Enter, Rogel Mom

When Rogel Mom turned his <<Performa>> on, the day 8 of February of 199... a floppy disk screeched from the inside.

Mom rememebered that the plastic sheet of the disk stored images of the sky, or digitized photographs of the last lunation, along with several speculative illustrations that depicted the celestial mechanics annotated by Dante Alighieri in the "Comedy", the astral turrets

why did he remember this?


In stereo, the apparatus pronounced a weird statement with robotic voize as a Compact Disk Digital Audio® of Riff's "Ruedas de Metal" started sounding automatically, filling the room with obtuse metal: the screen became completely yellow

it was 7:00:00:00 AM, on the trees of carbon, the Stymphalian birds sang from their funest thoracic cavities with their beaks shut.




The text in the yolk-yellow screen turned gradually into a short binary code making the sound stop at the same time

11001100101110110 1100101110110 110010111011 0 
11001100101110110 1100101110110 110010111011 0
01001 1001 1001000
11001100101110110 1100101110110 110010111011 0 
11001100101110110 1100101110110 110010111011 0 
01001 1001 1001000
11001100101110110 1100101110110 110010111011 0 
11001100101110110 1100101110110 110010111011 0


11001100101110110 1100101110110 110010111011 0 
11001100101110110 1100101110110 110010111011 0
01001 1001 1001000
11001100101110110 1100101110110 110010111011 0 
11001100101110110 1100101110110 110010111011 0 
01001 1001 1001000
11001100101110110 1100101110110 110010111011 0 
11001100101110110 1100101110110 110010111011 0

00-





Rogel Mom experienced an uncontrolled palpebration in his right eye
he felt every angle of the cipher perforating his ocular balls like thin wires or cables of alpha bronze to the photosensitive ganglion cell

(apparently the cipher was an exact replica of that used by Ramón y Cajal to hypnotize his wife to fuck her tits, in times when that practice was strictly forbidden in rural catholic matriarchates)


as the hysterical blinking reached his left eye, the gaunt and strangely orange lips of Rogel Mom became suddenly angular and "V"-esque, as if they were sinking even more into his face, giving the Mom's upper lip and mandible an appearance which reminded slightly of certain individuals affected with cretinism.

Despite the cold temperature of the month, rivers of brilliant and abnormally copious sweat emanated from his forehead and head, sweat that was deviated by his thick eyebrows toward his temples, running down his cheekbones to the neck and finally chest, soaking the blue shirt.


And we certainly saw how, aggravated by his concomitant strabismus, the Rogel Mom's eyelids started flowing with an almost imperceptibly lactic fluid, which surged undiminished through the abysms of his lachrymal ducts, forming a strange line on his vitreous eyeballs equators, often seen in the loathsome ocular globes of the batrachia

on the yellow screen, the binary cipher disappeared, substituted in the act by an alarming notice in big and red letters

<<Enter Rogel Mom>>


Idiotized, Mom observed the pantalla, which now looked like a suggestive cathode-ray tubedoor calling from beyond



<<Enter Rogel Mom>>

<<Enter Rogel Mom>>

<<Enter Rogel Mom>>



The order written on the yolk screen was as intriguing as brutal: 
the hard disk vibrations pulsated as one with the Rogel Mom's jugular




<<ENTER, ROGEL MOM>>



Urged by the ineludible, imperious and rather than imperious, official obligation that the block bold letters represent, Rogel Mom, in brainless or maybe wise decision, punched the "enter" key with desperate ecstasy with his hairy, plump and sweaty right hand, relieved like someone whose orgasm makes him release a massive cumshot after a long and interrupted climax.


It was 8:00:00:00 AM, on the trees of carbon, the dwarfed seagulls scandalized the concavous town with monstrous yells emitted by their nonhuman eyes.































When Rogel Mom woke up, the night was over his head

he was on a void prairie of night where everything is always far and away



Late realized Mom, intubated into this other reality Mom, into this Hell without a Devil

and he was on a voïd praïrie of nïght, and over the extension of the sky, a blurry white elevator of glassgold, a throne full of kilohertz


but late, late realized Mom, channelized into this abandoned Hell


the worst Hell of them all, a box of Swedenborg where the Lucifer is so indifferent that he's not even present



a not occupied Inferno without torture, containing no matter, empty



embed, implanted into this reality Mom, without knowing what it is, or how he arrived here?







Because we saw Rogel Mom
passing by these oblong corridors of ours 
we saw him.