A still picture engraves with time an authentic point of view through my eyes. A sound, a taste, all are a recordable medium of human conscience. I am what i can engrave in others.
Am i?
Every bit of information can be a fact, a measured and recorded value of pragmatic limits, numerical, alphabetical. Quantification and qualification are therefore the end goal of this propositional gathering. With me, and humans in general, it cannot be done. Can it? Can we measure success, happiness, ambition, friendship and so many predicates we so desperately need to quantify/qualify in our life?
I believe we are already doing it. People measure everything and anything in front of the small/big black slab of loneliness, inside the fashion, food and fun stores, outside, inside, everywhere and anywhere. Why? What for?
I also need people and things and measures in my life but i see the general scale tilted to the side of greed, envy, to the compulsion of possession and to the illusion of power. The majority of the measurers don’t even know what to look for, feel for, or even accept when they achieved what they wanted in the first place. In the end, it’s just a waste of precious time in life.
I measure my own monstrous rage, this serendipitous way of feeling everything around me, as gulfs of air and water vented through me as cosmic particles of dark matter passing through my body, marking my soul with spots and a healthy more and more and more… The older i get the better it feels, utterly simple and straightforward obvious. Enjoyable, liveable, correct and never enough, never. Thirstily i admit I am a dark caged animal resonating my anger against everybody in a single thought: awareness.
It’s not a due response of eagerness to become unique but rather a strong and opposing feeling of singularity.
A simple yet undeniable restless truth that lies deep inside this beast.
the MONSTRUKTOR