NGIS · First Edition, 2025

NO GODS IN SPACE

Before reaching the stars, we should have mapped the mind—not for depth, but for deceit. It doesn’t expand. It folds. It rewrites. It survives by distortion.The mind is not truth. It is approximation. The self is a sustained hallucination.
We escaped gravity with equations we never understood, carrying psychologies we never faced.Every algorithm, every advance encoded the same terror: to be seen. To be known.

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About me
I was born in Romania’s last years of concrete certainty and raised in the residue that followed. I trained as an engineer because systems made sense where people didn’t. Load, failure, tolerance, fault — the world was easier to face when it behaved like machinery. Writing was never an ambition. It was a bleed-valve. A way to stop the pressure from hardening into something corrosive.No Gods in Space began before my daughter was born, in months that felt stretched thin and slightly unreal. I wrote between work sites, hospital visits, broken evenings. And every night, when the light went off, a new fear descended: that I might not wake up. Clarity. The quiet knowledge that I could vanish before she ever knew me, leaving behind nothing but an outline.I am not trying to be anyone’s author. I’m trying to scrape the grey out of my own head so I can see the people I love without a film of dread across the lens. Because the older I get, the more obvious it becomes: the world runs on fictions, institutions on inertia, humans on adaptive lies, and real morality has no audience. It isn’t noble. It’s preventative — the self monitoring itself so it doesn’t turn monstrous in the dark.I write to stay conscious.
To avoid dissolving.
To build one honest shape before the body ends time.If these pages matter at all, it won’t be because I wrote them well.
It’ll be because I refused the decorative version of life and tried, however clumsily, to leave something other than a void.Marius L Nasgodineanu