In the new year's day January 1 of the infra-red year the serpent slides its milky body on the salt
-in the new year's day January 1 of the infra-red year.
The lilacs of the valley behold it traveling on the wetted saline road, as its philo-transparent torso leaves a seminal patina on the mineral aridity:
Serpent travels on the salt, no-one disturbs it, not even dares, she king of the queen snakes, bi-sexed, amorphous beast, its albino-like horns seem to appear from its triangular mouth, as a crimson tongue contrast on the insulting whiteness of everything around inkluding
Serpent travels on the salt -in the tepid day January 1 of the infra-blue year:
From a petulant distance, or prudent, the barbate sons of the men complain about the goodness and observe how
Serpent travels on the salt -viscous and lacteal, with its visceral angles perfectly delineated through its philo-philo-philo-philo-philo-philo-philo-artificial skin whose venous knots seem to be seen in all its pale-pink splendor at the puke-inducing sunlight of Maharis.
Because -in the new year's day January 1 of the infra-red year.
Serpent travels on the salt, full of maldad his/her eyes fascinate everything, like a darn sausage of cum exposed to the four winds bar:
irrational in its ophidian wisdom of centuries, Serpens, he/she starts whispering a sibilant phrase which is brought by the breeze beyond the plantations of garlic
and beyond
beyond.... beyond the mountains of straw and butter
and yet beyond the wooden houses fulminated by the paludism:
"Already wake up baby, mount on the lightning
and so you'll see how good and sweet making love is
Already wake up on the lightning..... "
Serpent travels on the salt, in the second day of a new year, January 2 of the year of the mollusca invaders from outer space, who descend on the magnetized Earth like deformed lords of the galaxial barbarity as they observe
Serpent travels on the salt
at the torrid afternoon
-in the new year's day January 1 of the infra-red year.
A penultimate obstacle for the athlete.
Just a coda to this dream of ashes, to this coincidental point between devotion and frost.
Her name was Anhedonia, she walked through the elevational city, everything was new beyond that ocean, every taxi seemed to scream her name. Out
... and still she waited for the night to come.
And come
and come...
Her hands were percale shining among the footlights:
one night in the city
one night looking pretty
and the city looked at her, but the city... what's a city, but a melody emitted by the billboards?
Cities cannot love
and still she waited for the night to come.
And come
and come
and come...
The most beautiful man in the world
that, the one with the sweetest, most mysterious voice
the envy of us all, the other men
the most beautiful man in the world:
she smacked the fruity-bitter nectar
she felt the fleshy and swirling cramps
and then [yeah, and then, just then]
one by one she shattered the footlights
hurling bricks at them
like a maddened she-cat
one night in the city
one night looking pretty
and the city looked at her, but the city... what's a city, but a melody emitted by the crashed glasses?
Cities cannot cry.
Yo no sé que pasó
creo que entonces la noche llegó
[sobre su regazo, sí, sobre su pelo, su vida]
quizás amanezca algún otro día
en el cielo de New York....
o a la vuelta de tu esquina.
and still she waited for the night to come.
And come
and come
[and come].
Tango dans le ciel du New York.
So turned out to be that one afternoon Herakles (also called Hercules) lost his mind due to certain trifle or fingle-fangle, and assassinated his wife and all his sons.
The gods seated at Olympiall habitation, like divine robots monitoring the human theatre -as it always happens- they witnessed this atrocious event with telescope, and commented unfavorable things each other in the ear.
Zeus was especially indignant, as Herakles was his own son, "And a hero" -he said- "A hero.... shouldn't lose his temper in such a funest way"
Ares observed astonished
Aphrodite pulled a face, and fixed her right strap on her shoulder
Hera lamented and pontificated:
the eyes of the world were looking at Hercules, with retinas set on his homicidal hands, because -as it always happens- when the hero errs, all the spotlights fall on his head
and Luzbel-Lucifero, eternal god who always does what he wants to do, he observed Hercules in his obnubilated insanity, and Luzbel was hidden behind the garlics.
Zeus, supreme ruler, instructor of kings and pedagogue of men, he sents the Harpies to tantalize the flawed paladin, idoneous punishment for the crime:
the winged female monsters scratch Hercules in his sleep with their plumbean talons and defecate on his aliments
and Luzbel-Satana, lawyer of the life and mentor of the humans, he feels mercy for the hero and frightens the Harpies off, intimidating them with whistles and obscenities.
After enduring the divine justice, Hercules purifies his body at the feet of priest-king Thespius, who washes the head and fingers of the hero with oxygenated water.... so, after the rite, the paladin marches with his peroxided hair toward the court of king Eurystheus, to serve him, in order to comply with the human justice, as the digital infallible oracle dictated, and Luzbel-Diablo goes with him, like an invisible guardian angel all dressed in black wool and clemency.
Once arrived in the country of Eurystheus, the king receives Herakles with severe hospitality, and serves banquet at his halls for the son of Zeus -now his temporary servant-:
around the regious table, the hero restores his energy with greasy red meats and sweet liqueurs, while the barbate monarch indicates him the twelve labours to be carried out:
Herakles nods his head and assents to every thing the king commands, and Luzbel-Demon assents with him, transparent like the dawn
and the demonic glutei are seated on one of the chairs around the kingly adorned table, and no-one sees anything there, but an empty chair
and Lucifer-brother assents to the every word, red like a glans in erection.
The story narrates how Herakles served king Eurystheus, for months, maybe years, bearing his sentence, executing every labour as the labours dictated were, and the labours were extremely risky and brutal
and Luzbel-Belzebub helped him when the task was too heavy for his human shoulders, and healed every wound of the paladin during his sleep, and guarded him from wolves and from the Lamia during the dead dormant hours.
But the story also relates how, after these brown years, one day Herakles died
the story is somehow implausible -this sometimes happens- and the paladin enters his agony after a poisoned tunic touches his body, tearing and melting his flesh like acid
and Lucifero-Luzbel was with him, observing the dying hero with soft stare
(resignation, Lucifer means resignation, this is a figurative wording, like this tale: why are you taking it so seriously?)
but despite Luzbel-Lucifero is an eternal god who always does what he wants to do, he cannot control time or human will or any consequence derived from it.
Unseeable like the air, Satan lit the pyre to burn the wounded hero and his exposed bones:
the evening was red, like a glans in erection when the flames ascended in combustion embracing the already inert paladin.
There are skies always blue beyond the ocean they say, blue like the cell-ophane
when it is blue, of course, otherwise it would be orange or matute
blue like the pulsatile hand of the criminal on the dark corner of 7 PM in winter.
And see: I used to tend to believe that skies always blue lived on TV, really
under the guise of an artificial and astral kurrtain they lived
astral kurrtain which is kalled skies always blue, and lived on TV
I used to tend to believe this, see.
In my envisioning, skies always blue represent "a something else" besides the mere chromatic effect that it operates on the hallucinated retina of the casual walker:
skies always blue represent a promise.
A magic that heals all the pains: past, present and future.
A yes, two yeses, three yeses, four yeses.
My unconditional commitment and dedication.
There are skies always blue beyond the ocean they say, blue like the indigo electricity of the.
Skies always blue.
