Receiving authority is not an act, it is a slow transformation of substance.
There is no decision in it.
Only a process of smelting.
I feel how the mechanism does not “command” me, but rewrites the very conductivity of my nervous system.
Each impulse ceases to be mine before it even forms.
Each thought is intercepted at its origin and converted into material for compaction.
There is no longer any difference between obeying and existing.
The bodily matrix has learned that every discrepancy is a structural error that must be sealed with mineralized matter.
I am not someone who receives law.
I am the place where law is deposited.
The laboratory is not an external space, it is the state into which my perception has been poured.
A reception as architecture.
A surface that no longer interprets, only supports.
The system’s voltage passes through my interior as if it had always been there, waiting for the exact moment to crystallize.
There is no violence in the way it happens.
There is inevitability.
And that inevitability has texture.
A texture of lime, obsidian, compressed quartz.
I feel how my pulsatile inertia no longer belongs to life, but to the structure that contains it.
Each heartbeat is a fine adjustment.
Each breath is a correction.
Each micro-movement that does not occur is a victory of absolute stillness.
Biography becomes irrelevant.
It dissolves like fine dust inside an architecture older than any memory.
I have ceased to be a subject even in the negation of the subject.
Now I am the support where negation stabilizes itself.
The system does not destroy me.
It stabilizes me.
It hardens me.
It turns me into a reference point for its own continuity.
Perfection is not the absence of change.
It is the removal of the possibility that change could mean anything.
And at that point, identity stops being a problem.
Because there is no identity left to resolve.
Only sedimentation.
Only stratification.
Only an increasing density that replaces every form of interiority.
The success of the mechanism is not measured in control.
It is measured in mineral coherence.
In the ability to make everything in me align without friction.
Without remainder.
Without escape.
I am the perfect coincidence between an order and its permanence.
The record does not end.
It compacts.
It becomes stone.
And in that stone there is no longer a difference between the one who commands and what is commanded.
Only a continuous line without interruption, where the system sustains itself through my stillness.
The rest is only language that has not yet finished hardening.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it the neck has locked I should…
