If there is to be a conspiracy theory, let it be about how the civilisation was mounted externally into Earth from somewhere out there. This idea was essentially an act of aggression. A simple and sustainable model of survival was disturbed in its infancy and replaced with another. An idea that perpetuates itself through the constant urge to improve, innovate and push further. Nothing is good enough and there is no day like tomorrow. The tomorrow that never comes. Narcotics, business, culture, everything owes its existence to this open, empty and fraudulent promise. Even consciousness is locked into this loop. At least in the form that it is channeled through beings in bodies. Sketching the conspiracy further, the idea was transmitted to our atmosphere by radio and once it was in the air all we had to do was breathe.

The idea is ripe for conspiracy-seeking because it doesn't add up, it doesn't seem stable but has been a part of our fabric for so long. It can't be rationalised by history, experience or biology. It is a purely alien idea that suddenly appeared in our midst and then strangely also became the central idea. Without the idea of civilisation, we wouldn't be restless, paranoid and be so anthropometric. These are defining conditions to forever lock us in the loops of progression and recursion. There has been no reportage about the ascent of this idea. Maybe this happened before the development of culture and language, but that is purely speculative. It could also have happened in the silence of the night and the noise of our dreamworld. We have been confused ever since, not knowing whether we misremember a dream or remember a phenomenon that should be shared and reported.

The idea of civilisation has some more characteristics which might be more obvious. The details can be matched either way. So if the idea is to improve and be more sophisticated, then both the idea of domesticity and colonies on the moon make sense. There is no prescription of choices only a pattern and hinting mechanism for making choices. Potentially infinite things can fit. The myth of the prevalence of autonomy exists but in fact only the tyranny of civilisation prevails.

The misinformation that we are living in a connected world, where every node is just a hops away from any other node was distributed with ease. It entered our belief systems through our hair. The systemic nature of the world, the repercussions felt, the tremors experienced gained folkloric value. After a point, even air breathed in and out by the pores of the skin came to be understood as a medium. A medium in which we are all suspended.

Cyberspace was received as ecology. A bundle of feedback loops obscured the fact that it itself was just a vagrant thread of an intricate garment. Like music to the dead, cybernetics was the epiphany of the grand narrative. It was invented and immediately poof went the world. The city as the first cyberspace was a desperate idea, the magic of cybernetics and the failure of density made the pressure impossible. The magic of cybernetics was the ability to magnify the expanse of systems. A small spider web seemed to be sometimes the grid holding the oceans in its bosom. Density promised to become the last kick that triggers a massive stampede in the public gallery of urban heroes. All the years we waited for density to trigger a spark we now describe as wasted. We realise that it was a false promise and do not hold a grudge. Living in a cluster bomb that failed to detonate, we accept density to be a natural calamity that was forced to justify its existence. And it pulled a mythology out of its ass.

That everything is connected and wound deep in a series of feedback loops was one day declared casually in the marketplace. We thought initially that it was a random quirk of a crazy old man who pretended to be our king. But slowly it became very difficult to talk of anything at all. There was no hygiene in conversations. Every conversation became about everything else. Nothing in particular and everything in particular at the same time. And the connection actually seemed to be there. The domino effect, the butterfly effects were affecting us everyday. Action became difficult, whereas before we would go hunting and dancing on a procession anytime, now we had to think of dancing only and hunting with farm animals. Private and in captivation. We started having to account for the repercussions of totally harmless actions. Cybernetics ruined spontaneity forever, it killed the joyful child-heart in our breasts and replaced it with a calculating metal automaton.

Of course in truth cybernetics was a dream state expression. A poet's abstraction, it was foolish to ever apply it on a living world. You can argue that the abstraction was modelled on events in the real world, but then I will say that we don't believe you. Modelling is abstraction anyway, it takes a stretch of imagination, a suspension of disbelief and linear simplicity.

The city as the first cybernetic space, as the network that made Internet possible was a misnomer. The streets are not connected to each other, they don't constitute a map. Going one one and reaching another is more an accident than a successful plan. Like persistence of vision is a myth, perception of networks, meshes, nests is one too. Myths can simplify stories and gift them logic they don't possess, they arise from squinted-eyes looking at the world and proclaiming voila!

Cities are a series of lines, a bunch of fragments hanging loosely in a bag together. The connections are drawn by our eager minds. Houses are constructed close to each other, society is a mirage imagined in our heads. So the need of the millennia might be to learn to live with the disjointed and not crumble in desperation and crawl towards mirages. The trouble with a mirage is of course that it does not know that it is a mirage. It actually thinks that it is like everything else and the devastating moment when it feels its own transparency, it crumbles and a new one comes up.

Learning to thrive on scraps, look confidently into a shattered mirror and not balk is the only option we have. Else the recursion of disillusionment will swallow our fragile minds and consciousness will forever have to live in our absence.

Cities are cesspools of disease. Of many kinds. Those that effect the whole body as well as those that only effect only specific senses. Like there is a disease that effects vision in a way that makes everything seem real. Ghost and physical entities become the same. Eyes make it possible to be adjusted to an entirely synthetic city. There is no need anymore for cities to be an interplay between the natural and synthetic. Everything is synthetic.

I do not remember the names of all the diseases that I am cataloging here. At the time I discovered them I did not think that they would propagate at the scale they eventually did. Maybe I even treated them as trivial phenomenon.

In the days of study, I remember observing other diseases too. The one, for instance that effects the sense of smell. It neuters it, it allows us to live the foul smell of dead space around. Space dies when from a shamanical resource and raw poetry it becomes a part of coordinate systems and maps. When it becomes the unit of the entire system of property. In the smell of dead and dying space can be felt the agony and trauma of cosmic pores getting plugged. Humans are trying to make spaceships, inter-galactic telephones, time-machines. We chase these as if they were answers to elusive riddles. Finding these answers underneath our feet would be a disappointment.

Then there was a disease that effected the sense of scale. From being able to fathom oceans and reading deserts of sand, we have been reduced to being able to only measure rooms in terms of square feet or meters. The skill of decompressing expanses of space into navigable spans of space was developed across a millennia but lost in a few centuries. That is one of the reasons why we misread all works of literary intent from history. What they wrote about is continents, what we read is rooms and sunlit porches. This misreading paints in our head an illusion of development, standing on the shoulders of giants. But actually we are only standing in the piss-pool of the giants of history. We don't even think at the same scale of ambition or domicile, we get the jitters on thinking of unwalled gardens where we can roam freely.

But maybe the disease that effects our sense of balance and continuity is the most widespread and most degrading in nature. This strikes at child-birth giving us no chance to develop an antidote or acquire a culturally learnt defence. We have to suffer the effects of this disease. The suffering starts early, around the age of five or six. The only way we have been able to contrive is to declare the aberration as a feature. So the conspiracy of evolution collaborates with this disease and declares that the compulsion to feel balanced and accept only the continuous has actually been a cognitive faculty under development for many years. Feeling balanced means both the physical, bodily balance and the largely mental sense of well-being. This compulsion can also be called the compulsion of fabricating flatland. We actually use a lot of our hardware and software for making up this illusory feeling. Fluids in our body do the background drudge work of translating a rough ride into a smooth one. Much like image stabilising algorithms. The pathogenic nature of continuity is actually two-dimensioned. One dimension looks at our continuity filter as a narrative device and another as psychosis. We will read into the latter here.

Psychosis is actually a disruptive element in the complex environment of the mind. It initially produces continuity to break it and fragment the psyche. But something goes wrong. We fight so hard and so passionately to protect this perception of continuity that psychosis only becomes a marginal player in consciousness. Effecting the few who actually lose this fight. But why do we fight? It's a flaw actually, easier to understand through an analogy. Think of this. A piece of bread is kept on your plate. You don't know where it came from, for all you know it came out of thin air. But then you are hungry so you accept ownership of it and consider it your own. At that moment somebody comes and asks for the piece of bread back. But by that time you are already salivating and you fight back, call something yours that never belonged to you anyway.

Reading urbanity into a space, says nothing about it. Urban conditions share nothing in common. So how does an urban entity specify itself? How does it be nothing but make-believe that it means something?

Urban landscapes are always in a zone of incompletion. They never feel stable enough to refer to their own condition by a name. Of course history is concurrent. But in writing their own history they exaggerate and they hide their failure by holding up universal ideals at face-value. What could very easily have been claims became tenets and theory backed by pseudo scientific largesse like statistics and economics. Instead of talking every minute about how they have realised themselves, they talk about how at their transition through history and with the benefit of hindsight progress has been made. It has been a grand deception. How the failure of realising an urban condition was justified by random steps forward through time. How the urban remains the promise but we spend our time in the waiting room.

Cities have become natural habitats for crime. Anonymity as a possibility was first born when settlements started claiming advancement and order. This advancement, if anything has only been possible because of a contraction of sorts. Contraction of the idea of personhood and even it's significance. Surrounding the contracted idea of the person are the structures and mediations of services and facilities of the city. Ghost cities fail equally at being urban as any other kind of city. The structures which allow cities to grow and stack multiples are equally valid when they are empty as when they are full.

Migration to the city was a process of people walking in with their bundles of clothes and occupying empty houses. Houses which were never made for anyone in specific were inhabited by people who had forgotten that they had anything specific about them. When communities moved to the city they did not set their old life and ways aside. They did not buy any idea of radical advancement. They only agreed to ally with a system that promised to provide certain services. After they moved, the delivery of the services did not happen of course. Also they did not change the way they lived, the way they thought about life. Ghettos, small worlds, closed circuits formed within cities. So before the nascent idea of the urban could even envelope itself, it ruptured and fragmented. A refined infrastructure became the stand-in for an advanced way of living.

So small and delayed victories become consolation prizes. For ideas to arrive long after they were past did not seem like an out of the ordinary situation. And then very quickly cities agreed to become disappointments. Pools of cynicism where everything is after the fact. They agreed to become stages for dissent. Dissenting against memorials of these at of its own founding principles. Not only does the emperor have no clothes, he is in fact dead.

It is a social taboo to expose the nude body publicly. Shrouding everything in clothes is considered the norm. Even statues of dead people, who are literally ghost entities now, wear bronze clothes. At least the dead should be allowed to be depicted in the nude, like they came and like they went. At least after death the scars and distortions of the body should not be a secret anymore.

But more than just the nudity of the body, society has a problem dealing with nudity in all forms. Naked emotion, naked desire, naked ambition, naked beauty. Cloaking is considered much more proper. It remains the standing recommendation at the city gates. Packaging within packaging, bags within bags.

Cloaking hides, obscures, distances, dilutes. Cloaking the face with the veil can trick us into considering a face we wouldn't do otherwise. The poetics of faces, expressions and the variability of reading the reflection of the unexpressed are debated by the cloakers. What the cloakers do not discuss is the nature of their craft. They do not tell us where all the hidden surfaces get displaced to. Where do all the faces behind veils go? Obliquely applying the law of conservation of energy to the politics of surfaces means that we negate the possibility of disappearance, of displacement and we consider the possibility of the conservation of surfaces.

What would a law of conservation of surfaces mean? For every surface that is cloaked, another one will appear somewhere else. For all you know cities feel crowded because of the effects of this law. A lot of virtual unthinking bodies just need to be fabricated because of all the clothes we wear and all the veils we decorate ourselves with. And that explains the weird illusion that we are all running out of space and that sooner or later we will choke the planet with overpopulation.

How could that happen? How do we really know how many people really live in this world? A real body count could only happen in the nude and we discount that possibility because of our hangover with God. I have a plausible explanation for how the God story emerged. Picture yourself sitting in a bar, drinking beer after beer bottoms-up. You are not wearing any clothes (of course), the buzz in your head is escalating. Very soon you are going to lose a visual on the world, things are getting blurred. Suddenly you get jumped from multiple sides, and then what feels like a pounding from everywhere, you feel like a dough knead through the fingers of a brawny chef. Then you open your eyes and see a bunch of guys standing and laughing at you. You look sideways and see a man standing by himself, serious, very serious. That person has a beard, long hair and look like he is on some strong drugs. You wake up the next morning and remember nothing but that person. You start telling stories of this person, introducing him as a kind of God solely because he did not pound you senselessly when he easily could have. This story is probably true, replace the bar and the beer for whatever is more culturally appropriate and you have the seeds of a new religion. A religion which has stories in which no one is ever wearing clothes, stories modelled on the bravado and insecurity of being nude. Who pounds whom and who doesn't being the extent of moral science. Of course the stories could be very explicit if you so desire. Figure it out, what flies your kite? What gives you your angle?

Now, we will talk about the hesitation with which any naked beauty is allowed to trot around in the city. Beauty of any kind, person, object, picture. There always has to be an obstruction, a cloak of dirt, smog, cynicism. Anything you call beautiful is trivialised and spoken of with bitterness. Romance being the function of celebrating the beauty in the everyday is banished from the city, only personal romance is allowed to operate in as boring a manner as possible. Parables of singular features that bodies possess in an exalted manner. The spirit of beauty is of course commoditised and disallowed its nakedness. Emotion on the other hand is allowed to only reside in media, locked away in the codes of sound, pictures, narrative, art. On the streets, amidst the ordinary being emotional is similar to shitting your pants in public, humiliating and ridiculed. It's clarity that we fear, as long as you are performing, obscuring and not talking about what you mean any way. Elucidations of emotions, translations, piddling-down is the source of delirium. Plain and simple, you take 1% emotion and 99% bullshit and sure enough you get delirium for everyone. Syrupy overtones are the problem, because of the regime of conventions, generalisations and pussy-footing around all emotions are known more for their syrupy variants.

Naked ambition is simply frightening, people make way for you on the street. They stay away and watch from afar. What are going to be the repercussions? How far will the sparks fly? What will be the collateral losses? It upsets the sensibilities of the turtles, the bystanders and the ordinary folk. Especially when you are grabbing the bull by the horns and people are carrying you on their shoulders for being able to blow bubbles from your ears. Naked ambition is usually as much of a socially dissonant current as anything else. In the end if the ambition succeeds, of course the knives go back into their sheaths and no one bothers to say anything, they just clap nervously.

The animal is the one pure state of consciousness that we can observe. Revealing the codes of nature if there is such a thing.

Animals have the capacity to disbelieve in everything. As a limitation in the transmission of inter-special communication. They can't afford to get distracted from the balance of being an animal. One wrong move and they get damned into timelessness of being human. They really protect their earned grace. Freed of the doubt forever, not being able to question itself again. The transition of becoming an it from a he or she is quite remarkable. And it has not happened in a moment. It is a slow transition and it happens across millennia. But even if you relocate the problem, the coordinates remain the same. Deflecting impossibility with the slowness of time doesn't really work because beyond a point no body really cares about how long it took as long it is really there. So getting away from the gymnastics of grey area, we will accept that the progression of evolution was reversed. That humanity is really the deep, far end and that the animals are ahead of us in the game. To accept that will be painful. The thought violates religion, folklore and everything that led us to have the privilege of wilfully stooping lower than ever thought possible, the privilege of developing a culture, of claiming autonomy, of being lost but having the insolence of driving on at full blaze.

But let's suppose for a moment that this has been accepted by everyone. It has taken a million years, and it took forever but now the struggle is over. The pill has travelled its journey down into the core of the system and now it is melting away in the chemicals and oxidants. Human civilisation still continues, it just learns to live in the underground. No magnanimity of the power of intentions, no grand narrative of religion, no disappointment with modernity. Perspectives have changed and the animal is worshipped as a deity. There is a lot of space for the enshrinement of any animal at any time. There is no qualification, no differentiation, no analysis of the animal. They are understood as the future and not the past, no one dares to bat an eyelid, think about animals in anything but purely adulatory terms.

In the sky the constellations used to depict giants among men. The system of constellations was not something made up by us but was given to us by the animals at the moment civilisation birthed. The animals observed men closely and developed models which became forms which the constellations depicted. These models have more than casual curiosity value in the world, they became the defining symbols of being human. If a long and turbulent night keeps you awake, you just need to look at the sky and recover your bearings.

Animals don't need any guidance, any reason to think twice. Any reason to feel that the brashest possible action possible at each moment is not the best action. Any philosophy, any cult, any revelation which places faith in the consistency of human action and human desire is flawed. If on the other hand, if what is proposed is an invisible governance of sorts, that theorises and postulates itself after the fact; which smells the air after catastrophes but doesn't be a soothsayer or a traffic police suggesting course correction is fine of course. And fine means, I will be enthusiastic enough to be an active foot-soldier of the insurrection, of the expansion drive.

In the future that animals will stand tall in front of our race, whip us into submission; the self-destructive tendencies in our bloodstream won't disappear. They will become like ghosts who posses bodies randomly and perform zombie-action. The zombie-acts will become unexplainable episodes, irrational orgies which map the mystique of the psyche. Then the psyche will be pure enigma, no scope for the intervention of psychoanalysis. Animus will be the nugget, the essence, the clear silver lining that science and religion both agree as the ultimate progression. In such a world there will be an abundance of Buddha-like figures roaming around. Humanity will just be understood as a retarded form of the animal.

In that world an equity could be actually be a viable dream. Humans will actually give a fuck enough to not stoop so low as to get a crick in the back. And for harmony and happiness there are two scenarios.

One, with there being no gender-imbalance; violent-crime, border-control or terrorism as transgressions won't be possible, there won't be any way to cross the line as there will be nowhere to go after the crossing. If animism synthesises the human in a culture of constraints, ethics and fair-play become codified as natural processes.

Two, there will be an excess of all forms of deviances, a mainstreaming of crime and a fearlessness about trying new things out. So the advancement will be the disappearance of guilt and the impossibility of admission. There is no harm in doing evil if you are not going to feel bad about it later. Somehow this excess will also help to contain and reign-in the quantum of perversion and nihilism in the system. We like to do evil because we love to regret it. If you take away the regret then evil is no much fun any more. We are no longer craving for it.

And so, harmony and happiness shall return to this planet.