From the very preface to this volume, the barbarities perpetrated by this worthless scribe, by this miserable amanuensis could be matter of much chagrin and disgust for any decent person who -in his innocent and healthy curiosity- abandoned himself to the reading of these paginations, finding suddenly the shameful, the unaccepatble, the repulsive and, finally, the abominable.
In my plea, I have to declare that anything written on these pages, has been dictated by entities from beyond, so that the content, tone and intention escapes my control, since I've been used -exclusively- as a tool or medium
a man-machine who is telepathically forced to write concepts and notions conceived by unknown entities, unknown even for me
this is why, whatever you read on these páginas, is unearthly, because it doesn't belong to the Planet Earth.
This said, I beg you, be patient with me, and indulgent in benevolent ruth with my numerous faults and excesses, but especially -and overall- don't take all this mirror of illusion too literally... be elastic, be free, be tolerant, be happy, dream... be what you really are:
someone I love.
René Cleopatro Lavand (European Union, 1960) is an illusionist who creates concavous reflections through card manipulation and sleight of hand!: By mephistophelian palming and passes, he makes the cards disappear up his sleeve and... ooopss: it appeared in the brassiere of this distinguished lady to the left of the auditorium, as you ladies and gents may see:
"Madame, excuse moi..."
By means of crimps, shuffles and jogs, Lavand and his rapid left hand operates as the most diabolical prestidigitateur at the casinos of the Mediterranean shores, with jaw-dropping magia & trucos, in order to turn the impossible into possible, and the possible, into impo... ooopppps; he also levitates, see see!
But all this would be ordinary, vulgar, dare one say cheapo, if our magus wasn't one-handed:
yes, gentlemen and ladies, René Lavand juggles at high speed making the cards fly, disappear and return back on the table with... one hand only; but he does it so fast and using so much skillfulness, that creates optical illusion, and the audiences think he is using both hands: but no, it's just one hand
take a closer look at his right extremity, see? It's prosthetic rubber, and he never uses it.
But René Cleopatro Lavand -ladies & ladies- is not only a cartomagicien, he is more than that... and besides his levitational ability, in the trance of his epileptic aura, while he manipulates ignited aces of spades floating in l'air doré of the hall, Lavand is also an inveterate escapologist, routine which Lavand alternated with his hand tricks since 197...
No-one knows -a ciencia cierta- where René Lavand is today... everything about his life entered a cone of shadows after a well-publicized performance in 199... when he accepted the challenge offered by Radio Luxembourg (₣ 70.000.000) to escape from a regulable metallic box.
Helped by two assistants, Lavand was incarcerated in the box, manacled and chained, with a wireless microphone adhered to his mouth
after he was caged, since the walls of the metallic cage were regulable, the assistants pushed a button -following the order of Lavand from the box-, and the walls of the box started a dramatic contraction, becoming narrower, smaller and shorter second by second.
No-one knows with certainty if Lavand escaped, or actually: yes... he escaped
did it?
And the most outlandish fact is that all this tragedy was broadcasted on the radio only, not on TV... a performance of escapology on the radio, without images, where everything depends on the imagination of the listener?
With sounds only?
Efectivamente: escapology on the radio, an outré decision of the owner of Radio Luxembourg, the eccentric magnate and retired rock star Manolo Du Tronc:
this atrocious show was listened all over Europe
no-one knows -fetén- if René Lavand escaped, or actually: yes... he escaped
or not:
before the end, some enigmitic words were listened, yet, from the infernal box:
— "... This box... it's getting too narrow in here
pardieu Lavand! I told you... I told you... HA HA HA! I told you Lavand..!"
Seeing the dangerous course of the events, the assistants stopped the contraction of the metallic walls which, at this stage, acquired the size of a caja de galletitas Sonrisas de Bagley, and opened the box desperately:
no-one was there, nadie
only the microphone, echoing alone in feedback.
The persona of René Lavand has not been seen ever since on the casinos, TV or radio studios
maybe this is related to his last performance, when he escaped
didn't escape
escaped.
Precious reader, you're rhomboidal gemstone in my eyes, raro diamante; notwithstanding I shouldn't expect a reciprocal feeling from you to me... my value is inferior, and I know it.
But in spite of this there's something that join us mysteriously, I'm not happy either, like you. My normality is dubious, and my inadequacy, evident, same as my ineptitude, my position has always been less favorable than most.
Notwithstanding, your generosity belittle these distances, as you spread a cloak of pity and comprehension over my handicaps, letting yourself go with the flow of these lines, without asking "why" or "how", you just do it, with the innocence of the child who doesn't expect explanation to the irrational scenarios: with the same innocence I write it.
You integrate me into yourself without cortapisas or conditions, and this is -possibly- the most effective antidote against my sadness.
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