Good Have Yoghurt Have Stomach Bug

KALEIDOSCOPE 03 - Lady Macbeth




in mind the words of the letter that had arrived in the morning and an image, that of his dead father slumped on his desk.

Gabriel ran.

Fuga. Escape.

The hot air from the lungs and condenses into small clouds around me. Grips me a chill .... an ice that burns. Cocito Damn! It is the torment of Cain!
The clouds lose air quickly, and with the speed of my bike, perpetual far, far from being uniform, the gathering behind me. The untrimmed guess a gust of wind.
Track of our passage. The trace of human existence ... small clouds of condensed water vapor that flake melts into air replaced in less than a minute from other small clouds that invariably follow the fate of those that preceded them. This air is full of dirty breaths of a thousand generations. I climb a retching while I think that living breathing corpses of the past.

Fuga. Escape. But as

'll never run far enough away to escape from myself?
Corro, his face wet. The
face streaked ... no, not tears, but drops of rain ... pitiful ... as if to mask the anguish that I try to find my dry eyes ... cold.
What a monster ... show that even if I would be standing there gazing at the corpse had not even managed to drip a tear ... maybe if I ran it was not for the horror, but for fear of discovering that the horror left me indifferent.
Again the roar of the rain echoes in my ears, long continuous wail, slow agony of seccaspri whispers rhythmically monotonous, as my steps, many steps, how many? ... 1, 2.10, 100, 547 ... whatever number, for each x such that x belongs to the set of real numbers, walk-positive numbers ... and negative? These are steps backwards? Well, I do not think ... I do not care just now has, has not dropped, the language of mathematics ... reality depends on the system by which encodes an impersonal language will also impersonal reality so I can go on thinking, thinking without falling ... falling ... no, we're falling back! Think more! For more! The siren of an ambulance, I cling to his sound, propagation of sound waves, sound weak, the ambulance leaves, Doppler effect, curious correlation between the sirens of ambulances and the relative motion of galaxies, already - and just smile sketched off - but quell'ambulanza ... agony of people, tired of dying stars ...
restart Damn! Close your eyes, do not think, run, run home.
House, home, here it is check around the corner, the den to hide, put the sand in which the head (blessed are the ostriches). After a time I reached the unthinkable, unthinkable because I turned off my mind. You can not turn it off? No, it's true, you can not, however, it can be drunk, drunk with the mind and emotions. So the mind is not confused and think the pain that dominates the drowning, it's like a scream that by its very intensity makes us deaf for a while. '(Is this the reason for my apparent coldness?). Here we are. Pull out the keys. My hands are wet. Open the door. Take off your shoes because they are dirty. My hands are wet. Take off his jacket. The hands are full. It's dark. Turn on the light. Hands dripping in the darkness. Hands! Because I feel the blood on his hands? Because my hands are stained with innocent blood? Because my hands are stained with the blood of my innocence? Does not wash, you can not wash the murder of a part of himself. Consciousness, consciousness is the Executioner of themselves, that part of us who believe innocent, that he is convinced they are right!

Damn bastard! but why the fuck did it!?!
Maybe I should try to understand ....
Shit! I should hear it even when he did not want to talk!
My father, my conscience, in fact both.
I should have ... or maybe I could have groped at least ....