Cursor Over Thought

I stand multiplied—faces layered like versions of myself across time. Some are unfinished, some erased, some watching. Above me, my mind is exposed, not as flesh alone but as a site of intervention. A cursor hovers over my brain, precise and indifferent, as if thought itself can be selected, edited, or deleted. Lines run through my head like circuits or lifelines, carrying decisions, memories, ideologies—signals I may no longer fully control. I am both the observer and the observed: human history compressed into a single consciousness, weighed down by knowledge, brilliance, doubt, and consequence. This is not a portrait of genius; it is a portrait of vulnerability—of thinking under pressure in an age where even the mind feels programmable.