The initial event is the digital documentation immediately following birth. The newborn, freshly separated from the state of symbiotic unity, is exposed not only to the new physical environment but also to a process of technological capture. Their identity is fragmented before it even consolidates: their image and biometric data are transferred into a digital domain, creating a dual detachment. Beyond the physical separation from the maternal body, they undergo a splitting of their own existence, which begins to live in a virtual space as an informational trace. The first external record of the self is no longer a shared sensory experience, but an archived file, anticipating and altering the construction of personal identity.
"Patriotism is the assumption that the globe is divided into little spots, and that those who had the fortune of being born on some particular spot are better, nobler, grander, more intelligent, more virtuous than those living in any other spot."
- Emma Goldman
#Anarchy #Antipatriotism #Internationalism #NationState #Cosmopolitanism #EmmaGoldman
There comes a time in life when the world's noise begins to fade. This is not a surrender, let that be clear. It is an acquisition of awareness, a change of frequency. The crowds, the chatter, the theaters of obligatory sociability lose their color, like a fresco exposed to the elements. And what emerges is not a desert, but the precise geometry of what truly matters.
You find yourself, almost without noticing, taking stock of your soul. And the operation is merciless. Out go the dead weights, the friendships of convenience, the circumstantial smiles. Those who remain are there not out of duty or opportunism, but because of a kind of gravitational law of the heart. They are few. Perhaps you can count them on the fingers of one hand, perhaps fewer. Yet, their emotional mass equals that of a galaxy.
This is a company that requires no explanations. With them, silence is not an embarrassing void to be filled at all costs, but a language. A room where you can sit and let your soul crack open, showing the fissures without fear of judgment. These relationships are made of an ancient and rare substance: they withstand storms, bad moods, distances, and absences. They do not break. At most, they bend, only to find their shape again.
The truth, raw and liberating, is that you don't need armies. You need a few, good elite troops. The ones who don't abandon you when the night is darkest. Their sincerity is an asset more precious than gold, because it is not negotiable. It is priceless. In this narrowing, there is no loss. There is an immense gain of truth, of time, of vital energy not wasted on futile performances.
In the end, you wake from the stupor of mass relationships and discover that the essential thing is not to have a tribe, but a fortress. And those few, those true ones, are not just sufficient. They are everything.
