backyards. There's very little access to water for anyone that is not a local citizen of Akhado. It is possible to drive through the entire place without ever getting a look at the water, without noticing the maze.

Upon our initial arrival some of us compared it to some old cities where canals flow around the streets like a liquid labyrinth. But there is a basic difference in the approach.
In the old cities there is the water, then a walkway or sidewalk and then houses - the water maintains a public quality by being accessible to anyone that walks by it. Here the water is hidden by the houses, and the walls around them - the liquid labyrinth is private and the houses themselves form an insurmountable barrier.
We saw it as a clear example of architectural ideology - here in Akhado there is a mentality of being closed off, of an inner group against everyone else, of protecting the private space against the encroachment of the Other - "Circle the Wagons! The barbarians are all around us.” The potential visitor is assumed to be an enemy until proven otherwise (and it is unclear what form such a proof would take.)

Several of us have a strong intuition that the hidden water is also a physical manifestation of secretly interconnected lives -
secret sexual fantasies, secret deviations, secret affairs, secret rituals - all hidden from outsiders and from the other locals. Everyone knows that everyone else has something to hide, but they don't know what it is. Or at least they will maintain the appearance of ignorance for the sake of courtesy and basic manners.

***

Photograph 1:
We see a tall palm tree overlooking a small boat covered in black plastic. The calm blue water of Akhado is in the background.

***

After many careful interviews, we have learned that the Citizens of Akhado hold a sense of absolute certainty about their own set of knowledge and beliefs. Even if their knowledge changes, even if their beliefs change, the sense of certainty remains,
traveling atop their views like an armored rider on a horse.

The locals only want to educate others but none of them want to be educated themselves. They see any sign of ignorance as a sign of weakness, so they will cling to absolute knowledge even in the face of factual contradictions. New ideas are seen with horror and revulsion, and they are rejected outright.

We have learned it is very difficult for the locals to release this sense of absolute certainty, even for a moment. If at a certain point they open up to the possibility that you or someone else may know something that they don't, they may briefly listen and learn. But the sense of certainty and knowledge will quickly return after that rare moment of openness
and it will hold within it a sense of vengeance: “you must pay for having taught me something”, “there must be something wrong with you or with your beliefs.” They will find (or imagine that they find) what is wrong with you and present it forcefully soon after in order to return to a space of proper justice, careful balance.("Nobody deserves to know more than I do.") As long as the imbalance remains, they will be uncomfortable and anxious as at that moment their inner experience clashes with their sense of justice. This imbalance must be corrected as quickly as possible.

***

Photograph 2:
We see a two-story home, surrounded by palm trees that loom over its tallest point. The windows are dark and quiet. The garden that faces the water is carefully manicured.

***

The Citizens of Akhado believe that once they have determined something rationally or linguistically, the world that surrounds them is obligated to change with them. The world must change in accordance with their own determinations, regardless of any other thoughts or opinions. It is a kind of debt that the rest of the world owes them - even if the world is not aware of it.They are in constant shock that the world doesn't automatically bend to each and every one of their inner determinations.
"Why are we still here? Why is this still happening?"

***

Photograph 3:
We see an old wrinkled brown tree. One of its branches bends towards the ground. A blue and yellow rope is tied around the bent branch, holding up a narrow swing, swaying in the breeze.

***

Excerpts from various interviews:

Citizen:
"What is wrong with you? We are not responsible. For this or for anything else. To hold such a view is plain sickness, mental degradation."

Citizen:
"It seems that you don't yet understand who we are and how we function. Let me explain. Our nature as Akhado citizens is conceptualized as a constellation of processes and practices
rather than as a discrete entity. Our nature is dynamic, relational, and operating at all times and on myriad levels.These processes and practices include basic rights, values, beliefs, perspectives and experiences purported to be commonly shared by all but which are actually only consistently afforded to us. The study of our true nature begins with the premise that our privilege exists in both traditional and modern forms, and rather than work to prove its existence, it works to reveal it. Some of us are aware of it. Most of us are not."

***

From the outside, Akhado can be described as a foreign enclave of suburbia embedded within an agricultural landscape that stands in sharp contrast to it. Akhado protects itself against this foreign territory that surrounds it on all sides. Its sense of identity has grown around this need for protection. Akhado has formed a virtual and very real circle against the Other that surrounds them and threatens to swallow them. It is a kind of sustained cultural paranoia.

***

Photograph 4:
We see the back of a one-story house. Two very small piers face the water, two small row boats are tied to wooden poles.

***

Photograph 5:
We see a long stretch of asphalt, ending on a partly open view of Akhado's blue water. A trio of tall palm trees overlooks the single-story houses along the asphalt's edge.

***

We have learned that the Citizens of Akhado will only be loyal to the extent that this loyalty is useful to them. When someone stops being useful or when a better option arises, the Citizens will find plenty of reasons to abandon their former allies, reasons they have secretly stored over time in case such a situation arises. Listing all these reasons, it will then be easy to maintain a self image of total loyalty and honesty even at the very moment of their betrayal.
"I am not being disloyal, I am simply following a logical path given your actions, your mistakes, your imperfections."

***

Photograph 6:
We see the open blue water at the heart of the watery labyrinth that is Akhado. A sense of sleepiness, loneliness, forgetfulness. Most of the homes are empty, most of the small piers have fallen into disuse.

***

We have learned that they are arrogant at such a deep level that their arrogance has become invisible to them. To them, it is no longer arrogance but simply a clear vision of the way things are. It happens to be that they hold a higher place in the world, it is inherent to their being and it can't be changed. Their superficial claims of theoretical equality would seem to be contradicted by this deep perception but in this particular case the inequality is forgiven because it comes with a sense of benevolence:
"I may be superior but I will use my superiority in the service of others so there is nothing evil about it. I must deal with the burden of knowing more, of having more wisdom."

***

Photograph 7:
We see a single-story colonial style home. A bright silver pickup truck sits on the driveway.

***

The Citizens of Akhado don't realize what it means for them to be Citizens of Akhado. Whatever they believe is simply natural and good and beyond question. Whoever believes or sees things differently must be re-educated. One way or another they must be brought to see the light.

***

Photograph 8:
We see a red and white sign which displays a single clear message: "No trespassing. This area is under 24 hour live/recorded video surveillance. Violators will be prosecuted."

***

Excerpts from various interviews:

Citizen:
"Given that the study of our nature assumes what it seeks to reveal, it falls prey to circular reasoning, though we should acknowledge the modern philosophical ideas (however much they may misconstrue the nature of language, or corrode into crude historicism) which undergird its premise. But there is another fallacy at work. Our nature is reified in society. We embody the ideology of our nature and thus we will remove books from libraries because they embody our nature and take up physical space on the bookshelves. The reification proposition fails logically, and conflates the impact of our legacy with the nature of Akhado itself."

Citizen:
"We need to tighten up our gates. Let Akhado keep our superior culture and let them keep theirs, simple as that. We have worked hard to achieve what we have achieved. We will fight hard to keep it."

Citizen:
"It's just no good. No matter how much we give them, they still ask for more. They won't ever be satisfied because what they really want is to drag all of us and our entire Akhado culture to the bottom. The few real men among us won't let this happen. A war is coming and the men of Akhado historically know how to win wars. It's in our blood."

***

Photograph 9:
We see a small pier with two boats and a small sun deck. Toys are scattered over the wooden surface as it sways gently on the surface of the water.

***

Excerpts from various interviews:

Citizen:
"Are you trying to claim all cultures are equal? Our culture is clearly superior. It takes only the slightest bit of observation to ascertain that."

Citizen:
"I would most certainly judge some cultures better or worse than others and thus think it is moral to defend the values of Akhado. I do find it a superior culture to most others. I have no desire to live in the world beyond Akhado. This is my home. I will die here."

***

After several months of study, it has dawned on us that the ideology of the Citizens is the ideology of an invader - an invader army or an invader race - "we are making this our home now - but we know that the others who used to live here don't like us - so we must forever be on guard against their attack."
It is the ideology of someone who never feels quite at home- someone who always feels a sense that something is about to go wrong- because consciously or unconsciously the ugly truth cannot be erased.
"This place is actually not mine…"
"We stole this place and now occupy it."
They must constantly emphasize the rightfulness of their ownership- "this is MY LAND" - "Akhado is for us!" -as an internal bulwark against endless waves of paranoia and regret.

***

Excerpt from an interview:

Citizen:
"This is how this all happened. I will explain it to you in detail. The turning point was forty years ago. It was the end of the great war against the barbarians. The movement that started against the war just kept on going in the form of them hating us. They called us baby killers and spat on us. We were being defeated by our own tribe and they told us we were evil, so we were forced to act it out. This is a logical outgrowth of our destruction. If they cannot see our destruction and demoralization then they are blind. This is the secret to what is happening to our Akhado today. Look at that date, forty years ago, on the chart. See with your own eyes and understand who did this. It was them. They did it. Open your eyes and realize that we are lost and there is no one helping us. Just anger from these outsiders. And it will get far worse than this. Civil war? Yes, very likely. Stop destroying us Citizens of Akhado. Stop destroying our beautiful Akhado. It is really simple. We are under attack. But who is reacting to this? Who is ready to stand up and defend our land? Wake up."

***

Through our study of the Citizens, we feel the concept of "ideology" becoming more Real to us - it is becoming less intellectual or theoretical and more visceral. We still need to study more- now with a clear sense that there is something there to learn and explore, something that is very close to us but somehow has formerly escaped our grasp. It's becoming clear that we will soon be able to apply this knowledge to the world directly around us.

***

Photograph 10:
We see five tall palm trees overshadowing a large pier and sun deck. A ceremonial gateway is painted white and highlights a single family name written in golden letters.

***

The Citizens believe that they know not only what is good for them but also what is good for everyone else. If anyone in the world disagrees with their clear vision of righteousness and goodness, they will determine that it is due to ignorance or,
in extreme cases, to a kind of inhuman evil borne out of pure Otherness. That kind of direct metaphysical conflict can only be resolved through death and destruction.

***

Photograph 11:
We see a two-story home, gray and white. A wooden narrow balcony outside the master bedroom. A larger balcony sits outside the living room on the main floor. A trampoline gathers dust on the backyard, facing the water.

***

We have learned that they will attribute any wrongdoing on their part to a reaction against wrongdoing from another party. They may sometimes ask for forgiveness but always coached within an explanation that ultimately assigns the responsibility elsewhere. But when they do something good (something they themselves consider good) they will take all responsibility for themselves and never acknowledge any long term or short term help from the outside.
The Other can only be a cause when the effect is a problem. When the effect is welcome, the Citizens become the one and only cause.

***

Photograph 12:
We see a single green paint spill on a pockmarked sidewalk.

***

The Citizens very often embrace the statement of absolute judgment ("This is good" "This is crap") because any judgment is really not a statement about the object but about the subject (The statement "I like ice cream" says something about the "I" that is speaking and not about the "ice cream." It describes the subject rather than the Object.) In this way, whenever they speak, they speak of their favorite subject, the only subject that they truly care about: THEMSELVES.

***

Photograph 13:
Beyond Akhado, several blocks away, we see shiny electric poles. The long black cords hover over a small cluster of tract homes.

***

Excerpts from various interviews:

Citizen:
"I am not my nature. In order to awake fully into my own body for the first time as a true citizen of Akhado I must eschew fragility and begin the work of undoing my superficial nature. This I will accomplish through plumbing the depths of my unconscious mind in which a heap of implicit biases have been piling in since birth- these biases came from elsewhere but they are now multiplying within Akhado. It is time to declare war and treat this like an invasion. Time to defend our gates. Walls, bombs, land mines. This is war."

Citizen:
"They are either complacent or involved in one of the biggest betrayals in our history. We are being taken over. I could write a ten page essay on all the damage that has been caused, but here is what is important. Due to the death of the early settlers, we will soon become a lost tribe. There are many homeless people here now. Fuck off with your adding more people we can't pay for. They need to leave, fix their lives or die.
Those are the only options."

Citizen:
"My answer is war."

***

The Citizens find a sense of safety in rounding up the wagons, in building a wall around themselves to keep the outsider away - the alien, the savage, the barbarian.
But we also sense a kind of claustrophobia and growing paranoia – “we are all alone in here and sooner or later they will be coming for us.”
The strangeness of the distant Other is a quality within subjective perception - but it is no less real because of it - in some ways it is made even more real by the fantasies and fears that hide within any apparent insult.
(Even stranger to think that the Other itself can be changed by this perception, somehow becoming the very fearsome monster that has been anticipated and feared.)

***

Photograph 14:
We see a long pier that holds a single long picnic table under a plastic canopy. A black sofa sits in the sun.

***

We have come to the conclusion that they will ultimately protect their children from any discomfort, even to their own detriment.
They will constantly blame others when their children encounter obstacles or problems and they will feed their children on a constant diet of self-justification and self-pity.
Anything that goes right with the children will be thanks to their own lineage, their genes, their own individual hard work and their own careful parenting.
But anything that goes wrong is owed to someone else's mistakes or evildoing, owed to the evil influence of an Other that has managed to penetrate their carefully constructed barriers (friends, teachers, classmates, video games, music, the internet.)
When there are logical conflicts in this equation a crisis may ensue: if the child blames them for their troubles, they will either turn to self-justification and turn their arrogance against their own children or they will blame themselves in the same harsh way that they have blamed others in the past: teachers, classmates, strangers, etc. This sudden self-judgment can lead to sudden bursts of suicide, often accompanied by violence towards others.

***

Photograph 15:
We see long black iron fence separating the inner circle from the outside. One of the few stretches around Akhado that hasn't been developed. Long green grass stretches in unpredictable patterns towards the water, interrupted here and there by tall brown bushes and leaves.

***

All this that we have learned about the Citizens of Akhado may not apply to every single one of them but we believe it is important to write it down in order to remember. It will be easy for us to forget what we have seen.

***

Photograph 16:
A single sign in black and white, standing with its back to a tree, close to the water: "Keep out. No fishing. No hunting. No trespassing. Keep out."