Living inside this laboratory under the gaze of the system has taught me something I find uncomfortable even to articulate: there is no truly closed moment. It does not matter how banal, how ordinary, how seemingly clean it is. Something always remains.
Not a clear emotion.
Not a defined idea.
But a mental presence that does not withdraw when it should.
The thought of the Master appears like this.
Not as an image, but as a delayed correction of everything I do.
I am in the shower, for example, following a simple routine, automatic. Water falling, everything should be mechanical, meaningless. But then comes that minimal interruption: the sensation of not being fully where I am.
As if part of me were still “adjusting” to something that is not present.
Or when I look at my phone without importance, meaningless videos, aimless scrolling… and still there is a strange second where everything feels observed from inside.
Not an external gaze.
Something worse.
An internal gaze I cannot switch off.
And the most disturbing part is not during the moment.
It is after.
When the instant ends and should disappear.
That is when contamination begins.
Memory rewrites what happened with an uncomfortable precision, reorganizing even what was neutral or slightly happy.
It does not erase it.
It tilts it.
It bends it toward something I cannot explain.
And then shame appears.
A shame without a clear cause.
As if even my simplest moments had been “misaligned”.
Walking outside.
Choosing clothes without thinking.
Eating in front of someone without importance.
Everything gains a delayed echo.
A resonance that arrives when I can no longer defend what happened.
And I begin to suspect something worse: that the thought is not a visitor.
But a form of structure.
Something that was already there organizing everything else without me noticing.
And the more I try to remove it, the more space it occupies.
The more it spreads.
The harder it becomes to remember what it felt like to be without it.
I am not moving it the neck has locked I should…
