Séptima Estrella

Last day of the World for the Mayan calendar and I go out to the street: the city is taken by force.

A humanoid that no-one knows is standing tall and white in the middle of the traffic, like a futuristic menhir

his sleeves of black tulle are pure magic
his cape of black tulle transports the Seventh Star, la Séptima Estrella
his beard is rural, long and white, like tallarines Matarazzo

Is He the God or an old man? The transparent crowd stays in silence and doesn't know it

the city looks ampler than it used to be, its aspect seems to have changed: the asphalt is cuadrillé, the edifices are Grecian, a bit

in the names of all the Hells what is this.

A Stymphalian Bird announces the horrible evening, his wings of iron disseminate an appalling odor, that smells like putrid margarine and heavy metals: its voice is like the voice of an old woman

the morning after, its repugnant song will salute the sunrise, instead of the seagulls.

Animalized and raudo twilight in my city: the air is silicified
a white car passes by a lateral lane, fat and veloce like a Grimoldi shoe thrown at a cockroach

the town looks deserted now, in their horror everybody ran for cover, astonished, as if Iron Man were fighting an inter-galactic villain, the crowd starts thinking that the old man is a robot

his eyes look red and lucifugous now
there is something exaggeratedly bad in his eyeballs, that shine like miel.

I observe minutely his movements and aspect
his cuticles are excessively neat
his cavernous voice seems to come from the cosmos
from the cosma
his open mouth throws boulettes de viande at every phrase: the whole scenario is horror and paparrucha.


Miraculously satanic, as the hours go by, and the afternoon should turn into night, the sun shines higher, bathing the white walls whitewashed in Duperial paint at 11:45 PM, and we are winter.


Winter I say? HAHA! WINTER!: The infernal ocular globes of the old bearded humanoid turn December into abrasive summer, with warm continental waves coming from Morocco, land of the intestine eaters.

A scumbag passes by eating an alfajor Triple Fantoche, in bermudas:
the old humanoid sees him and drives him insane by means of tubular ray thrown by the corner of his eye direct to his neuronal system


sensors in my mind indicate that the end has come, or should come, notwithstanding the night is sunny and the sky is blue and inflated

the prophecy of Jorge Pinchevsky talks about the five Riders of Gore, who are human not

their eyes are mellifluous, like bifidus yogurt
and unnatural, like tergopol.
but
are they gonna bring the Armageddon on the city?
but
are they gonna hurry the judgement day on Earth through dark Macumbas?

Eh?

Eh?