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I HAVE MANY EYES BEAUTIFUL EYES

THE DEMURGE

I THOUGHT OF YOU SO HARD

THE BRIDE WITH THE SHEET ON HER HEAD

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I crossed the street as soon as the machines had stopped.

The wind was strong, the people floated together and the leaves in the air became liquid.

I was able to dive and swim, so dense was this liquid made of air, traffic, buildings and people.

People who had become so fast they were measured by moments.

I felt happy.

I decided to give shape to the water, to order it and I was pretty bad at doing it.

For months I stayed down there, everything was alive and waiting to form.

Finally I did it.

 As an alchemical experiment, there immersed

in the liquid a little dirty, one idea

 and some newspapers.

I took soap and I washed my hands, it came out a sheep.

I seemed to have created, and I

did as a father, she was so naive to believe anything.

She no longer remembered who she was before I took her out of the depths.

I fed weed harvesting under the tree of mercury.

This was not enough and every night I had to remember the same fairy tale.

How I, her father was in charge to

shape it to my likeness as nothing before had shape and texture.

I told her of the distant era where there was only ideas. Then the era of the being of light, of a lost

world, made up of ideas and brightness.

I told her about my work, how I should concentrate on the idea in the matter, blowing and animating

it and in this way,

from that primordial liquid came

out season landscapes.

From there came out the cycle and the death. The pond that ferments life: its rebirth,

decay and death, and once again

rebirth over and over again.

 

 

                                                                                      The Demiurge