Memorandum format. Audience unknown. Origin contested.
Men have to come to the evidence that women are superior when it comes to evil, they are willing to admit, to care, to listen, to synchronize with all the forces of nature. They don’t really say no to the present. They welcome it, they give space. Men have an instinct that tells them that neither nature, neither the world, neither woman are really good. He must always turn into “something else” against “nothing”. There is no time to be idle, no time for time itself. The restlessness of the consciousness of the devouring evil, rubbing against, the unconsciousness of evil itself. He sometimes gets tired, and ask the womb: “can i come back?” The womb say of course, you are always welcome. And then man loses its time, devoured by “care”. He ask again the womb: “Where is my time, my potential, my transformation?” The womb reply: “What are you talking about, I love you!”. Men run screaming again. What the fuck is this? It cannot understand men’s excess, men’s so called “potential”. All of this is foreign. After devouring men, the womb grows unhappy, a “pre-eidic” gluttony sets in. An hysteria, an acting out, an neurosis. The remembrance that men should have brought.. “Something”. We don’t know what it is, so she screams now. So man scratch his head, he has to rethink about relations, and love, he has to go beyond the current nonsense idea of his time. So he check history Then he realize its the same archetype, it’s the same nothing. He now becomes too conscious of the cycle of history. The “unveilement” of science, and the homo sapiens is now too close to allow romanticism, old narratives, myths, and even female guilt to touch him. His consciousness is parasited by new super-axiom, an inexorable overview of the human species. And notice the same human, too human everywhere, all the time. No new womanhood, no new beings, same old animals, with new symbols, new jargon, new costumes. Same arrogance, same nothingness. The entrainement continues, his awareness is perceived by this excess, he has to suffer as the excess animal, he must think, he must move forward, he must discipline itself, he must abject, he must run, he must create, he must become. And his companion? A static demon, that hasn’t moved a single inch in the swamp of the species. Not only she didn’t move, but she didn’t try. She never had too. She is one with the present, she is the subjective flow of that other spirit. Man would rather not know this. Most men like knowledge, but not beyond a certain point. They know that if they dig too deep about who is that creature in the swamp, they may regret it. And that creature is too familiar, too eerie, too magical. It’s a great nothing, ready to absorb all narrative, all projection. He must put all kinds of sign on her, let her know what the mystery look like. And let her play, exaggerate, and find grace in that new role. How could men comprehend a subjectivity like that? And now women are intoxicated by the swamp, they reclaim the right to remove the symbols, they feel their body bruised by all the marks, they try to move their hands. Their hands practice a ghostly trained movement. The “performance” of the movement, already premeditated by the “gaze” trained the hand in a shadow psychosomatic training. In the dark in her dream, her hands has been moving along. In the imagination of the culture, the expectation of men, the other woman, everyone trained her hand in the dark, and eventually her entire body. “This is not my body!” The traumatic woman says, and then call upon the void, the swamp for rescue! Escape the gaze, the alienation, the ladder, the competition! Join us! “Where are we going?” She ask, The mob says: “Nowhere, Nothing” as always, and forever. All of the bruise in her body, all of the mark, all of the shadow movement override her, and she feel sick. Can I get off? Can I be myself? The self was lost a long time ago, the pre-edic was intoxicated by all the voice, all the influence. You wanted your being to be in flux, to be made by the stories of others, you wanted to play the mystical figure in the court, you got your wish, you must welcome all parasites, all intruders, all foreign forces. You must cultivate the garden of nature, the impossible surplus of demons. Aren’t you the naturalistic, adaptable being? Shouldn’t you be flexible? So digest it, all of it. The pain, the pleasure, the confusion, the illusions, the stories, continue to be light, continue to be grace.
████████.
[Agent notes: there is a core impossibility of awareness, extra vector in movement, extra "meta stability", that would transduce correctly, such realization at widen state. Does not match our internal KPI in pedagogic domestication. ]
Subject: Alignment Review
Scheduled: 18:00
Status: UNKNOWN
Reason not recorded.
[participants list removed]
[case examples removed — names pending]
08:42 — Warm-up cycle initiated
08:43 — Job received (2 pages)
08:43 — Job cancelled by user
08:44 — Job received (1 page)
08:44 — Output tray cleared
08:47 — Idle
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