Managed

"Without a doubt, not all humans and their groups, such as countries or regions, understand what a transformation entails, much less a lifestyle and collaborative contribution towards life itself and, yes, an evolution. The system, this one in which not necessarily the geniuses but the pragmatists, have managed to give a price to everything, and only in the higher contexts can there be that necessary emancipation. In others, it is dangerous. Life itself is lost. And it's not that it's a probability. It's a reality. And hence, individually, there is that disappointment, that depression, and massively that frustration, that despair. They had made love wonderfully and enjoyed it before despair overtook them again. They didn't even have time to enjoy his company in silence. The phone started ringing, and the time for sex had passed. They smiled, kissed, and said goodbye in that obligation that not even those on top of the pyramid understand, but the oppressors who trample on that base. They were not, but their happiness caused them to be pushed down, so, as usually happened, they were silent and afraid. A fear that only disappeared every time they managed to meet.

Something that is curious is how, in this selfishness, those who cannot have that well-being, that freedom, despite their wealth and even their use of time, need to oppress. Not because they are at the top of a pyramid but because they feel that by trampling on their ridiculous hierarchy, they demonstrate power over those who are free. And the freedom of others hurts those who are slaves and servants of themselves. He did not tend to sleep very well that night; maybe every four years passed, and it would seem in three that the sleepless night would soon arrive. "A man only lives fifty years," he shouted to himself in that Japanese work, and he was a couple of years away from having them. So, he thought that entropy would make the inevitable evident in him after those fifty. And he aspired and hoped he would not be alone in recognizing her beyond the usual equations and concepts. He took a sip of coffee. There was no pill that he had to take, just one voluntarily. But they would all arrive with their pillbox and the list for not-forgetting.

There is no need to try to understand that behavior; just the same, that understanding does not allow any type of logical treatment unless its power passes. Unless the context wears out and burns, because not even that community will rise up successfully, ever. Over time, lost causes are recognized (unfortunately), and understanding and logic cannot act on, as it is a matter of whim and ambiguity motivated by incomprehensible human passions. Or perhaps understandable, but they fall within what one would say is reasonable. Every time he left, he felt that freedom and the satisfaction of getting away from all those who enjoyed his sadness. In a kind of sadomasochism, others could only feel pleasure in the fear of the majority, which in the end also inflicted anxiety on them. Leaving was sad because he came back - it was said - hoping that one day, as he had been told and he repeated, he would break that umbilical cord on a pool table and with the tip of a bottle.

Some express hope for change as the only alternative but not hope in the rupture or triumph of reason, well-being, and life itself over everything that monetizes, chains, and makes people sad. but true hope is a confrontation against that which truncates humanity itself. He makes her a parasite and a slave. In which dreams and what is built are useless unless you can get some coins that are not even real anymore, or rather, whose reality is so incompressible that the dreams of others are quickly more appreciated. This is another city, far from the real town - he said to himself as he walked the twenty minutes towards where he was still, oblivious, simply observing. And she was absolutely right. They are cities in which some live at the expense of the existence of the majority several dozen meters below. Anyway, here it is unequal because it is possible, and if you did not take advantage of that possibility, you would not be able to live in this condominium in which what matters is what you have. That defines what you are."

Posthumanisme

"Les pessimistes (ou les optimistes, ça dépend d'où ou comme on voudrais voir ça) rencontrent les améliorations humaines via la technologie comme une transformation qui permettent de transcender dans le temps vers un posthumanisme souhaité et nécessaire,  pour obtenir ou agrandir des capacités physiques, psychologiques, et des compétences intellectuelles sans réfléchir dans les conséquences comme espèce, les périls, l'impact social et la responsabilité à la fois individuelle et collectif. Donc, l'humain transforme alors son identité et a transformé sa propre conception. Elle a décidé de rouvrir son profil d'app des récontres. Bien qu'elle ait trouvé l'homme parfaitement désirable et bon pour elle, ayant ces orgasmes extraordinaires, des conversations magiques, de temps de silence et étant capable d'aimer, il s'est simplement éloigné. Elle avait aimé un fantôme, son propre fantasme. Les six derniers mois, après la dernière fois qu'ils avaient eu cette rencontre extraordinaire au cours de laquelle elle et lui avaient explosé de plaisir, elle ne l'avait même pas vu, seulement interagi via les sms, un chat et même pas une vidéo. Elle doutait maintenant qu'il s'agisse réellement d'un humain, et encore plus lorsque ces dernières nuits, elle se masturbait en pensant à lui. Se souvenant de leurs dernières rencontres car il n'avait pas quitté sa chambre pour imaginer quoi que ce soit.

Mais la réflexion sur ce posthumanisme (et non un transhumanisme) implique la nouvelle identité, qui ne peut pas nécessairement être différenciée de celle perçue. La réalité elle-même n'est-elle pas une perception? L'identité, numérique ou non, est finalement une perception programmée et réalisée en fonction d'objets et de règles, dans un contexte. L’identité numérique ne sera alors pas plus réelle (basée sur les désirs) que l’identité matérielle (basée sur les possibilités et les opportunités).  En buvant du café, il remarqua qu'elle n'était jamais dans son lit. Ils ne se sont jamais réveillés en s'étreignant et bien qu'ils aient eu des relations sexuelles fascinantes, il n'y a jamais eu de je t'aime ou de je t'aime.  Ce soir-là, la quarantaine, elle avait décidé d'être au centre d'une orgie « entre amis », sans oublier ses peurs, mais plutôt en les criant. Il l'a découvert une semaine plus tard lorsqu'elle lui en a parlé, avec satisfaction et larmes. Entre culpabilité et honte, mais aussi entre la satisfaction et le courage d'avoir vécu ce que je voulais vivre. Malgré toutes vos peurs. Il aurait pu rester dans le désir, mais, en l'absence d'amour, pourquoi pas le désir et la soumission ? Il ne lui a rien dit. Il se contenta de sourire et dans ce sourire elle eut la réponse qui la calma et lui permit de passer à une autre chose.

La personne se rend compte qu'elle doit unifier ses identités ou au moins avoir un point commun, pour devenir un être intégral, avec toutes ses complexités et même ses améliorations et ses contextes virtuels et réels. Convertissez la perception en observation et en une lecture dont l'interprétation est cohérente avec votre personnalité, malgré l'entropie. La personne, malgré sa construction de satisfaction, se retrouve et se montre telle qu'elle est et veut être. Il y a donc cette cohérence entre l'identité numérique et réelle, étant unifiée, mais pas nécessairement la unique dans le temps. Ils n’avaient pas réalisé ce posthumanisme dans lequel ils se trouvaient, à la fois à cause de leur ego et à cause de leur naïveté. mais ce n’était pourtant pas un objectif, juste une étape supplémentaire dans tout le développement de l’augmentation individuelle et de la manipulation massive des capacités et des compétences. L'année, le temps importaient peu en réalité, sauf pour se remémorer les étapes d'un passé qui n'était pas si lointain. Je l'ai su quand j'ai vu qu'il n'y avait plus de zéros marqués entre les années et l'indicateur du siècle.

Combien de vies, d’identités avons-nous dans cette vie humaine moderne? Le contexte, l'environnement et chacune de ces variables, relations, chaque groupe d'éléments et de fonctions ainsi que les étapes marquées par chaque changement pourraient y répondre. Mais ce n'est pas vraiment nécessaire. Il suffit de comprendre que l’humain est plus complexe et que la perception de soi et des autres construit des identités. Scènes et identités, vies et perceptions. Oui, les capacités et les compétences augmentent et ce posthumanisme est une question d'étape. Il se sentait épuisé et fatigué. Le dernier mardi chaud de février lui faisait ignorer tout ce qui montrait que le monde humain était en train d'être détruit et qu'il ne pouvait qu'espérer serrer fort dans ses bras sa bien-aimée. Je ne savais pas si les futurs humains seraient en couple, romantiques ou pratiques. L'avenir est maintenant, se dit-il, et il n'y a pas non plus de réponse. Il versa la dernière gorgée de rhum dans sa gorge et partit chercher son hamac. C'était le futur et c'était un posthumain."

Construcción

"El amor se construye, mientras que el deseo no. Es instantáneo. Esta o no esta. Sin ninguna explicación necesaria o una palabrería suficiente como para parecer un argumento. Aunque la evidencia en si misma es esa ambición que por supuesto, es pasión, así no pueda considerarse de alguna manera amor. El amor es una construcción mientras que el deseo es aquella fascinante pretensión de posesión que no necesariamente es codicia o gula, aunque a veces son causas y no consecuencias. Ella notó su presencia sin verlo aun y cuando sus miradas se cruzaron, entendió todos aquellos rezos, saumerios y cantos que su abuela y sus tias y las madres de sus amigas aun seguían cantando, a pesar que ella hubiera nacido en los noventa. En esa construcción, una cadena consecutiva de profecías, mentiras y leyendas pasadas que son difíciles de verificar, entendió porque era tan sensual y mas aun, al tener esa noche, como nunca antes había pasado, aquel orgasmo en un hotel colonial que no tenía la necesidad de conocer, ni mucho menos pensó que fuera con él, alguien de los andes. Ella, mar y sol, él, montaña y niebla.

Hay quienes pasan su vida buscando la definición correcta del amor, y hoy, quienes a partir de reglas, relaciones y variables, automatizan aquella búsqueda, cuando en realidad esa construcción implica un proceso. El deseo, una ambición sentida, no puede ser sentimiento sino sensación y por eso es mas aceptada y apetecida. El amor, junto con el deseo, podría mezclarse en un licor apasionado que como cualquier excelente licor, daría ese éxtasis, que si hay exceso, embriaga y si hay solo el aroma, una promesa que al final aburre. Las justas proporciones, pero la embriaguez en las personas es necesaria. Si, es arte. Y no es solo una cuestión de un arte propio, intimo, sino que debe compartirse con los otros, aunque de paso alimente ese ego - contestaba aquella pregunta mientras todos admirados y ofendidos, buscaban en aquella escultura como lo grotesco, para una sociedad de mojigatos, de mirada seria y culito retrechero como lo decía muchas veces, correrían a masturbarse ocultos, o buscaban en el rostro entre sus amantes, de aquella figura de tierra y bronce. A los dos días seria penalizado por los hipócritas y ella no lo demandaría a pesar de que fuera claro su rostro. Ella lo deseo tanto como lo amó. Y él, solo la deseo. Pero para ella, es y será siempre suficiente.

Mesurarse y aguantar aquella pasión podría considerarse por muchos humanos como lo correcto. Pero la inspiración misma requiere esa explosión de creatividad y la acción que permite la concepción en si misma. Hay muchas mas iniciativas, guerras, aventuras, traiciones, excusas,  y riesgos por el deseo, que por amor. Aunque no compromiso, eso, hace parte del amor. Tanto como la inspiración, que no es una simple motivación y tanto los artistas como los filósofos buscan la construcción de palabras adecuada y suficiente para encontrar una definición y su argumento lo suficientemente sólido, como para despejar todas las dudas y evitar todos las muertes posibles. Si, la deseaba. Si, la amaba. En ambos casos cambiaría todo. El amor, permanecería, el deseo no. Aprendería a amar a otras mujeres y el mar mismo lo sabía desde el momento mismo en que zarpó, con el corazón destrozado, asi como también, olvidaría el deseo por ella, no su amor. Desearía y amaría. El vino que lo acompañó esa terriblemente calurosa y quieta noche de febrero para refrescar la garganta pero acalorar su alma le daba las palabras para sentirse en cierto recogimiento: una comunión intima y propia en la proa de un barco que simplemente pasaba por la tela del mar, ante la ausencia de alguna brisa.

En ese romanticismo, el cuerpo y sus componentes de sensación y aquello que es un constructo mental para dar elementos al sentimiento (amor), no solo es fácil enamorarse sino también, volverse a enamorar tras la ruptura. Sentimiento y sensación, construcción y aparición, y es lo interesante de los sentimientos humanos, que en su complejidad, pueden simplemente abstraerse en elementos simples para a partir de esa descripción esencial, darle la evidencia al argumento, y contribuir a la construcción de algo diferente y novedoso, acompañado por ese deseo. Esa ambición, esa sensación y ese sentimiento. Ya no recordaba por que el veintiuno de febrero era o había sido importante. El veinte y dos seguro, pero no había sido sus descensos en el Monte Blanco o en la Grave o aquellas veces que se sumergía en el Caribe, pero nunca en el Mediterráneo. Tenía sed y cuarenta y tantos años. Con cierto pesar, aunque no mucho, escribía en sus memorias que hubiera querido estar sobrio al hacer el amor con Juanita, pero por otro lado, no lamentaba haber disfrutado de la mejor manera aquel excelente ron. Si, fue maravilloso, pero lo era mas su sonrisa. Meses antes y no años con Zenaida hubo esa sobriedad. Pero no fue lo mismo: Juanita es amor y fue deseo. Zenaida un deseo extraordianario que a pesar de la intensidad, no podría llegar a ser nunca amor. ¿Por qué el viente y uno? Ya había tomado lo que le quedaba de la ultima botella que trajo de Cadiz. Y la verdad, la respuesta hoy en dia, no importaba. "

Fiery

"The world should not have been the same, and yet it resisted change, and that world changed. Once again, humanity, without wanting to, found itself at those breaking points, in which the future became more uncertain, and the past struggled to remain in everyone's minds, achieving it for a time despite everything. For those, it was a discovery; for others, it was a fateful encounter. The truth is, he could consider himself lucky in the midst of the misfortune of almost five hundred years.  It could be a thousand years, and human memory is convenient. Fiery. Is there another word to describe her every time she asks for anal sex, sex in the hut, or oral sex without any words of love?. She, who had simply betrayed, returned, excited, masturbated, sucked, but never said I love you. Never. Mack, however, said he was happy. Why not? If those minutes of premature ejaculation, tugging, and penetration were enough, no matter the cost. This was the Caribbean, a place of unfortunate but intense encounters. Those misfortunes that rum, of any kind, intoxicate not to forget but to remember without so much pain. Fiery, she never said she loved me.

It was more than persistence and stubbornness with the fortune of the happy ending that allowed them to survive and return. That which led to survival and became life is fiery human activity. But, it could be part of the individual uncertainty that is only broken by the intimate desire shared for the first and only time. Hence, tremendous and beautiful poems are increasingly copied and rewritten. But humans rarely reread, much less what they have once written. Sometimes, something written by others doesn't have many characters. He couldn't deny that he saw her in the grossly voluptuous and sensual bodies. This Caribbean had too much sexuality and sensuality between the poverty and opulence of the others, the foreigners. She, past, they a present that no longer told her anything, not even wet dreams. Nor desire, just the memory of her fiery spirit, her smile, and that feminine look that was increasingly blurred as a memory. He wouldn't end up ejaculating on some breast. Nor would he seek to tell them the words of love of other times. It was NOT a question of forgive and forget. It was more about feeling and seeing the night and them dancing, but he couldn't love them. No more.

The human in his ego did not recognize love or desire most of the time. When he did it, he was already alone. Whether that loneliness is real or simply the terrible company of another, more broken human. In any case, they are internal quests resolved in the development of other stories and never in stillness, in waiting, or in reading different stories that are not their own. It is then easier to justify what belongs to others than what is one's own, even if innocence or guilt is not necessary. Instead, contribute to boredom and not be exposed. He had to look for her in any bar on the continent, but in '77, she approached him, and they danced. Two rounds later, their lips were without knowing their names. They had three beers and three batches, and they felt each other's excitement. At two in the morning, they were looking for a motel to make love anonymously. It wasn't just sex. It was making love. At 3:10, he asked that woman of copper, sun, and sea his name, and he didn't really remember his name. She did him, and she would remember it for a long time, with that same desire for the second song, not the third, but that second one: "How he knows how to move it," she said to herself, laughing, and he noticed that smile, although he couldn't decipher why.

But not everyone is afraid of being exposed. Some don't care, and others wait for the moment when it becomes so, not for themselves but for others. In this situation, not even justification was painful. It simply either contributed to pride or was not given fundamental importance. In any case, pride, instinct, and pleasure come together to provide something in common with the intensity of life with others. Of course, as long as there is no rejection, no shame, no fear. Even with that, and without that fear, it is possible to overcome greed. Shame didn't have to exist. About what? Why? It is more a question of opportunity and reality. In the end, nothing other than a hot bath that cleansed her, even of her evil and malice, transcended her nights even when she was young; she had learned to enjoy and have all the orgasms possible without having to fake them, to guarantee desire. Everyone remembered her in her ecstasy. From the father of her only child to that old man who had supported her for a while until he got bored, but he enjoyed it, he said to himself as he watched her pass by the beach with a foreigner who was her new lover. She sometimes remembered one or the other. But never to him. And that saddened him profoundly but also freed him."