BOOK 105

 Shadow to the galaxy

 

Of the curved galaxy I mark my shadow on the white fury, and the sprays and tongues of flame generate a continuous sound, and an opaque din slams and raises the white and shining front, and responds and shakes the universe with a snap: it snaps and shakes and the stone is thrown. The other wave rises and burns, rolls the stone, rounds it in the slow time that overwhelms us and envelops us and retreats, smoothing hills of the sand. So from breath to breath, advancing it generates instant fairies along the edge of the rock, other fairies dancing from the white cloth, from the lace veil, from the ephemeral life, from the short breath, from the frenzied and obsessive game. My tiny childish footprints are nothing against the giant who smooths them. Tell me about the wave, giant when you overcome it, how it ebbs. If, you see, the green transparency is high when it reaches out, like the picadero and the scorpion, you are beautiful before it rapes you. A single blow strikes, wets the wood, edges it like snow. Of a smooth bed like a shell, like snow that melts and refreezes; the arched caress of the light and rustling reflux rearranging tiny stripes into bundles, tiny shadows of arcs crawling into the light and holes on the smooth shadow that caresses the light and warms. Oh, my galaxy, refuge of populations, when it will collide on the paths of light, smooth and contrasting arcs, when memories overlap in firm traces, the residues silhouetted in a violent light, the dirty remains that we suck up like flies. Fairy Medusa, which has no space to contain its names, because its innumerable populations have given a thousand, as canary tracks form on the sand, nestled in a small shadow we live solitarily, without any noise being heard too far away for the ear, and it floods and buzzes, eaten away and unstitched, the continuous sound and in a wave there is more than our life, greedy and irregular within that sound, in the midst of the vibration of a note, in that valley with smooth peaks of silence, in that midst breath the inhale feel the emission close our undulating life, that smooth descent on the breath of the wave. Slaps, outrages and crashes do not receive the violent swirling shuffle, but a closer white demon rises and rustles and sprays, making the dark blue and the infrared approaching me fold my empty shadow into the lucid decline. That great space is yours, weak prince. Yes, from there await the true measure of the things of the kingdom and the cornerstone and the stork that weighs in its beak. At the corner of the throne looking at 45 degrees is the universe, so I got up and moved diagonally in short steps, with my head bowed, and there I reached the starry universe on the blue sky of lapis lazuli and amethyst. I saw the treasure chest of reverberations of the light that enters through the crack and spied my immense treasure that continued into the deepest darkness where even the glow is lost, lost. My emperor, said he, you are saddened. Wasn’t I sad and mysterious, wasn’t I Medusa’s slave? Wasn’t I stung by the sow? Ugly pig that was looking for me and snake with fictitious diadems on her skin, or the kiss of the fairy that her egg placed like a wasp in the body of a human? And I, dead and alive, fathered her children? Let the light come, let the smooth mantle come to make me faint and envelop and kidnap me and the air to embrace me, the soft air that permeates the foams and gives us breath again. May my face be bolder on the still waves, that is destiny breaking out and playing. That is the bloody solitude of white blood, of having made like a steep mantle, a quick play of blue and white, a rigorous play that has strong humidity, carries the scent, blows from it now that the sun reverses it. Raise destiny high, prolong generations of hope. Move things, gather each one and don’t weigh the cloud that clouds, let everything be the whole and no less: let everything rest for a moment and suspend, let everything on our stellar chasm, let everything be the wind, let every conscience have a heart and a core where the border entwines and twists, the light folds in its spiral and the light entwines in its spiral.

The earth stole the fire and decided to break away and die. Then the wind followed the bird and learned to hover over the soft profiles and hollows. For the night the fisherman found a bed in that pit full of snails where he does not guard his dreams, where the wind guards his rests. The spiral-tongued butterfly took fright and flapped, disordered flight, and uncoiled the spiral of the galaxy, and tell me who was alive in this motion, in this stasis? Who was in his destiny, who disturbed him? Tell me if I was alive, if I will be alive, if before I was born I was alive. Before knowing and not knowing. Little knowing. As the galaxy unfolds and unfolds. If in the thread of thoughts, find the pendant that does not close out the deductions and the premises and the circular sequences of effects and causes in the dense and closed globule, where the swallow flies around the nest, however far it goes, so the curve gives no peace and straight and direct, not like the light that wraps itself in a closed shell and traces an egg and slows down there in the periphery on the white envelope; but more straight as thought can do, like the dignity of the king, like the rule of measurement placed firmly on the corner case. So soon the swallows wander as the light seeks a center and returns falling redder from the stars. Slowly, like the light in the spiral of a snail, I see nothing else here in the cave than these shells waiting for the sky. Lonely dog, who wears his teeth biting the empty wind, I listen from afar to my footsteps going down to the beach. You cannot give me a limit that is not / object; but rule / of me you are the sequence, the shame. The secluded conversation in a large space, you are the connection, you are the safe one / changes everything that you don’t peel in search of treasure / changes the war into the noise. If I don’t discover the galaxy inside, the measure of my kingdom, what use has it been to me? The primordial latex sucking, the milk that strips it. To the vague effort to drink from the goddess’ breasts, sucking and inhaling the void, the vague instinct that seeks and inseminates, the silent sperm of the world. Concentrated galaxy, immerse yourself in water and vast death finding the nets of light and clouds of sand at its bottom, and I washed the suspicions and threats from the tortured signs of the paths. Harsh goddess who allows yourself to be distant, who does not know becoming, I seek life in the harsh goddess, as does the newborn fly that approaches and buzzes to drink / spying from her eyes the boundless before and the immense and violent foamy whirlwind / of after – / So my love burns, emerging from everything fragrant, opposed to the new born that the past contains, but the future does not exist. In the cage of time, of your shiny casket, king / be you enclosed in your throne like a diamond / be you the decorated stone / be you in your treasure / harsh petty goddess / who only takes the fruitfulness of lives. She crowns her soft belly with flowers around her navel and looks beyond the border, and from there she trespasses into no one’s kingdom.

Half the time you see the galaxy bloom. I have learned from time what follows from things. What I don’t expect I place on the cotton wool and I look at it as if it were a sun, and inside I look for destiny with many steps, with the twenty faces of man, of woman, of old man, of newborn, of young, of elderly, of stupid, of rich, modest, tired, mute, sleeper, and so also the face of a goddess, even of a hungry tiger – Last monsters with which we live, now and in the future they will disappear from our earth. As if looking for a face that isn’t there, that isn’t born or doesn’t return, I rummage through the garbage, like a stray dog, who is the emperor of all this, who makes strict rules, that nothing but man can exist. And suppress the beast that steals his food, and the bird that dirty his street, and the ant that puts crumbs in the holes, the cicada and the crickets that day and night are obsessed with calling each other, and so all the wandering animals , already now a little lost, who were wild and now dead, are slaves and imprisoned. Who rules this, what imprudent king? This is my enemy, and I hope you help me. Which dictator can’t stand the elephant, much less? Who is the dictator who can’t stand the people much less? That he loves in fear the surrounding desert and the vast cultivation, which feeds thousands of slaves with the tractor – Grasshoppers whose food becomes animals, preventing life. Those who have no taste are saved from torture and thus the species dies. But through devious minions, which is the worst, he purposely spreads poisons that weaken and shrink any alternative preda Half the time you see the galaxy bloom. I have learned from time what follows from things. What I don’t expect I place on the cotton wool and I look at it as if it were a sun, and inside I look for destiny with many steps, with the twenty faces of man, of woman, of old man, of newborn, of young, of elderly, of stupid, of rich, modest, tired, mute, sleeper, and so also the face of a goddess, even of a hungry tiger – Last monsters with which we live, now and in the future they will disappear from our earth. As if looking for a face that isn’t there, that isn’t born or doesn’t return, I rummage through the garbage, like a stray dog, who is the emperor of all this, who makes strict rules, that nothing but man can exist. And suppress the beast that steals his food, and the bird that dirty his street, and the ant that puts crumbs in the holes, the cicada and the crickets that day and night are obsessed with calling each other, and so all the wandering animals , already now a little lost, who were wild and now dead, are slaves and imprisoned. Who rules this, what imprudent king? This is my enemy, and I hope you help me. Which dictator can’t stand the elephant, much less? Who is the dictator who can’t stand the people much less? That he loves in fear the surrounding desert and the vast cultivation, which feeds thousands of slaves with the tractor – Grasshoppers whose food becomes animals, preventing life. Those who have no taste are saved from torture and thus the species dies. But through devious minions, which is the worst, he purposely spreads poisons that weaken and shrink any alternative predator. Thus only one eats the creation, but no one must also eat what grows so healthy and robust, only the wheat and the wet rice and the corn and the potatoes and some vegetables. Touch the DNA of its living beings that are obedient fruits and serve deformed and infertile fruits in long rows and for them there is no spring overflowing with flowers, there is no dark tangle of a thousand leaves and caterpillars and butterflies with tall and magical stems branches and dry trees from which alternate vermilion-breasted noctules dangle. Rosemary and pepper no longer know freedom and coffee is extended as a drink and tea, even coca and poppy secretly to make them drunken subjects, not to mention the lined up vineyards that seem like free greenery. We must not search more freely for a blueberry or strawberry or for the mushroom that appears. This is what the kingdom of the enemy emperor is made of, so too many slaves maintains too many soldiers and gives each one gold for war, so he squeezes the earth of water and oil and sucks up the methane to burn and reverse the heat and cold. Thus too many slaves and subjects and widespread ovations of consensus but it does not want to limit the peoples who can eat little or too much and proliferate to excess: this is how the earth is covered with swarming locusts, without wanting greater quality and strength. So everyone would object, would have a thought of him. Those vile servants who enjoy the reward that money hoards so that more can grow and, possessing the money, beautiful banknotes, cultivate the flourishing and see the instantaneous value that deceives and pass it on to another, greedy himself. Thus that paper is disseminated for the happiness of the dictator and the liveliness of the many with whom all the benefits are bought. As long as the value that fuels that ferocious and cunning king is valid, as long as the dissemination of promises collapses and no one sees its value anymore. So I ask you to look at the value of him who governs: it is not true that there is wealth for everyone, look for other promises for the future.

Death slipped inside him to anticipate his intentions. But you, winged female, who awakened the sea by flying, hold it back and speculate on that roar. Now you sleep / and in the dream you accompany me while, walking through the light, the waves overtake each other and light up. I don’t know further, I still don’t know where it breaks, where it runs, where it crosses its hair. They are always on the edge of the sphere, everywhere on the surface. But the dog saw me again on the beach, he approached, leaned on it, licked my hand, but looked, looked, penetrating the arch, choosing my shadow but scrutinizing / if someone was enveloped in the noise, was caught or wanted to leave, holding back and growling at the death the behind saw. Oh! Stupid animal, he thought, this land is yours: inhabit your moments! Let the wind enclose them. Who do you look for in the foam when it beats and then you lie down and rest and suddenly get up. They reach your little destiny / leaving me hanging on to life for my lonely other adventure. But you among the lilies, the fragrant sighs, running with the dog in front, sea roe deer, you advise me against it. So you are half immersed in the horizon, cut line from line, dark profile of another land. Desperate leaf. Craggy and distorted horizon, broken there in one place.tor. Thus only one eats the creation, but no one must also eat what grows so healthy and robust, only the wheat and the wet rice and the corn and the potatoes and some vegetables. Touch the DNA of its living beings that are obedient fruits and serve deformed and infertile fruits in long rows and for them there is no spring overflowing with flowers, there is no dark tangle of a thousand leaves and caterpillars and butterflies with tall and magical stems branches and dry trees from which alternate vermilion-breasted noctules dangle. Rosemary and pepper no longer know freedom and coffee is extended as a drink and tea, even coca and poppy secretly to make them drunken subjects, not to mention the lined up vineyards that seem like free greenery. We must not search more freely for a blueberry or strawberry or for the mushroom that appears. This is what the kingdom of the enemy emperor is made of, so too many slaves maintains too many soldiers and gives each one gold for war, so he squeezes the earth of water and oil and sucks up the methane to burn and reverse the heat and cold. Thus too many slaves and subjects and widespread ovations of consensus but it does not want to limit the peoples who can eat little or too much and proliferate to excess: this is how the earth is covered with swarming locusts, without wanting greater quality and strength. So everyone would object, would have a thought of him. Those vile servants who enjoy the reward that money hoards so that more can grow and, possessing the money, beautiful banknotes, cultivate the flourishing and see the instantaneous value that deceives and pass it on to another, greedy himself. Thus that paper is disseminated for the happiness of the dictator and the liveliness of the many with whom all the benefits are bought. As long as the value that fuels that ferocious and cunning king is valid, as long as the dissemination of promises collapses and no one sees its value anymore. So I ask you to look at the value of him who governs: it is not true that there is wealth for everyone, look for other promises for the future.

Death slipped inside him to anticipate his intentions. But you, winged female, who awakened the sea by flying, hold it back and speculate on that roar. Now you sleep / and in the dream you accompany me while, walking through the light, the waves overtake each other and light up. I don’t know further, I still don’t know where it breaks, where it runs, where it crosses its hair. They are always on the edge of the sphere, everywhere on the surface. But the dog saw me again on the beach, he approached, leaned on it, licked my hand, but looked, looked, penetrating the arch, choosing my shadow but scrutinizing / if someone was enveloped in the noise, was caught or wanted to leave, holding back and growling at the death the behind saw. Oh! Stupid animal, he thought, this land is yours: inhabit your moments! Let the wind enclose them. Who do you look for in the foam when it beats and then you lie down and rest and suddenly get up. They reach your little destiny / leaving me hanging on to life for my lonely other adventure. But you among the lilies, the fragrant sighs, running with the dog in front, sea roe deer, you advise me against it. So you are half immersed in the horizon, cut line from line, dark profile of another land. Desperate leaf. Craggy and distorted horizon, broken there in one place. The horizon opens and splits / the sun still knows no meaning and drifts away / and I encounter the cold wandering air in the wake of the lilies / the variegated and arrogant white list rises. Cover on the edge in the circle of stones that defends where it creeps / seeking the thunderous warmth and through it I walk, stranger to the hope that caresses, hidden under what has been, still in the future – / So without a respite, thin and fruitless / like vultures they lay their eggs and stay at the edge, we eat that dead light like carrion, we eat the impossible fetus from the stars like the water searches and explores it / like the water searches and explores on the smooth beach and it is not dead and the stone goes around or sometimes he slaps me because of my fear, he tries but he comes back. Bubbling: like this, trying / my companions / just like the breath, like the breath trying again the millennia are generated from the wave, and I’m ready! I wait for the future to be made easier for me, on the path for some forgotten divinity to speak to me, beyond the ranks, or for an evolved being to come and make me his child. He was perhaps sitting on the hill, he was on the stone, he was in the stone, he was in the fire that consumes the forest – / Where is a decision in my steps, a digression, a corner, a changed form, a tool, a sharp one and a round that life renews a word that changes the meaning and thus trying again how the wave of the future reaches the earth here. In the heart of the precipice, overwhelming the signs and desires, like a rope it is stretched and the spark, to hold the ship, which is torn by the wind, I know the thickness of things if they remain silent. In them we re-trace and re-tear ourselves, for the tragic search. And in the air the open, vast wind is refined and contains the tense line in its flow. And through it, so through it, the measure is constructed, the matter is swollen and re-expanded. We are simple beings still at dawn, we have made tools suitable for the earth / not for the sky. So he said to the sky, we are still evolved little more than dogs / but we have suspected consciousness / even if we don’t know how to study it. We have a lean and complex, pleonastic and risky philosophy, a slow science, we were hungry until recently. Now we have to decide what to do, if the methods are right, how to cooperate the end of the scale on two weights. Everything was there, it seemed permanent, but it was cut and destroyed: better to feel freely, better to forget something or not know, even though we have all the history of our ancestors. Now push beyond the balance between two choices, beyond the earthly tribunal that decides / the popular judgement, the truth that is mediated, the dream that consolidates and appears full and true; beyond the dense dialogue, the law, the stands, the truths shown, self-evident, look, he tells you, with a thousand little devils and shattered gods. Here is the guarantee, that it is contrast and sentence! The guarantee is only the thought of the wise – Holy, I do not say – Who has sufficient purpose. “Am I permitted? Do I do it for money, do I do it for power? – The prince and the king asked themselves – / They asked and asked and closed themselves. It was the furious dawn and the fire was already burning in the veins. Wind that adds wave to wave, water that sprays it, lays it on the earth and leaves it in the air. As a flame / transversal slide between the primary masses being not only existence but life. Broken, he insults the rock and condescends, the sea saturated with bends and prayers. Due to this tight grip the thin and supine shell of the dancing lights becomes pregnant and pleases the moon as it sets in the night.

The poison he cured with other poison, so the wind that rose like the cobra or like the wave, came down on him and bit the cord of his life; but another form gushed around, from marshy pools. He was born and not born, but he folded his body, a mean fabric that is around and so I saw the sea that goes out and clears the course. And my legs and feet led my gaze to see the little flower bent and more behind, changing and becoming the mind on its journey. He doubted in the woods and sparse meadows: the echo sounded different to me, tinkling more acutely. The risk of the path was unknown, among turtle doves and doves, in the enchantment of the song that descended parallel from the valleys, song fluid and dead like the wave, imprisoned here in the thousand objects: everything is reborn to renew / the candor and the promised page. Field of light / I’m not bored of species. I need this for more luggage. Now the congealed poisons counteract each other and above I am considering the wars that have kept us here, the complex wars won by the ancestors, staying half dead by deception, but here being born with our past, hidden in the scent of the burnt bush, like the new animal / so / so much higher, so much narrower, new animal preparing for the bush, partisan, and out in the open, soon, down the mountain burned to the nightingales, happily stealing the whistle, descending towards the prestige of the sea that dominates. That you are a plague of vipers in the shade