Non mortale quod opto 2

 SABRINA

(asking herself: "Is living in acid the system of the genital light of the gods?, a bird in love with the first abyss?, without a clear alcove, received as a gift in the realm of the invisible heart? It is, naturally, a way of dying by crumbling, whose honey inaugurates, each time, its own meanders. Incendiary pollen, semen of viscera transported in the astral light, green or red attempt, mysterious homeland of moss. Wow, that's what they say, if time goes or remains trapped in us. Kingdom of roots with the glow of mint, wet pubis of the poem, part of the wet earthly dwelling ---- as if the cascades of misfortune, of amber, of nostrils had transgressed my substance and I, from this moment, took you away with me, ah K!)

Luxurious penthouses? Beautiful, well-dressed secretaries? And computers showing the markets? The gigantic fingernail of commodity space imposes itself, moving like a fly over surfaces impossible for reason to grasp. They grope, searching for faces similar to their own amidst all the pre-chewed dialogue of the news. A jungle of operational costs and fluctuations, also the (why not?) secret ink of some meditation—the first polygon of a movement of escape? Oh, otherness, oh, authority financed by brokerage. Such sentimental irradiation! Every function affiliated with its own brevity (in tacit terms) is as if it had soon never existed.

Other than that, NOTHING! Heating, electricity, rent, gasoline-powered cars, salaries, food, energy, bonuses, health insurance, internet bills, cable TV, school fees, college loans, and then the nightlife that inaugurates in us the thousandfold expression of all this naked, cancerous nothingness of our lives.

Here, in this bowling alley of appearances where we fall one by one, like pins, precious trillions of dollars will soon turn to dust. Here, where everything is edge, a taste of greed, soon... (INTERRUPTION: -

STOCKBROKERS

(Positioned, staring at nothing—no spontaneity, however. An indeterminate desire circulates through their tired bodies, imprisoned by the stock index panel. Everyone has the impression that an incalculable amount of conversations, lives, centuries accumulate in their rapid numbers, and that they enjoy the dead shadow of thousands of extinguished desires. The coffee service from Sabrina's house arrives at the table where everyone is sitting—K, Sabrina, them—as I remember her earlier, on the beach, one of those girls within the seven-kilometer radius of the beach, in disguise. She, too, was staring at nothing, but quickly, faster than them, and plunging her eyes into different voids, to the sides, behind, in front, while they just stared fixedly at the panel of their tablets, at nothing.)

"Thank you, but we don't want your pity. Our distressed surroundings still seek tangents, and rumors reach us like distorted dispatches from the front. "We're all fed up with the pseudo-imperialist harassment of the President's phone calls. "Now, mysteriously, that he's starting to travel, a proverbial shower of nonsense is unleashed upon us while we urgently think about 'other matters,' while we process the Fed's sphinx-like rants, which threaten a decision. "A threat, perhaps, with a weak argument, but one that also leads to it. "On the Asian side, Indonesia is showing off its flamboyant side. "It will surely stop being so at any moment, capiche?" "China, by the way, is also surviving at this moment, submitting to the conditioned reflexes of a soft fiscal vocabulary. "We also no longer believe in tragic gestures, or in grand pronouncements - we do not consider inventing anything grandiose for a useless public that buys less and less of our stupid products.

"No, no new impatience, especially in politics. Inflation won't fall anytime soon, and we don't place any ridiculous hope in that. "We have already spiritually renounced a certain number of short-term effects, and we will FOOLISHLY admit to being treated like a dissected monograph by the newspaper. "Now all that's left is to pray for faster trade than the current one and any political stopgap capable of helping our business." "Finance, yes, but what now? Derived from what? Our flair for changing circumstances reduces our flexibility and installs us like a mistake on the infantile throne of liberal newspapers, where most articles seem to mock investors. "They will probably kill us with so many summaries of serial repetitions and the nauseating feeling of a nightmare come true."