Critical thinking. the battle of colors

By Alfredo Grande, Latin America Brief, August 5, 2022

When the earth loses all dignity, when you can’t even see the horizon because love and tenderness are always gone, then that earth loses even its name. It is not a desert to conquer. It’s a wasteland to forget. When time was measured in days, months, years, surely this name was repeated, if only occasionally. While there was no electricity, in some computer recycled from the dump, it was possible to read some news from the lands that were still decent. Today in the nameless lands, no one remembers this.

the past is gone because memory turned out to be the worst company for horror. And the future disappeared, for the sun ceased to appear, and then only a continuous present of black and gray marks different forms of the same continuous and eternal present. Constant smoke from fires that were reproduced and extinguished permanently. Toxic gases that were generated far away, but deadly winds and breezes, especially on surfaces, that grabbed all life. In undignified lands, the dangers were always at ground level, so walking was suicidal.

In the Times that there are no memory records, drone images of animal people trying to gather food have become popular. The luckiest found huge dumps made by huge dump trucks. They turned out to be the gathering caste. The idea, the concept of garbage stopped referring to the useless and became a guarantee of survival. In the Lands of No Dignity, no one cared to live off garbage. The only thing that mattered was living. Above or below life. But live.

With the disappearance of day and night, feeding was haphazard and completely random. Compasses and flashlights went out, and so did joy and smiles. The times of the unworthy lands were continuous, without intervals, without pauses, without breaks. The images of this drone were studied by the most important and sophisticated privileged of the lands with dignity.

The most accepted hypothesis was that Lamarck’s rejected theory of the inheritance of acquired characters could finally be accepted as valid. The drone captured animated images that were classified as belonging to the genus “homo,” meaning humans, but to the order “rodentia,” meaning rodents.

In the lands without dignity Creatures that could still be labeled “hominid” but with all the habits of rodents would be created. Byzantine debates about whether function makes organ, the eternal tension between determinism and free will, to the point of questioning the wisdom of nature. The most popular book in those very distant times was “Nature or Strange Wisdom.” Perhaps as a mark of strangeness, the authorship has never been known, and not a few people have claimed that the book was never written.

He came to apply that theory became a continuation, by the way unsuccessfully, of the expression of a popular maniac with a wild pelucon, who said with careful seriousness: “we must eliminate them like rats.” Totally presumptive. There was no record left that had even the slightest certainty of those words.

A swarm of boys and girls they crawl along the rough, dry ground. It is like the body grounded. Rather, it is a terrestrial body. It is almost impossible to separate the body from this earth. A barren land, burned, intoxicated, destroyed, barely able to support buried lives. Updated the images of the drone that allowed the development of the “homo rodentia” hypothesis. The swarm crawled, not knowing what it was looking for, and not understanding what it had found. Rising even inches off the ground is a deadly hazard.

records still remain in the casings of machines with knives that cut up the found. Mutilated bodies bleed to death in pain and agony. The memory was embedded in the bodies and no one looked up again.

The swarm collided, crashing into what didn’t seem like rock because it was softer, nor like a bladed machine because no one was hurt. Something forgotten, that of destinations that will never be understood, still pulsed with something of the warmth, something of the power, something of the taste of what was once called life.

On the ground that lost dignity was an impossible encounter, nothing could be recovered, nothing could be invented. When the swarm got close enough, a voice that was not a howl, not a scream, not a scream, broke the sounds of silence. “At last they have arrived.” When in eternity no one speaks, in eternity no one listens. In lands without dignity, eternities and seconds last equally.

“I’ve seen a rainbow.” The members of the swarm, which could be 5, 20, 100, looked at each other through the frosted glass that is the permanent fog. A rainbow. What would the rainbow be? “Colors against the blue background of the sky” could be heard with some effort. What are the colors, what is the blue, what is the sky? “Without colors we are all blind” The swarm followed him into what looked like a soft cave. As a refuge it did not seem safe. But the ground was less rough and didn’t scrape as much. Was it earth? Was it a cave?

in a second after a few months, after a few years, the swarm found huge containers. The swarm never realized they had discovered the primary colors: red, yellow and blue. When the found body stopped talking, stopped moving, they decided to paint it. Then all the members of the swarm began feverishly painting themselves. They stopped, still awkward, and this comfortable cave was the first inner arc. But that’s where it all started. No one knew until minutes, hours, months. Maybe more. But it didn’t matter anymore.

Time was again of the essence. To be able to walk and look up. Someone restored some blurred letters: “And this colony we were. And this sad wound they have made of life. And this grayness of infinite time. And it’s silence. And these easements. And this going from bad to bad to worse. And this desire to believe that it is not true, that we have not been sold, that we have not been defeated(1)«. And some swarms, without realizing exactly what they were doing, began to cultivate a new dignity for the land. The battle of the colors had begun.

(1)Excerpt from “Luckily” by Gerardo Chiriani

Source: Rag Ball

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