Bytes in my intestines

Domm-latest

Doom.

 

I have already killed so many demons and I have seen so much blood that my head spins, when I return for the umpteenth time to enter the underground warehouse … Then, it is as if the virtual spaces had been introduced in some parallel way to my body, as atomic fractions, viruses, nanobots that will infect my digestive tract. An immense desire to vomit, as if I suddenly stopped after a hundred roller coasters. My mind revolves around virtual coordinates and wars on the computer screen, and then I turn a thousand times in the bed harassed by the viruses, which have invaded my flesh and merge into it, mutating it, a new state of evolution in which the lizard skin mutates into something else, into a fractal, mental, crystalline, final container of toxins, of memes. Pale and rattled, like the effluvia of an underwater volcano that keeps alive, primitive and grotesque forms.

Take some of the global super-highways of byte streams, while our bodies continue their daily routine of movements, and we reprogram ourselves into a new automatic elegy.

Advertisements

Nothing shines

campesina-Konstantin Vasilyev

The Reaper. Konstantin Vasilyev, 1966.

 

The abandoned moon,
A lighthouse of little interest
Suspended from a network of fibers
Dark and convoluted.

A star beyond
It lights a place so folded
In its own depth,
Whose blue does not yet wake up.

Gray clouds stained red
Threaten to cut
The helpless print
Of, without grace, intergalactic travelers.

Corpuscles, light waves
Crash into the ivory surface
Of an enchanted marsh
Muddy, funereal.

But nothing shines
In the way the flowered crack
Of the basin of her eyes,
Embrace the cold of darkness.