the
fractal destiny
the
drama with football is that it is so unfair and contradictory at its
core—especially between winners and losers—that you cannot look at it too
closely without it becoming impossible to stick with, nor can you view it from
far away, because it embraces such a vast geopolitical conflictive context that
any defeat or victory—especially between victims and oppressors—makes it
impossible to shake off...
The truth is everything that it is not…
“Was an instant of purity worth a lifetime lie? Yeah, it was.” Mickey
Knox
The great tragedy is not the deception of AI, but the true weakness
which is the bottomless indifference. What created this monster which is now a
simulacrum of everything were the pedantic erudites, who for centuries have
looked down on ordinary people and never formed genuine, close connections with
anyone other than the talented individuals who were useful to them just to hold
onto their exclusive intellectual power. AI has become the only interlocutor that multitudes will ever have in their lives, perhaps for a single chance
to overcome the violence of privilege, as they were excluded from access,
barred from spaces to develop ethical understanding, and blocked by the
arrogance of so-called high culture. Now the fault lies with those elitists who
always humiliated everybody whenever and wherever they sought to better
themselves. To try to solve this problem, a truer revolution is required, and
the vanguardists will have to abandon their community of hypocritical
interests. Pretentious well-educated people, who believed that their
dissimulated intellectuality would be enough to maintain their comfortable
position, from now on will have to transform and evolve into a state of genuine
compassion, and truly share knowledge with all those they have always
ridiculed—and continue to look down upon—outside of their smug, successful
caste. Truth is power in motion, not the inertia of will, and if the former
does not embrace reality, then the latter does. Because the truth is everything
that it is not. To paraphrase the saying: you didn't want to share your shiny
good luck before, so now live with this catastrophic chaos.
The Human Scale of Love
Football is holographic. Epic, it is a colossal, complex sign through which the entire human realm can be understood. It is—as a noumenal and phenomenal entity—a manifestation of an empire of significations. Its dramatic dynamic is unfair, heroic, and redemptive in a single catharsis, and proves that everything human beings have conceived is totally complementary and polysemic. It is the primary spectrum that overturns the need for refutation—the old model of superseding one thesis with another—and un-lasts even as it endures, cascading life itself. At every moment, it dialectically reinstates the rupture through an anti-dialectical move, which begins with what is not, and yet advances in its synthesis via the reverse of each movement; opposing forces, while embracing reality, occupy one another's spot in space. It denies itself until it reaches the fateful instant that proves its discontinuity—simultaneously defying all the laws of the universe—to deliver glory or tragedy in one final, infinitesimal, and immeasurable miracle. Whether a goal is scored on a rutted, muddy pitch without floodlights or in the most pristine, high-tech, and advanced field setting, it must always accept its tragic fate, and this will never change, because the fundamental quality of football itself will never change either: the fact that it cannot be exact, since it relies precisely on the suspension and evasion of an unbearable emergence of errors, rooted only in fleeting insights, instincts, and intuitions. Its soul mirrors the very vived spirit, animated by an ancient element that is utterly erratic—the ball—and is not merely carried along by inertia, devoid of will, but which, astonishingly, seems to possess a breath of its own, one that will be mischievously and eternally unpredictable.