Globators Identity Guide
Look at me. Look at ourselves. Aren’t we amazing? Look at how we scribble out intricate lines on the surface of the planet. Our planet. Always on the move, always partaking in something. See us building. This complicated machine that no-one understands in its entirety. Everyone doing his bit, adding to the movement ahead of us, just before it takes an unsuspected cut again.
Look at me. Look at how I’m reflecting this. Look how it exists in each of us, mirroring our collective endeavor. Scheming and planning. Taking the parts and move them about inside ourselves. Sparkling little nests of energy, pushing and shivering, discharging down our spines. Full of excitement, full of pride. Full of ourselves.
Look at me. Look at the screen. Look at how oblivious I am. Oblivious of the projections we are. Its feelers stretching out into actuality as tentacles protruding from the body. The body that fills us, that wears us. The smartass neurotic. Proceeding every thought, delivering it cut and clear to our attention. Creatures of the mist until we become aware they’re there.
Look at me. Look in the gap. The void in which elusive mechanics translate the organic to the conceptual. Following rules that don’t belong to the linear logistics of reason. A closed realm, invisible to our radar, composed of worlds within worlds. Nurturing drama so alien you can’t imagine it being part of you. All these unreal realities, working within us, usurping our energy, then giving it back.
Look at me. Look at my body. Look how similar it is to yours. Feel its activity. Enter its world. Then look back outside again. The dynamic enclave that constitutes form, your organic presence, embedded within the continuum of interacting matter. Build up as countless layers in continues negotiation, sharing, competing, each one unnoticed until something goes wrong, yet each one as subtle and complex as your perceived cultural horizon.
Look at me. Look at you. Look how we move about coarse and single minded as welded iron giants carried forth by miniature genius. Still convinced we are the pinnacle of existence. As if we owned ourselves. As if all that ever happened was meant to end in this, us, overshadowing all the rest of existence in finesse and uniqueness. Believing we have a special relationship with whatever.
Look at me. Then us. Never really understanding a damn thing. Always confused. Always making the same mistakes. Banalizing everything in good taste. Miraculously transforming abundance into poverty. Destroying all in return for boring uniformity. Wasting the place. Shitting on everything, laughing about it. Never satisfied. Always complaining. Always full of ourselves.
Look at me. I am the universe. So are you. It’s beautiful. So are we. Beautifully violent, beautifully ignorant, beautifully helpless. But always on the move. Always involved in something. Look at it. It glimpses infinity with its head up its ass. Wondering. Why. I. Love it. I hope we can be together for a long time. Breathing you in, breathing you out. Just that. Now let’s continue where we left off.