Riding my nightmare: re-animation

"... Be wise, be truthful, strain the wine, and scale back your long hopes to a short period, because... while we speak, the envious time will have already fled: so take advantage of this day, trusting as little as possible in the next one."          (Horace, "Odes")

As of late I considered with certain serenity that the end is unavoidable
the end.

That "memento mori" of the servant pronounced constantly in the ear of the victorious Roman general came to my mind insistently since my adolescence

what is this? What does remain?

Please don't cremate me, I want to stand in entire bones, hard and repellent forever.
Defiant and grotesque, a comedian skeleton; horrible.

I know it's irrelevant what they do with our body, I know, I know, the dead don't give a fuck, but still... don't cremate me.
And I also know that the death of oneself is something too epic, strange and baroque for oneself, to not arouse curious conjectures about diverse case scenarios, and delirious envisionings, a priori.

The wish of living forever seems to represent something sick, absurd and selfish for certain minds, but... isn't the fact of dying forever even more sick, immoderate and unreasonable?

Because, after all, we know that the nature is not governed by reason, but we are, so how comes this subtly ridiculous incongruency to co-exist?































... I couldn't say where I am
a while -or a million years- ago I was laid on a bed, all covered in sweat, with the anguish as blanket:
I think I could see the ceiling of my room as the last image my eyes obtained and my brain rationalized, right before getting embraced by the vortex:


like a pangolin swallowed by the swirling river Ganges during the Monsoon, my cognitive sense experienced a physical feeling of fall, as the notions processed by my ego became completely incomprehensible and senseless, getting my rational abilities neutralized in confusedness, situation that seemed to excite the activity of another part of my psyche, which was called id in the Freudian model.

At first the situation involved a set of mirrors, geometrically settled around my free fall, like the tubular walls of a pipeline reflecting the vertigo of my own crepuscular precipitation into something that seemed to be an extremely narrow and interminably long abysm:

In a diffuse cerebral spasm I noted -or I thought I noted- my logical and analytical capacities getting more and more blocked and gone... anesthetized? While the irrational part of my mind started taking total possession, trying to understand the unlogical images of the universe in which I was deposited.

Deposited?:

The milky white quartz light emitted by the ovoid mirrors in my fall exploded suddenly into a furious blue and blinding luminosity, as I reached soil, in an inexplicably sof landing, considering the atrocious speed of my descent:

the soil was sandy and white, and everything was bathed by an excessive celestial bright... I seemed to remember that on the Earth, that color was known as "aqua", or "azure":

the last sensation I felt before losing consciousness was the warm sand under my bare soles: I saw myself falling on the white dunes, when my brain entered a complete blackout.















The next sequence recorded by my brain found me awakening -as if from sleep-, surrounded by unidentified screeching creatures or alimañas:

I heard a noise coming from somewhere behind, like a heavy metallic door opened; I turned my back to see:

in front of my eyes appeared one of the most horrid and appaling images that my brain can remember:
the dead body of my mother was hanging from a twisted tree... a scream escaped from my throat as I came closer to the corpse

her bodily structure was normal, but her head was small and deformed, like the head of a little doll with a long crooked nose and angular cheekbones


full of horror I ran away terrified from that repugnant place:

because among the apple trees that infested that terrible place I ran under the unreal yellow light, which seemed to come from a rachitic plastic sun, while an amorous voice repeated in my ears "don't look back, my son, run, don't look back"... in my run I felt an insuperable nausea and fell on the dry terrain, vomiting an uncontrollable river of thick and orange liquid

and I cried at that yellow twilight, although I never cry, and it was like the twilights of my days on the Earth, and a strong smell of camphor and naphtalene inundated that blond country, like the smell of the mothballs

and I cried in that garden (shouldn't I?) Because my mind was confused and replete of consternation for 1000 different things that never would return.










Still fallen with my knees on the irregular ground I sensed the light turning to brown

my eyes, inundated and devastated by the tears, got vertically enlarged like two ogival windows to behold the peculiar scene that started getting enthroned above:

sat on his pestilent throne, like Saturn against the marrons glacés of the Sicilian horizon, a fuscous and exalted figure presided the moment, illuminated by the sienna wavelength of the perpetual evening

his horned head looked like the brown leather, and his face was like the face of a child

multitude of vermin that shine in the darkness, also known as noctulicae, flew around the bronze royal chair, producing an unberable hum, and germinating constantly around their master in act of worship, like green flies around a putrid cheese:

every now and again the seated personage opened his infantile mouth, and stretching a viperine, white and sticky tongue, caught some phosphorescent noctilucae in flight and devoured them, making a crunching sound.
And diminutive scarabs seemed to come to life from the roots of his toenails.


Then I think I saw two blazons around this animal's throne, and the blazons had thinking of man:

to the left: "The days of your vanity"

to the right: "Sic transit gloria mundi"


astonied and sickened, I noted, at last, that his snowy chest suppurated milk of human mother and honey of lechiguana, and it had an engraved epigraph carved in the flesh:

"The day that never came"


a sudden, unclear and extremely powerful feel of deja vu came to my mind, as I watched to the sky, and the sky was the inner and lustrous surface of the coffin:

I know I saw my own mouth getting opened in a long, loud and piercing cry that crossed the inverted astral elements, emerging from my inexpugnable prison, one second before my brain got absolutely blank.






























The first thing I heard was the buzz of the pigeons: 
mentally obnubilated I stretched my head, it was 7:35 in the morning

slowly my cognitive senses were recovering space and order in my brain

my dactylar perception recognized the surface of my bed, as my eyes started intentionally closed
desperately closed.

Closed to a world in which I still could be looking for today but... for how long?