I have recurring dreams of duplication. First I am myself, then I am a different copy of myself, staring at my own corpse laying in a corner of the room, covered with a heavy white cloth. There is a low buzzing of flies. The kabbalistic machine produces a recurring separation of feminine identities. I took the habit of reading the Zohar before falling asleep. I sketch the processes on my notebook. It looks a lot like physics. I think that the last time I put so much dedication into doodling nonsensical diagrams on pieces of paper I was preparing for my photochemistry exam. Everything feels strangely familiar; the same amount of quantum levels, dissipation and irradiation is involved. Sometimes I dream in the form of kabbalistic riddles. Who shot Malkuth in the head? She lays dead, with a bloody red hole on her forehead. My Mother knows we did not do it; or does she? She loves us nonetheless. We must get rid of the body. I can feel it as it starts to rot.