New man’s mind

He has two faces. One he weares for the world, the other he keeps to remake it from figments when everyone else is asleep. He spits this face with all kinds of sour, rabid coloured sensations, and he goes mad talking to it without getting an answer.

The face looks back at him with swollen eyes, and the lack of reaction makes the wheels in his head spin in emptiness, so he begins to torment searching for noise to fill the nonsens.

The new man carries on his shoulders the battle between Chronos and present. He searches for the geometry of eternity in the crenels of the icicles. He has around the waist a sword with which he separates the sky from the earth. The mute face which looks wothim him wants to teach him not to struggle consumed by his own mind. He wants to show him how to always be a new, clean conscience. The face that arranges the archive of the conscience is the ace on the sleeve of the new man. But this creature, a prisoner inside his bones, is antitethic to him. The face without a voice is white, because, for it, colours are only at the stage of ideas. The nowadays man is black, beacause all the shades of ideas manifest themselves through him, wildly, freely.

In this stage, in which the human being reached through evolution, he sees that he is a prisoner in the universe, and, defensive, he amplifies pleasures, he accepts only one perspective. He ignores the idea of escaping, he conciliates with his fate.

He consumes killing in order to live another moment of the time that consumes him. Man is divided by his hunger for life. He wonders how he defies the nothingness and enters from a plot in another, he doesn’t know he can’t loose because he dreams. There is an infinite number of ways in which the molecules in his DNA can be combined with the external world, so he will always live in a spider web, if the ideal hadn’t existed, then there wouldn’t have been anything to push him to imperfection. He wandered through the streets of dusted cement searching for pits in which to sink his brain. He exchanged his noisy maggots on muse sensations. Knowledge was his nurse and his midwife.

He lives in a technologized world, the purity of information is lost in the chaos of the unbridled pairing of terms. The cultural fusion, served between beings-closed universe, subjetive and untainted beings to the surrounding reality, desperate to fusion with others in one single definition, desperate to share feelings as authentical as they can be, but having at disposal as way of expressing only words with variable meanings. The blending of genes was the first sharing of real information, his negative aspect being the distortion of genes. To resist it, people have moved all the information that remained unlost on screens from which the waves of descendants to learn, choose freely in what to believe and what not to, so that they resist mentally sane through this journey that lost its meaning, in which a mirror was broken in thousands of cracks. The new man becomes amorphous binge using the technology he created, but an inner fire wills to push him to get rid of the obsession, he hunts a purpose.

Are doua chipuri. Cu unul se prezinta lumii, pe celalalt il remodeleaza din plasmuiri atunci cand restul dorm. Il stropeste cu tot felul de senzatii acide, colorate turbat, si inebuneste vorbindu-i fara sa primeasca raspuns.

Chipul il priveste inapoi cu ochi supti, si lipsa de reactie ii determina rotitele din cap sa se miste in gol, asa incepe sa se framante cautand zgomot sa umple nonsensul.

Noul om duce batalia dintre Cronos si prezent pe umerii sai. Cauta geometria eternitatii in crenelurile turturilor de gheata. Are incinsa in talie o sabie cu care desparte cerul de pamant. Chipul mut ce il priveste in interior vrea sa il invete sa nu se zbata consumat de propria minte. Vrea sa ii arate cum sa fie mereu o constiinta noua, curata. Chipul ce ii pune in ordine arhiiva constiintei este asul din maneca noului om. Doar ca aceasta creatura captiva in oasele sale ii este antitetica. Chipul fara glas e alb, deoarece culorile ii sunt numai la stadiul de idei. Omul zilei de azi e negru, caci toate nuantele ideilor se manifesta prin el, libere, salbatice.

In acest stadiu pe care fiinta umana l-a atins in evolutie, ea vede ca este captiva in univers si, defensiv, amplifica placerile, accepta doar o perspectiva. Ignora ideea de evadare, se impaca cu soarta. Consuma omorand ca sa traiasca inca o clipa din timpul ce il consuma. Pe om foamea de viata il dezbina. Se mira cum sfideaza de fiecare data neantul si intra dintr-un fir narativ in altul, nu stie ca nu poate pierde pentru ca viseaza.

Exista un numar infinit de moduri in care moleculele ADN-ului sau pot fi combinate cu lumea exterioara, asa va trai mereu intr-o panza de paianjen, daca nu ar fi existat idealul, nu ar fi existat ce sa il impinga spre imperfectiune.

Nu stie cine e, de unde vine si de cat timp este pe-aici. A batut strazile de ciment prafuit cautand vagauni in care sa isi afunde creierul. Si-a dat la schimb gargaunii galagiosi pe senzatii muza. Cunoasterea i-a fost doica si moasa. Traieste intr-o lume tehnologizata, puritatea informatiei se pierde in haosul imperecherii neinfranate de termeni. Contopirea culturala, servita intre fiinte-univers inchis, subiective si neintinate de ceea ce le inconjoara, disperate de a se contopi intr-o singura definitie, de a impartasi trairi cat mai autentic, avand insa la dispozitie ca mod de exprimare doar cuvinte cu semnificatii variabile. Ca sa faca fata, oamenii au mutat toata informatia ce a ramas nepierduta pe ecrane, de unde valurile de urmasi sa invete, sa aleaga de buna voie in ce sa creada si ce nu ca sa reziste in deplinatatea facultatilor mentale prin calatoria asta ce si-a pierdut sensul, in care o oglinda a fost sparta in mii de cioburi. Noul om devine amorf contopindu-se cu tehnologia ce a creat-o, dar un foc launtric vrea sa il impinga sa scape de obsesie, el vaneaza un scop.