the day that I became ass
by vicente forte sillié
I have been reduced and translated to and like an eschatological, redundante in fecales roars and pestilentes bellows, uproarious orifice in inextricable lucubrations and had with inconformes you fold impregnated of brackish hairs contumaces that know to railroad rail.
That I am and encounter in the structure that does not have reflection, where exists the mirage: the image is branched off, unfolded, one deceiving from the truth of my spirit, the other from my false appearance.
It is to say by outside I am man; on the inside, a ass. And without giving importance to such imprecisiones that I consider techniques, desire to go further on, to purify to me.
To evolve in the race towards the involución of the essences that is only the possible one to me and to see me projected in the mirror, only I and the duplicate to me, gangrenado in you limit them greased of the seed of a pig belch, the absurd omnipresencia of a utópico pregnancy filled with nutritional skittle, the deaf fermentation of the uterus of an incarnated nail.
And from there, to assault, and another one, another one and another one, being defied further on there square, laws and folds to me to being contiguous and confusedly attacking the synonymous ones of delayed backward movement in the search of the predominant animalidad, stagnation of all atom, lost of eyaculativa the anxious fototropismo, miasma, foolish inmovilidad.
I recognize that it is not a easy task and that has its complications.
To make practicable, or, rather impassable, I refract it by tirabuzón electrical screwed to the abstract maleable and of an idea, is not simple company, laber�ntica still, if this company is not so, because it is tried to unscrew this corkscrew to the field of the effective thing.
To realize uselessness to lower the moments by the curves that parsimoniosamente surround them, following the future of its edges, to throw itself of disordered form, sometimes rolling by its lateral escarping, falling but arriving, is not light to digest.
And that is understood that it is not thing of children, or perhaps indeed it is it, to accept like pure what without miramientos it has been decreed by all like impure: pesimism, omission, negligence, inmutabilidad.
It is certain that all the immersed beings of thought.reason, lean in the resigned cane of which all alpha, all principle has a end logically, where the meaning is in the purpose deposited between both; I assure without fear to impoverish some of my mugidos, that all principle is not more than all end, and that this last one is the purpose that gives sense him itself.
And he is there, in that end, where me regodeare in catalepsy, I will mate with the anything, and I will get to be my own and only existing God.
Then that will be the day which the literary automatism turns to me a fluted anus, in a cool ass, triumphant and polished.
© vicente forte sillié 1996.