Memoirs of Richard Trigaux: 10 back to Toulouse, 1990-1997

The Fight to Regain My Footing

(Permalink) Written in August 2019.

This time, I had no longer the choice: it was for the sake of my children. In this New Age full of illusions yet devoid of any real courage, speaking out against the mistreatment my children were enduring only left me isolated and alone: no one was willing to help them. Same story with the ecologists, the «Réseaux Espérance» groups, the self-management, the communes, and so on: all their grand rhetoric had created nothing, had produced nothing. They had left no trace, not anybody to contact, not even an emergency housing (even today, with Facebook, I have not been able to track any of them, save some organic farmers). I had no choice but to regain my footing in the mainstream society, so that I could care for my children. It was no longer time to be frustrated or depressed. My duty to help my children turned me into a fighter, rather than into a victim. Sure, I had some serious bouts of blues, but thanks to my meditation training, I was starting to be able to stop them. The hardest moments were at the supermarket, I felt an overwhelming sadness when I had to buy all the household essentials to set up a home capable of welcoming my children. And Noisette, whom I still hoped to get out of Le Faitg at the time. It so much remembered me of the joy of building a household for the very first time!

Two things helped me immensely:

-My mother, once again she stepped up,taking me in without asking any question. We often talked about it, she told me she had always been aware of the problem with the Faitg and the need to leave.

-A small stash from family allowance payments that, at Viviane’s suggestion, I had set aside for a project: creating figurines and models representing a better world. It was her idea, but she subsequently sabotaged it, just as she did dozens of times already, only to later accuse me of «keeping the money for myself». This is how I ended up stuck with 2,000 francs worth of art supplies, which eventually landed in the Nalanda Monastery.

I should point out here that I would not have been able to get back on my feet without that assistance. The only housing option would have been youth hostels, but the one I visited was a dismal, gloomy place, populated by a rather unsavory crowd. I would not have had the money to pay for it anyway, and I certainly had no desire to repeat an experience in the like of the Foyer Saint Jean in Bordeaux: the noisy, the violents, the smokers, their filthy bogs, and so on. All those hopeless experiences had left me totally allergic to all that sort of things!

We really need to understand that leaving a cult is an extremely difficult undertaking: the individual is in a state of total material destitution (no money, no housing, sometimes not even presentable clothing), emotionally traumatized (suffering from depression, sadness, and loneliness), and spiritually very vulnerable (feeling of being lost, «end of the world» sensation, not knowing what to do with his life, that nothing makes sense, with a frantic desire to hook up at anything). Effectively helping such a person therefore requires substantial material support (housing, food, and often even new clothes), unwavering emotional support (to combat loneliness and depression), and the total absence of any kind of blackmail or guilt-trip, like the ones which caused my own attempt to fail in 1985. Proposing «serious purposes» (read: capitalist or ego-driven stuff) is also entirely counterproductive: anyone who has seen the light can never again reinvest himself in the gray. By lack of even one of these three forms of support, the attempt ends in a return to the cult, suicide, or worse with the rejection of all spirituality. Those who claim to help you without meeting these conditions are dangerous crooks or cruel sadists seeking only to convert you to their own cult. And they will cast you aside if you do not conform to their ideology. I experienced this firsthand with the ADFI in Toulouse, which turned me away. But this applies equally to social or medical services which deny you any of the three types of support mentioned above, or worse, subject you to a sadomasochistic control (surveillance, «medication», institutionalization, legal guardianship, etc.).

This little stash quickly found a purpose: buying a car. With two children, a moped was no longer enough. So, my first car was a light beige Talbot Horizon, of a good second hand. I had chosen a hatchback version, with a fold-down rear seat, so I could load bulky items. I had my paintings in mind, though I soon had to admit I would not be able to continue this activity. In fact, I never again painted after that, save for five thangkas some years later. Yet I did not gave up artistic activities: they simply shifted to the computer. Paintings were too cumbersome for apartment living, whereas today my entire archive fits on a USB drive: thousands of images, hundreds of pages of text, dozens of 3D models, scripts, and so on, all accessible from anywhere in the world via the Internet. Ultimately, this is a far better deal than heavy, bulky paintings which can only be seen if people actually come to look at them. The Faitg could have been great for that, had they not betrayed their own ideals. We could have become a center of excellence, like the Arch of Lanza del Vasto, which people know and visit. Instead, thanks to their foolishness, the Faitg remained insignificant and uninteresting.

This car gave me independence, and above all, the means to find a job: in Toulouse, daily commutes often cover 10 to 20 kilometers, 14 km for my new job. By bus, the unpredictable journey takes hours, making it useless.

But even before getting the car, I had registered with the ANPE (Today Pôle emploi). Of course, the ANPE does not really help much, except for one thing: posting job listings. I quickly noticed that every day there were several openings for electronics technicians, exactly the kind of position I needed. My training at the IUT was finally going to come in handy. But I was also checking newspaper listings. That matter was resolved fairly quickly, as we shall see later.

Finally, I needed a place to live. To my surprise, prices had shot up, especially since I was now needing at least a three-room apartment. I wanted something in the countryside for Noisette, whom I still hoped to bring out of the Faitg at this moment. I eventually found a farmhouse, the Métairie Thuriez, at the far eastern edge of the commune of Flourens, right at the end of the Drémil-Lafage industrial zone (43°35'43.4"N 1°35'01.9"E); I could have even walked to work. However, the Lauraguais countryside bears little resemblance to the towering mountains and noble forests of the Vallespir. There was not even a tree to provide a bit of privacy, and, unbeknownst to me when I signed the lease, the landlord kept cows in another part of the same building: the stench was literally seeping right through the walls! I bore like that for nearly one year. At that point, I wrote to Noisette telling her that I was not going to play the lovesick suitor forever: if she did not come immediately with the children, I would give up the farmhouse and consider the relationship over for good. She wrote back claiming that she was the one who had ended it! So, I left the farmhouse without a second thought and moved back in with my mother at the Bagatelle housing estate in Toulouse. She did not minded, as she had a spare room and she enjoyed my company. Later, she handed the place over to me entirely, when she moved to the Temple des mille Bouddhas.

At one point, I came across a charming spot: a small house on a plot planted with fruit trees and surrounded by hedges, located in Tarabel near Caraman (43°31'7.67"N 1°40'19.68"E). (The larger house was built later by the buyer.) With a mortgage and a good job, I could have bought it, and I would still be very happy there today. It would have made a perfectly adequate little nest for just me, but I had to pass on it because it was far too small to accommodate my children. I sometimes regretted this missed opportunity, yet the place was also very isolated, a tiny oasis in the vast Lauraguais region, with mandatorily a car... and which would turn to a prison if I ever lost the ability to drive.

The Bagatelle «Authorized Delinquency Zone»
(«Zone A Délinquance Autorisée», ZADA)

(Permalink) Written in January 2022

In the 1970s, Toulouse was a pleasant city, where we were feeling safe everywhere. At worst, in the Empalot neighborhood, we had to do with «African nights» with tom-toms. But my return in 1990 brought an unpleasant surprise. Initially, I had no choice but to stay with my mother, while looking for a placeof my own. It was in the Bagatelle district, specifically the large block on Rue de la Gironde. The problem was that by 1990, the relatively pleasant life of the 1970s had been replaced by the harsh rule of the fascist drug-trafficking gangs, who made their law into the «sensitive districts». An atmosphere of constant danger prevailed: gangs of thugs with menacing vibes staring at us insolently, burned cars, stolen mopeds circling the same building for hours, not to mention the tags, the rap, the ugly shaved temples, and so on. I once stumbled into a true «police-style» roadblock, a trap, where these people accused me of «looking». For women, it was even worse, with barely veiled threats of rape: «It's not right for a woman to go out at night». We lived under the constant threat of assault, rape, or, most often, having our car set on fire. I saw more than ten cars burning during my whole time there, and mine was damaged by a nearby blaze. This especially happened to people who complained of the gangs, or who denounced the violence at the school

And Bagatelle was not even the worse, the Mirail was said to be far more dangerous. They eventually had to demolish the «dalle» (concrete slab roof), a vast network of interconnected covered walkways which was the estate's pride and a major architectural innovation intended to make the neighborhood more pedestrian-friendly. But instead of becoming hubs of social life, these places were turned into strongholds for thugs gangs: at night, these vast covered areas were used for unspeakable activities, and no one dared to venture there anymore. I think that rounding up these gangs right in the nest, Nayib Bukele style, would have been far more cost-effective than abandoning our aspirations for socially conscious urban planning.

Plenty of people had delirium about these gangs, defending them, viewing them as «victims of racism» and so on. Clearly, those people never actually visited the area, they never experienced the constant sense of insecurity, the hellish noise of stolen motorbikes ruining our nights, the threats against women, and all the rest. Anyone who has seen them even once, endured their arrogant stares as they rested against the walls, knows perfectly well that they are not victims at all, but aggressors: thugs, racists, misogynists, and jealous of everybody else. Only out-of-touch intellectuals could possibly defend them. We had irrefutable proof of this when exotic nutters groups like ISIS were able to recruit so easily within those gangs.

It also stood in staggering contrast with our childhood in the Vert-bois at Saint Dizier, a super-quiet, trouble-free neighborhood, «despite» the fact that it was the first major concentration of «Arabs»: Harkis evacuated from Algeria starting 1962. Having lived there until 1964, we experienced this environment firsthand, and it was utterly devoid of any problem. Never saw tags, never a burned car, never a theft, never mopeds prowling the estate, drugs unheard of, no shaved temples, no rap, no insolent stares, no grime aureoles on the walls where the guys rest for hours, no threats against the girls, and so on. Never saw a cop either, but for the good reason: they were not needed.

Clearly, something very serious had happened in the meanwhile, to trigger such a dramatic change.

I see several explanations:

😒ignorance regarding the «sensitive periods». Today, thanks largely to the work of Maria Montessori (work since validated by psychologists and educators), everybody perfectly knows that young children go through sensitive periods, during which they require specific social experiences. A normal, healthy society provides these automatically, without any need for special intervention. But in a society of autarchical nuclear families, with spineless disengaged parents, schools which no longer teach moral values, and violent video games as the only reference, these experiences are simply missing. One such sensitive period occurs around the age of three, when children stop being «cute» like babies, and, sometimes in just some days, start becoming unpleasant. This is not «a problem»; it is the sign of a crucial stage in their growth, where they «test the limits» of what is and is not socially acceptable. A normal society quickly establishes these limits through reprimands, and some smacks if those do not suffice (on the bottom or thighs, slapping the face is dangerous, I never did this). But in this world of spineless irresponsible blokes living inside their televisions, this corrective feedback never comes! This creates a situation which, as EVERYBODY KNOWS VERY WELL (specifically since the 1970 film «Zabriskie Point» and its passage in the fake «alternative school»), produces disoriented, rebellious, and aggressive children who grow up to be delinquents or fascists. Thus, these cowardly adults who have abdicated their responsibilities, are directly to blame for a generation of young delinquents. They coddled them, fed and housed them despite their violence, and shielded them from «the cops» and from punishment.

😕Society at a whole plays a part in raising children. This implies that anybody can reprimand and even punish them. This is how they are provided with the social feedback their sensitive period requires. And this is how things happen everywhere in the world, save in countries where ninny Rousseauian politicians «protect» children against punishment! So when children from the normal world arrive in Europe or in the USA, they expect to find those educative feedback. They don't, so that they try harder, and harder, raising the stake higher end higher, until utter violence. This is how we grew a desperate generation considering us as despicable cowards, and democracy with all our values as a farce.

😈Tetraethyl lead. This era (starting around 1980) roughly coincides with the arrival at adulthood of the generation which had breathed tetraethyl lead as infants. And lead, like many cumulative poisons, damages the brain, costing that generation several IQ points. But the specific thing about lead is that it exacerbates issues like aggressivity. It therefore fueled violence and populism! Only now (in the mid-2010s) is a new generation of young people arriving, who were not impaired by lead, while the lead-poisoned cohort enters its old age, abandoning the mopeds for «parties» of old people, like the front national (MAGA in the USA), or embracing conspirationism. The proof: the number of supporters for that party rose as the leaded generations came of age, but it has remained constant since, as they fail to attract new, younger followers to replenish their ranks.

😡The massive support from the media and atheist intellectuals, who legitimize the gangs, portraying them as normal, «cool», victims, or even idealists.

Added in 2026: more broadly, we are seeing the effects of what is now called political polarization, something I denounced as early as 2003 as a failure to grasp non-dualities. For instance, the fact that these gangs were partly made up of «Arabs» served as a pretext for a resurgence of racism, disguised as a fight against immigration. But racism being illegal, the sickos simply blamed broadly the «immigrants», without a shred of a nuance. «Left» politicians, being not smarter, began «defending the immigrants» with as little nuance, and thus they ended up supporting these fascist gangs! They propagated a vision in which these foul people were here to «re-educate» the Western society. The bottom line? Grand political sparring matches during elections, newspapers which became pointless to read, and absolutely no action on the ground. Oh well, our politicians tell themselves, as long as it only affects the poor...

🙄The groty-punk fashion of the 1980s. It was this trend, pushed by the media (and even the government, I remember a vile brochure published by a state agency depicting all the young people as punks) which provided the style and anti-social ideology for the fascist gangs in the delinquent districts. Still worse, by legitimizing drugs, the groty-punkism legitimized the gangs' «economic activity»: vehicle theft, retail drug dealing, stealing mail from letterboxes (I remember a film glorifying this sort of harassment), and, of course, racism and sexism, since opposing such things was considered «ringard» (out of fashion, thanks to Libé for popularizing this world, it suits you so well). Meanwhile, the media portrayed these gangs as poor victims, and video games glorified car burning as a harmless fun... Of course, these people have the money to replace their destroyed vehicles, or even garages which shield them from this reality.

🐷But above all, there was a massive abdication of responsibility by public authorities, from the government down to the police, who let go, or even protected the gangs, while abandoning the legitimate residents of these districts to their lives of noise and fear. Even the police did nothing; often, they did not set foot in the districts! The very same administrative bodies which, just two generations earlier, had managed to efficiently hunt down the Jews without a single pang of conscience, suddenly appeared «powerless» in front of a real danger! Yet, tracking down and isolating the gangs would have been easy. But that required courage, and, above all, the resolve not to be manipulated by all those «left» intellectuals defending these fascists (naturally, they have the cash to live far from the districts, in quiet neighborhoods). It would have required strong measures to effectively isolate individuals who were routinely released the same day by magistrates hamstrung by inadequate laws. The failure to take these «undemocratic» measures lies at the root of today's terrorist hatred, fueled by people who broadly see us as cowards devoid of any authority.

Added in 2022: In El Salvador, President Bukele declared a state of emergency to bypass all the clunky legalese and enable the arrest of all those dangerous wackos, without them being released the very next day. It is still too early to judge the effectiveness (or potential abuses) of this move, but at least the Salvadorans can now breathe easy. In a highly symbolic gesture, Bukele forced these fascists to scrub off their tags which were blighting the entire city!

💩Added in August 2024: antisemitism, which continues to blame Israel for the problems caused by the Hamas and its sexual perverts. Yes, antisemitism, which we thought had vanished forever in 1945, dares to re-emerge through the most shameful orifices, in an hypocritical way, where we did not expected it: through the Left wing. Yes, that disoriented, gluten-free Left with «gender studies», claiming to be eco-friendly and socially conscious, yet which unswervingly continued the anti-French and anti-ecology policies of the Giscard and Sarkozy. A Left which mocked us and kept its true agenda well hidden since the days of «Tonton» Mitterrand, all while supporting the street gangs, hostile immigration, Libyan slave ships, rap, tags, terrorists, poop radios, and yes, even that: nuclear power. A Left which has not advanced the causes of ecology or social welfare by even a millimeter (unless you count organic caviar?), despite having ample opportunity to do so; a Left that did what no Right-wing government had dared to do: dug up the rotting corpse of antisemitism and now parading this horror through the streets and on the television. Yet, they had been working toward this covertly since the late 1970s, hyping up street gangs and rap. And fostering misunderstanding regarding every event in the Middle East, always saying that everything is «Israel's» fault, that is, implicitly without saying, the fault of the Jews.

Santa Barbara, the TV soap opera

(Permalink) Written in December 2025

According to Wikipedia, «Santa Barbara» was a standard brainwashing TV soap opera, aired in France between 1985 and 1993. In 1990, I had to do with it while staying at my mother's place: she watched it every day, so that it was in 1990. I say «do with it» because, as everyone knows, when a TV is blathering away, it is impossible to think about anything else. Watching then becomes the option of minimal boredom. This is why I advocate for tossing TVs out of the window, to guarantee our freedom of thinking at what we want. It is just a shame that LED screens don't explode the way cathode-ray tubes did.

This soap opera featured a bunch of idiotic rich people devoid of any psychoeducation or introspection, suffering endlessly from their psychological problems, yet never considering stopping this self-inflicted harm. Mind you, you might say all TV soaps are like that: that bizarre world where characters act like malfunctioning robots, endlessly repeating the same destructive behaviors from one series to the next, never stepping back or realizing that the trouble stems entirely from within themselves. All of this served with supermarket-style background music churning up objectless emotions.

But at one point, I realized that Santa Barbara had something very specific, that suddenly struck me: all the «good guys» were wealthy white bourgeois, and all the «bad guys» were poor Latinos.

...

Bzzz (flies)

Well, now you understand the roots of the anti-Latino racism later displayed by the MAGA nutters. By 1990, the anti-Black racism had become too taboo, so that racists had to find a new target. This is why, in France, we had the Belgians jokes and the blondes jokes. Admittedly, it did not really caught in France, but in the US, the anti-Latino jokes took off... ballooning to the obscene proportions we see today.

We saw the same kind of propaganda with racist, anti-alien movies like Alien and Independence Day.

That Santa Barbara was specifically designed to stoke hatred against a segment of the population would hardly be a new phenomenon: there already was «Handy Capp», intended to stigmatize the unemployed. Intergenerational amnesia turns out to be quite convenient, allowing the same scams to be repeated in a regular cycle.

The siloviks, part 2:
the legal hazing against my children.

(Permalink) Written in November 2022

We do not present the gestapo, a group of sociopaths united for their sadomasochistic games. It was a formal organization, with membership card, hierarchy, internal discipline (and we imagine, social security, work councils and retirement plan, ha ha ha!). The USSR had similar criminal organizations: NKVD, GPU, KGB, etc. However, Putin's Russia saw an innovation: the same goals accomplished differently, by the siloviks. This Russian word means «man of force», the ones who have the right to use force against people. It is a collection of corrupt cops, forfeiting magistrates, military torturers, paranoid spies and other lawless «tontons macoutes». In theory, they are Putin's sycophants, in charge of carrying out his dirty work. But, being untouchable, they are free to have fun as they wish, to the detriment of defenseless Russian citizens. The siloviks are the self-managed gestapo, in a way. To give an idea of the kind of cretins, in May 2023 I saw a video of siloviks having fun shaving a man's head in the bus.

A democratic government does not maintain siloviks. But you can meet groups of amateur French siloviks, having fun on their own account. Just that they do not use physical violence, but for moral violence they offer themselves all the rights and they protect each other.

It was such a group that I came across when I took legal action to denounce the mistreatment and remove the children from the Faitg. I began to realize how dangerous the situation was, particularly following the castration attempt, and what followed proved me right.

First of all, let us be clear: contrary to the lies written in some «reports», I had not «run away» or «abandoned my children». Simply, given the now open hostility of the others, I could no longer defend them in the Faitg, after my denunciation of the facts. So I had to get them out of there. But for that, the very first thing was to find an accommodation and a job, in order to welcome them. This is what I explained to all these people, but these scumbags all acted as if I had «ran away» or I «wanted» the children «for me». In fact, they accused me of being just like them!

I was reinforced in my idea by numerous stories where justice acted promptly and severely against child tormentors (especially when they are vegetarians or «cults»). If we believe these stories, my affair would quickly be over, and the children would be free in some weeks. It was in anticipation of their release that I sought employment and accommodation, in theory with Noisette, whom justice should have held accountable. I had even built a double bed for our new home!

This was without accounting with the local group of siloviks from Perpignan.

Given what has happened, it is clear that all the ranting against sects and child abuse is nothing more than a vast hypocrisy: anti-sect action and the protection of children only arise when this or that political party or lobby needs a scapegoat to denigrate ecologists, vegetarians or spiritual people. For the rest, as long as there are no visible physical injuries, anybody can manipulate their followers, haze their colleagues or morally destroy their children. In fact, solidarity among sociopaths takes precedence over the supremacy of the «normal society» over the much-hated «marginal New Age Hippie community». By specifying that I took great care not to denounce vegetarianism or the New Age. But maybe this is what was reproached to me…

It should also be noted that the social workers knew very well the situation hostile to the children, having spoken about it, or even being complicit in it, like the one who asked me if «the child accepted the surgery» for the Münchhausen syndrome. I of course put her back in place, but to no effect.

Moreover, at the time, modern theories on education were already well known (Montessori, Steiner, etc.), particularly in educational circles. We were already discussing them in the 1970s. And psychologists and neurologists were beginning to confirm them. Both social workers and magistrates therefore had a professional obligation to be informed, and they knew very well that the situation was very harmful to the children. But the hatred of men came before the interests of the children. Yes, hatred of men must have been the main motivation of all these women. Otherwise, why did the two Münchhausen syndromes only targeted the boy? They might as well have imagined a disease against the girl. There is not a lack of «feminine troubles» dating from the time when sociopathic rages were mostly targeting women.

First hearing with the children's judge of Perpignan, Miss G.....

When my turn comes, my predecessor, a man in a black suit and tie, leaves the office angry, to the point of making a threatening remark like «you will hear from me». Without any indication of who was right or wrong, I entered the office.

She listened to me until the end, with an apparently benevolent air. At the time, we did not yet knew about sociopaths, so it was very difficult to describe the situation in the Faitg, other than with a long accumulation of anecdotes. I of course insisted on the dangers of the Faitg, and the urgency of the situation. Of course she needed an investigation, but to begin with, the result would not be «before May» (We were in February or March). I clearly expressed my fear: so much could happen in these three months!

Showing anxiety was certainly a mistake, with this insensitive and cynical person. On the way out, I heard her giggling with her secretary «how he roasted her»! As if her office was some kind of stadium or «reality» show! At best, she was totally desensitized, viewing her work as fun, without any consideration of the suffering of the children she was supposed to protect. I then understood why the man before me had left in anger…

This judge was a silovika.

Without a boss, just for fun.

And she was not the only one.

So there was a «social investigation». for which I HAVE NEVER BEEN CONSULTED. And of course the children's judge took no note of everything I had revealed to her... So, for seven years, the justice system managed the Faitg affair, with no idea of what the problem was!!!

When I received the response from the children's judge, it was «there is no problem», without any explanation or anything. Apparently children who were scotomised, subjected to constant moral harassment and physical risks did not worried them.

The report still contained mention of an endoscopy to look for the cause of «gluten intolerance»… therefore confirming the Münchhausen syndrome! Perhaps these people treat their own children in the same way...

Not to mention that such gluten delirium should have warned anybody sensible.

Given what happened at the beginning and end of the hearing, it is clear that this judge was violently sexist, a female supremacist, to the point of completely ignoring children and only thinking about harming men. In the name of feminism and gender parity, power had been given to a female supremacist, from the parallel hierarchy of female monkeys in the chimpanzee tribe!

And she was not the only one, she had a whole group of perverted social workers with her, as we are to see. Hence the name siloviks that I give to their group, for their informal but deliberate anti-social activities.

After the children's judge failed, remained the family affairs judge («Juge des affaires maritales» by the time). By lack of protecting the children, I still thought I could extract them. Ideally they would make Noisette face her responsibilities, forcing her to go out, for the children.

However, the family court proved to be a monument of vice. Indeed, like most French laws, it is still largely based on the «napoleonic code». The problem is that, not content with having killed millions of people in his senseless wars, this phallocrat pork with a purulent penis© has laid a monumental legal turd: for him, as in the time of the french king Clovis, and still today in the 21st century in French law, a child is considered the «property» of his parents, whom the latter must be able to «enjoy», yes I have heard this word several times, including from their own lawyers: the right to «have» our children, the right to «enjoy» our children! Thus, the rights of the children themselves, their right to be respected, their right to be loved, their right to a normal social environment, their happiness, their development, their sensitive periods, the good example of their parents, their protection, all of this is UN-KNOWN to the French justice! The treatment of children of divorce in France is as backward and cruel as the fate of women with the Talibans.

And when I see videos of psycho-repression in China, it is my own siloviks that I see.

Not to mention that these imbeciles also attributed to me the same intention of wanting to «have» my children! This is probably the most serious insult I have received in my entire life, and a total denial of all my ideals and efforts: they accused me of being like them! To have like them a huge black ego in the middle of their face, appropriating other people for their own pleasure, like the slavers in the past!

A hearing with the family court judge of napoleon is like being in the slaughterhouse, with around twenty files to examine in one afternoon. Thus, the fate of your children will be decided in three minutes by strangers, who have not read the files, who know nothing of the problems and issues. If you go to the slaughterhouse, at least you will see the murdered animals struggling, screaming, trying to escape. But they are quickly restrained, and soon their blood and guts are splattering on the floor, while the smell of their excrement fills the room. And immediately the next one comes, eyes bulging with horror, at the hands of these sadistic torturers with glowing eyes. There is something mechanical in this macabre ritual: the entire herd must go through it quickly enough so that its executioners do not miss the evening soap opera on the TV.

But at the Clovis family court hearing, no blood, no screams: child victims are simply not admitted! No one will want to hear their demands, if even they can understand their rights (My daughter was 3 and my son was 1). You will not hear children screaming to stay with their beloved parent, you will not see their looks of terror at the thought of being left helpless with their abusive parent. Around twenty couples wait for their turn to spar with speckled foils: no one raises their voice, because at the slightest noise the judges would consider them wrong. We therefore have to present the situation in two or three sentences, which at the time was impossible, because we did not knew sociopaths. Only a salient point has any chance of winning the decision.

The howls and sobs of the children, their empty gaze of lost animal, their sadness and their loneliness without their loved one, their disorientation in life, their broken spirits, their failure at school, all of this is carefully hidden, stifled behind the walls of the judicial slaughterhouse. More than thirty little Mozarts are assassinated in silence (according to the words of Saint Exupéry, taken from a book by Gilbert Cesbron), coldly executed in an afternoon of palaver of hushed voices and rustling of black dresses.

It is probably to avoid having their face beaten at the exit that these judges only communicate their verdict two weeks later.

But that was not enough: another cruel trick awaited my children in the napoleon's court.

The social investigation by the children's judge, allegedly «secret», had been brought out against the children, to the family affairs judge.

And it was a monument of lies, written and signed by a sexist scumbag, Mrs. G B....

First of all, this person had never met me, not even phoned me, so she was completely unaware of what the problem was, and not caring at all to know.

And the whole text was lies. And it is easy to verify, even without factual investigation, even years later: all along it is «the man said, he is lying, the mother said, she is right, the man said, he is lying, the mother said, she is right», etc. We could not be more explicit in the arbitrary accusations and sexism.

She had gone to the Faitg, and asked them questions. To which Viviane had responded, and perhaps sometimes Noisette. Then this social worker from the local silovik group simply said that Viviane's answers were «the truth», and that my words were «lies».

Without any factual verification.

If we did an investigation like that on a UFO or parapsychology case, we would be called crooks. But not to the napoleonic «protection» of childhood. Here this process is the norm: the woman is right, and the man is wrong. Arguments are accepted and rejected depending on whether they comfort the woman or the man. The female supremacist sows with putrid vaginas© united against the men, and crushing the children because they cannot reach the fathers. This was called reprisals during the nazi occupation.

I do not know if the family court judge read this report. Why would he read it, knowing that they are all like that. (In another hearing later, I happened to overhear the bored embarrassment of the magistrate opening one of these reports. They know very well that they are no better than climate denial or Soviet propaganda. It was a scandal from Noisette which finally won the judgment in favor of the children.)

Another very common trap was that the silovik social worker asked the girl if she missed «Daddy» («Papa). And she answered «no», because she… did not knew that word! Indeed, in order to «not do as in society», I was «Richard» and not «Dad». At the time I was not paying attention, but it is hard to think that this was not a trap, thought out and constructed years in advance in preparation for my elimination. Indeed, the words «Dad» or «Mom» are not only affectionate: they signal to the child that their parent is special to them. Without this word, for the little girl I was just one of those visitors to the Faitg, among all those who came one after the other, each claiming to educate my children in my place. It is therefore one of the very first words to teach them. Of course, Viviane-Folcoche was careful not to describe the girl's tears when she saw me leaving! The poor thing wanted to go with me, it is easy to understand why: I took care of her, made her draw, took her into the woods in my backpack, kept her in the garden, etc. while Noisette only considered her mechanically. Ah if they had listened to the children, the matter would have been resolved in three minutes.

The boy was in such a state of suffering that he refused to be weaned. It is easy to understand why: meals were surrounded by the hostile mugs of Noisette and Viviane, instead of being a moment of life together. But go explain that to those scumbags who served as social workers in the Pyrenees Orientales.

Thus their false report explained the child's refusal by... gluten intolerance!!! This is the first time I have heard of this nonsense. The only precedent was Burger's instinctotherapy, claiming that wheat is «toxic». What probably happened is that the activists of animal suffering lobby who invented this nonsense first spread it in child welfare milieu, to turn the social workers against vegetarians. However, not all social workers are siloviks, so the fib did not really caught on in this environment. The meat lobby then found another trick: spreading gluten phobia in organic stores! Thus they hit the entire milieu of the pseudo-ecologists, ignorant of the real issues of dietetics and health. Do you think I am making gratuitous accusations? Refrain from reading this paragraph until the end, because it will hurt a lot: ordinary bakeries do not sell gluten-free bread. Indeed, this intox is not necessary in these stores, because people who still eat white bread are not likely to be vegetarians. Anyway gluten intolerance happens only to fake ecologists.

This gluten delirium had gone very far. So I learned from someone in Serralongue that everybody had been instructed not to pass on information to me about the children. So all these swines were trying to break the family bond! Hoping maybe I would let it go. Worse, this person informed me that the boy had been admitted to Perpignan hospital for an intestinal biopsy! They were trying to find out why he was not feeding (The matter was very serious, we even feared his death at one point). So they had carried out these risky operations, even though everyone knew very well that the boy was simply suffering from his mother's wickedness. And that he refused this life, which was nothing but continual suffering for him.

When I called the Perpignan hospital, these swines refused to give me the slightest information! Probably they too had instructions to keep me away, in order to destroy the family bond! Instructions that they carried out without asking any questions. The Silovik group in Perpignan also had several doctors, as we saw by the time.

Finally the Serralongue whistleblower told me that the boy had been sent to an AGOP center (today UGECAM), the Foncaude center in Montpellier. It must be clarified here that, if many people acted against my children, on the contrary several groups did their job correctly, and they constantly supported them in this whole affair: the village of Serralongue (Town Hall, school, neighbors), the AGOP centers, and the gendarmes. But none had the power to liberate them from the sadistic judges.

So I went to Foncaude, where they let me see the kid, among around ten other children. Problem: several months had passed, and I already no longer recognized him! Neither did he. I had to ask whom one he was! Surprise, he was by far the most handsome of the group. He remained very beautiful throughout his childhood, until his beard grew. But even this beauty was reproached to him!! I remember at least ten idiots exclaiming in front of him: «oh he looks like a girl!!!» without any regard for his self-esteem.

He was in a bare pale green room, with an iron bed and just two or three toys. Hanging next to his bed was the tube the nurses used to force-feed him. These terrible conditions were nevertheless a paradise for him, compared to what he had experienced in the Faitg.

I stayed with him for one hour in his room, where he seemed not to pay much attention to me, caught up in his activities. But the main thing was that he was living, that he was interested, that he was not extinct.

Foncaude had simply brought him what all the children need: stability, a place to breathe, so welcome after the chaos of the Faitg and Viviane's unhinged injunctions.

At that time, I was already working at EREMS, and I could not stay. So I took the road again sadly, but at least at that moment I knew that this child would live, that he would take up the challenge. Even though he still had a lot of suffering on his way.

Above all, I congratulated myself for having fought to protect him. If I had not warned the justice (even sexist and napoleonic), or if I had let it go, the boy would most likely have died, alone at the hands of Viviane, with nobody never having any idea of the problem. And this scumbag would have pontificated that «he did not wanted to live», with the same total insensitivity as with all the others she suicided, Jean Imbert, Sanglier, the gretchen or Gérard Douillet that we are to see a little further on.

Indeed, Viviane had not wasted time: she had asked all the members of the Faitg to testify against the children! She had to degrade me and present me as the culprit, to save her own reputation of holier-than-thou. And more than thirty complied, without asking any questions or trying to contact me (only two or three did so, one of them was even surprised that «I was not a monster»!!!) So all my pseudo-newagers friends from the Faitg betrayed me instantly, without any scruple or any factual verification. All their friendship, all our discussions, all their spirituality, everything was lies, a theater without soul, empty of meaning, without courage. And, exactly like at Duruy or at the Collège Naval, it was me who was pointed at and singled out! In which way they were better than the others, then?

This was making a very bad impression of the whole New Age (of which the Faitg visitors were a fairly representative sample), and I completely disinvested of it. The energy of the movement was cut off at about this time. I like to think that somebody up there turned off the tap, precisely following this Faitg affair. But it is very likely that there have been other similar scandals, or even much worse. We saw, for example, the inglorious deflating of the Meurois-Givaudan affair, the lame end of the «Spirale» review, and the final cacophony of the «Enfants de la Joie» (The «Family of the A»).

Gérard Douillet had also written a testimony against the children. I knew him some weeks before my departure. He was an innocuous-looking guy, shy but nice. In some days at the Faitg, he seemed to more or less understand Viviane's trouble game. So I wrote him, hoping to get him to correct his mistake. But I never received any answer: he had committed suicide before. He probably could not stand the contradiction between Viviane's displayed high spirituality and her pathological hatred of children.

The fourth then, plus possibly others that I did not heard of. This is what Viviane was in the end: a serial killer. Just that she used stalking instead of guns or rifles, but this is worse. And legal.

And all these false testimonies devoid of real facts therefore ended up on the desk of the family affairs judge, at the hearing. Of course the children's lawyer swept away all this unhealthy literature with a wave of his black sleeve. But the damage was done: this, plus the falsified investigation by the children's judge, all this consolidated their delusion that I was the bad guy, alone against everyone, to «take revenge», I heard this accusation several times.

As always in these cases, the magistrate's wave function quickly collapsed towards the minimum energy state: the one of least responsibility in the case of an error.

A bastard judgment therefore emerged from the hearing, very much in the napoleonic state of mind of this whole perverse system:

-I had the «shared parental responsibility». Which in practice gives no means of protecting the children, only a signature to «manage their assets». The great princes who wrote this law only thought of themselves, not of us normal people, who are not offered any patrimony at birth. My children did not even have toys, Viviane confiscated them!

-Noisette had «custody rights» over the children. We still notice the salic law phrasing: it is the parent who has a right, not the child. Above all, it was the total denial of all my denunciations! The children would remain in Viviane's care, despite the considerable risks. If she had not felt watched, who knows what she would have done.

-I had a «visiting right» at the Faitg, and an «accommodation right» at my home, every other weekend and half of the school holidays. Which, in practice, with the 260km journey, was reduced to school holidays. As for the «visiting right», I abstained from it, thinking that it would be dangerous to be again alone without witnesses with these people. They could accuse me of anything!! And their silovika friends would automatically agree with them! So I never took such a risk, not even entering the buildings, and leaving immediately. I even had someone accompany me the first time, but few people dare to get involved in such matters, so all the other times I had to go alone, with the risks.

At the beginning, Noisette had accepted a compromise which suited everybody: she would take advantage of doing her shopping in Perpignan on the days of the trip, to bring the children to the railway station, where I would wait for them to take them by train. But a compromise was still too much for this integrist: she complained that «I did not knew how to organize trips», and she forced me to come by car to the Faitg. A lie which cost her dearly, when later it was her turn to visit the children in Lavaur: she only made the trip twice, before giving up completely. Lucky for her, because I saw her driving and she was a danger behind the wheel.

During these seven years in Toulouse, I thus went to pick up my children at every vacation. Worse, in order to be able to take care of them, I took unpaid leave from EREMS. They were very patient, and they never blamed me. Few companies would have accepted this. But it cost me dearly in lost wages.

This sequel Added in 2026: An interesting detail is that I am not at all the only one to complain about the sexist french justice and its hatred of children. My case even coincided at the time with a flowering of four «fathers’ defense» associations, which denounced the same problem, the best known today remaining «SOS Papas» (SOS Dads). The sexism and pedophobia of justice were therefore publicly denounced.

The victims themselves could organize and seek reparation (the same applies to the victims of the DDASS). However, we are witnessing the following phenomenon: children who were mistreated by the administration or the «justice system» have so deeply internalized their total inferiority in the face of the State's absolute power, that they do not dare to speak out. Instead, they prefer to gather the remaining pieces of their personalities and try to live discretly something which may resemble a life. Furthermore, a very common aftereffect is that these victims seem to have completely forgotten that period of their lives.

Today (2026), Wikipedia accuses SOS Papas of «masculinism», even though the SOS Papas website advocates for equality. Throughout its page, Wikipedia speaks of «fathers' rights» versus «women's rights», never once mentioning the right of the childrens to emotional support and a proper upbringing. How to more clearly express that wikipedia shamefully missed the point. Worse still, the «Left» supports women, while the «Right» supports men! It could not be stated more explicitly that both are idiots, who could not care less about children! Male chauvinists and female supremacists united can therefore blithely continue to mistreat, crush and suicide people, all this in full legality.

However, since more than fifteen years, I have published quadripolar logic, which, among other things, explains the relationship between men and women, while removing all the previous errors, sexism in one direction or the other, obvious or subtle, lay or religious. (Oldest record here, but the page already existed in the version 1 in 1999). And of course for all this time everybody had time to read this explanation, since a conspi video can garner 30,000 likes just two hours after publication. On children and education, we already had Gibran, Steiner, Freinet, Montessori and Cesbron since fifty years, see Montaigne since 400 years. Under these conditions, being sexist or paedophobic today is no longer an error, but a deliberate and informed evil intent.

If I had not had my children

(Permalink) Written in August 2019

Let us be clear: despite everything which happened, I adore my children. I also fully embraced my responsibilities, without reservation, and I have absolutely no regrets about the experience. However, as we have seen, I was on the verge of leaving the Faitg when Noisette became pregnant, so that I came very close to never having them at all. It is then natural to wonder how things might have turned out without them. My plans from that time, in a way.

One thing is certain: I would have left the Faitg in 1986, this time with sufficient motivation and the benefit of having learned from the obstacles which caused my failure in 1985. As it always is the case with sociopaths, returning to them only leads to make them worse, so that my disillusionment was complete. On the other hand, I would not have been as motivated to find a conventional job. Instead, I would likely have sought to resume activities linked to ecology and the pursuit of a better world.

I probably would have ended up as a resident at the Vajra Yogini Institute, which was just getting started at the time. They considered themselves as a Buddhist community, which would have suited me well. However, It was the early days, there were plenty of eccentric or unstable characters around, and the resident Lama, Geshe Tengye, even had to forbid marijuana! Yet, faced with couples constantly forming and breaking up, swapping partners back and forth, he could only look with astonishment. It took a great deal of diplomacy for the director at the time, Denis Huet, to manage all these issues, and, I imagine, to discreetly encourage quite a few of too complicated individuals to leave. Some residents from that era stuck at it, working hard and practicing the Dharma. They remained there for the rest of their lives, whereas others left due to various problems, often about relationships. If I had joined in 1986, I probably would have still been looking for a partner, thereby diving headfirst back into🫏problems. So, the whole thing would likely have ended with a small private encounter with Denis, ha ha ha ha!

Assuming I had stuck with it, I would have much more devoted myself to Buddhism, and many more personal things would not have happened: my novels, my Eolis comics, the General Epistemology, etc. (Or perhaps the latter would have become a «modern interpretation of Buddhism», thus drastically limiting its audience. I still had to remove some elements of this kind in the version 2) Not to mention that I would have been again dependent on somebody else... and this would not always have gone well, just look at what became of my modest contribution to the Temple des Mille Bouddhas. Becoming a monk would have been tempting, and I did actually considered this during the 1990–1997 period of this chapter. But it would have stripped me of all freedom. Ultimately, my absolute autonomy regarding Buddhism allowed me to do things that truly resonated with me. Even at the price of less spiritual advancement: my choice to help humanity takes precedence over my own paradise.

Well, okay, I am working on the paradise too, hahahaha! But this is private. If you want to know, earn your own entry ticket.

Another possibility would have been Lanza del Vasto’s Arch. In fact, I visited La Borie Noble once, around in 1992. I have a great respect for what they do, but I would not have liked living in those dark buildings (they refused electricity, so as not to condone nuclear power). In any case, I could not have gone there, because I would have had to take the children along. And, after the mistreatment at the Faitg, I already sensed that they would loathe such places and would need to reconnect with mainstream society. But in 1986, without the children, that would have been an interesting choice, especially since other communities had electricity. I could have continued painting, though likely not pursued electronics or internet-related activities (I already had a computer back then, with plans for the nascent Minitel system). There, too, there would have been no Éolis, no Elves, and no General Epistemology. Yet today, in 2020, I feel that the Arch represents exactly what the Faitg should have been, which explains its success.

The Arch also faced a massive infiltration attempt in the 1990-2000, aimed at hijacking the organization toward a form of leftism. They suffered greatly as a result, losing half of their communities, including the magnificent Bonnecombe Abbey. Naturally, I would have been deeply involved in the fight to save it (I was already well-versed in the issue of infiltration, having witnessed it at the ATE and in the legislative elections in 1978). Fortunately, the core of the organization remained solid, and today the Arch is thriving, actively addressing the spiritual, ecological, and economic needs of our times.

Being hired at EREMS

(Permalink) Written in August 2019

For about a month, I went to the ANPE (employment agency) every day, creating a CV (resume) and applying for several jobs daily. At the time, there were many openings for electronics technicians, a role which suited me perfectly.

In fact, I had received three positive replies to my job applications, so I was even able to choose. If I remember correctly, it started with a newspaper ad for an electronics technician to work on «test equipment». This meant I would not just be inking blueprints, I would create them. I knew I was up to the task, my hobbyist projects proved it: building a functional Minitel server is no small feat, especially in the hostile environment of the Faitg.

The ANPE counselors had also advised me to include some words about myself in the resume, using «neutral and measured» language. So, I wrote «interested in the environment». This worked twice in my favor: it put the recruiter in a better mood, and it helped to select a cool company (and which is today a leader in this regard).

So I showed up for an interview at EREMS, a small electronics design firm based in Flourens, a little town east of Toulouse. The recruiter, whom we called Hervé, was a young engineer passionate about his work... and, consequently, about ecology. From the start, I thought my chances were slim: he had a stack of 40 resumes on his desk! They were all from young technicians fresh out of the IUT, whereas my own qualifications were rather stale, and I had a nine-year gap in my employment history! But Hervé did not fall for nice words (likely having learned from past experiences). He simply gave me a test.

An electronic schematic: draw the output waveforms.

Another schematic, plus two component datasheets: say which of the two is suitable, and why.

In short, you could not just bluff your way through it: you had to know the job. You even needed the «electronic intuition» to get it done in the allotted time. (Moreover, in a field evolving as rapidly as electronics, we are often asked to do things we know absolutely nothing about. A good technician therefore is somebody who can learn on the job and be operational immediately. This happened to me several times.)

What happened next was rather curious. Hervé explained me later: out of the forty candidates, I was the only one who had passed those tests! I must say I was quite surprised, the others were presumably just as competent as I was, and fresh out of the IUT. Yet, in all likelihood, none of them had ever tried designing a real-world circuit.

Of course Hervé noticed right away the huge gap in my resume. So, he asked what I had been doing for those nine years. There was no point trying to hide the fact that I had been in a cult: lying to a recruiter rarely leads to anything good. Fortunately, the employment agency teaches us how to plaster up gaps in our resume, and I had duly noted that I had kept working on electronics, even building things like a modem, a Minitel server, and a «star-twinkler» (using randomly flashing LEDs). (That last one was Viviane’s idea, though as usual she changed her mind at the last minute, rendering this device useless.)

To the inevitable question, «Are you at risk of going back to the cult?» I had an unassailable answer: «I can’t, I sued them. In that milieu, it is an unforgivable offense: I am burned». Indeed, I had petitioned the juvenile court regarding the mistreatments, a move which effectively alienated me from almost all my anti-establishment New Age «friends».

Hervé called me back some days later, weary of sifting through resumes filled with inflated claims. My mother answered the phone and explained that I was at the employment office. «But this is for a job», Hervé said in a little voice, seemingly worried he might lose me. As soon as I got home, I got back in touch with him, and we signed the contract with Mr. Wintgens, the boss of EREMS. From then on, Hervé and I were on a first-name basis, as it is the custom in engineering bureaus. (In fact, thanks to our shared interest in ecology, we were a bit more than just colleagues.) He would be my direct supervisor, making key engineer’s decisions while relying on my own circuit design skills. It was the best job I could have hoped for, working in the warmth of an office, and I was pleased to have resolved this situation so quickly. In more, the pay was very decent, for the first time in my life I could spend and live a normal life. Even so, I avoided unnecessary expenses and saved money: once we have been poor, we tend to be cautious.

But let us look at the work I actually did at EREMS:

Working in the space industry

(Permalink) Written in June 2020

My reentry into society and the «working milieu» was anything but low-key: the very day after I started the job, I walked through the prestigious gates of the CNES in Toulouse, the National Center for Space Studies, where I was to work, in a two years internship and visiting regularly throughout my seven years of working at EREMS. And doing so in my (almost) brand-new car.

You might think that sounds like vanity. Perhaps, but I believe it was a source of legitimate pride, tinged with the bashfulness of a young bride, a bit like Sam Gamgee arriving in the land of the Elves. That was precisely the feeling I had: entering a magical place, more precious than the ordinary world, the sanctuary of advanced science and space technology! Above all, though, it represented a well-deserved recognition after nine years of being belittled at the Faitg by idiots who did not knew a thousandth of what I knew.

During the first month, I worked with Excel (a novelty at the time, yet it met such a specific need that it is still around today, virtually unchanged). The lab tested components to qualify them for spaceflight. Indeed; conditions up there are harsh, and you cannot simply go up to fix a breakdown. Everything has to work perfectly; if a failure does occur, the system must recover and keep functioning. The biggest threat is radiation, which can destroy power transistors or cause errors in microprocessors. This necessitated special programming techniques, as any variable could become corrupted or the circuit could crash. Consequently, the system had to be capable of restarting itself automatically.

My first actual design project involved test equipment for satellite hardware used in Argos beacons. It was a major undertaking right from the start, involving a microprocessor and its peripheral circuits, requiring programming in both assembly and C. I had never tackled a project of this scale before, but I handled it well; after all, this was exactly the kind of work I had applied for. And indeed, we work much better without a «kind spouse» constantly interrupting with domestic squabbles or accusations of insanity!

Then came various projects:

-Component testing equipment. The CNES department where I worked certified components for space use. This environment presents unique challenges, things you would not even imagine when working on electronics on the ground or even in cars.

-One such piece of equipment was a test bench for SPARC microprocessors, designed to study how they react to space radiation. We used a californium source for this purpose. Radiation does not destroy these circuits, but it does cause specific types of errors. This work resulted in a science publication. I since retained the programming habits developed to mitigate these effects, such as always accounting for every scenario, including what happens if a state variable loses its value. This sometimes draws comments from other programmers: «But why do you do it that way?»

-Another experiment involving radiation, this time on large TO3 transistors, subjected them to heavy ions at the GANIL particles accelerator in Caen. We flew off to the strange world of nuclear physics and particle accelerators, working through the night during the «krypton window» (the time slot when the accelerator produced the specific ions we needed). The experiment took place in a bunker connected to a dark tunnel through which the ion beam tube entered. There was a massive, loud buzzing machine, an electromagnet designed to widen the beam. It felt like something out of a 1950s Superman comic! It is truly spectacular to see something as tiny and abstract as a nuclear particle break a device the size of a walnut. However, several satellites had been lost this way, and in the event of a solar flare like the Carrington Event, we could lose them all. Hence the research and study efforts focused on this issue. The conclusion was, essentially, that these transistors had to be operated at only half their rated voltage, even during switching spikes. My circuit had an unusual ability to suppress these spikes, regardless of the operating voltage. For the technicians among you: a Schottky clipping diode fed into a capacitor, which thus always stored the exact voltage level to be clipped, even when the supply voltage varied during the tests. A small bleed resistor prevented it from charging up to the peak voltage. Just three mundane components, yet it took patient, careful crafting to get the thing right, with 400 lethal volts live on my workbench.

-The Mephisto furnace, which flew several times on space shuttles. It was designed to study metal solidification in zero gravity, using the Seebeck effect. This is a thermocouple effect occurring between a solid metal and its liquid phase. Since the voltage generated is in the nanovolt range, a highly sophisticated amplifier was required, featuring switching circuitry and temperature regulation. This formed the heart of the device. Its designer, Gerard Petit, was very proud of it, and he entrusted its maintenance to me. Electronics for vacuum and zero-gravity environments require special methods, not to mention NASA’s stringent standards for the space shuttles.

-There was an experiment aboard the Mir space station designed to measure astronauts’ reflex muscle activity. It had to run on the Russian power supply... and the technical specifications were very «Russian» too, meaning our equipment had to withstand some pretty dramatic voltage fluctuations. Dealing with Russia meant that a colleague of mine, named Matta, had to spend several days in Moscow, which at the time was in the throes of Yeltsin’s decomposition. He was woken up several times in the night by prostitutes openly soliciting in his hotel, something unthinkable back in Soviet times. To get some peace and quiet, he switched to a hotel run by a religious order. This colleague was quite a character: a Maronite Lebanese man with a larger-than-life personality, «unmanageable» according to Hervé, rough around the edges but not a bad guy. Deep down, I liked him. Sometimes I smiled discretely, while the others were pulling their hairs.

-The absolute highlight, however, was the HASI amplifiers for the Huygens probe, designed to measure the electrical properties of Titan’s atmosphere during the probe’s descent. Unfortunately, there was a hitch: the potting process broke one of the two amplifiers, so another company had to rebuild it. But I believe the remaining amplifier was installed on the probe, and this is how my fingerprints ended up on Saturn, on Titan more precisely. Despite that hiccup, I consider this modest interplanetary contribution the pinnacle of my career as an electronics technician.

There are two interesting anecdotes about this. At EREMS, the bosses used to treat clients to lunch whenever they visited our facilities. On that particular day, they asked me to do that, because the HASI engineer was a vegetarian! So, I accompanied him and his secretary to the organic restaurant Grandeur Nature in Toulouse. In doing so, my bet on how society was evolving was validated: these advancements were gaining broad societal acceptance rather than remaining confined to niche circles like the New Age movement or the Faitg. While those specific movements may have failed, the underlying approach had gotten immortal.

The second anecdote is about the HASI instruments, which detected Schumann resonances on Titan. Admittedly, these occur on any planet with an ionosphere, which creates a cavity between two electrically conductive boundaries. This cavity resonates with radio waves much like a cathedral resonates with sound. On Earth, the fundamental frequency is 7 Hz—with harmonics up to the fifth order—excited by thunderstorms. On Titan, where the fundamental is 17 Hz, HASI detected a signal at 32 Hz, corresponding to the second harmonic. The problem is that there are seemingly no thunderstorms on Titan. So, what is exciting the Schumann resonances, then?

Another HASI discovery was that Titan possesses a second electrically conductive layer, located 60 km below the surface. The actual ionosphere lies at an altitude of 1,200 km. While the latter can be explained in the usual way, the former points to the presence of a subsurface ocean, either salty or ammonia-rich. Thus, I played a very indirect part in this discovery. It is deeply regrettable, however, that all of this has remained virtually «secret», with so few scientific publications and none aimed at the general public.

An interesting feature of EREMS was its progressive social outlook (Already by the time, but formally confirmed today). There was no racism, one of the co-shareholders was Arab, and I worked with other Arabs, not to mention the Lebanese colleague whose presence was unmistakable. There also was a man in a wheelchair. He was a doctor named Eric Rogary, and a whiz at Artificial Intelligence. His system, Valab, processed and validated medical test results. This was twenty years before Microsoft invented Tay, the first «Artificial Idiocy». Today, Valab is an industry standard for laboratories, and it operates as an independent company housed in a small building which was the first one constructed for EREMS. Added in 2026: nowadays, «Artificial Intelligence» is synonymous with neural networks. But back then, it was still based on the von Neumann architecture, using languages like Prolog. At the time it was the only choice available, but today they keep at it, for an exactness, transparency and safety a neural network is unable of.

Unfortunately, my time at EREMS came to an end in 1997, due to a layoff caused by economic difficulties. We fell victim to the trend at the time of doing «low-cost» space missions. That is, using off-the-shelf components. That approach did not last long: the failure of the Beagle probe on Mars quickly served as a harsh reminder of the realities of space exploration: when something doesn’t work as expected 80 millions kilometers away, you cannot just go over and tinker with it to fix the problem. Hence the reliance on rigorously tested components, redundancy systems, and so on; and the exorbitant cost of even the simplest space-grade component. In the meantime, EREMS remained under court-ordered restructuring for many months due to a lack of customers, laying off half the team. Things eventually turned around, hiring resumed, and today EREMS continues stronger than ever to design electronic equipment for space missions, as well as engaging in other, more diversified activities.

Remaining single

(Permalink) Written from 2020 to 2022, revised in 2026

The early 1990s saw me taking another major decision: to stop looking for a partner. My relationship with Noisette had been a massive drain of energy, that the occasional moments of physical tenderness were far from compensating. It had also been a trap, the biggest shackle keeping me tied to the Faitg. Not to mention her constant psychological pressure to maintain alone the control over the relationship. I did not wanted to risk having to negotiate my essential activities against somebody’s whims and emotional crises again, let alone see everything destroyed again by a breakup. Besides, with two children and herpes, it would have been a lot to ask to a new partner.

So, I was unable to fulfill my deepest personal desire: a loving relationship with a stable partner. Of course, when I was young, I focused mostly on sex, but being part of a couple brings so much more: tenderness, a shared bond, and the experience of bearing witness to each other’s lives. That last point is often underestimated, but looking back, I realize its importance. And, above all, how it can sustain a life together even between people with different plans and values. And especially in this case. For instance, during my mother’s final years, we would spend nearly one hour on the phone every day, sharing stories and chatting about everything and nothing. Now that she has passed away, I realize what I miss the most: being able to say to somebody, «Hey, look, I did this today, it was cool», or «What a jerk that guy, we should be allowed to punch him». Nowadays, we have social media, but interacting with people you have never met in person is only partially effective.

The decision to give up my deepest personal desire was neither spontaneous nor made lightly: I knew I would suffer from loneliness. Early on, I had placed a personal ad in Biocontact (An «ecologist» magazine which endorsed every fashioned piece of «green» misinformation or nonsense. But there was nothing better back then, and there is still not today. Incidentally, today 2026 they no longer run marital ads anymore, don't ask why). I probably received around fifty replies. But almost every time I laid out what I was looking for, the responses became evasive. The most memorable instance was a woman to whom I wrote, «I love science, ecology, vegetarianism, astronomy, nature, and making love often», to what she replied, «Oh yes, I love making love too!!» At that point, I suspected it was a scam. Fortunately, I did receive some nicer replies, such as one from a woman who had lived at Lanza del Vasto’s Arch community. But the whole process left me weary, dreading the prospect of dealing with another bundle of neuroses (or even someone who thought it was normal to stink, as it happened to me in Bordeaux). Well, perhaps I missed a good opportunity, who knows? But eventually, I gave up the whole pursuit, seeing all too clearly the same underlying problems lurking in the silences between the glowing descriptions. Why do people make life so complicated? Even making love has become as much of a headache as a Microsoft debugging session.

I was also affected by an unexpected prejudice: by the time I left the Faitg, I was nearing forty, an age beyond which we are considered worn out and useless for sex, even though I remained perfectly capable well past sixty. In fact, since then, I had had only one offer, and not a particularly appealing one. Well, before people used to say we could not make love after thirty, so forty was an improvement. But not fast enough to let me experience that happiness again, lol.

I shall conclude by saying that it takes very little to make a successful love relationship, whereas there are virtually infinite ways to screw it up.

So, I shall remain single. But not a monk: this requires a 100% commitment to Buddhism, an interesting thing certainly, but which was not my project. That does not stop me from applying the teachings, however: I have done so, and continue to do so, without reservation.

Thus, I never got the chance to offer a woman my ideal of a union based on mutual gift. Perhaps I arrived on Earth too early for that, much like my mother, who was denied an education simply because she was a girl.

Giving up on having a partner was not an easy decision, though, and I’ve often suffered from loneliness. But at least it doesn't hold me back in my activities.

Those of you reading this might find my judgment too harsh or too sweeping. But after witnessing the failure of the Foyer Saint Jean community in Bordeaux, the failure of the Association Toulousaine d’écologie to manage something as simple as a buying group, the failure of the Faitg and of my relationship with Noisette, I did not wanted to get entangled again in a costly situation where the slightest bit of affection would come at the cost of long distractions from my work for a better world.

On the other hand, at least that decision was easy to put into practice: I was not tempted even once, and I had only one potential candidate, who got cold feet before proposing.

Back then in France, the only functioning community was Lanza del Vasto’s Arch. they managed interpersonal issues through the spiritual work introduced by this direct disciple of Gandhi. Even they were struggling at the time, having fallen victim to a massive attempt at infiltration, which cost them half their places sites, including the magnificent Bonnecombe Abbey (south of Rodez). Indeed, wherever the egos enter, the Spirit exits even faster. I went to visit them and I liked what I saw. But their dark houses without electricity were depressing, and there were other incompatibilities, too. For one thing, it is a spiritual order, not just a community. This is much more directive, and none of my projects would have fit in there.

I could also have joined the Plum Village, a Vietnamese Buddhist center which was already home to a large community. It is an appealing place, surely full of nice people, but it is essentially a monastery: I would not do anything other than practice a very traditional form of Buddhism. And when I showed the place to my children, they flatly rejected it.

You might wonder: if I am so critical of others, was I capable of doing any better myself? I think I was, and I got a very curious piece of «objective confirmation». During the legal battles to free my children from the clutches of the Faitg, a sexist bitch had the gall to criticize me in a «social inquiry report», claiming that «I could not do anything without deferring to my partner». Yes, you read that right: I was criticized for not being a male chauvinist! I was considered faulty, in a legal document, for always leaving room for my partner, for always asking for her opinion on decisions! Sexist child destroying scums took their revenge on my children, simply because I had learned and applied the lessons from the feminists!! A matter to regret not having handled all those harridans with good old clouts.

I wonder today if it was not precisely this lack of ego which flags me to the eyes of sociopaths and their sycophantic female monkeys, consistently making me the target of their mockery, often within a split second. Or all those «sexually liberated» leftist chicks who could not stand even my mere presence, branding me a male chauvinist! I imagine a lack of egocentricity must terrify all these people, hence their frenetic need to tear me down.

Well, thirty years after making that decision, I have no regrets. Of course, I mourn the happiness we might have shared with a psychologically normal woman, but I don't regret giving up this largely futile quest to find one in this deranged world, where the worst often hides behind the most alluring facades. I still spot some possibilities here and there, but married, or other incompatibilities. Paradoxically, Buddhist circles do not seem very conducive to meeting love partners, and even sex seems, at best, tolerated. It is as if having a religion automatically turned us into prudes. Of course, we imagines that in the afterlife paradises where normal people go, it is much easier to form a relationship. And, more importantly, people take care not to stupidly wreck it every five minutes.

Well, in the (currently unlikely) event that I were to find a partner, I would use a penis sleeve. Because of the herpes, of course (still somewhat active after forty years). But the main reason is that what interests me in the act is seeing my partner having pleasure. With a penis sleeve of a good girth...

This was also part of a broader decision to stop associating myself with any group, community, team, or movement, all of which posed the same problem: either I would find myself alone at a critical moment, or my collaborators would start destroying my work, or we would end up doing something completely dilatory. After seeing the worst disguised as the best (The Faitg), I was thoroughly disillusioned! However, my weak point is that my work still needs to be known, so that it can reach the people needing it. Hence the inevitable dependence on online communities, publishers, internet indexing, and so on. So I had to bear:

-Three episodes of destruction of my work, involving the shutdown of virtual worlds (VRML abandoned without a reason, Inworldz destroyed by mismanagement, Enchanted by crooks)

-More generally, my work has been systematically ignored, sidelined, shunned. When it was accepted, it was with strings attached (such as indexing it as «alternative science», equivalent to labeling it worthless).

-Publishers systematically rejected my books; government agencies even refused to process the mandatory legal deposit, an unique case (since the procedure is compulsory) which then clearly targeted me personally.

Other problems arose with the advent of the Internet:

-Google’s segregation or hazing of useful pages in favor of empty advertising pages.

-More generally, the disparagement of independent sites, in the face of an ideologically controlled Internet (like the «social networks»).

-The shutting down of resources, web radios and so on.

-On social networks, the tendency to get locked into a bubble of people with predetermined opinions. Companies like Facebook have been criticized for creating this phenomenon, yet it has a strong tendency to occur spontaneously: people get pigeonholed. Of course, on Facebook, I accept friend requests from Second Life users. Despite the bubble, I have managed to attract others from all over the world. Although far too few. When an unhinged conspirationist video racks up millions of likes in a single evening, while a video advocating for a better world garners only three likes in six months, it is clear that the indexing system is heavily rigged in favor of negative content which stifles critical thinking.

As a result, my work still struggles to reach the people who could benefit from it.

And yet, it’s not for me…

I finally realized that a more subtle reason for no longer wanting to take on a partner was a lingering apprehension, inherited from those years of hazing in the Faitg, and other lame experiences like this slattern I met in Bordeaux. (That was not an isolated case either; my two brothers had the exact same experience: an apparently happy union which turned into a massacre the moment the children were old enough to demand «child support» ransom. And they were not into the «New Age»…)

Such sordid experiences ultimately have the same effect as rape: they breed a revulsion toward the female body, strong enough to override desire. While the encounter with the slattern triggered a visceral disgust which took over thirty years to fade, my chaotic union with Noisette (along with my experiences with the zonards) bred a more gradual weariness, a reluctance to let somebody intrude on my life again and potentially disrupt my plans and activities in a purely destructive way. This reluctance grew little by little, years after the triggering event, much like the racism instilled in me during childhood, which grew later in my adult years. Maxime Leforestier once sung, regarding a certain blue house: «those who live there have thrown away the key»... That song defined an era, but today I keep the door locked from the inside. And, sorry, Gérard Palaprat, I am also keeping my toolbox. I loved that song, save that we need tools to build a better world.

Of course, just as I did with the racism, I have worked to overcome these neuroses. But this did not required to actually taking a partner again! I had neither the desire nor the need to plunge back into the chaos of an unchecked ego. I already have enough with mine to carry on.

I still keep in mind the possibility of an authentic, respectful, and creative love relationship, one that might have led to shared achievements, perhaps different from my initial plans but equally valid. Yet, I knew from my teenage that the likelihood of finding such a thing was minuscule, in a world where almost everybody confuse their ego with God. Thirty years of climate denial clearly demonstrate that not even an existential threat of biblical proportions can budge these people. Even if God himself came down to kick their asses, they wouldn’t move from in front of their TV; they would watch the apocalypse coming with empty stares, even not changing the rhythm of their popcorn-chewing.

I therefore decided to save that for the afterlife, where I could easily meet a partner and a community of normal people, and lead a happy, constructive life there. Quite aptly, the Tantric Buddhist practices I was to discover around that time address precisely this kind of desire through visualizations, specifically of a Yidam and a consort (or Shakti in Sanskrit). Thus, what might have been nothing more than masturbatory fantasies transformed into a profound, creative spiritual practice. The term «masturbatory fantasy» refers to a phenomenon well known to psychologists: such fantasies construct an increasingly lofty ideal, which becomes impossible to satisfy in real life. Without spirituality, this can quickly lead to a disconnection from reality, as the dreamer becomes unable to find satisfaction with the partners he can actually meet. However, the correct Tantric visualization of a Yidam and a consort does not pose this problem, since it is non-dual with the physical reality.

In the past, yogis seeking a practice partner had to avoid «educated» women, and settle for «washerwomen», simple, ordinary women untouched by the complications of an artificial lifestyle. But today, I would not know where to look for «simple» women, free from sexist, misandric prejudices and of ego’s pretense «liberate» themselves from everything, including from their own children. Even the Third World is contaminated!

Another factor which likely influenced my decision was the AIDS epidemic. In 1980, when I met Noisette, we did not heard of it yet. In 1981, people thought it affected only the «3H»: homosexuals, hemophiliacs, and heroin addicts. But the reality soon became clear: the sexual revolution was over. Never again could we make love to a stranger met by chance! Gone were the open communities where we could sleep with anyone; gone too were the anonymous meeting spots («glory holes»), their regulars all died within two or three years. Even the New Age movement paid a price, losing two of its finest creators, Bearns and Dexter. Of course, people are still looking for partners, forgetting the risk for a single night or hoping to meet someone without the disease. Today, AIDS symptoms can be halted (in wealthy countries), but those infected are condemned to a lifetime of celibacy.

Memories of Richard Trigaux:
Back to Toulouse (1990-1997)

The Fight to Regain My Footing

The Bagatelle «Authorized Delinquency Zone»
(«Zone A Délinquance Autorisée», ZADA)

Santa Barbara, the TV soap opera

The siloviks, part 2:
the legal hazing against my children.

If I had not had my children

Being hired at EREMS

Working in the space industry

Remaining single

A return to ecology?

Memories of Richard Trigaux:Back to Toulouse (1990-1997)

The Fight to Regain My Footing

The Bagatelle «Authorized Delinquency Zone»(«Zone A Délinquance Autorisée», ZADA)

Santa Barbara, the TV soap opera

The siloviks, part 2:the legal hazing against my children.

If I had not had my children

Being hired at EREMS

Working in the space industry

Remaining single

A return to ecology?

Memories of Richard Trigaux:
Back to Toulouse (1990-1997)

The Bagatelle «Authorized Delinquency Zone»
(«Zone A Délinquance Autorisée», ZADA)

The siloviks, part 2:
the legal hazing against my children.