First it is the inalcanvel height of the millenarian door – it is entered this way. Later envolto in dust, a dance without principles is the torpor pushed by sun beams for inside of the house. an overwhelming feeling of immortality finishes to ruir. In some private place, between cloudy foam and atavic aromas, the battle. Suddenly I am taken by the impulse of a stranger responsibility.
Tranquilo, awaken volcanos and drawing strategies. I prevent any heroic franqueza and I search in the memory some shortcut for the way of mutant cmodos. The immense white fogueira illuminates the end of the corridor. Horrendos shouts of the field trespassam the fine walls. I open the door.
To clink of swords and spears scattering blood under a esverdeado brightness of intangible past. I assume the remaining sadnesses and I leave each pore to overflow a frozen river. Three smoke spirals indicate the shipwreck of the mansion. The river runs quickly and raises curtains that disclose halls of immense a masked one. I grasp it a flexible twig and am launched to the placid water hidding place where the Boat of the Trees rests. Necessary to go up on board. I circulate between monkeys for the floating platforms of the deck. My eyes if lose in the height of the colorful pantries and instantaneous interlocutors confuse my amnesia. In the cabin of a great hollow trunk, meeting the serpent around of the helm. To my definitive doubt, it presents the way of the bilge. Indifference without face. Penumbra and emptiness. The openings transpiram the brightness orange of archotes. In my ears arde the ritual moan of the very devout women. They cry the children deceased. I cry the esquecimento, the lost ways. The serpent if enrosca in the railing of the stairs, absorbing everything with its bipartite language. I lose the soil, I am swallowed by the whirlwind nonsense. The shout of the very devout women I cry, it asfixiado of very small corpses. The Boat retakes its course, already inalcanvel for me. Inalcanvel as millenia kept in a castle, under the balcony, between the rags. Under the sound of the eastern flutes, I float indefinitely. Beach of the Mutations – I lie down in the sand morna, divine. I aim the ocean, now petrified. Swimming pools of light and gigantic columns metallic they dive in the marble to create as a universe – the reestablished world. Drag my tentculos wounded until the cold rock. I observe all these you buzz made blue while I wait under semiluz of the terminal. Electronic voices, public utilities. how many monsters leaving its caves, earning the Universe to try a useless rescue of any impossibility? Apanho the train. The wagon is crowded – all wait anxiously what they believe to be a great surprise. It is in such a way that the things walk well. A last incursion to the old house. I visit the ruins of the old shed of tralhas, now incrivelmente empty. My feet esbarram in some untied board of the wooden floor and already I do not remember if I look for something. The wind if amuses with the creaked one of the door while I leave everything stops backwards.
