Sequencing dream and demographic absorption of the last Emperor of China

Submersed in dark cogitations the Son of the Sky is, reclined on a red and yellow taburete, in the middle of the Hall of Supreme Harmony, one of his bedchambers in Forbidden City:

the walls of palace are made of wood, excellent remedy for the glacial winters of Peking, luxury in the wood, and it shines at the red of the glowing bonfire where eyeless sparrows are roasted in soy sauce.

Although he is six years old, he is not a child, but a monstrosity called The Lord of the 1.000 Years

never could be a child
because he was treated like a god by eunuchs and foreigner servants come from the limits of the Empire, with their un-Chinese faces, in white habitations full of rareness:

the revolution triumphs while the Son of the Sky is reclined
the republic is enthroned while The Lord of the 1.000 Years ruminates

what does he ruminate?

His father-regent is a ghost.
the republican sons breastfed at the flames of the teat of Sun Yat-Sen are ghosts

only the Emperor is real

he is real, and his eunuchs, slaves and teachers to the Son of the Sky

in nights where the eau de cologne runs at the speed of Plaza Constitución.


The republic was brought from the sky, too, celestial and serene
and witnessed by 800 yellow eyes: the 400 Wise Men of the Conciliabule... meanwhile:

the Son of the Sky is still Emperor, by bureaucratic republican edict he cannot be touched, but he doesn't reign, he's just a figurine full of dignity: 
the Chinese Republic allowed him to live on the northern and depopulated zones of Forbidden City, where Chinese dogs dance:

in the nights, late, among semi-rural beasts, the Emperor child goes out to walk through the streets of his country the Chinese Republic.































Years or minutes later the Emperor wakes up into another dream

he is 11 years old, 1917: 
a general whose name gets forgotten in his oneiric vision crushes the republic under his boot and seats him on the throne again

the 400 Wise Men are strangled with their own tongues

2 weeks later the republicans assault Forbidden City and expulse the Son of the Sky:

in his escape, The Lord of the 1.000 Years roams crying at the gates of the Temples of the Earth, Sun and Moon, as he falls asleep

again

the sleep.



The Manchurian sequence of his dream shows him all dressed in an orange gown finely crafted with astral motifs, like the dragón furente

the Manchurian sequence of his dream shows him monarch of the province, under the solar protection of the Empire of Japan:

Amaterasu, goddess of the siriasis and the fast ardors, she would protect his head in the nights of his heliomaniacal sleep

which is this dream.


And under the trigonometrical ceiling of his fictitious palace
which is higher than the evaporated milk on the lotus at noon
and is nigh to the 12 domiciles of the Chinese zodiac
riding his nightmare The Lord of the 1.000 Years is 
seen by himself, through the transparent Belt of Orion


and is not his mirror of illusion -at the age of his quinquennia- yet a physical midheaven?

and is not the Emperor -already- like a man who dreams of serpents?


The return of Mao was supernal, too, in my opinion it was guided by seraphim
because he was on the Earth millennia before he was re-incarnato:  

furious, Chairman Mao degrades the Emperor, sends him to jail, and then exonerates him, and condemns him to live like another Chinese citizen, working for the State under salary.

This is when the last Emperor of China becomes a functionary in a public office

because this is when the Son of the Sky is absorbed by the crowd on the streets of Peking

all dressed in green, shaven his Communist nucha, governmental, administrative, subsectionalist.