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we are intruders in the fog.. looking for blurred-out images.. individuals chained to dusty memories.. that are not even ours any more.. we try to find, among those grey and undefined outlines, a sharper figure.. a hint in the vague horizon.. even if undefined as it might be.. and as we approach the truth, tripping over the rigid branches of fate or the slippery weeds of destiny, we only discover faces that are not even real.. just anonymous..
we are innocently naive.. we think good is inevitable.. but those who carry it are damned.. those who deliver it are cursed.. and those who receive it are forever chained together by the myth of sweet-tasting poison.. what an unbalanced path when we always have to lose..
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you rubbish crooks.. you useless apostles.. spread your pestilence with those dirty hands that are eager to relish every rotten soul.. those toxic tongues.. those black wings of ill omen.. you wait in silence at the top of peaks
ignorant of your choice of venomous actions..
you insult butterflies with your multicolored morals.. trailers of forgotten springs.. pay attention to the insult you profess through your true dark colors.. you should wear mourning clothes.. you should have your wings at half-mast.. all you do is provoke rage with your iconoclasm.. with your insulting perfume that destroys the now useless respect of red-brick mausoleums.. the hand of punishment will fall upon you.. and it will be justified by a hundred official bulletins.. with words that are more empty than your mindless habits..
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after all, the announcing of the prices will soon follow.. the prices of colorful silk ties, covered with symmetrical blood stain.. of patent leather shoes tainted with the scent of betrayal.. and when we pay our dues.. may be one of these days.. once the crippling autumn is gone.. we'd find a clear passage.. to the true but candid spring..
amen
Inspired by Norman Mailer's The Naked and the Dead.
Featured in Historia Sexual de O (1984).
Featured in Historia Sexual de O (1984).
