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amphibian logbook

we still played

with dolls

when names were multiplied

            seventy times seven                 heteronyms                 

            slept

            on the same pillow

 

we carried in our bodies

the sum of all our ancestors                 :

violence                       intimacy

converted into chamber music

            the danger is               

            where end

our arms were therefore a higher                                

                        algebra

than metaphor

 

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Manifesto II

chuck palahniuk was

            buddha the late show host sang

                        lullabies

and we knew nothing

            we knew

                        nothing

of what would come

            afterwards because we neither read

                        the terms

and conditions of use of the world´s

            pace of the human

                        stain

we children of our time confused

            -of course-

                        language´s

binary opposition

            to talk or to remain

                        silent

verbal action or abstention

            with binary code

                        we atrophied

our tongues overloaded our

            thumbs and sealed the hormonal

                        howl

in text messages

            by the mid 2000´s

 

                        in some corner of silicon

                                    valley

                        our verbs will endure

                        once we´re dead

 

with us beati will be multiplied

            —antimicrobial preservatives prevent

                        degradation

by bacteria—

            our nails will be

                        relics

but the calendar won´t be elastic

            there won´t be altars mausoleums

                        statues

and the incorrupt

            bodies won´t be

                        venerated

because we

            offspring of the tower of babel´s

                        collapse

first witnesses of the end

            of language

                        will scratch

with these surving nails

            the hollow of each

                        niche

and in a language

            post language

                        —the digit´s

emporium reduced us—         

            in a tongue that won´t be

                        a tongue

we´ll reclaim

            our right

                        to oblivion

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archaeology

  1. my mother decides that sundays are the day for broken things. the week dies into cracks and i need to learn to suture it.
  2. to learn a surgeon’s profession you must first observe wounds. learn about dressmakers. my mother’s mother’s mother was a seamstress. the madrid of the postwar years only knew about fragments. my mother nursed on the torn apart.
  3. think of the world far from the world. consider the wound inside the glass case. does the glass lock up the pain? there is a piece of a leg, an elbow, half an ankle. achilles is one-eyed. the vessels give up in the face of time. time amputates myths. archeological museums summarize the mutilation of the ages. mutilated time.
  4. in the archeological museum there is a deer scapula. someone decorated it before time was called time. in spain three million chickens are killed every day. two saturdays a month i gnaw the wings down to the bones. twelve volts, slit throats and bleeding out. that’s not death.
  5. in the archeological museum there are also two sepulchers. i’ve never been in those rooms. you have to think of the wound far from the bones. my mother amputates me from the world.
  6. metaphor is a secure place. in the deaths of men there is pain. you don’t have to see it.
  7. only men have real bones.
  8. when the surgeon fails, the thanatopractor camouflages the disaster. if the adequate colors are applied, death is no more than the inevitable evolution of sleep. the dead also give up in the face of time. thanatopraxy is another form of pottery. an ephemeral art.
  9. i’m weaned from my mother. in spain five hundred and sixty million chickens continue to be killed per year. time still cuts vessels. i renounce sundays of broken things.
  10. in the natural history museum there are no glass cases containing the wound. death is an instrument for knowledge. animals don’t sleep. they fly, run, take their heads out of the holes of their burrows. death is undressed. and celebrated.
  11. taxidermy is thanatopraxy for animals. men are no longer animals.
  12. there is no dignity in the deaths of men.