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[Alexandr Korol]

Chapter 29. The Entity

Today is May 26th. I’ll begin with the backstory. I’ve often, in various books and
even in this novel, touched on the theme that there are people who are “entities,”
as I called them. These are people who are as if not quite people. That is, I do see
people, feel people, and every person is always, as it were, clear to me. Well, that
is, he’s defined; his beginning and end are immediately visible. It’s immediately
visible which — let’s call it that — frequency of vibrations he’s on. That is, it’s
immediately clear whether this person is spiritual or material, where his attention
is, what he loves, what drives him. It’s as if everything is clear. As if he’s a person
of the system. And I always perceived all people this way. But at times over my
life I’ve come across people who can’t be calculated. And it feels as if someone
lives inside them. Or as if it’s a human, but not a human. The first sign of such
entity-people, as I described it before in the drafts, is that this person maximally
contradicts himself in every parameter. Well, figuratively speaking, if a man is
brutal, with a beard, muscular, big, then it may seem to us that this person is
coarse or, let’s say, fearless. And then it suddenly turns out that in his soul he’s
a child, loves to play children’s board games, has never been in a fight, doesn’t
know what bad habits are, and lives with his parents. Whereas the impression
is as if this is some huge man, like the security guard of a casino club, or as if a
person working in government structures, in some law-enforcement agencies.
Or you might meet a model-girl, she looks like a model. And you might think that
she’s probably full of herself, with certain airs, big demands. But it turns out that
she loves to eat kebab, shawarma, to listen to silly jokes, to fix cars in the garage
and get dirty, and doesn’t like being friends with girls at all. And you see, such
a mismatch — as if the person’s cover is one thing, while something else lives
inside. And so such people came my way over my life. Few, but they did.

In fact, there are very many such readers. That is, when I appeared as a writer with
my books, there were quite a lot of readers of this kind, about whom you can’t tell
anything from their appearance. And even by the way they lead their lifestyle,
they’re maximally unpredictable. As if all types of people are within them. Now
one part of a person awakens in them, some side, now another, now a third,
now a fourth — and it’s still unclear what drives them. What other common sign