Putrefactive heptameron Nº 7

"The tall nights of Casandra"

All her men were spiritual prostis:

Casandra reached climaxes barking at her own womb wombat in-to the hauling moonobservatory while she was trifucked by the Regimiento Granaderos a Caballo Gral. San Martín

then, like an elevated she-horse, she was lifted on a silvery platform in nights of candilejas, and celebrated til the dawn, in inflated entrail and tanga white crocheted tanga.

Strangely, only her slim calves were illuminated by the spot-on, light which seemed to come bifurcated and argentine from an open, ancestral and unfathomable abyss-floor.

Those orgies were backed by an-always melancholic and decadent set of melodies, mostly Nino Rota soundtracks

at times, when the groove of the LP's kept grooving on their own scratched surface, repeating the tremendous sequence over and over again, the green and orange lamps started blinking:

Casandra didn't know a-thing, she just danced to a stroboscopia whose smell brought to mind the Mantecol in the torrid days of Diciembre, melting slowly at the heat of the English vibraphone <<In Stereo>>.

Later, when the amount of fastidious years was enough or sufficient, Casandra traveled to Entre Rios, fed up of the human race, of God, of Heeven and of Heal

she voyaged reclined on a grotesque cart, smoking fat cigars, letting her beard grow, watching sepia movies on super-8

her wounds were licked by the Lamia terriblesa
her cart was scorted by a troupe of German dwarves and leopards in leotard
every dusty town visited by her eyes was fulminated
and she taught the metier of the infanticide to every mother at the Bolivian provinces:

once her phase on the pulverized Meseta came to its natural end, in 19,398, Casandra journeyed to the Benelux

in galley, drinking the tepid té de miel, reading feminist pamphlets for the fury of the eye:

this is when the tall nights of Casandra were relocated in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean

among the mice of Zeus

in a sea full of rain

and retinae, and bee-witches, and diente de león, and daughters, and conchas, and Chico Carlo, and comino.


They say that the succulence of those nights saw her legs getting longer and whiter, until the ocean bowl could not contain them anymore, legs whose length reached the Moon and back again.



In a sea full of rain.