The Room

1.

Quarter.

One

Of

Four

A square

A square of six squares

A cube of world.

In its ceiling, its geography becomes infinite,

A white sea dragging loose traces of flooded mountains

Leveled by time and dust in static circumstance.

A shadow defies all, a silent monolith gliding night.

The fears stagnate there, and they allow themselves to be observed

Peacefully.

Inside, waters dominate in their hegemony, towards the beaches of transparent plastic situation.

A cross in the middle of the sea.

On marine currents, dust creatures move sinuously their bodies, skeletons that show their smoked glass guts, tied to the waves like comets to the world.

The cold exists, inhabits.

It becomes permanent.

And a large stain devours everything, threatening destruction.

The limits of the universe are lost in rough wired edges.

Not beautiful and infinite, as it once was.

The fall can be hard, but it is a fall nonetheless,

And in the end...

There is only chaos, information, and colors, and metals, and plastics, and much black, and some white, and order, and boxes, and music, and hidden among so much disorder, some signs of love, all together so they are not eaten, so they are not leveled by all the dirty filth that attacks with indolence and preconceived victory this room.

2.

Chaos, everywhere.

Result of a battle against space.

Chaos, everywhere, in the Cosmos, in all dimensions.

Infinite chaos

Eternal chaos.

When there is

No place to go

Or where to put a whole part of you

You know that there is no place but for the one who hides.

Do you hide, do you take refuge?

Isn't practicing yoga in Chaos uncomfortable?

I am asking this because being fractionated is easy, coming together is the complicated part, Theseus.

So long you have been there, that deception is your thing.

You have nothing more, right?

You have everything to give, but you have nothing.

You have the tongue, and the body.

You have time and memory.

You have the letter and victory in your fingers,

Great general.

And you lack

Everything.

3.

There was never conviction, words were left over in the world and the beautiful distant songs you left over your shoulder vanished when you turned your head towards the gray space of the city.

And so many people together, how could it be bad

if everyone of us lived there, with the laws of

The City?

How could it be bad, if in the night there was daylight

metallic, yes, but light undoubtedly?

With more colors than the sun?

What a way to deceive yourself

what a way to always deceive yourself,

the voices deceived you,

experience deceived you,

and the only ones that were true to you abandoned you

as soon as you turned your back.

Those poems and songs and worlds

will wander around, frozen in time

Sad figures in an ice exodus,

Statues of glass and snow.

I know they are there, when everything turns black and the cold captures me.

From a distance I see their shining eyes, and a whisper

of their lamentations.

And the next day, back to the routine.

4.

Without reasons,

there is a lament,

They say it's mine, and I don't accept it.

Why should it be mine,

when I'm in a city of neon lights,

with an apartment,

and a ceiling filled with fluorescent stars,

and friends who eat cheese

and cookies?

What do I miss,

the dreams?

The infinite world?

The sky trapped between the winter tree branches?

A sunrise in the sky?

Who cries for that these days?

And, finally, has anyone come out of here alive?

No one that I know,

They told me.

The voices of common people told me.

The misery of my choices told me.

The white frozen ceiling, full of the static thoughts that cry for help.

These prisoners,

They told me.