by Ovidiu Bufnila
A glance over the world from the point of view of a Science Fiction Writer who assumes that Time is waved to all directions
Motto: The only thing you have really got is what you are and it is on you forever.
If God had died what would be the use of beautiful language and why would "beautiful" exist or function anymore deep down the oceans?
If I multiply and metamorphose into a cloud of spots under the pressure of magnetic fields, will I be able to enlarge my informational surface?
The supreme miracle stands for the way in which an assembly of points realizes it is an assembly of points.
The Ubiquitous Man seems to be the man of all times shaped into the body of contemporary Time. If this is not true, then I may be wrong when reporting myself to reality, and I have no other choice but accepting the generalized and the generalizing fiction according to which I don't even exist and, thus, I cannot witness myself.
This means that, as I am only contents, I couldn't possibly build my exteriority from where to fully spy myself while plunging into the pleasure of the principle of multiple of one.
The Ubiquitous Man seems to be caught between the history jaws, on the verge of being smashed by his own sins, by his own fictions, or by the crowds waving like a roaring ocean, or by revolutions and wars or by impersonal administrative acts or by nature hardships - which is not a proper nature anymore.
As a universal construction, the Ubiquitous Man doesn't seem to be built by addition, the idea of a flowing time is seemingly. The time seems rather waved; the ubiquity gives the impression...