Phony

Phony pushes to close the truth, omit it to half-open other game, the possibility to pronounce other imaginary landscapes. Open, cut, skew, give other chance to the real imposture. Are falsifications from an author. Auscultations to pretended art pieces of magnum value. No one question the History that stays there, untouched like an immobile rock through the time. The credit History that cements the societies articulations, that support the illusion of the identities, the illusion of the human destiny. Rather the History, almost for an authoritarian guarantee, legitimate structures, systems, cause-effect operators, power agents that command the distribution of the resources. Circles that establish the value criteria, based on their immediate utilitarian interest, capital investment. In the end, if the object is capable to obtain utility, it will be, consequently, an object of interest. Actually, the products are generated for consumer pseud-educated (conditioned) as a strategy of a domain. The poverty, obviously, is in other parts. The History as a monumental rock impresses too hastily to the common of the souls, promoting spectators-consumers submitted by the law of their ignorance. The depositories "statues" of normative idiosyncrasies of the collectivities serve a fiction role inner the faked script. The crowded place of History is the blind idolatry unquestionable, that it is supposed we should show respect and veneration. Or not, fanatical hordes? They still believe that they have a collective voice? In the end, the History does not represent more than a metafiction embedded on the insignia of recognition because the ignorance is fertile land to sow any beliefs. Without mood of prophesizing anything, the dissolution of the synthoms of belonging and dependant necessity will become. The constant expansion of the worlds, the inevitable inertia, dynamic mobile, changing river, destructive fire, creation light, on an eternal wheel, spinning wheel that makes and undo the web under the rigor almost capricious of their needle forever precise, of their labyrinthine phantom thread. Why should men raise their buildings? For what? What is the purpose? Why they don't desist on the desire of an illusory ambition? It could be that in the end, the reality is so much for the human spirit and they insist? This isn't a sabotage. If it could be so, it could be because it denies the ambiguous existence until now of the real world notion. Isn't a sabotage, because it is confined under the pertinent circuits. There is no subversion, there is no lie.