If Sasha Bandi were an explorer of the Arctic universe of the human soul, he would be Peter Freuchen rather than Emil Racoviță. Just as Peter Freuchen always took his fur suit and ventured out into the polar night, so Sasha Bandi takes his suit but of a different pile than Freuchen’s or even than Mark Hand the Catchman’s double fur from Barbarella and sets out to explore the pole of the darkness of the mind, madness as a product of the world system. In his logbook and his racovitan jars, Sasha Bandi shows us items of interesting fauna, tells us what polar bears and other dangers he has encountered along the way, and gives us friendly visual polar mindfulness tips – suck on this Wim Hof :

“Dear Cricket,
I’m writing to tell you to beware that Christmas is coming and the Agents of Propaganda Against the Faith of Santa Claus will be patrolling outside my window again this year.
That’s why I sent you some bullets for your gun to shoot them in the back of the head right under the Sign, when they’re eating schnitzel from the glue. Very important not to look them in the eye when they take their last breath and howl like cows, because it’s a farce. Look after them, otherwise the lights and shapes around our eyes will fade. Even now they are in the sky singing good things about us. How good it is to hear good things about us .
   How is your finger? Has it healed? Did you get the money from the Association of Owners of Those Who See Through the Invisible Wall? All day long you complain and give me upsetting thoughts.I went to see Dr. Charon Emanuel yesterday.I told him about you. Then he dared to tell me you didn’t exist so I stuffed a white dove in his mouth and some brushwood and then proceeded to tell him about when we met. Remember? I was at the Cow Business Farm where as soon as I heard your cries I got down on my knees and kissed you. After that you tried to prove me that I was no longer trash by giving me, for a few seconds, the power to telepathically control a cow to eat the wires at the Cow Business Power Plant to help her family, friends and enemies escape the Butcher’s blades. Well, if you remember, all I managed to do was stop the Great Production and after that everything went back to normal. The Amazon flames are just as big.
 The sacrifices continued and the cow I telepathically helped was nowhere to be found. Enemies however, escaped and are now in noisy weather broadcasts full of Supremacist Nanotechnology codes. So in conclusion I’m rubbish for not carrying out my telepathic mission to the end. Upset, I went home to cry but got hit in the head by an escaped Homunculus from the floor of the Brotherhood and Gastritis building. I came home amused but still grieving and turned on the light to prepare for the daily Blood Sacrifice dedicated to you.
I went to bed, I woke up, I went to bed I woke up, I went to bed, I woke up . I went to sleep again and then I went outside because the bombing of children all over the world could be heard and it makes me think that maybe if I didn’t know you, dear cricket, I wouldn’t hear . I went up to the internet cafe but the Curator wasn’t there but there was a horse kicked, poor thing. I made him a Healing Device like you taught me.Then I picked him up and took him to the vet to the next village where he still smelled of useless death under the gaze of the stupidest medium sized star, the Sun. The Sun is a moron. So are you! That’s where I wanted to end up. You’ve been giving me stupid advice for 352 years and I’m at the end of my rope. I wish to break up with you. Because, anyway, my next destination is the Swiss Sarco Pod. Farewell. And maybe all we see and feel is the hallucination of one in the Avram Iancu cemetery, the area above, with the fence entrance off Orthodox Church Street. ” 
 Bandi Sasha

In the end, Sasha Bandi shows us that in the human soul in his little cabin on board of the ship of the Infinite, caught in the eternal glaciers (sic!) of the world-historical inner ocean, the candle of hope* still flickers pale from the fat collected from the liposuction of some nice ladies of high society.
*Hope for the abolition of the mental exploitation of man by man.