AlMAS / SOULS
Happy Saturday this November 2023, hiver friends who love thought and literature. On this occasion, I share with you a brief poetic prose that alludes to a cyclical eroticism, which becomes surreal and existential, which transcends time and conventional spaces. This is another attempt at the difficult, and perhaps, impossible task of expressing ideas and images that long to escape stereotypes, or the very well-defined limits of the literary universe; and beyond that, of myself. In this search for originality and perfection, I discover myself to be a fake, another in the sea of faces, of masks: of dual ideas implanted in my poor wandering mind. I discover my own boredom, and the impossibility of writing the utopia of the idyll, the illusion created by the mind regarding the emotional state of happiness that you are supposed to find in a loving relationship. Another lifetime would not be enough for me to write a single perfect point, in the midst of this intransigent time with a tendency toward brevity and forgetfulness.
Se agranda el artificio, la luz dibuja un triángulo entre la pupila del ojo del águila que circunda un cielo medieval. Existe una cosa magnética, una vía etérea, en esa noche cósmica, que transporta a la imagen perfeccionista de su figura atrapada en el cristal de la lágrima, sobre el rubí de la daga.
Crepúsculo infinito, péndulo que mueve el rito, búsqueda interminable de lirios blancos. Entre la copa, su sangre, sus caderas vibrando; inevitable, sigilosamente vampiresco. Se respira y se sienten los corazones estremecer los huesos.
Ahora, entre cables, amanecen apresurados los pasos. El caracol de la escalera definitiva, fotografiado desde una perspectiva descendente, en otro tiempo y espacio, continúa el acoso, la huida, los destinos enlazados, el vértigo de la verdad, de sus sonrisas cinéfilas, de momias, de Monna Lisa; mientras todo se quema con el sol, y se esfuma en el viento árido, que define el humo en espiral de un cigarrillo que se evapora, regido por la galaxia y los sistemas mayores.
Between the cave, tiny drops of nectar come from it, iridescent drizzle is inhaled by the lips, the oasis of its breasts releases extended relaxation. Sense of deja vu! The memory of the bloodstream burns with all the scrolls of different bleeding moments.The artifice enlarges, the light draws a triangle between the pupil of the eagle's eye that circles a medieval sky. There is a magnetic thing, an ethereal path, in that cosmic night, which transports the perfectionist image of his figure trapped in the crystal of the tear, on the ruby of the dagger.
Infinite twilight, pendulum that moves the rite, endless search for white lilies. Between the cup, his blood, his vibrating hips; inevitably, stealthily vampire. You breathe and feel your hearts shake your bones.
Now, between cables, hurried steps dawn. The spiral of the definitive staircase, photographed from a descending perspective, in another time and space, continues the harassment, the flight, the linked destinies, the vertigo of the truth, of its cinephile smiles, of mummies, of Monna Lisa; while everything burns with the sun, and disappears in the arid wind, which defines the spiral smoke of an evaporating cigarette, governed by the galaxy and the larger systems.
Gracias por su lectura, hasta pronto, les deseo muchos éxitos.Thank you for reading, see you soon, I wish you all the best.