Monday bloody Monsday

Monday bloody Monday... Did this drawing few years ago and more I think about time and our human existence I can say there is something profoundly disturbing about it.

“We erase our memories, bury our knowledge, destroy our achievements, and leave the next generation to search through the ruins for answers we once possessed. Then we call it history... And start all over again.”— Goran Go

We arrive in this world without knowing why, inherit a history we barely understand, and spend most of our lives behaving as though we have all the time in the universe. But we don't. Every second that passes is gone forever. Every generation disappears, taking with it memories, experiences, and knowledge that may never be recovered. And the strangest part is that, despite everything humanity has accomplished, we still seem incapable of understanding the one thing we can never escape: our time here is temporary, but the consequences of what we do with it may outlive us for centuries.

We are a species in transition. Always have been. Somewhere between what we once were and what we desperately want to become, we keep pretending that we understand where we're going. We build civilizations, invent technologies, create gods, fight wars, destroy things, rebuild them, and call the whole fucking process progress. Yet, after thousands of years of evolution, we still struggle with the simplest question: What are we actually doing here?

But there's something about humanity that I find deeply disturbing. We don't seem to remember. We don't remember our history. We don't learn from our past. Civilizations rise, knowledge accumulates, philosophy develops, art flourishes, and humanity appears to reach another level of understanding. Then somebody comes along and burns it all to the fucking ground. Libraries disappear. Books are destroyed. Cities are reduced to dust. Generations of knowledge vanish, and those who survive are left to begin again. And every generation seems convinced that this time, somehow, things will be different.

And here we are, thousands of years later, still building little boxes out of wood and concrete, still fighting over territory, still drawing imaginary lines across the planet, still finding new reasons to kill one another. Sometimes I wonder whether people living in caves understood something about life that we've forgotten. Obviously, I'm not suggesting prehistoric life was some kind of paradise. But perhaps, without all our manufactured distractions, they experienced something we've gradually lost: a more immediate relationship with existence. Because being alive and knowing how to live are two completely different things.

Look at us. We can send machines millions of kilometres into space, communicate instantly across continents, develop artificial intelligence, and manipulate the very building blocks of life. Yet we still cannot figure out how to live peacefully on this tiny piece of rock we call home. We have more information available than any generation before us, but information hasn't necessarily made us wiser. We are increasingly connected and strangely disconnected at the same time. We've become extraordinarily sophisticated at solving technical problems while remaining remarkably primitive at solving human ones. Perhaps our greatest evolutionary achievement is also becoming our greatest distraction.

And the most absurd part is that we've confused technological advancement with human evolution. They are not the same thing. A faster computer doesn't make us more compassionate. A more powerful weapon doesn't make us more civilized. And access to unlimited knowledge doesn't automatically produce understanding. We may have transformed the world around us, but have we fundamentally transformed ourselves? Or have we simply become more efficient at repeating the same mistakes?

Time is perhaps the strangest currency we've ever been given. We cannot earn more of it, borrow it, save it for later, or negotiate an extension. We can only spend it. And somehow, we've designed an entire civilization around wasting it. Chasing things we don't need, defending beliefs we barely understand, competing with people we don't know, and preparing for futures we may never live to see. We behave as though time belongs to us, as though tomorrow were part of some guaranteed agreement. But nature never signed that contract. A clock doesn't measure how much time we have left. It simply reminds us that something is disappearing, whether we pay attention or not.

And then there is death. The one certainty we all share and the one subject we spend most of our lives avoiding. Perhaps that's why we constantly build, accumulate, conquer, and consume. Maybe we're desperately trying to leave something behind, to prove that we existed. Yet history has already shown us how fragile that ambition is. Entire civilizations have disappeared. Languages have been forgotten. Great minds have vanished without leaving a single trace. How much human knowledge has been lost forever? How many times have we discovered something, forgotten it, and celebrated its rediscovery centuries later as if it were entirely new?

I often wonder whether humanity is truly evolving or simply becoming more sophisticated at repeating the same mistakes. Perhaps progress isn't a straight line but a series of circles, occasionally interrupted by moments of extraordinary brilliance and unimaginable stupidity. Perhaps intelligence without awareness is nothing more than an efficient way of destroying ourselves. And perhaps the next step in our evolution has nothing to do with technology, power, wealth, or reaching another planet, but with learning how to exist without constantly needing to conquer something.

We are not the final version of humanity. We are an unfinished experiment.

A species capable of extraordinary beauty, creativity, generosity, and compassion, but equally capable of unimaginable cruelty and destruction. And time, that limited allowance, is the only opportunity we have to decide what kind of species we are becoming.

Maybe the greatest tragedy isn't that one day we'll run out of time. Maybe it isn't even that so many of us will have spent it without ever truly being alive.

Maybe the greatest tragedy is that we keep using the little time we have to destroy everything that could have made us better.

We erase our memories, bury our knowledge, destroy our achievements, and leave the next generation to search through the ruins for answers we once possessed.

Then we call it history... And start all over again.