O Brilho do Bronze

(Um Conto de Caronte)

Por um instante, desencontrámo-nos. Em relance olhei para o seu espírito, e senti um ódio tal que sem desprezo não o poderia ignorar...
Aquele que há doze mil anos – que ao infinito pouco deve – destruiu o sonho do meu inconsciente, a minha... o que em mim ainda era lúcido.
Eu fui Hipnos e ele Tânatos... gémeos no Elísio... antes do seu perturbar incessante...
Respirava morte, noite e horror. Berrava de dor, conquistas e planos até ao vigésimo primeiro dia de Agosto... o seu dia de glória...
Falava e replicava sobre a amizade, a velhice, a loucura e o escárnio dias a fio, perturbando constantemente o meu sono e descanso... do qual a Humanidade suga o que necessita para resistir, e sobrevive mais um instante, ao impossível dos dias...
Um eco incessante nas paredes do meu crânio, um calor debaixo das unhas, comendo os lençóis em sulcos e rios secos sob o meu corpo exausto.
Resisti à sua opereta monocórdica Primaveras... Invernos dissertando sufismos retóricos sobre a miséria, o esquecimento, o erro, a ética...
Perdoei os seus desvarios quando insultou Kera como uma sodomita... uma doida...
...a minha filha, que em memória amo mais que a consciência permite escrever ou pensar...
Insultou todos... a luz, a discórdia, o dia e a tarde, sem ironia ou simpatia, como inúteis caminhos da alma humana... os meus irmãos, todos eles... humilhados...
...Até que um dia, ao acordar subitamente... destruí o seu palpitar com a verdade...
“Somos todos irmãos, e tu és apenas o fim de um caminho sem respostas.” – sussurrei-lhe na ausência de veias do seu decrépito pescoço, enquanto lhe sufocava a vontade de falar...
“As tuas dúvidas não são filosofias, mas invejas e ruínas...” – e imediatamente, e em loucura, obliterei a sua existência no éter, criando na Terra – anos e meses depois – um exército desequilibrado de velhos e doentes empoleirando-se desesperados para as suas campas e cemitérios vazios...
Os deuses não pouparam o castigo do meu erro, mas felizmente, conseguiram emendar a loucura do meu excesso, ressuscitando a sua presença em troca do meu eterno perdão e da sua memória inerte...: aceitei...
...pois, para além de ser meu irmão gémeo, amava-o nos seus melhores momentos com um sorriso.
Renasceu então, sem memória do seu amado dia, em que outrora todos os homens morriam um a um... passando essa decisão a Tyche – minha prima afastada e contingente – deusa do acaso...
...Este acto, aliviou assim, e por fim... todo o peso e trabalho que Caronte fazia num dia, passado este a ocupar o longo de todo um ano mortal.
Todavia, este alívio não agradou ao triste barqueiro, que ainda apaixonado por Pandora, a contemplava todo o ano, menos um dia... e agora, ao ver-se impedido de o fazer, decidiu por vingança, transformar uma simples esmola, num vergonhoso imposto...
...E assim nasceu, o obolus maximus... a moeda que destrói o pecado...

Sala vazia

Um espaço criado pelos sonhos e ambições dos Homens, ocupado em tempos por 3 reis em torno de uma távola redonda…

Tão negros e vazios se tornaram os sonhos e ambições dos Homens, que para o exílio os 3 reis partiram… e de lá saíram, mais tarde, para viajar pelo mundo, como comuns, com preocupações mundanas… aguardando o momento em que tornarão a ocupar aqueles 3 tronos… feitos de sonhos!

Parabéns S

Relatório Técnico de Análise e Autópsia Preliminar
(Processo: Lázaro Inerte de ███████/451)

O sujeito em análise foi encontrado em █████ pelas 23:19, parcialmente rodeado de fluidos (B-022 – análise de contaminação pendente) com uma temperatura interna de 34º (T-média ambiental: -0,4º) em posição fetal, sem membros posteriores, e revelando total ausência de estrutura óssea (não por defeito, mas por regra de paradigma).
(...) Estudos conduzidos posteriormente, revelaram uma capacidade anormal por parte do (aparente) sistema nervoso interno, em assumir calcificação instantânea de forma localizada, o que poderia permitir movimentação básica em terrenos rígidos/semi-rígidos (relatório 12i).
Abaixo dos 3/5 da linha longitudinal corporal, é evidente a presença de três (3) membros (apoio?) relativamente semelhantes; onde destes: um se encontra danificado na sua quase totalidade, por método não-radioactivo (anexo geral 13B██) seguindo para ███████ (por ordem de manifesto prioritário).
Nos 2/5 superiores da linha longitudinal corporal, apresenta-se uma estranha semelhança à área torácica de âmbito humano, apresentando esponjosidade multi-helicoidal de condição normal em sequências não-carbónicas (12 to 41 in octet-rule).
(...) Após autópsia foi descoberta morfologia orgânica interior, composta por oito (8) unidades distintas, visíveis por evidente palete cromática entre o roxo (purple 128,0,128) e o amarelo (yellow 255,255,0). Cinco (5) dessas oito (8) unidades apresentavam diferentes estados de solidez por fagocitose de linha não-linfática, que no período de menos de uma (1) hora (soma total aproximada) atingiu um nível crítico de decomposição que desencadeou uma liquidificação concentrada de todos os “órgãos” adjacentes ao núcleo direito, e um outro, fazendo a ligação inferior entre estes (resíduos em tina – 1432Y).
Os três (3) membros restantes foram divididos em vácuo e aguardam análise em zero absoluto forçado-B (-273,15º) em █████ ████████.
(...) Análise da zona cranial de alongamento semelhante à do sujeito 2 (desconhecida semelhança de género (omega universal) indeterminado).
Após secagem geral superior, ultra-sonografia e NBT tridimensional, confirmou-se a presença de massa encefálica de origem estranhamente semelhante à humana e █████ ██ ███████ através de coloração diferencial e ███████ ████ ███-█████ não detectados no método ELISA em PCR (com catalização Temed e S208, por eletroforese em gel).
A pesagem final da massa revelou discrepâncias com valores de relatórios preliminares de 02/04, provavelmente devido a diferenças de foro █████ ou erro matemático, assim como percentagens anómalas de um composto: designação temporária 84-PEN-18K (micro-alloy PEN2 organism) extraídas a partir da sanguinação activa da segunda membrana que compõe a caixa cranial em relação a valores anteriormente registados.

........................................................................................

(...) Nota pessoal 12 (a apagar): Por falha da segurança interna do laboratório, essa amostra encontra-se desaparecida desde 14/07, tendo toda a investigação sido encerrada por ordem de ██. ████████. Constantes pressões de órgãos superiores para iniciar uma série de replicações forçadas da amostra, através de centrifugação genética entre o meto-plasma do tipo ἦ-48ὡ descoberto, e soluções fraccionadas de megacariócitos humanos (não plaqueto-produtivos), tornaram-se impossíveis de ignorar... e rapidamente, tornaram “sugestões cientificas” em ordens de desejo politico-militar... o que, como protocolo e desejo de senso comum, me levou imediatamente a iniciar o procedimento SCOURGE-SHRAPNEL-LSPP para a destruição sistemática de todas as amostras e ██████ existentes... infelizmente, descobri posteriormente, que algumas das últimas amostras de nível DELTA, se tinham tornado inacessíveis para o meu habitual nível de autorização IV... que foi no último dia, alterado para LSPP-III.
(military intelligence implementation automatic-censorship terminated)

Enchantropy

Chapter Two
The Recurring Language of the Grotesque

The Duchess wakes up suddenly, scared and then meditative... A knock on the door.
-Excuse me my Lady, are you in here?
-Yes... You may enter Forrester, I am two clothed' dressed.
-Forgive my intrusion, but I have been looking for your grace for almost half an hour.
-What happened?
-I believe we've been drugged or captured in surprise, and brought to the inside of the manor. I woke up, probably no more than an hour ago... in a different room...
-...What? But I don't remember anything... Is it still high day?
-No. I found no accurate clocks in the house, but I believe it to be almost morning now.
I've searched the man that accompany us, but I haven't found him. I am bound to presume that he bears some responsibility in this...
-May be... You took this long to find me. He could be lost anywhere, a victim as we are...
-...No doubt, this mansion is huge and confusing, a labyrinth type construction. I could swear I crossed the same hallway and doors more than twice...
-We must leave this place at once. (scarily looking around) Where is the rest of my clothing?
-Here my Lady... (takes the only dress and secondary undergarment parts in the closet) Same situation as mine...
-Who dares undress a lady like this!? You must find a slave to punish him immediately!
-I am afraid I couldn't find anyone, my Lady. No one responded my pleadings throughout the house.
-Which parts of this house have you seen illuminated? (leaving calmly the four panel dressing screen fully clothed)
-Only a few... (looking through the moldy window) Curiously it seems to follow a strange prime number type rule. But it is to vast for me to verify for sure... and it could just be the order in which I enter the rooms... or a coincidence...
-No, that was a good notice. I am sure it could be a piece, or a part of this crazy grand scale riddle...
-...What? A puzzle...? You mean... a game?
-Yes, obviously. What other reason for our captor to use our wit, if not to kill us...
No reason for us to be breathing now that we are witnesses. Unless it wishes only to test our suffering deduction, until we break... (seriously concerned) Of course it is a game... ! A twisted game I wish to leave!
-...Couldn't it just be the work of ghosts...? (ironic)
-Don't be an idiot... no ghost or spirit could carry a human body around like this. This is a mortal' doing...
A scream screeching the walls beyond the grade of sounds, begins to echo the serenity of fear...
-Heavens pity lane! Can you identify where is this dreadful sound coming from Forrester?
-...It seems downstairs. (erratic) But I haven't found a way of reaching the lower floors... except through the barred windows of course...
-Damaging property? A little respect for the ethical laws of morality, Forrester...
They both open the double door to leave the room, but find a verdant and richly decorated interior garden – with fountains and small scale type waterfalls – instead of the obvious hallway.
-...What madness? Are we still under some psychotropic effect?
-Resulting in the exact, same illusion? ...Highly unlikely, this must be the real thing, Forrester.
Just try to be careful where you step... These puddles may hide trapdoors...
-...But, I don't understand... Is it, some sort of time or spacial illusion?
-Maybe both, or none. (carefully examining the surroundings) Maybe mechanical... Are you sure you entered through a hallway?
-Positive, my Lady... just a few minutes ago, I am sure... (confused and babbling)
-...Let's proceed then... Let the spirits be merciful of our chance in this invisible maze...
They advance through the interior garden until they find a clearing. A table with a dead rose in a jar next to a simple frame rested over and next to it.
-What is it, my Lady?
-...Seems nothing, just a photograph of the ruins between the graveyard and the manor... But it looks distorted... and this here, seems to be... (examining closely) ...a child... floating the skies in spirit form... but this is impossible!...
They hear another scream, louder and closer than the previous... a dead man's scream...
A black curtain – hidden behind the table – abruptly opens, showing a new room... A dark den, completely separated from the garden, and more resemble to an old opium room... Dark, until the decorative candles in the room, suddenly ignite a heavy flame of blue...
-Ah! Finally! Mortal presence at last... Please enter, distinguished guests...
A slightly open iron-maiden, dripping the blood of a recent victim, lies next to the throne like chair of the mysterious man that calls them in.
-Recognize your friend? He screamed all the lies in his heart and soul with little delight...
...But I imagine thee as civilized people... loose of all secrets... perhaps even worthy of my asphyxiating personal treasure...
...And surely capable of answering the simple riddle I propose... Hopefully, with better luck than all that preceded thee...

Enchantropy

Chapter One
The Evocation of False Beauty

“I last saw her, near the poet's tomb, where she raped me with impunitive violence... blinding me in the end... and burying my bones in a pile of blood and semen.
I was but a child, not older than the Angel of Florence when he lost his wings and fate to the madness and rage of the minotaur.
I was defeated in my existence... and therefore, I became a sinner for the fleeting and dignifying grace of others...”
The narration ends with a silence grave pause.
-...Ridiculously spooky, don't you think?
-Quite, Duchess. My bones are in poetic stone.
-What a devious and macabre speech... even for a graveyard of this sort...
-Alas, but an inch of moral decency or reason wouldn't hurt...
-...or kill!
They both started to laugh, while someone approached in silence.
-Smiling in a graveyard will attract the ghouls of the buried, strange and mad people they were...
Years ago, they used to burn sick horses here you know. Tied them up, body to pole, and ignite them, just for the fun of it.
-And who might you be? Addressing her Ladyship without permission or presentation.
-But a servant, my lady. A million excuses... from this sad clown in the cage of the wild...
-...I presume you to be the town's gravedigger...
-No, your grace. He fled long ago, from the plague.
-...A mystical plague you say? (visibly enthusiastic)
-Not quite. He impregnated the butcher's wife!
-Oh!
-...and the baker's daughter... twice...
-Quite a plague...!
-Five children my lord, enough to spook a soul out of his responsibilities.
(Pauses for a second)
-But, if what you look for is an unholy phantasmagoria – a strange occurrence, unexplained and mysterious – the Painless Road Manor should clearly be your destiny.
-A mirror to the incorporeal? A sighting of the ethereal realm? A manifestation?
-No one knows, it comes and goes recurrently, defying knowledge. It began the night the old noblemen' family coffins were violated by silver thieves...
-Did you hear that Forrester? We have a phantasmata disturbance. Exploration is at hand.
-Yes, so it seems. (unexcited) Another stumbling theater of useless lies, I imagine...
-Please silence your boring disbelief...
-Forgive me, but it has been a decade on the road of travellers, only to find skeletons of pyrite...
-I am sure this one is real...
-Again...? Oh well, then I am also sure! Sure beyond criticism!
-Good man, tell me where this strange manor is located? It is summer calendar, and the night will be here soon... I am sure the owner will receive my presence with pleasure, if not just for a few days of rest...
-Right behind you, my lady.
Instants before, the fog had lifted to embrace the forming clouds, choosing them instead of the manor and its severely dry out pond, of swamp fumes.
-Oh! (slightly spooked) How did the mist hide such a building right above our sight?
-It seems deserted my Lady, we should head back to town.
-Nonsense. Send the carriage back. And order them to pick us tomorrow morning, upon daylight.
-...Yes, my Lady. As you desire.
-A manor near a graveyard? Undoubtedly a most exquisite and interesting night...

Despertando o Zénite

Normalmente não falo de temas que desconheço a outros que não aos seres do meu pensamento, mas este merece a tua atenção minha filha, que de longe suspiras por uma mensagem...
Sei que morreste há muitos anos, e que não deixaste pedra para rezar a tua memória... mas por vezes – tolo – gosto de acreditar que me ouves quando respiro sonolento, e me aproximo da morte a falar sozinho...
É para ti que falo nesses momentos, e também neste que te escrevo através do pensamento...
Desenhei no outro dia uma ilha mágica – sem nome, por enquanto – onde pensei construir uma casa para ti... um palácio de disparates e tropelias que me contavas na tua infância...
Muros de descobertas e sorrisos de alegria, protegendo caves tristes de quando tropeçavas ou esperavas sozinha alguém querido... Uma floresta de todos os animais fantásticos que imaginaste antes que se extinguissem no teu coração...
Girafas de oito patas que nadavam sobre lava efervescente, que saía das narinas de um dragão sem cauda; até bizarrias tais – com tais olhos, tais braços e apenas um fio de cabelo – que se existissem, desfaleceriam no segundo seguinte, por falta de estômago ou pulmões, que por pressa ou esquecimento, não lhes imaginaste...
Um céu que todos os dias pintavas de uma cor diferente, picotando estrelas a meio do dia, e sóis na escuridão da noite mais profunda... com trovões sem música, de onde choviam pequenas lágrimas de chuva, na maior das penumbras luminosas.
E como criavas banquetes, pratos cozinhados num pequeno forno, mas que alimentavam aldeias esfomeadas sem esforço, deixando dentes sempre brancos e brilhantes, e prontos a adormecer numa almofada de rosas de picos meigos e beijoqueiros...
Um parque perto do arco-iris, por onde escorregavas encontrando sempre o tesouro de um gnomo egoísta, antes deste – pela tua inteligência e bondade – se transformar num pónei de chocolate que nunca se derrete.
Para nunca te perderes, criei também um balão muito vermelho e azul como gostas, amigo de todos os ventos e brisas... chamando-os e acalmando-os como melhor te convir...
E foi neste mundo mágico... que acabei de criar, de pintar, de escrever, de esculpir, de pensar... que gostaria que vivesses para sempre...
Para tal, te envio com esta mensagem, a chave para nele poderes entrar... mas não te assustes, parece feita de papel, mas é feita de ferro, como as espadas dos valentes duendes que se digladiavam sem sangue ou dor no poço das caveiras liláses.

P.S.: Quase que me esquecia do mais importante... inscrito na chave, vão as palavras mágicas que tens de dizer para chamar aquele que te irá proteger de qualquer mal ou tristeza, o mais forte e carinhoso dos cavaleiros, e com o qual não irás casar... pois isso é uma parvoíce dos adultos...

My Secret Puzzle is a Doll

It made me trust dreams... the dim, dark, death light...
Believing them... being they exquisite, fantastic, or far away...
Mysterious and distant, but lurking within the glazing night...
Speaking what you and I dare, but cannot say...

A love, a passion... a doll I build with care...
The perfect materials: electric-veins, a heart and stone...
Days and hours hypnotizing me while I stare...
Lost, helpless, forever with you and alone...

No sound, no gesture or response I can remember...
Just a labyrinth of thoughts within that whitish shell...
An idea I try to touch... a simple kiss, cold but tender...
A soul made flesh, with materials I dare not tell...

The Arpetist-Magnus
(Living shouldn't be a mechanical simplicity of fools)

I speak today as a witness, for I have seen with sharpening clarity and knowledge, what many do not imagine under Morpheus blessing sleep...
I knew the citadel for a million years, standing in true impudence high in a dangling cliff over a red sea of bodies... feeding of them, with raged celerity and defiance... some, still scratching the floor for compassion or mercy...
Through a thousand transformations and morphisms – giving it in peace times a normal look – it became, in the sixteenth-century, the perfect nevralgic center for a secret empire, controlled by decedents of the Sarmatian and Ostrogoth Knights... an obscure order bent on meta-human knowledge control...
For that objective, they created a secret class of hosting organisms that lodged inside the blood of monsters – living within the blood – and commanding them through the terror of losing simplistic territorial battles...
These unconscious beasts, were armed knights for grand irony... but contrary to their masters, they knew not of what passed inside the secret manor from which they received their orders...
It began as a depository for collective memory, and became a manipulative web for constant invasions and conquests through the ages of human existence...
...A permanent coat of arms (displaying a melting crown over a gray world) was shown as warning to any opposing force... but the ultimate objective was not conquest, but capture...
Specific prisoners were taken by force to the palace for interrogation, and torture...
No celerity was used after the gates were closed behind them, only patience and pain...
The screams mirrored a carnage inside the soul of any prisoner, indescribable in physical terms...
A great number of tortures were performed – using spikes, saws, racks, whips, rusty nails... – but none equaled the mastery of the Arpetist...
He developed a complex mechanism to obtain the ultimate torture effect, from which no one resisted beyond insanity...
The victims were restrained in mid-air and pulverized with liquid sulfur to immobilize the bones... then, a moving structure would firmly squeeze the fingernails until they pop, leaving a chump of nerve dangling in the air...
The palpitating nerves were then pulled from the flesh by the hands of the Arpetist, to a point of despair near the elbow and the knee... then they were boiled in a putrefactive mixture of vinegar, orpiment and blood...
The victim was then lowered to a steaming recipient of urine in which he stayed for a period of minutes before unconscious drowning...
...When the victim regained consciousness... the Arpetist would calmly leaned close to his ear, and gently ask: “What do I need to know...?”

Efígie no seu Trono

(...)
-Agora, sem essa poderosa intuição, compreendes a loucura do que me estás a pedir?... A tua escolha como lei.
-...Nossa, se concordares sem reservas...
-Nunca aceitarei tamanha barbaridade... É uma tolice insistires...
-...Sim, é um acto de egoismo, vaidade bem sei...
-...E ainda assim prolongas esta conversa?
-Naturalmente – pois se o sei, se não recuso tais criticas – aceito o outro prato da balança.
-Aceitar leves consequências não admite razão.
Sabes que são pensadores, lendas, heróis, são momentos de um passado colectivo.
-Sem dúvida que o seu valor se poderia espelhar em outras situações.
-Em todas e nestas, sem escolhas parciais e feitios de vontade. Desempoeirando as obras, não os museus.
-Concordo... como concordei que esculturas e telas merecem o seu espaço natural, mas toda a arte que se move, que se troca...
-Aceito possíveis alterações bem repensadas, mas o que pedes não tem sentido algum.
-Concordo.
-Não tem motivo por si...
-Concordo.
-E nenhum suborno poderá alterar essa percepção como errada.
-Não, nunca tal supus... Mas compreende que isto não ultrapassaria o símbolo, o sinal...
-É a tua cara no centro de um papel!... um símbolo monetário... ridicularizando toda a nação!
-Aceito sem reservas que não mereço essa honra...
-Seguramente!
-O valor de longínquo falecido, ou a recente acção pautada de nobreza não se avizinham... mas como desejo pessoal – e neste palco capitalista – tudo se poderá flexibilizar sem dobras.
-Como podes constatar, nem tudo...
-Proponho um acordo de cavalheiros, precedido de mais uns minutos do seu tempo, Comendador...
O que tenho para trocar merece essa simpática atenção...

Pleasure of The Sick

The old man sat at the dinner table facing the monster, and calmly began to eat... mainly fruit and blood...
The clock embedded in the middle of a Medieval painting marked the minutes as seconds, and a day, only half an hour long...
The old man aged visibly at each bite of fish, for the strange delight of a blond soldier, that laughed in pain close to him, while reading a book on Destiny and Paradoxes that seemed never-ending...
A third creature, dressed in a scissors-suit, couldn't stop scratching his face while spitting hot coal over a little under-aged girl, that cried peace in the corner...
The monster was disgusted by this obnoxious spectacle and left the room in shock...
Upon leaving, he noticed the smell of cracked mirrors coming from a hidden balcony, where stood a great window of shadows. From the smallest of those shadows, it emerged a dog – deformed in all its shapes – that began to chase him like a snake fallows the night...
-I believe you are confused by this... the manifestation of your desires...
-...Yes, the first impressions are never to remember – said the dog.
-Quite right, my friend... quite certain...
After a brief observation of the surroundings, both continued to a silent room, grimly decorated by black wax sculptures, where the air was absent and frail...
A sudden burst of steam and the mere look at the statues, weakened their strange skin, cracking their presence into dust...
Both stepped back a few inches, wondering the reason for this abnormal event...
-Where are we? – asked the monster.
Passing and smiling – Inside the maze of God – pointing to holly Mecca – ...carrying those who refuse Heaven through Purgatory and beyond...
-Who does refuse Heaven...? – he pondered in irony... – ...and why?
-You did, my friend...
-... What?...me? ...Why would I do such a thing...? – mumbling through speed...
-Only the lie refuses his destiny... only the Magician could decline the truth... – stated the dog.
The monster remembered then, the first metamorphism of his body... He remembered the past...
His eyes were blood, his face petrified with fear... the monster was not himself anymore...
...He was a man... the man who saved Mordred, replacing him in the battle of Camlann...
...and the sole responsible for the complete destruction of Avalon...

The False Extinction of the Rakshasa

In the outskirts of Trincomalee – between the mountain peaks and the sea – in the idyllic plains of a hundred-stairs, it stood the invincible stronghold of Lanka...
Birthplace of many heroes and kings, and ultimately, the site of the final battle between Rama (the seventh avatar of Vishnu) and Ravana (the evil, but all-knowing monarch of Lanka)...
Ruled with justice, the city flourished beyond poverty and disease, but after the death of the demonic Ravana, the city could not maintain its strength... and in the inexperienced hands of Vibheeshana (a just but meditative follower of Dharma) it became a place of chaos and illusion... The perfect locale for the last Rakshasa – the shape-shifting demons of death – to survive...
These followers of the evening and its perversions, almost obliterated themselves in the three great battles of lore, while fighting continuously as heroes or cannibals of either sides... until none was left...
As the years passed, magic decreased to remote locations, and the secret symbiosis between the mystical trees and the rivers became the only source of hope and divinity...
The perfect seeds of Kalpavriksha, formed small oasis of fantasy and white necromancy, to which people rushed in despair of miracles...
These magic trees would only grow near two rivers... now completely dry, and transformed into small wells for the blind...
For lovers heartbreak, the fruits would find a new lover... For the sick, the leaves would cure all evil... For the poor, the branches would deflect all misery...
But such miracles had a heavy cost...
The cautious approach of this mystical trees, could only be done in special days, for they were guarded by strange demons lurking in the mist...
Mad was the one who faced these creatures with fearless mind and courage...
These flesh-eaters of human appearance – capable of controlling the spirits of nightmares – would spare no one from their sick desires and venomous fingernails...
...Their skin was said to be cut off from the flesh... but the real fear lied in their deadly skull-worm parasite, and its empowering handshake...

Sometimes, I Forget Why You Hate Me...
(The birth of the first Son)

In the beginning of existence... Mankind had a vision... a need for theaters...
...Therefore, It created a two-dimensional stage, a platform of illusions... and dolls to act in proficiency...
It created the trees, the birds and the rivers... and to divide the sea from the land, It created metaphysical imagination...
It created the clouds and the rain, and skies lost in stars, to darken the fully illuminated scenery...
...And then, in the end... It created God... the actor... the bastard son of Man...
Someone to perform the oddities of existence...

Curse of the Hesperides

The last journey through Donegal – the most important of the Atlantic Northeast-Caverns – was quiet and well conducted... The men were rest and fed, and some samples were collected in the short stop in land, last Friday...
However, while retrieving the anchor, something happened, that scared the men so badly, that many refused food or water in the fallowing days...
The situation aggravated itself to a point of despair, where half of the crew died of quick induced starvation, due to excessive vomiting...
We tried to find anyone who witnessed the incident, but the testimonies were contradictory at best...: some claimed to have seen a monster grabbed to the anchor dripping a sticky fluid, some say it was a ghost... the mother of all diseases, in the form of a mad hermaphrodite... or a mermaid of pestilence, hypnotizing the men to suicide...
No conclusion was taken, but two days after, everything strangely calmed down, when the Senior Admiral – Sir Peter Hornblower – was found by my associate, dead in his cabin...
The medic – a Portuguese doctor – disappeared at the exact same time... and everything was back to normal...: No sailors died, no one was sick, and the ship was only a few miles from land...
...I wonder...: was it a monster attack, that confused us to a collective vertigo...? or a drug-induced illusion, with the soul purpose of assassinating the commander unnoticed...?
The suspicions strongly indicate poisoning, but the medical-officer's briefcase was never found...
It is my desire that this receives the necessary funding, for further investigation...

William Bartletts,
Gracefully, Your Royal Highness, Queen Elizabeth I of England, France and Ireland.

The Pillars of Heaven

Some legends, tell of a Titan which hold the skies in his shoulders... but, they were not entirely true...

Some parts of Earth, could not be supported by a mere son of Iapetus...
Some places, were not allowed to be touched by conscience or justice...
...The angels call it, the mazes of thought... but they are indeed, a captivity of genius and talent...
...The secret prisons of Heaven...

Alchemy of the Divine
(First Requiem to God)

“Afterwards, he raised the stone through the void and foolishly believed to understand its powers...
He was wrong beyond emends, freeing the ever hiding possibility to choose – freedom – towards humankind and its weaken conscience...
This was the third mistake of God...: King of Arrogants and Fools.
The first – I can remember – was the creation of Time...: the sick virus of natural equilibrium that never ceases – the formula to create formulas – the first and only language to limit all others...
...And the second, the creation of Life – the selfishness that eats itself towards infinity, falling through pain and pleasure as if it was balance and not fact.
(...)
What fallowed was not far from what we see today among others and ourselves: metaphysical stairways climbed everyday, with no reference or purpose, but their crossing in perspective we profoundly named society...
To permit communication, he then created Love: the fear of others... a dependence we wish to repel before it is over, a parasite of misdemeanor attracting us madly to a blinking white light...
...And then – alas – after all the effort, there it was...: the modern man – a simple dot proudly standing alone as a lie in a chaotic universe of pain... a cocoon with no seed... with no reason to be alive...
...and so hard to kill...”

The average human brain has a liquid composition of 872 Terabytes of information...
Enough to contain personal memories, happy dates, classified information... and dark political secrets...
Some, take form in simple phrases, like: “micro-genetic changing polymers” and “Human SBC – Simple Binary Coding” that still arose fear and suspicion to those involved more or less directly...
Occasionally the truth finds its cracks and ways to the public, shocking those who were to shortsighted to guess the strange whispers behind the economical doors of power...
And then, the conspiracy begins...
Suspicion... half-way phrases... and ignorance mingles with fear, creating the most hideous of creatures to elude the caring mind of the innocents... filling them with concern, but especially: misplaced anxiety...
Occasionally, someone... weaker than the web, gives up the fight – embracing comfortably the concept of family, an average wife, and a clone as a son.... forgetting what makes them humans and alive...
In the other hand, sometimes, this can create heroes – extraordinary men and women, that risk it all, for a glimpse of truth and the means to share it with others...
But even then – sometimes – the price is to high...
A comrade I knew since college years, fell down near a 5th level genetic facility: a “Doomsday Lab” as some now refer it... leaving us little more than his last direct-camera report...
...The collapse of freedom... a grim image of the present...

November the 2nd, 2018
Daily CTS-Evolution News – Front-Page Editorial
First non-censored revision – DOC 173584225

ErebusNyx
Ontologia da Dor

Olhos cerrados pelo sono doentio da preguiça, a headache slowly compressing my skull like I've never felt in life, empurrando-me sem calma ou dó para uma cama qualquer, desaparecida nas ruas...
A wheel of constant pain rolls over my mind cambaleando pelas pedras de um pensamento que é meu e confuso, trapped in a cycle of never-ending agony...
Pequenos sons de onde saem pessoas, rodeando-me com pequenas conversas, saying little things that I forget before the sound:
Fascinante esta cara estilizada... estes olhos, this mouth drawn to small to the scale... why...?
Perhaps a metaphor... the scream of the mute... perhaps there is no reason...
Talvez um estilo... Sim... talvez o seu desejo fosse não falar...
I sit down, scroll my face with one hand... o alívio é curto e ilusório...
...placebo...?
The pain is back, crawling... companheira e atenciosa na sua longa saudação...
Voices continue to speak:
...Is life a placebo of death...? Ou será esta cabeça – comida pela dor – uma noite a explodir no mundo...?

A mischief god trapped between dimensions…

Loki… disguised as a frog… stands still in a mystical lake between Ásgarôr (Asgard) and Miôgarôr (Midgard)… avoiding at all cost the terrifying wrath of Odin’s spear… This wrath was instigated by the discovery of his horrendous plan to kill the immortal god Balder…

The dense leaves of Yggdrasill (the World Tree) are a safe place… for now…

The secret forge of Apollo

Deep in the innermost regions of Delphi – unknown to the dreadful Hephaestus, the great Metallurgic God – Apollo, father of Asclepius, worked in secret to develop a way to win Hermes in a race, for the opportunity to court the nymph Daphne, and gain her love…

Poliglomorphia – Muse of Universal Language

The eyes that listen…
The mouth that thinks…
The ears that speak…
…Inside the grand house of words…

When speed was still

They grab me by the shoulders with promises of life and words, that ended by the painful stabbing in my chest… By the knife… and by the death of your dream, my dear…
you… who never lost hope in my recovery, and the salvation of my soul through the silence of God…
you… my sweet pearl of desire… my canvas of thoughts, my darkness in the grey of existence…
you… precious, tender you… were left alone…
Because the pleasure of being alive is slowly drifting from my senses – and as Orpheus is my star – so mistake is my fate…: Prophetic and fallacious…
The gothic meadows we calmly walked by as three, and the family we dreamed… were never real, nor disturbed by indifference…
...They stole my speed… and I was left still…
But alive… Alive to the useless routine and tediousness of life… Alone with you…
So… with all hope… I urge thy to kill me, my dear…
…and with tears… you do so, for the pleasure of angels and demons within the fable…
Death will bring us closer…
…And in death… our son still lives…
…Our son still plays…

A Soul in a Dream
(Successful Experience 002-19)

The grim future…a place where we will lose the authority to exist in face of the paradox of unexplained reason for reality…
The replacement will be made in the meta-linguistic world, through a series of experiences of soul transfer to poli-organic beings…
Metal will be fused with skin and pain – existing in the ever-present doubt of individuality, as an illusion or a fact…
Life…: The marvel presented by Lucifer, will be the first damnation…

- I strongly disagree!
The notion that we have no purpose in life but the search of perfection – and that this flawless goal is contrary to existence itself – is pointless…

- What do you suggest? Individuality in the form of interdependent selfishness…?
…That is suffering at present, and death in the future…

- Only if we don’t accept a purpose…

- Accept or create?
The illusion, and the illusion that we are not being eluded, is indistinct from the state of “must be” and confusion…
Life is selfishness, presented to those who have no choice… but to be born…
Let’s end this injustice…

- Even being a mistake… its product is already existing and among us…
Embracing it, will preserve a purpose and postulate possible happiness…
...As you said…: We have no choice but to be born…
So, what crime did we committed… if all are innocent?

- Innocent at first!
But what of the crimes that we can commit?
The one’s that make us grow in number…! Every day of every year…

- And what of the fallacious of this statement?
You could be right… This could all be hypocrisy, and pointless at best and useless at worst…
But if it was not for life, this discussion and the possible truth contained in her, would not be taken place and found…

- And why should it…?
…Why do we need the doubt…?

- It is a part of us… and you will need it, to subsist…

- No...!
Through others… I don’t need to be alive…