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It was August of410 A.D. The Emperor of Rome, Honorius, was resting on the patio of his marble residence in Ravenna, when a runner rushed to his quarters and breathed out:
“Rome fell, my Emperor!”
“How that can be?” jumped Honorius and looked at the runner with horror, “I’ve finished feeding him only a moment ago.”The Emperor was referring to his pet chicken, which, upon a fast check appeared to be well and happy. It was another Rome which was not so well, sacked by Visigoths, ravished and burned. 


 
 
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A great psychologist Carl Jung once Wrote:

We wholly overlook the essential fact that the achievements which society rewards
are won at the cost of diminution of personality. (C. Jung, Modern Man in Search of a Soul)

I agree, we totally overlooked that. We also may expand this claim that people without personality are overachievers per se. But for the same reason they can’t be rewarded any further, so most of them must remain under the radar of public accolade. And, furthermore, when society imposes a punishment, and that can be viewed as a negative reward, the personality of a rewarded becomes notably enhanced commensurate to the time to be served and custody level.
What?

 
 
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A week or so ago I finished writing story Melor and Makakey, His Marxist Monkey. The story was originally intended for the fifth book, but the publisher had shuffled it down to the Chronicles of Bayboro Correctional Facility IV. So I took a break, and used it for reading something that I had a long time in mind to read: Lars Kepler, all three thrillers of theirs. And I didn’t make a mistake when I said theirs: Lars Kepler is a literary pseudonym of a couple: Alexandra and Alexander Abndorilj. If I like an author I tend to read everything written by him (or her) in a row, and I found that Lars Kepler is the one (or two). But this is not the story I am about to tell, the story is:


 
 
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I've developed a quite scientifically-looking theory on the subject of spontaneous human combustion (SHC), which I’ve put into the pretty head of Dr. Sabina Spitzyn, a scientist in residence from a strange house on Proudhon 38. One of my three novels in waiting for better times, and Proudhon 38 fits 100% into the fantasy genre. So, according to Dr. Spitzyn, spontaneous human combustion is ... not a combustion at all. This is just a misnomer.