Sky & Memory

The sky of this city belongs to us by birthright.

You who are strangers, for you, we, are gods. We, who are children of the ethereal, for you, you who are deleterious eyes. In this city, blood of ours is blue, as sky above you.

Worship us.

May cowardice in your veins enslave you, vandals.

You will prostrate yourselves, till curtain prostitutes, or die of loneliness like gypsies, barbarians. Heaven, father, drive them out, they are not your children, our brothers.

Heaven, father, drive them out, they wish to be, your children, our brothers. Saracen seeds in western lands.

They are insect tenors, stan them.

They are weak for sure, maul them.

They are winter shoots, eradicate them.

This city, our mother, belongs to us by birthright.

Your dignity will belong to us by bond of sale.

In this city, memory is labile,bruise, Goliath and David.

Memory, tera in a cloud of data, river, rapids.

Names are intercalaries. Faces are interims.

Eyes are intermediaries. Memory is atoned of it, deciduous, exile, I amputate it. This city is ours, our life sentence.

In this city: no sparrows are seen, only crows and condors. In this city: men are greedy, women are arachnids, Children are corpses, feed on them, corners.

Eons of faces, yet this city, counts centuries of men.

Now that I am saturated with it, I have learned it, our nature is the vacuous, not physics of the atom but in the form of philosophy of the soul.

This city is dramaturgy, a macrocosm of desire and death, metallurgy of microcosms of selfhood, men and souls.