Economiada

“Dragi compatrioti, Interesul national trebuie definit, mai presus de toate, ca Scop National si nu ca un bine imediat. Diferenta e ca pentru a urmari un SCOP, trebuie sa intelegi pasii intr-acolo, iar interesul de moment trebuie sa fie mereu subordonat acestuia. Timp de zeci de ani, toate campaniile politice la care am asistat au avut acelasi text: “dati-ne votul si vom ridica nivelul de trai! “, iar mai apoi acelasi pretext “guvernarea anterioara ne-a lasat o situatie dezastruoasa, pe care n-aveam cum s-o anticipam. Mai avem nevoie de un mandat!” Oamenii injura in barba, sunt indignati ca nici acum n-au crescut pensiile, ca nici acum nu s-au creat locuri de munca sau ca “si astia fura”, dar pleaca acasa palcuri-palcuri, cu capul plecat.

Ei bine, dragi conationali, aceste tertipuri ar trebui sa ne jigneasca profund. Se adreseaza unui popor care-si vede in clasa politica un fel de salvare si nu un exponent si avocat al scopului national. Asta pentru ca nimeni nu mai vorbeste de un interes national de termen lung. Oamenii nu stiu incotro se indreapta, iar stomacul plin si accesul la ultima tehnologie domina nazuintele celor care inca mai merg la vot, precum in cazul unor asini ce-si urmaresc morcovul balanganindu-li-se in fata ochilor.

Pe restul, au stiut sa va indeparteze sistematic, coborand stacheta show-ului politic atat de jos, incat a-i urmari si a incerca sa ii intelegeti, echivaleaza cu o ofensa impotriva bunului gust. V-au biruit, v-au CASTIGAT INDIFERENTA, v-au izolat in meandrele abstractului, unde va holbati prin luneta la problemele globale in timp ce lipitorile va urca incet-incet piciorul.

S-a creat astfel o clasa sociala imateriala, blurata, condamnata la tacere de propria-i delicatete, translucida si dezorganizata, ce de-abia isi mai aude gandurile. Eforturile intelectuale ii sunt acoperite de badaraniile indelung exersate, de nerusinari si grosolanii tot mai usor acceptate, de vociferarile interesului gregar, trambitate de personaje grotesti, care au aparut in prima faza ca material de amuzament, dar mai apoi saltimbancii si-au speculat audienta si au devenit autoritari. Nimic nu e mai macabru decat un clown care incepe sa vorbeasca serios, adresandu-se unei natiuni amuzate si distrase. Caracterul unui om este definit de lucrurile pe care le considera demne de amuzament… Mie nu-mi vine a rade, pentru ca acesti mascarici sunt vinovati nici mai mult nici mai putin decat de infanticid! Vreau sa fiu bine inteles: nu ma refer la infanticidul biblic, sau la pruncii ucisi de cavalerii cruciadelor, trimisi acolo de papa pentru a “promova” crestinismul. Ma refer la un infanticid pe care avocatul poporului nu-l va trimite niciodata intr-o sala de judecata, dar care este un genocid real si condamnabil in contabilitatea de peste 50 de ani a poporului (inca mi-e greu sa spun roman). Prea multor dintre oamenii care poarta torta civilizatiei si moralitatii le este sufocat instictul de perpetuare a propriei specii… Aceia care ar trebui sa duca mai departe valorile superioare ale umanitatii sunt condamnati de cavalerii economiadei la nesiguranta materiala, la neincrederea intr-un viitor demn al natiunii si chiar al omenirii, indoindu-se de valoarea educatiei pe care ar putea sa le-o dea urmasilor pentru a face fata unui tip de competitivitate eminamente mercantil. Capacitatea de-a intelege asta trebuie dublata de o anumita reactie, sau va va transforma indignarea intr-o hemorargia interna, de neoperat, ce va spori progresiv inconstienta si va duce la moarte.

Cu riscul de-a ma face prea bine ineles, vreau sa apelez la o alegorie:

Cu mult timp in urma, o barca a fost luata de ape in josul raului, curgand inspre o cascada uriasa. Cei din barca, au fost nascuti acolo si nu au manifestat prea mult interes in a sti dincotro vin si incotro se indreapta. Sunt obisnuiti sa curga… Isi aleg cate un capitan la fiecare suta de metri care, respectand mereu directia de mers, le promite ca in alunecarea inspre frumoasa si letala cascada, le va manevra barca in asa fel incat sa poata sa culeaga pietricele colorate de pe marginea raului, promisiune la care mai toti oamenii din barca aplauda fericiti, gandindu-se la abundenta si la zestrea pe care o vor lasa urmasilor. Mai e cate unul care spune: Eu nu vreau pietricele; eu as vrea sa scoatem barca asta din rau si sa mergem la lac, ca sa vaslim in directia pe care o alegem noi. Am citit in cartile stramosilor nostri, despre un lac pe care, daca il trecem vaslind cu totii, vom gasi de cealalta parte a lui, fericire impreuna si pentru fiecare in parte. Cred ca raul asta, dupa cum curge, ne va duce la o prabusire dezastruoasa.” Dar vocea ii este acoperita de cei din barca care, indemnati de capitan, urla cu o frenezie crescanda: ”Pietri-cele, pietri-cele, pietri-cele, pietri-cele!!”, in timp ce se imbrancesc si inghiontesc ca sa acapareze tot mai multe pietricele colorate. Personajul n-are decat sa sara afara din barca si sa inoate inspre prima piatra de rau destul de stabila ca sa-i suporte greutatea. Asezandu-se pe ea, va astepta alte barci, si va spera ca alti iubitori de lac vor sari din ele si isi vor cauta stabilitate pe pietrele lor. Asta pentru ca mai apoi, unindu-si cu totii pietrele de rau, sa faca o punte care ii va duce la mal, unde isi vor construi o arca ce ii va duce de cealalta parte a lacului. Acolo, prietenia si iubirea fata de semeni va face ca orice alta lege sa fie redundanta. Dar, privind in jurul lui, vede peste tot, cocotate pe pietrele de rau, cadavrele schimonosite si scheletele celor care, sarind odata din barca, s-au pierdut in ganduri si in scribalirea acelorasi idei pe pietrele lor, dar nereusind sa puna cap la cap nici macar doua dintre ele. Deznadajduit, personajul isi lasa creta sa-i cada din maini, privind-o cum curge in aval, in aceasi directie in care au curs si cretele celorlalti, acolo unde toate lucrurile curg, manate de fortele neinduplecate ale timpului, uitarii si mortii.
Nu acceptati moartea atat de blazati! Uniti-va pietrele de rau ca sa facem o punte, cititi mai mult si mai ales, dar nu pentru a va izola intelectual, ci pentru a rezona cu si a intelege ideile care pot sa salveze copiii unei sub-specii superioare de la infanticidul rasei mercantile! Da, e un razboi si neutralitatea devine condamnabila! Cand omul a devenit stapanul regnului animal, nu s-a oprit acolo ci a ramas animat mereu de o tensiune ce il va indemna sa isi intelegeaga mediul inconjurator cu singurul scop de-a-l domina.

E o amagire ingrijoratoare aceea a credintei ca daca nu percepem razboiul, vom fi lasati in pace. Nu e un conflict ideatic, cel pe care il avem, ci e un conflict pentru surprematia sub-speciei, iar sub-specia mercantila face din Economiada o arma atat de puternica incat ne va castra si ne va arde pergamentul, cu scopul de-a ne elimina pentru totdeauna. Singura salvare e auto-definirea sub-speciei creatoare si lupta, in prima faza impotriva disparitiei si apoi pentru eliminarea sistematica a relatiilor interumane de natura economica. E timpul ca dominatia sub-speciei mercantile sa fie inlocuita cu acea a umanitatii, e timpul ca omul sa isi implineasca potentialul creator in armonie cu restul naturii si in interesul tuturor, fara a simti ca cineva speculeaza si profita de energia lui vitala, ci din dorinta de-a-si face ecoul sa rasune cu adevarat in eternitate si nu sub forma unor monede din buzunarul fariseilor!

Ain't no sunshine when it's dark

The quantum mechanic government

A modern state should be progressive enough to be well acquainted with the scientific realities of its time and consider the quantum mechanics as a necessary option for the future of law-making and taxation. Thus, a person shall not be taxed or judged according to his/her current socio-economic situation, but according to the highest status which that particular individual might have achieved, after conducting an exhaustive series of possible realities. The purpose of such an enterprise might seem at first as a manifestation state's greed in collecting taxes, but the desired effect is evolution of humanity itself. The question on everyone's minds will be: why not try to be the best we can be, if we already pay for it?

The Recluse vs. the Misanthrope

 Statement of a born anarchist who dreams of greatness in a wasteland

You might say that the plan of a quasi-invisible individual to strangle ideologically the human civilization is just a manifestation of the syndrome which pushed some lunatic to kill a celebrity, because this celebrity made him aware of his own insignificance. But it is more than that. It is a self analyzed, self assumed, self righteous, premeditated act, by which an individual can inflict another type of annihilation to his surroundings, in order to achieve the only possible greatness. The only one which is morally right: Greatness in a wasteland

Fashionably hanging

The recorded human progress is killing me from the inside, from the outside, crushes me from above and drowns me in a flood of enlightened phrases, evrikas’, queds’, equals to, solutions, psychological revelations, scientific breakthroughs’ and there is no promise for my fingerprints to be pressed against anything great and unique, unless they will be remembered by aliens as the fingerprints found around the neck of the corpse of human civilization. My wish is to weave a delicate scarf which the humanity will wear elegantly around its neck, only to discover suddenly that it had always been a dead man’s rope and the pedestal gives way to a free fall. 

In a few generations, humanity must fall! Everything has been occupied, whatever you dream of discovering has already been covered by some scientific paper or another. It has been enveloped by scientists and researchers into the cycle of human civilization where there is no more space for another generation of great humans; just for new generations of test crash dummies.  

There is no place you might want to go which has not been marked as the territory of some howling dog of the past, even philosophy is like an exclusivist toilet where lots of moles are crowding in to reek the farts of Socrates and the ones before him.

“Occupied” is the word which comes to mind obsessively, you realize that there are more humans than ever to share everything with: the space, the resources, the glory, your uniqueness… there is a cut throat competition for earning the right to become a human among this throng of test crash dummies!

Dilution

In order for the human to survive, humanity must fall! Is it not obvious that we dilute our soul(s)? Do we not understand too much and live to little? Do we not find other life forms to protect and at the same time curse our fellow humans? And why is that? Is it not a death wish, a result of a subtle, subconscious desire to help humanity commit suicide? Is it not because we are fed up with ourselves and we despise our own baseness as seen in the others? We recognize the mirrored reflection of ourselves in others only because we do not apply the filter of poetic or philosophic justification to them. How else could we see it?  Psychology rendered everything noble to selfishness, to thirst for power and a means of dominating your own environment. Is it then still possible, for an educated, free thinking individual, to go out on the streets and shout his lungs out for a noble cause??

God has already won

Nietzsche said that God is dead; he was wrong, God has never been more alive, happy and powerful! He is still alone on his lofty mountain peak, breathing in the fresh air of uniqueness, with ever recurring joy, oblivious to our struggle to breathe through the thick, foul smelling crowds. He is even unaware of the ones who are aware of him and I suspect that he is closer to complete ignorance that to being all knowing. 

Deodata...

Cand pedalezi in amurg si asculti muzica in casti pe shuffle, iar coincidenta face ca "shine on you crazy diamond" sa se suprapuna cu imaginea unui apus rubiniu care navaleste intr-o explozie de cinabru asupra Marii Mediterane, senzatia care te incearca poate fi impartasita doar cu cineva care traieste momentul alaturi de tine, ascultand melodia asta...te opresti si privesti, cu reverenta si recunostinta.

Blink

It was a late autumn afternoon and he had awakened under the spell of some awkward dreams, after falling asleep at 6 in the morning. It had been raining the whole day through; that kind of day which pours a molten lead mass into your head and drowns all your thoughts in it, starting with the more subtle ones and finishing with a powerful choke on the most determined and necessary plans, ones which you have carefully devised days or even weeks ago.

So it happend with Mark, who was supposed to make a few important phone calls that day, on which a lot of his future would depend. He did not yet know just how much...
Instead, he found himself wandering aimlessly through the streets of his native town, which he had been avoiding ever since he had graduated from the gymnasium, about 18 years ago. There it was: his school, his playground, his first kiss, his first painting, so many distant memories, blurry faces of past times, he had re-accepted them all as a part of his becoming.

The wet pavement started mirroring the street lamps' light onto its surface when Mark finally decided to walk back home and contact the people whom he was supposed to call more than an hour ago; he knew a few short cuts, but as it happened, they were all blocked either by wired fences or by buildings which he had no memory of from back when he was a child, so that the short cuts turned out to be chronophages and irksome.

Going back to the main street, he started wondering why the hell he had taken the time to walk these streets and awaken all these memories when he himself had made a silent, but such firm resolution that he would not return there. And why would he, when he had now outgrown that childhood's problematic character, dominated that impulsive rascal who had little patience with anything and was of a violent nature with anybody...

He was walking the only way back home when he thought he recognized somebody, either an ex colleague of his or a neighbour, he could not tell. But as she did not raise her head and avoided any eye contact, he didn't bother to start any kind of embarrassing conversation with a quasi-unknown and shy acquaintance with whom he must have exchanged not more than a few hellos almost two decades ago. But still, he turned his head after she had continued on her way and kept trying to remember who she might be.

He continued walking with his head turned when all of a sudden, a terrifying sound woke him up from the effort of memory which he was immersed in.
As he turned, he saw that in the middle of the street, a truck was braking on the wet pavement and was sliding fast with its trailer towards him. There was no avoiding it...He was unable to move a finger, although he could see the trailer approaching in slow motion with its tyres razing and carrying the huge monsterous load like a savage monster who admitted no negotiation; for a short moment he had a distinctive belief that no harm could come to him because of the well known brand which was inscribed on the truck's trailer, so he was half paralyzed with fear, half in disbelief. He could not tell how much time had passed or if time was indeed moving at all.

Death came fast, there was not too much pain, but the moments of despair when he had the clarity of what was happening to him, felt like hours and hours. He felt the whole intensity of regret for the unknown, assuming the sweet joy which the heart would never be able to feel again. He was still young, there were so many experiences for which he hadn't been completly ready, which he did not seek, saving them for later and later now it was all for nothing... or was it?

The whole world froze for a moment and then the Outline of all the things around him was growing thiner and thiner. It was as if one would watch the process of a finished painting going backwards to its beginnings until the incipient state of a sketch. First, there were no colours, then there were no faces, later there were no emotions and finally he had no perception. There was only an infinitely long, colourless(or infinitely colourful) thread which was about to weave itself into what he expected to be the non-perspectival world. But when he was about to see the Truth, he awoke on a sea shore where everything had come back to its full colour and he was aware that he had been left out of the becoming of things, so he could not experience the painter's fine touch of creation because he had been asleep as always. And again, all was a product of his perception...

As he lay there on the shore, sinking his elbows into the warm sand, he was watching the sun go down over the foaming sea, but when the vermilion coloured disk touched the waves in the distant horizon, it turned into the head of a freckled red haired nymph who rose up again and took the whole sea up with her in the form of a dress which was spread over the whole of the sky. She then soared through the air and her bright head was shining through the translucide dress, casting a bright purple light all around. With a graceful spin, she started her dance, made it rain and the falling purple sparkles spashed on his face in the rythm of an inaudible melody. When the nymph reached the zenyth, he looked up under her dress and saw a hypnotizing whirlpool which seemed to him to be the only entrace to eternity.  Needless to say that he got dragged into this sky, drowned into it and came back to life on a star. After the star had exploded, the supernova turned into a black hole where he found his way forward and experienced singularity. He then fell splashing into the sea throgh the cornea of the red-haired nymph who got turned into the sun again.

A sudden grip pulled him back four meters... he opened his eyes and saw the truck crashing and rolling onto the cars which were parked on the side of the street.

a light

Only the original ideas seem to vanish to one who gets them by aimlessly walking along a silent alley, lit by the pole lamps.
By the time he gets home, he will have forgotten everything because of the ever recurring triffles which take possesion of his thoughts with such an authority that they seem to be incantations of magic spells.
He will have to console himself with writing down the same phrase in which, along with many others, he mourns the eternal disappearance of a gleaming and exhilarating idea, the loss of which he suspects is one of his life's greatest tragedies. This idea would have had the power to unravell an entirely new and glorious way of life. It is because of these losses that the state of Sehensucht exists. For some...