Wednesday, April 05, 2006


It is a crazy intermingling of beings, winged devils and rams, fallen angels, big dogs, dragons, mutilated animals and chimeras dancing an interminable bacchanal of impinging music.
The Procession runs inside. Inside the body that is. Within a lace of tissues and organs that make up the landscape. The skull is up there with its million orifices. Tiny bones connect tissues and vertebrae with its enchanted osteoporosis forests. There lie the lungs sad and black after all those years of smoking. The heart, connected beautifully to thousands of veins red and blue runs in a hurry up and down, low and behold. A thoracic cavity is an estranged cave where sadness finds a home and anxiety hides at the wee hours of the morning. Eventually misery and desperation come and find seats in this auditorium as well.

Very low under the fatty seeds of the belly where lots of tiny creatures coexist in a regime of oxymoron and entropy, lies the seat of the reproductive organs. These work mainly at night, but sometimes during the day hurling a party for euphoria and lust coupled with language that drops directly from the brainy tissue up in the hinterlands. Resentment finds itself harbored between the knees or at the tip of the ankles, in ball shaped lactic formations like stalagmites or some other untenable prophecies.

At the end of the procession stands a mix of sheep and oyster. The sheep's head greets everyone at the entrance. The body is a clay oyster finely crafted, with a clitoral inside, its small booted legs hanging in front acting as a carriage.
Quite a site.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006



Red and orange brick buildings have remained erect in the city’s quarters.
The land has been moved recently.
I mean it is all landfill. Debris of all kinds of earthquakes and battles. A big pay loader keeps removing the soil where remains of corpses, hundreds of dead bodies are being tossed, like salad… (soil salad).
There is a big rush and we are all running through the streets dirty and wet with mud trampling over arms, heads and legs.
“The soldiers”, they yell “the American soldiers are coming!!” and we all run panic stricken…. Anywhere.
“They were told to wear samurai vests!!!” they keep yelling.


“After all…loosing ones head shouldn’t be much of a problem…” the doctor said bringing near my bed a woman whose head had been severed and was apparently going to experience the routine surgical operation of putting it back. She (the head) looked at me in rage; she asked how come she had been awakened only to see me.
A metal head with a mechanically operated mouth sat on the next bed talking about the efficacies of the system and how good they, the doctors, were at putting heads back together with bodies.
They showed me how they did it. To illustrate, the doctor brought the head of the sleepy woman close to my hospital bed, strapped her from the dirty rag that covered her eyes and immediately wrapped that same rag around her neck making the stump protruding from her head fit snuggly inside her torso. I mean somehow the doctor managed to place it in a correct position and tied it to the body with the dirty rag. It seemed frankly bloody to me, needless to say lacking of all asepsis.
Later another woman shrieked in joy: “Finally, I’ll get a head my size”… I guess the one she was wearing now didn’t belong to her.
I felt silver spiders crawling in my scalp. Tiny silver spiders, I’d better get rid of them.

Green with Red flowers

The guy in the motorcycle encouraged me to ride the sand waves so I did. I threw myself right on the sand street and the wind swiftly took me as if I was a vehicle, a naked vehicle riding them. I was covering myself with a towel, bashful, when he asked me to throw it away. I saw the cars coming at me, although they never hit me. I was only naked now, my breasts felt the cold soft sand and my legs tasted little grains trespassing the skin boundaries.
We arrived where the gypsies and their circus tents were. We couldn’t stay since we were running after a woman. She took a taxicab and so did we. It was a pity for the gypsies were welcoming and their tents smelled like curry, incense and indecent sex.
We ran to the street and took a taxicab ourselves. I was then him and touched my tits that now were hers. The taxicab driver looked at us suspiciously through his rear mirror. We arrived in the place where the red elevator was waiting for us, gold and brocades with half closing door. It landed us at a place where the walls had been painted green and beautiful colored plastic flowers hanged from the ceiling in the middle of a brass bed frame. There I saw that woman’s head again. The dirty rag strapped on her eyes.