Zurich, 1829

Dear H. C.

Hope all is well with you and that your Captain is keeping you safe as you hop from your galleon to the frigate to rescue injured sailors. We're fine here, Violetta and the boys. Business is good, and no sign of trouble blowing in from Ingolstadt...Thank goodness for that.

I remember I promised to send you this: (Keep that in mind while you're looking for a remedy/ or antidote/ to 'our joint problem'...

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Here is Master Hieronymus Bosch [Jheronimus van Aken], circa 1497, in Oirschot, in conversation with Goldsmith Granach, the author of this account, which was submitted to his notary shortly before his passing, in 1525, (9-years after Master Bosch's passing).

"I walk among them. Sometimes they brush against me. I'm never certain if they see me or even sense me. They seem to live in a different world that intersects with ours when they are as though sent to execute a task, or order. Before they attack, they attach themselves to places, substances like liquids, putrid or clean, a springboard to animals and people. Those are the critter beings, not the semblages of actual people, some copies of us, that apparently only I can distinguish as not being us, or of this world, or in this world. Those bastards, they are scary. You never know when they're gonna strike, when they're gonna jump you.

But then, I'm starting to feel that I might be immune. They don't seem to have any business with me. I must be invisible to them after all. They are here for the others. The other night I saw these spidery skull faced, shiny black critter beings chittering among themselves on the innkeeper's tavern ceiling. Below them sat a man at a table, slumped over the table, his food in front of him, and his brew, but he was fast asleep, or he might have been dead already. He had sores all over, purple, and putrid. Perhaps he was the innkeeper. No guests, or patrons left there. But maybe his wife or cook served him his last meal. I couldn't watch anymore, just kept walking. All the passers by could see this, but they just saw the man, and not the critters...

The semblages, the shadow beings, go around attired like physicians, with disinfectant gear, and fumigator things, but instead of cleansing the grounds of places, they generate death, disease and mayhem - people going insane, acting like mad, twitching, or banging their heads against the wall, or falling down in epileptic trance. Those times are really hard on me, so I go home, and I paint it all. It saves my day, saves me from going insane...

I also considered that it might be me who is not in this world, what I mean is - not of this world; therefore, not visible to these parasitical beings from other worlds. Something else puzzles me; I'm actually not visible to my fellow beings, with a few exceptions, like you and my family and a few merchants out there. Then, what if we, our common circle of family and close associates, we might be living in another world, intersecting with this world here that we claim as ours. The only exception seems to be my paintings - those are in this world. Those paintings are pleasing to the clergy, and wealthy patrons. The church high officials love my work and use it to "scare the sinners", and those not paying their taxes and church dues.

So I gather that I'm at least nominally in this world and time, or at least in one of those coordinates. I'm also wondering if my blood might be different from everybody else's blood. Why? Because I don't become infected or in any way affected by these plagues, or diseases. It's like these other humans are some sort of offering to and for higher worlds and their inhabitants; a bit like farm animals, or hunted game. The former, less evolved humans; the latter, more evolved ones. - Those, like the foxes, in a royal hunt, they often get away. Perhaps purposefully so. Maybe they end up sharpening their wits in the process, by knowing how to avoid danger. I often observe these happenings... They, the controllers, keep resetting this world, liquidating populations... I keep star charts to chronicle their activity. I continue to ignore them to avoid notice. Or else, I really don't have to worry about it if I'm invisible to them. I'm not taking any chances on that for now...

So, the blood issue. Since I understand chemical elements, paints, pigments, metals... My blood is copper based, I know, bluish in color. Seems to afford me protection against disease and infections. Accidents and injury are another matter; there I have to be more mindful than most, always watching my back..."

Goldsmith Granach to Master Bosch:

I told him that he was obviously living in two or three different frequencies or dimensions simultaneously. I knew because I work with gold - physical 24 carat or 18 carat gold - lots of it. I mint coins- private collections, wealth reserves of those who can afford it - like Master Bosch himself. It teaches you something - it imprints you with different levels of reality... It makes you an alchemist in many worlds, just like Master Bosch was an alchemist in many worlds himself. I felt very happy and privileged to have known him.

I never shared this account with anybody except for Master Bosch himself. Though now, before I leave this world, I want my Notary to preserve it for posterity.

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[Painting materials: H. Bosch painted his works mostly on oak panels using oil as a medium. Bosch's palette was rather limited and contained the usual pigments of his time. He mostly used azurite for blue skies and distant landscapes, green copper-based glazes and paints consisting of malachite or verdigris for foliage and foreground landscapes, and lead-tin-yellow, ochres and red lake (carmine or madder lake) for his figures.] (source:wikipedia.org)

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Here comes my latest chapter:
Chapter-30, vol-II "Visoko - Under the Pyramid - 1830 - meets the Others - 2021".

This latest chapter is surrealistic to say the least, though it does its job in presenting the issues that each society grapples with. The Others are a group of prominent Independent Media presenters, writers and video creators, who discuss their current difficulties in dealing with censorship. The two protagonists from the 1830 are privy to the entire exchange, which takes place in a mysterious old Italian villa, at the bottom of the Bosnian Pyramid of the Sun.