The Aesthetics of Rigor: Authority as the Master’s Absolute Intelligent Design

The cup

The cup is on the table.

I didn’t put it there.

Or maybe I did.

I’m not sure when something becomes a “fact”.

I stare at it for a while.

It’s just a normal cup.

That should be enough.

But it isn’t.

Because I feel like I saw it before I entered the kitchen.

As if I didn’t arrive to it by walking.

As if it was already waiting for me.


The screen

I close my phone screen.

Wait.

Look again.

It is closed.

That is correct.

But I don’t remember closing it.

Only the result.

Not the action.

And that bothers me more than it should.


The alarm

The alarm rings three minutes early.

Before what, I don’t know.

I look at it.

Don’t touch it.

I think about changing it.

But I don’t know what the correct time would be.

Only the time I don’t want to see.

That stops me.

Not logic.

Something closer to doubt.


The door

The door is closed.

I think.

I approach it.

Touch it.

It is closed.

That should be enough.

But I don’t remember closing it.

Only assuming it would be closed.

And I don’t know which one counts.


First crack

For a long time I thought the problem was not remembering what happened.

Now I think the problem is remembering something that may never have happened.

And still feeling it as memory.


Test

I did a test.

I left the cup exactly where it was.

Took a photo.

The image matches.

That should calm me.

But I can’t remember taking it.

Only that it exists.

And that doesn’t fit.

I don’t know with what.


Something shifts

The cup is not the problem.

Neither is the screen.

Nor the alarm.

The problem is that I need something to stay where I left it.

And I don’t know when that need began.


Mild contradiction

I closed the screen to stop looking at it.

I opened it to check it was still closed.

I don’t know why that feels acceptable.

But I’m doing it.

Without fully deciding.


The neck

I have to move my neck.

I don’t.

I stop before it happens.

Not because it hurts.

Because of a simpler doubt.

If I move it, I confirm I can.

If I don’t, I won’t know if the decision was mine.


For a second I think I understand it.

Then something else appears.

Not an answer.

But the doubt of who is asking the question.


I have to move the neck there is no neck…