What is a Man, I wonder.
What is a Man?
What is a Man if not a mass of cosmic dust, an atomic swarm?
What is a Man if not a reproduction of processes?
What is a Man if not a collaboration of biological systems, the result of which generates an organic mass with a definite bipedal form?
What is a Man if not the ultimate result of the entire universe, the cause-effect of the firmament whose manifestation is in the present dimension?
What is a Man if not the cultural production of mass society, the narrative of his environment, belonging to historical evolution?
What is a Man if not a transcendent entity, whose psyche travels undaunted in the flow of continuum, but whose existence is a slave to the passage of information blocked in the becoming that will never be accomplished?
What is a Man if not the race from oblivion already lost before it begins, time without memory?
What is a Man if not the hope of finding love and affection, the only shelter from the repetition of loneliness?
What is a Man if not just a shadow at the end of a twelve-hour shift, sitting in the interior of any underground train in any city, tired inside but indifferent to the eyes of the world?
What is a Man if not just a faint light looking for a way home?