Che Pibe at the lands of Pescado Rabioso

Who could say, or opine, how Che Pibe has fallen on the land of Pescado Rabioso?

No one in his sane judgement.

Because the arrival of Che Pibe to this país is wrapped in the aura of the conjecture.

And Che Pibe walks amazed, along with his dog "Casajús" he walks, picking bones of prunella modularis for his noon's soup, wondering how he slid from his warm bedroom of Plaza Miserere into this barren rural district full of periscopes:

it seems to be a cold terre, but in fact it's just lunar, tarada.

Myriad of peeled trees are there, aside, like a wife of 1950, and multitude of things that simulate or pretend to be funguses

mushroom-like creatures lit by the angel of the poor ones:

during some seconds, a flock of stationary gallinaceans cross the sky like round Learjets.



Strawberries? Guindas?
No, you won't find them here, just the mystic Percobarocho, legendary vegetable whose heart is jade and gelid fritanga, related to the churros and the vigilantes de panadería.


And then, in the middle of that strange haze, Pesado Rabioso himself appears flying, moving his antennae and his body of spermatozoid to salute and welcome Che Pibe

Che Pibe looks at him, unimpressed, impertérrito... because: what is this but a dream?



And so, swaying his viscous hips, Pescado Rabioso invites Che Pibe to visit his vast dominions, leading him like the curator of an exposition through the fat oxygen of the night:


from the ruins, your eyes see them passing by under a tired moon, while your retinae record the pink torrent running toward Le Touquet... because: what is this but your dream?