Generational grammar

There I burried a shadow and a song sprang from stone throats. Everyone must say goodbye someday, only songs remain. For this world is a soundwave in the ocean of silence that is not. Pure voices are everything that exists. And if something exist, it must necessarily have a music to itself. To be or not to be, that’s bullshit. Generation after generation, none of that is now, but their songs in our voices, their salt in our tears. “Is that you?” The question derailed my thoughts. There she was, my friend from 5th grade. “I’m leaving now, this might be the last time we meet”, I answered. “Who would protect me?”, she wandered. Why do we need protections? What’s the meaning of security? Is it earphones for the things we don’t want to hear? Is it silence? “Is it dead silence?”, mumbled I. “Why are you leaving me? What did I do?”, she said on he brink of crying. “You don’t need me. That’s why. It’s just you haven’t realize”, her eyes were darken under her long greasy hair that captured the light coming from nowhere, “we all must hold the wake, face our silences alone. Something tells me that only chains and suffering awaits me. The Spirit talks to me, you might say. I can’t be around. What you call mine, it is not. This, all this, blood and bone, is not mine. How could I protect you if I’m nothing? Suns and star leave a trail, but not me. I will completely and ultimately become utterly silent. I’m holding to nothing, for nothing is what I am…”. “Crash and burn, asshole!”, here she comes at my, covered in ghastly  flames…

So I left the firestair alone, turned away from the unkown character that warned me about waking the sleepingbeauty, and went down a road that led to an underground arena, surrounded by greek marbles and having a high ceiling. Two teams were playing soccer using a hard leather ball. From time to time, the ball would impact the walls and the whole cavern would resonate with something that resembled screams snatched out the statues. Someone must have noticed my presence, for I heard the players talking and pointing in my direction. They were people from all over the world, none of them was alike. They wore rags, and most of them looked hungry. I couldn’t understand their words, but I knew they were discussing if I could play with them. I took advantage of the hiatus and gave a stroll around the arena. Every marble had dents and cracks. I reached for the white nose of a chubby girl with small breasts and face like an old hag, and the nose fell off. Why I tried to leave it in its place? I couldn’t tell now, but at that moment I felt like it was something of the outmost importance. Once again I had broken something that I couldn’t and wouldn’t repair. I left the nose on the girl’s open hand and continued. The walls of the cavern, covered with petrified naked people in every conceivable posture, made me fell like I was the only human being still roaming the earth. Then I found him: bald, wearing some kind of blindfold, and looking like the branch of an old dry tree, when it’s swayed by the cold winter wind. He was squating inside a hole carved in the walls of the underground arena. With frenetic strength, holding on to the plastic child in his arms, he chanted somekind of lullaby in wildly diverse languages. What could I possibly do to ease his pain? I covered the hole with the rubble, so that none would ever find him again, and the statues began to sing.

Chaos’ lair

I was drinking beer with two other strangers. Their faces reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t grasp exactly who. We were sitting in a circle over the grass, in front of the University Campus’ main building. Then it came back to me. She was a friend from elementary school, we met when we were on 5th grade. He was an old chum from the  University, a weed smoker who skipped classes to roll a joint under the poplars outside the Dean’s office. The three of us were drunk like a dog’s tail, but still I took the wheel and started the engine. The next thing I knew, I was driving into a maze of alleys where the truck got stuck. It was impossible to drive back, so I left the vehicle there and continued on foot. At first, there were plenty of open doors going everywhere, but I left them as they were and kept going nowhere, looking for nothing in particular. After a while I would only find closed doors and all the paths looked the same. My pals had left me stranded in drunkness, and I felt alone and lost. But then someone yelled at my back. I turned over. He was pointing upwards and–with another finger to his lips–warned me about the little child that was laying in between floors of a fire escape. The kid was covered in muddy clothes, and cardboard boxes, and newspapers. I couldn’t tell if s/he was alive. I couldn’t hear her/his breath, nor see his/her chest moving. But I knew s/he was the personification of chaos and that I had been trapped by my incompetence once again…