Page 83 - January 2021
P. 83

When Time’s God devours his children is order changed? No, it is not, since
                indeed it changes, as itself, continuously. Mutation was already in itself, a
                natural element present in embryo in old order’s ashes that hardly submits
                to  die  and  obviously  will  offer  resistance,  tell  that  new  order  is  madness,
                panic horror, indeed, poetry’s and art’s destruction. Old structures corroded
                by  canker  do  not  notice  that  just  that  poetry  and  art  they  noisily  chatter
                about are buried by wide layers of politics and corruption, a dense and rotten
                dust pervading everything.
                However,  mutation  cannot  happen  effortlessly  as  the  new  skin  born  from
                former’s ashes, will seem curious to the ones who look at it, different from
                old  order’s  one,  it  will  have  more  things  and  its  pores  will  breath  new

                liberties  already  taking  part  to  continuous  becoming’s  never-ending  cycle,
                even though men and women were not acquainted about it and mistrust, lack
                of  confidence  in  what  one  has  not  seen  yet,  the  inquiring  and  critical  eye
                towards the ones who do not use an old and worn skin to travel all over the
                world  changing  for  its  intimate  nature  and  essence  are  generated  by  this
                ignorance. The old skin attached to thought’s monolith is familiar, its worn
                springs by now blossomed and decayed with the rotten flowers it produced,
                for stalemating man’s overshadowed eye is music, steadiness, certainty that
                the world remains quite firm in its positions where nothing changes and the
                privileged few remain alike forever.
                Evil  is  man  itself  who  never  changes.  Destructuring  means  destroying  the
                old order without stopping, creating instead a new one, based upon talent
                without superstructures of a political-theological nature, without a spot-god
                fixed to adore.

                Spinning  around  a  god-spot  fixed  by  worn  traditions  is  a  common  and
                widespread  mistake,  reply  of  a  hierarchic  template  reproduced  in  every
                environment  and  category,  rerun  of  a  branched  power  which  is  static  just
                like  a  hard  unassailable  stone.  But  rock’s  unassailability  is  a  false  myth,
                indeed  there  are  elements  which  know  how  and  are  able  to  corrode  it
                because  of  time,  this  entity  not  existing,  but  conditioning  our  lives,  this
                scanning Chronos amazes by his motion, the same time which the spot-god
                would like to dominate, without managing indeed. Had he managed over the
                centuries,  nothing  would  have  changed,  there  would  have  been  neither
                evolution nor any cultural revolution. Chaos is everything’s origin, a not












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