Efabulations of a junky

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Now,
let's imagine, there, beyond the fallen walls, dog owners paying
attention to this message while you are at your work, playing with
machinery, and they and them, with open umbrellas, taking pictures of
our soul, flesh and bones. One two one two. Reality. The plot is
loose, but let's try to get somewhere. Let's get ready for the maze.
Even if you just came your saliva is pure and you do not have to
worry about what you don't want to say, you will release it sooner or
later. Yes, it's all about you now, not me, let's pretend. An
agreement.

***

***

Yes,
yes, I think that I think, and you think that I think. I think that
you think. It's all an illusion. We all thinking about this and that.
More precisely, thinking about uncountable plans to deceive the
world. Then I take some more bold puffs on the thing and throw it
away. Again, I do not know who am I. I do not want to know who is me.
The thing is, I may need a guide, or rather a guide with breasts,
doesn't matter the size. Someone with a spooky sense of humour, that
is, a fugitive still able to make calculations... Someone that likes
to dance when it comes to filthy scenes... Yes, let me love the down
side of life, let me dream with mud and poppy fields, please.

***

Arriving
at this point, I have already sold almost everything, yet I still
have this bottle of wine and a this queer horn. A confidence. Once
they told me that my grandfather was called \u201cthe beautiful one\u201d.
Although he died in a motorcycle accident. Front wheel against front
wheel. Night time. Both drunk. Both with no light in motorcycles.
That is, when one starts proclaiming things like this, one must be
lucky so not to erase the coat... With the rumours that go around in
times like this, even the beasts may be found huddling against the
wall, frightened by their own disproportionate shadow and unknown
instincts.

***

But
my cynicism, apparently, is shallow, because actually I believe that
the system is one and there are no flaws. All actions are perfect and
if God is macabre, we are the cubic root of the desire. Whether by
acts, or by words or by advertising symbols. Therefore, the crisis
exists because man can not live only from dreams, we must have some
truth... And yes, we may need the delirious in order to transcend the
duality of things, but also, I advise you, do not stay too much time
in the middle ground, that may bring you some misunderstandings, you
may end up being bait for moss-troopers, they may kidnap you and take
you to the court house in order to exploit all your suppressed
feelings.

***

You
may say, sometimes I feel so full of all this shit. You have escaped
so much times. Now you know, disappear to where? They say that
everywhere is the same and that is kinda true, but not totally.
People's problems are kinda the same, also. In fact, people create
problems in order to entertain themselves solving those same
problems. Well, my problem, your problem, I noticed, is to put the
feet by the hands when it comes to selling the fish... We can say,
once drugged, drugged for life...Yes, Dona Antonia may say, the world
has just become a huge open-air waste land filled with burnt sand,
shards and enigmatic worms, wandering along the valves of shaggy
hearts atrophied by the lunar impatience and eagerness for midea
protagonism...

***

We
all swirling over a thorny and mouldy ground, ejaculating
anachronistic fluids in various directions and senses... Fluids that
can corrupt both the sacred will of understanding and the very bones
of the office... but it will be nothing... relax... be calm... as
they sing you may dance... we may continue with the little theater...
no need to force it coz, the built-in radiant radiator of this hidden
phone call will take care of absorbing only the necessary to do the
potentialization of our fortune and love. Have people always been
forced to wait? Is that why they invented tobacco? Well... I'm
starting to get fed up with monologues, so it's best to try to
communicate seriously...

***

So
I approach some of these people and try to get into conversations. I
begin by asking things like "who are you"; "Where are
you from"; "where are you going"; "what brings
you here," The answers I get are ambiguous, some even obtuse,
others more mundane. The thing is. We all distrust everyone.
Brotherhood is just pretension. We all distrust everything. We all
atrophied by the idea of having a future. All bogged down in a blue
virtual world. Walking the dogs around the lake, eating narcotic
goodies on the way. All suffering of an hypothetical crisis. And
the mountain that already gave birth to I don't know how many rats
and other clichés...

***

Therefor,
what lays beyond this genetic tree, what is beyond this synthetic
body, what is beyond this avenue, which is beyond this toponymy,
which is beyond this equidistant sky full of fearful mathematical
equations, crazy bitches and promiscuous radiations\u2026 you can take
advantage of all that bustle... already jumping into the avenue where
these machines are standing in a row with the engines in slow motion,
we may watch the drivers and they may watch us, maybe thinking you
came to clean the windscreen, but no, I came to fuck you, I came to
delete your meaning, I came sniff your petrol. Shut up and go away
from my sight! Who said that?

***

Now
think about of all these trees that grow old and drop their foliage
and fruit on abandoned benches, and the souls that drift about in
search of someone to massage their ankles. I close my eyes, my lady,
soon you will see the panic becoming mint... you know that the navel
saves, we are matter, the ventricle is an atomic bomb, we are doomed
to give and to receive... the love for the illusion is like this, an
orange grove where the deaf-mutes may meet. And these benedictine
synthetic flowers that shade the unprecedented intelligence of the
bewildered epicurean and sleepwalker, all because of extracurricular
meditations and studies...

***

Anyway,
now the archetypal smile of the poet is of no use. No matter how many
mountains you've already conquered or how many inhospitable valleys
you've already crossed. No matter how many bitches you've already
trapped or how many mosquitoes you've already idolized, the purple
light is always here, absorbing the meaning of everything. The
universe never satisfies itself... what we may see is people eating
mandalas in the morning, people playing with their machinery after
lunch, people investing their lives on probability games in order to
keep alive the flame of seduction and despair. And without knowing
how, they put us in this ghost train, they give us a little book with
the rights and duties, and we have to sort it out.

***

And
although the smell of hope, we may come to the conclusion that words
are a bunch of abstractions, a grammatical nest for spiteful rattle
snakes giving birth to an extent number of poisoned toads already
falling down over thorny cliffs, their mucus spilling through the
rocks of abstention, material and non-material memories of
realization. Those first few seconds of rational decentralization in
which a person still does not know who is what or what is who. But I
no longer want this conversation about the abyss, at least today. So
once inside the bus, I pick up a ragged newspaper from an empty seat
and start to read about the wedding of Oceanus and Tetis. I open the
window and the smell of resin refreshes my mind. I decide to take off
my clothes to better appreciate all this...

***

Once
naked I roll over the gorse and try suck the granite stones, after I
get up and go back to the black desert by the same door from which it
you left. I go back to visit friends of friends. I'm now attempting
to re-conciliate with the family of my double, I want no more
resentment. So this is the preamble. Lets forget the abstractions of
the blood momentarily. One two three. The plot is loose. Lets ask the
name of the dog. Show me your garbage, and I'll tell you who you are.
Lets have a picnic. Lets talk about the truth. Lets have some fun
offering our cargo to the passers byes. The time the time the time.
No more waiting. No more promises. Throw the ashes of the past on the
carpet and roll it over. For the world don't need to be explained.
There is a sun that never sets and the voice inside the cash machine
will make you think about eternity.

***

Ok,
we open our mouths and the acid rain comes in. We close our eyes and
there is carcasses to lose sight of. The man's job is to help the
machine stay healthy and productive. All this is no more than a long
journey through the plateaus of corporate alienation. So, in the
morning a hunter from the government may come by the boy's side and
touches him with the barrel. But the boy does not want to wake up, he
wants to keep dreaming about that bewildering woman, not realizing
why is she is so worried. More all the stars falling over both of us
now. Our bodies preparing to levitate. The seer master already
enlisted in the salvation army. The gypsies are back to the
encampment. Their snakes are more swollen than ever. A brand new
world is being announced on the news. All the arrangements are being
made, you do not have to worry about anything.

***

And
we still here, still stunned by the all inexpressible facts of real
things. By the breeze conceived, by the spectre moulded, by reason
dumbfounded, by vanity freed, we go without direction towards several
new worlds and zones, we get acquainted with other beings, in
everything similar to our own, yet we are always different, sometimes
indifferent. We experimented with several unifying and malicious
drugs, took our caprices to the bottom of the sea and in other
galaxies we picked the berries where the bureaucrat did not arrive.
Pleasures assimilated, we vomited now a pain that was not ours, we
return the poison to a land that created us with honey and fantasy.
Even if the fire had plowed on the memories, the ash will be carried
by the wind, and the seeds will settle in the most inhospitable
valleys. Bizarre flowers will grow coupled with ultra dramatic
nuclear machinery. And we will follow, on the road, without beliefs
or law, crossing gaps that were not supposed to be there, knocking
down false walls, mocking about new and old dogmas, pushing heaven
out of our way. Further. Further. Inside your veins.

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