These are the days of the blog, the time of the fog, the tick-tack ticking of the increasing gap created between man and woman, rich and poor, north and south, east and west, black and white -those grey matters that come out of a philosopher’s pipe- the fallible, futile minutes of electrons and carbon monoxide, the acervic tyranny of the here and now. Instant gratification. The latest iPhone for me, and a PlayStation for my kid. Forget the eternal, the everlasting. My alter ego agrees with me too. So glory to my favourite trio: Me, myself and I. I? Sorry, I’m running out of batteries. I, I… Us, US is the United States, the banality, the atrocity, the fake news Donnie J Tweet and them is they, those who will remain forever offside, beyond the Mexican border. Gods and goals not allowed by linemen and TV sets… The accusers signalling the poor players’ faulty status.
This is the period of the mass, the masses, conquering the EAT/Shit vicious circus. “I exist, therefore I eat. I shit (poo-poo and plastic), therefore I pollute.” That’s the real human heritage. The footprint par excellence. The true nature of the big beast. In a parallel mine, the individual, nervous and proud, positions himself in front of the firing squad. In command of his Gods, fragile, the guy shoots bullets of fear in a psychotic routine (not me) trying to protect himself (America first), and his so-called peers, family members, school buddies and other friendly hooligans. So, boys and girls, food is served, cries mom. Let’s visit the john. Let’s see if lethal gas bullets come straight out of our asses.
Time may have never existed, but we’re running out of it… still negotiating our islander’s exit.
These are the days of the fog, the time of the castaway lost in his own island of solitude on the net. The Instagram of the reverse-galloping crab.
*Grey matters from Vision 20/20