Under the Milky Way

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In this corner of Europe

the gyration of the planet is tuned to a lonely night, in my opinion, as the Alien Priestesses are returned over their path of dust and gasoil
the sun liquefies both substances in the air, atmospheric chemistry which keeps their lips inflated and dry: they're in town again, and the town starts getting slowly encircled into a mist that looks like a steamy summer conch, from the aerial distance: I think that the image is sad.


On the other side of the World, the noon of Indo-China surely burns at the sight of their demons-pagoda, residual fables of ancient satanism and the astrological legends of the firmament...all this looks like absurd, yeah? Although it does have a reason, a why, it's real, and it happens in "real time", like a nightmare. Like a dream
or worse yet: like one of your old dreams, old dreams never die, if they made us cry, one day, they cannot really die, 'cause they were genuine.


Possibly tomorrow in the morning, the light of the street will be a curtain of rain, to wash the scars of our mind away...later, all the vipers and panthers of the city will dance to celebrate, because the diluvium stopped.
Then, into their tubular temple of blue steel, the hyenas are gonna cry and laugh for Apollyon Sun, the sun, unimaginative Black Lord, sordid master of ancient rituals for the aboriginals of the zone, and they cry because the sun doesn't exist for them, but they know him.


See now, Venus, the muscular, she is huge and satellites too close to the Earth, its sphere will end looking like the Moon over warm seas, everything is like screams, everything is red
red, like Goya in Russia.


Later, a hog will pass by, walking his human, the Xanas will scream under the Milky Way before the interminable evening fall, copulating furiously with the wild beasts, their hairs will be in flames.
Right before the night take its toll on the Ocean Boulevard, the national road to Madrid should be crowded (I almost say crowned) by nymphs masturbating their elastic vulvas, everything's gonna be chaos to be heard from the Moon and from other Astral Houses, to re-acquire its silent order again, like the calm after a storm
for the Extra Terrestrial Intelligence all this is madness: do they exist?


Suddenly a silence:


It started raining. Now, not tomorrow, people walk down the streets of the town, shuffling their feet like ghosts, now, not tomorrow, the seagulls start freaking out as the scars of my mind get sedated.
I hope.


If only could do all over again, I would do it all differently, all, every little thing, except one thing.

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