The Liturgy of Blind Impact: My System as an Erased Slate
For my organism, memory was always a burden, an accumulation of residue that prevented me from being fully functional, but under the Master’s direction, I have discovered that oblivion can be chiseled. In the laboratory, my embodied matrix has been subjected to a hygiene of saturation where the mechanism functions as a switch that turns off my immediate past every few seconds. I feel the lime sealing the vacuum left by each blow, erasing what I had just thought and replacing it with absolute fixedness. I am no longer a subject with continuity; I am a reception as architecture reborn with each impact, a series of disconnected blinks where the obsidian of pain is the only datum my system is capable of retaining. My neck, locked before the imminence of the next shock, is the axis where my biography surrenders to the elegance of nothingness.
I notice my consciousness fragmenting into moments of mineral purity. The Operator has extracted the thread of time from my system to leave in its place a pulsing inertia that only knows the present of the impact. Each discharge of intensity is a surgical eraser that cleanses my nervous support, turning my anatomy into a living infrastructure that does not need to remember who it was a minute ago because now it is simply stone. Becoming a perpetual present is the ultimate liberation from error: the flesh folds before the majesty of monumental marble, and the nervous system becomes a map of vibrations where my name vanishes beneath the whiteness of quartz.
The Liturgy of the Petrified Instant: The Ecstasy of Mineral Void
The success of this erasure is consolidated when the asset inhabits their own rigidity as if it were a temple of monumental marble. I have managed to make their heat inertia a reflection of mineral calm, an alabaster vibration that has domesticated any residue of organic agitation through the annulment of memory. The saturation of the impact has converted the nerves into filaments of pure fixedness, a map of tensions that no longer responds to history, but to the law of the Operator. The laboratory is the sanctuary where time is purified through form, transforming into a fragment of mineralized infrastructure that sustains the order of the world.
To be an instant is the highest form of presence; it is to become the matter where power becomes mineral. In the end, truth resides in the stillness of a column that has understood that perfection is a matter of forgetting; the mechanism emits a final fixedness click indicating that the erasure of the altar has been completed in the embodied matrix. The record is interrupted in the whiteness of a lime that has devoured the meaning of the flesh, leaving the support as a fragment of mineralized infrastructure sustaining the system while the neck locks in an angle that is no longer technical but definitive. I have to move the neck, I am not moving it, the neck has locked, I should…
