At sunset on top of Montaña Bermeja, I met a guirre, a valued acquaintance, and her partner, a gentleman my age, a scientist specializing in artificial intelligence and an advisor, or something like that, to the European Commission on those "tremendous matters." We talked as much as we could while she translated for us, and time listened.
No one else was seen on all the islands. Not a car, not a distant boat, not even a plane or its darn contrail. Nobody. While we talked about robots and artificial life and how soon and how radically much that will change the world. I was seeing two simultaneous sequences.
The first was a castle with its kings, dukes, counts, and so on, and a cohort of servants doing absolutely even the smallest task for them. They, the aristocrats, conspired not to do any task that involved using their hands. That is, to work. They only aspired to revelry, delicacies, and various refinements, and that history would provide for them. Everything functional in the castle was perfect, and, of course, in its lower levels, and outside, the calamities were absolute.
The other scene was futuristic: a room in a techno-clinic, where enveloping lights and sounds covered five robots that were operating on a very old man, replacing organs in his body with artificial "living" ones, with incredible precision, while another strange robot, like a flying saucer, flew from his head to his heart and seemed to emit some kind of frequencies that, I presume, were various drugs. But, despite the high technology and all kinds of control over pain, an extreme suffering emanated from that man that was not physical, of which the robots were not aware.
At the same moment, somewhere in the world, a young couple of disheveled doctors struggled to operate on a child with a miserable scalpel and without anesthesia. The frequency that was heard was that of countless cries. From the castle, some compassionate servants brought them some boiling water and some clean rags in time. What astonished me is that those poor servants had to come from the past to the future to help. Oops!
Seen. On top of Montaña Bermeja, at sunset. Witnesses: a guirre, the unnamable, and a kind of Indian shaman with a very strange mask that I have no idea who he was or where he came from, as he appeared when the scientist had already left, nor where and how he left. But I thought I heard him say something like "better Cuba." It scared me. In truth, I think that, for an instant, I fell asleep. Sometimes, it is difficult to separate the daydream from the dream. But, in truth, it was not even a second and it was when "the Indian".
Everything else I attest was awake. I mean with all my eyes open. The ones I have. Like in the photo; now some more. But, no matter how much I look, I can't understand how some endure the suffering to reign and others to serve.