There is someone, not friendly, not good, not nice, and not kind, who tries to make life intolerable to me. Ai believe you know him. We know his name, and if one leaves life, that one will deal with him. The latest, now, is some kind of gas, which makes my sinuses infected. Ai have, though, also a wound, an open scar, on my lower lip, which comes and goes. It hurts. And aI believe it is regularly poisoned. Since aI am hypnotized, aI am vulnerable to manipulation. Also, aI believe remedies aI buy in effort to heal the wound are exchanged with manipulated drugs, making the wound worse. Today aI tried something new. Salt. Ai believe that expression, “salt in the wound” comes from a two thousand years old Roman practice of putting salt in the wounds of people having been whipped. Today, we use the expression for coining people’s efforts of being contrary to comforting, making wounds hurt even more, by the suggestion one is weak. And aI have never tried, really, to have salt in a wound. What aI thought, was that salt must be disinfecting. And aI thought maybe salt also would quicken healing, by strengthening whoever it is in the blood who performs this thing called “being mad about it”, which we in Norwegian coin “forbannet”. So aI tried salt, by putting a little bit of table salt in a small cup of water, adding a little bit of milk. The milk, aI thought, would make the liquid more tasty to the ones in the blood who perform admittance. Indeed it burned, the wound. Not critically much, though, and it took not much time before that burning went away, and the wound dried up. And if it is so, that salt disinfects, we can consider it God given, the Romans tortured their prisoners by having salt in the wounds of the whips.