Nameless script

I) The walk
 
Walking over the alms of this paving stone, I go like a dead one.
Once upon a time: everything was denied: the enigma lies on the altars of the mystery.
It must be something I did wrong.


On the wings of a dead dream* my steps echoed empty across the humid brick walls in hollow ricochets, the pain it's so intense that I can't feel it.
Is just an acute, surd point of anguish stuck in my soul...I go, as I'm swallowed slowly by the shadows.







II) The fall

Where I am? Do I exist yet? Who I am?


I feel my blood is dry in this cellophane night and forever.
Forever; forever.


Forever is a long-long time for a broken spirit to bear.

Where's our God of love this night?


Maybe he's a puma of love.**


Maybe he's this child, and his navel spreads bread to the world. A world without love.

God of love, all tenderness: where are you?







III) One night

One night I had a plan. A plan.
The most decadent, sinister and eternal of the nights.
A plan.


I still remember that night without shades. Blackest than the cunt of the death. A plan of death.


Now I'm dead.







IV) Fractured life

One day of my light, I found a daylight.
It was sweet to me, and I tried to reach it.


My daylight was growing inside of me, in my fractured midday
and I loved it.





My nights and days were lit by this fragile creature, but I started to note something occult.


Something painfully mysterious in its smiles.







V) The punishment

Like criminal statues on the run, my days escaped away from me.
In outbursts of rain, I gave birth a monster who was devouring myself: 
this immense ruthless web that is never seen, it was prepared for me, and only I fell in it; nobody else.






VI) The chains don't lie

I was another stray dog for a sun hanging from a harness, its red glow projected my long shadow, such a Delacroix of my body stretched in horror.


I followed my own shadow toward the fork of trains.

I found graffitis of the fury, and I felt lost.
The gnarled pendulum of the hours never stops: 
hit by hit I turned off all the lights.


I found no peace, just a water-bottle full of spittle.
For the hours when I was.

Cruel.






VII) Meaningless life / Into the void

Then.
Like a ventriloquist of myself, like a scrawny, tattooed dancer of buried zeniths and a wolf in the breath, the brawn of despair made me shatter my cursed and antique skin away.
In a butcher's smile I shattered this ancient skin, ancient skin.


If I were alive, maybe I'd have a jump to be completed.
A jump of black tin burning from a sweaty and sombre myself.


A jump of one in a million.

...If you can see my eyes becoming gilt quartz, they will tell you that regardless empires, boots; walls and bridges
regardless death, life and this cold of today, I'm a fractured jet propulsor without you.


But I'm dead, and nothing is possible to me now.































*"Book of the dead ones" (J.J. Cornell)

** From a graffiti seen one night on a wall in Buenos Aires.