Romanticism in a Hyperconnected World.

Romanticism is a movement or an emotional sensation where everything in the world is magical, shrouded in mystery, infinitesimal possibilities, and the idea of an inevitable destiny. It is seeing the world through the eyes of a poem, where the principle is written with the end in mind. Life is merely an actor in this script.

Everything is magical, uncertain. Loneliness reigns. Romanticism is often experienced through the idea of a journey, where there is a transport to a different world—a magical world. There is a beginning, middle, and end, a tangible narrative. On a journey, we are isolated within the group we travel with. We experience things in an environment unfamiliar to us. And more than ever, due to circumstances, we are present in the moment. If we are not, it is because our spirit or mind is elevated in the realm of imagination. However, it is difficult to live this romanticism, or even to aspire to it, in today’s hyperconnected world. Romanticism, or a certain lyricism of living, implies the sensation of being at the center of the world, of being isolated, and only we knowing that small occurrence, making it the most impressive thing. Yet, we live in a network that you create to diminish the scope of the lives we live—be it a campfire in the forest, a meal at home with friends, or a starry night. There is always something more important happening, and that something does not occur in a hypothetical time to be recounted later, in the past of the future... but is always happening in our present, making our lives a collective action on a global level.

All this is beneficial and connects us to the world; we live within various stories and narratives... yet it is hard to maintain our narrative from an autonomous perspective, and we end up living life through the light of the external world, being mere shadows causing movement in the plane of interconnectivity. Is this good or bad? I don’t know... perhaps it doesn’t matter much to know. But I, as a faithful follower of the romantic narrative, constantly feel invaded and fearful of jumping off this boat... yet it is a boat that makes me seasick, jolted by waves with which I have nothing to do... amid storms, high and low tides... in seas I never intended to navigate. And this feeling of unease opens up to my own narrative and prevents me from living under the light of a divine destiny, a destiny that is owed to me and which I will ensure comes to pass... Should I isolate myself? Should I escape? Should I live in a world that only counts on me through this interconnectivity of the internet? Can I somehow reconcile who I am with a world where a non-pact is a non-existence?

Tell me, how can we bring romanticism back to the world? A dreaming soul, a faith in magic and the impossible. This faith is only given by immense respect for ignorance and how to deal with the unknown, for all knowledge, when it comes with the arrogance of knowing everything, constitutes inner ignorance. And seeking outside what was not found inside. I speak of the human being, of the scientific spirit detached from the spirit. The spirit alone. Those when not in union only cause pain to each other... either stifling divine will or suppressing the power of reason... and obsessed with their corners and missions to fulfill, they forget to come together to complete the human being. How to return to the romantic world, when it is hyperconnected. Without space for solitude, without space for mystery, places yet to be discovered... magical lands where no one has been... without space for a lie or exaggeration, without space for imagination... everything is thought, everything is studied, everything is known, everything is filmed, everything is recorded... nothing falls into oblivion, only an excess of memory allows oblivion.

How can I dream of someone with whom I am always in contact, whose life I always know, and with whom I live a parallel life? How can I dream of someone without seeing in them multiple lives, multiple universes, all of which are possibilities, with which I am constantly surprised and disappointed? We live in a state of nano-expectation, in a state of absolute knowledge of all reality. Only monitored, not allowing ourselves to be surprised. We are impatient, losing the stoic spirit that awaits... the spirit that weaves a rug to be unraveled at night... feeding on the reflection of the gaze, the same gaze by which the one waiting also sees.

If this is the end of romanticism, then let it be. If it is to die, let it die as its initial destiny decreed... die in the sadness of never having found love... in an ignorant and sterile longing to arrive... may it live a thousand years tormented and alone waiting for the apocalypse... to be reborn again and make the arrogant man... bring him the storm. Will it be a space, a new world created... not a new one but the microscope. World of imagination, of random data... will this be the future of romanticism... the infinite possibilities of discovery... but is not this reality already studied and all its possibilities already known? Is humanity not already capable of completely mastering it? How can we open ourselves to randomness, the randomness of the heart, without expecting to gain profit or fame from it? Let us pause at randomness for we trust in destiny, in a fortuitous story or unfortunate luck. All of this is part of the gods' plan, gods we have forgotten... and we take their place. We want to be gods of it all... perhaps some do... but who will write their story? Who wants the weight of holding that pen... not me, certainly [booom, the pen falls]