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Anyways, I have left the document in the attachments, and my boys are busy cracking the rest of the keys. I mean, what, a context search for Motus?

For years, we have tried to find out things, but now they are on fucking google of all places? What next, will those fuckers show up on Tindr? >>

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<<.... Is that who I think it is? Please tell me that it is….>>

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I will write this down in case someone asks. The old ticker is not what it once was, and I am not as certain as I once believed meinself that nobody fucks with me. Certain stories that Hector and Whydotas have told me make me believe that things are about to get interesting.

I first heard about Motus by accident. You hear a lot of information on the internet by accident.

Think of the computer network. Or, Internet, if you will. I was in Germany, at the time, already on the last days of mein Divorce.

You get it, and it is wonderful, and not at all scary. I know, there are das stories about how the old people go, “halp, mein coffee cup holder break”, and you are supposed to laugh….

But have you ever considered what it was like growing up knowing foreign countries existed in theory? I was in Libya, during Gaddafi's revolution, when they told us the US had landed on the moon. Most people alive today would scoff at that, and giggle, but put yourself in my shoes. I read this in libya. During a revolution, in a paper that I had bought with my wages for one of my very first engineering jobs, from the only hotel that catered to tourists. By the way, if anyone wants to check, you know the justice palace in Tripolis? The plexiglass windows, behind whom the accused has to sit? Guess who welded those in place. It never broke. Gaddafi was a fucked up little man back then, but his mother was nice for a bedouin lady. I will never forget when he shook my hand in that post office, just because I was introduced as a german engineer. I did not correct a man who wielded a rifle with ease, that I was just a student back then, on vacation, who was overrun by the revolution. Think about how it was for me that a revolution could cut me off from mein Mutterland.

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Anyways, I got my first computer before 2000, because I wanted to see what the Y2K bug was like. You know, planes, falling out of the sky, panic, stocks crashing, all that. My ex wife, what is a giant fucking whore, and should be killed as slowly and painfully as possible, because any shred of mercy would be too good for her, scoffed at my fascination, but I was in love with it. I had always made friends easily, and due to my calm and nice friendliness. It also helps when you are, as the Americans say, built like ein shithouse, because at 7 feet 2 inches (or, 2 meters and 18 centimeters), most people like having you on their good side, even if it is just as das last resort. .

The internet was a bit of freedom for me that I never had. I took to it like a duck to das water, like ein fish to swimming, but soon, technology overtook me. I had barely managed to be good at the BBS, when there were forums, and I lost interest.

During the divorce and my flight to america.... I can still remember David, telling me that he shared my disdain for mein whore of ein (now) ex wife, and would gleefully hunt her down in his BMW, and the only feeling he would have when hearing the thump under his wheels was an intense desire to back up and finish the job, fuck the german law, the way she had cleaned me out during the divorce “for emotional cruelty” was not right…. I was in a bad mood then. Had a lot of bad bad thoughts, and much less control.

The trip to the motherfucking institute helped. Under the unwritten rules of the academical underground, you got problems in your university, you just called, spoke to a few people, and got shifted to someplace where they had a position open that allowed you a roof over your head, and some money in your pocket that a whore of an ex wife was not entitled to… It was a fantastically wild and crazy time there, and I loved every minute of it, the parties, the craziness, the wild orgies… I was 49 at the time, and my students loved me. I had multiple lovers, men, women, some in betweens, who is counting… I built more useless crap then I could, and more then one student saw me, in the morning, doing stunts at the park, launching half frozen pumpkins with a high powered car mounted illegally modified potato cannon, trying to keep the spirit of 69 alive…

It changed when 9/11 happened, and suddenly, I saw myself face to face with the idea that this long, tall pale piece of candy that I decided to follow to the toilet for some coke was not interested in letting me have some nose candy and perhaps a bit of a pleasant surprise…

Well, I was in for the big one. One drop, and I was done for…

The next few years were ein blur.

The students noticed next to nothing, and a few of them complained that I did no longer show up for the daylight tutorials. I could of course not spend all day in some harebrained scheme, trying to figure out the next way to steal a statue, when I had to spend all night studying the way things were now. I was used to secret society bullshit. That meant, you walked off your job at BMW, designing their new generation of windshields, came home, dressed up for the masons, took your car, went to the lodge, and had a few drinks, and some theater for grownups, eating foods that the elder brothers thought was good. I mean, you know, to the outworld, you said that brother Barny was the celestial guardian of the eastwards stargate, but in reality, the poor sod needed ein few hours away from his dragon wife, so you made up excuses on what you told when she inevitably called, drunk on too many glasses of cheap wine, trying to flex her power of making a married man's life miserable. Thinking back, this was perhaps the first time I heard the idea of chasing your wife with a hedge trimmer. Had I known how much my divorce would cost me, I would have bought him the top of the line model, topped it off with gasoline, overclocked it, and chased him with a camera, on the promise that after he did his wife, he would do mine. Sell the tape to a lawyer, 24 hours later every third rated TV studio wants to buy the rights to the tape, retire and carefully invest in long term low rislk investments.

I am still young at heart sometimes. Silly dreams, I know. Nowadays, I would buy him a proper chainsaw.

IT did not help that this tall dark and very handsome piece of ass was very much of the opinion that I was a failed prodigy of the arts. I tell you, This was not the case.

I have heard stories of newly added people to the night shift being just added and then dumped. I studied art till I was blue in the face, but I did not have das raw talent for it.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

* My watercolors consistently ran into each other, and my attempts at painting anything more than blotches were fruitless.

* My drawings were not, as I would have hoped, “showing the true state of america as it is, new englands tendency to be consistent with suicidal depression painted over the landscape” , they were deemed “kitschy and valueless”. The words Bob Ross were used.

* My interpretation of King Lear reminded my “Mentor” of watching Wener Herzog describe ein Pedophile Snuff Movie.

* My body, after 50 years of working in construction, for BMW, and finally in university, was deemed to be a “dad bod”, fit to model khakis and such in local supermarkets, but not much more.

* My attempts at art criticism were taken as comedic gold, despite being serious in tone.

* My attempts at sculpting were acceptable by all standards, but judged to be uninspired.

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My rescue came in the form of a fellow that was a bit older than me, and bought me for my engineering prowess. He taught me the way of the artisan, how it is definitively a legitimate way in our corner of the night shift, and how the only problem we still had was that there were too few artisans. You know, the people that actually made stuff that was intended to be used?

Jokes aside, after I finished my apprenticeship with him, and he sent me down to Texas, that was when I had to find the internet. I had nothing to do on the way there, and so I mostly got online, and tried to find a good tool to make a map of my travels, and write me helpful reminders. That was also when I met Hector and Whydotas. Back then, they were just usernames, on a map that we three went to edit. I packed out the conspiratorial stuff, asked, they answered, new channel, invite, private, encrypted, and the whole nine yards that the Americans are so fond of. I asked if I should fashion myself a tinfoil hat, as is the custom, but I was assured that tinfoil hats were not necessary, and in fact even helpful for brain implants. Not knowing how much was ein scherz, ein joke, I decided to no longer ask light hearted questions. And then we talked. At first, it was just about how hard it was as a relative newbie. Both of them had similar experiences, and we bonded over that.

Then came the first locations. I knew that Whydotas (that back then was “UDSSRSlavspy001”) was on or near Hawaii, because he had posted in his first exchanges with me that he would appreciate if I never visited him there, and Hector (Huehuecoyotl / Hectorpapichulo)

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Hector and Whydotas got talking to me, and we bonded. We were all outsiders in our open way, and living at the borders of polite society.

That was when I heard for the first time about Motus.

Imagine you get told, for the longest time, this is society, there is nothing more to it, all the good stuff is there, and you can not have it, because your papers are not in order. IF you want to have it, you can only have it when you join either the fucking night shift taliban, religious nutjobs that want to allahu akbar you as soon as you look at them funny, or college age anarchists, that say they are anarchists…. But you think of Bakunin's ideals, of equality, of Brotherhood and symbolism, of Flat Hierarchy, and go, wait a second, let's replace this with glorified Fucking Feudalism (Really? Barons? As compared to Princes? ) and serfdom, let's add a healthy amount of infighting to make the jihadists blink in envy, and let's say that the drama is so all encompassing that it is overwhelming. I can still remember the arguments I had with Whydotas over how much he liked to grab one of those welfare queen socialists “what have it so good they never have to stand in line for shit fuck capitalist pig whore coffee in house of excessive fatness of brain with picture of deformed prostitute on cup”, and show that what socialism was really like (according to him, it had a lot to do with potatoes, turnips, alcoholism, and krokodil. He has some stories that make me be thankful for the inner german border in more than one way), or with Hector over the various massacres that resulted from his involvement with the cartells, and how the cartels were the main driver of american prosperity, and would gleefully slaughter in the name of any american president that bribed them (I am forced to disagree here, on principle, as I still am, at least nominally, on the side of the family here. And the family stands firmly with Amerika. ) Endless Arguments, just going back and forth, about Honor, and war, and all that good stuff.

BUt in between them, I got a helping of their side of Personalities. Hector, who added map data from all across of his travels, (I envy a welltravelled man like this) seems to be mostly led by his feeding habits, going so far to single out where he found a particularly tasty snack, an independent contractor to the bone (He seems all to happy top go into unnecessary detail about how to make your way into an old folks home in the states, and do to those old ladies “the same as the conquistadors did to aztlan” ).

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I guess for us, it is like comparing what we had for dinner, and which restaurant we picked. And in between all of this, just three strangers

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talking about their habits, and sharing experiences, when the talk came to Motus. Both of them got a bit more quiet, and I really had to dig, and plaster them, to get to the bottom. After they had told me, I was convinced. It was leagues better than the family, the college anarcho capitalists, or the jihadists. It would mean fighting against all three at the same time (Hector assures me continuously that his former crew, the independent contractors, already have relationships with the group), but at the same time, it would mean starting over, with next to unlimited resources at our side. Tabula rasa, if you will. A clean slate, for better or for worse, an ability to build it from the ground up.

I am careful with my enthusiasm, though, and leave this as a memory protocol. The memories of my Mentor suddenly changing his whims, and me completely and without reservation agreeing to anything are too fresh in my mind to not take precautions.

As we say in Germany, "Trust is good, Control is better".

I often think about what would happen, if I had never found the map. Was it destiny, to find two people so much like myself? Wisdom? Religion? Synchronicity, or even the hand of Kane (Call me a cynic, but I do not believe a word of how most of the local night shifts seem to interact with the history of my kind. )?

I may never know. All I know is how to start this, how to leave a record of how all of this began, in the hopes that later on, I can just look back at this, smile, and say, So that was what I thought back then, allright, very gut.

Walter.

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