Dissertações hospitaleiras

Após dias árduos de tarefas camponesas levadas a cabo por rapazes sem as mínimas destrezas aconteceu o fatal.
Foi contra uma planta num carro de outrem e não pintou a manta porque teria ficado mal.
Intervenção divina a sua sobrevivência?
Merecedora de escárnio a sua displicência?

Castigada a sua inconveniência com semanas no hospital,
Engessada a sua perna por se ter portado mal.
Agora em casa da vovó mimado até ao fim
Quando confrontado com a questão do conforto a resposta e sim.

Ansioso no entanto para sua liberdade chegar
Nesse dia sim o rapaz irá chorar
Lágrimas de felicidade, choros de alteração de rotina
Gotas de raiva, mad! Escorrem até a menina.

Menina esta, mas quem será
Qual e o objectivo deste nosso jacarandá?
Pequenina e sublime no seu senso comum
Ou belíssima e inconsciente da sua vida que se torna num pum.

A decisão e complicada no entanto atingível e visto que se põe em hipótese uma alem de outra a devoção deve ser meramente incredível.
Mas suponhamos após meses e anos de rejeição absoluta que num dia escuro de inverno ele se transforma numa gruta. Querem as duas abrigo, querem-se as duas recostar. Ele vai deslizar a pedra ou mais uma vez ficar a olhar?

A pedra deslizada cada menina num braço da cúpula diferente
Trocas lancinantes de olhares perturbados e senhores sem duvida também perturbadores. Seu braço esquerdo abana com vigor e o direito vibra com clamor, agora com a palavra amor não se adequa na procura da resposta pois ambas são feitas com a sílaba nua.

Chegou altura de dar estes trocadalhos por termine pois tenho de beber um trago de saké.
Se a vos vos agradou a recitação da minha miséria que vos caia em cima um bicho da “malér”a"

Deidre and the conniving Red Ribbons Part II

C ontrary to all reasonable decisions, Deidre decided to persist straight into the heart of Europe, she hadn't been there ever in her life and if not for Curly's family in the North of Ireland it woud've been difficult to round up money for the overwhelming jorney across the altantic or perhaps through the other side.

Things were beginning to get uncommon with curly, what set out to be a bewilderement by his disposition to help slowly evolved into a certain quest for him to, she was very straightforward with her purposes but she was going to give in, the easy way with which they related to each other was too pleasent to overlook and so, as kinky as can be, on the plane after a couple of hours of conversation a couple of kisses exchanged with warmth and reservation they went to the bathroom at the back and curly had his way, she was happy but so focused on the task at hand that they didn't speak about it for a while.

After a weak of gaelic chants and the milking of massive cows Curly told Ma O'Reilly he was going to Italy and she got a cousin to take them by boat. Transportation was beginning to be sort of their thing because yet again the soft and sweet fornication did take place, on the front deck while the captain was fishing for Codfish. She finally sat down for a talk:

-Look Curly, I really like teh time we spend together and god knows you can take me to the moon once in a while but i don't know if we can afford these distractions at this point so if you don't mind i would really rather wait till we get home.

- But you see my darling, my love for you is vast, and to waste away a perfectly good meditaranean trip wallowing on something we shall carry out only on our arrival to me seems foolish, I would much prefer to continue our most luscious affair. The prime of our life is to be ceased as the only one we have my dear, never fear, for I shall guide you, and take you to the answer you so intend to receive. Okie Dokie?- and he delivered a passionate wet kiss to the swept heart of our little girl. She looked him over and read his eyes, a slight downward arch of her eyebroes accented her reticence but there was no denying how right this delightful man was so she kissed him once again and said:

-I could learn to love you.

-Well, my lesson is already learnt.

No better place to arrive for our recent pair but the city of Venice, they were beginning to relax a little more but work was hard to come by, Curly decided to take up a job as waiter in a cafe right at the piazza de san marcos and Deidre snuffed around for informationn while she found a place to sleep for her lover and herself. An abandoned palazzo and a couple of matresses and sleeping bags was the solution, and right by a river they could hardly identify. One night after Curly, Charles finished off work they decided to go for a stride and momentarily Deidre thought she spotted Jim but this was obviously due to the tired state in which she found herself, they decided to dine at a pleasant restaurant in the heart of the city and definately sink in to each other.

After the replenishment and chain estabilished between their enamorate gazes they left the place and being it a dark night charles though of something:

- What if we steal a yacht down at the dock?

-Are you crazy? Besides, the security is too tight for us to even try to conjure a way.

-I think I know of a way, our house has a basement, if i just swim under the barrier I'll be able to get in no problem and there's a dude at work who does these under the table paint jobs for boat's, he can also remove a couple of pieces to disguise the yacht.

-Okay I guess, i'm up for it.

Let's go then. Round up our shit when we get home and i'll pick you up.

When they arrived at home Curly put on some dark clothes and a black mask. He filled a bottle of water with air and drilled a hole on the top, put in a straw and dived in. Deidre was kind of fearful and got hold of everything as fast as she could, got to the entrance to the dock and tried to create a diversion by flashing herself to the guards, it was so effective that they let her in, she took them both to a booth deeper inside the compound and tried to stall with some dances for as long as she could. When she finally heard the alarm her heart dropped and she ran outside but curly had already gone. The adrenaline pumping through her veins made her run like a wild chita and she didn't stop until she was in a dark alley woth no exit and an obvious stench of trouble. Whe she turned back a couple of sailors with buff bodies and mommy tatoos apearred with groggy accents and ill intentions. They grabbed her and although she bravely struggled her way out of her grasp she was shoved by a third one into a boat and was brutally gagged and thrown into a cabin.

Next thing she knew she woke up to with a slpa on the face and the unfortuante news of her whereabouts:

-Did I not tell you to back down you medling cunt? Why would I warn you? For you to savour the victory more delightfully? I told you not to keep on chasing me and now you've forced me to do something i didn't want to do.

-What did you do to him you bitch!- and as she was struck again the chair fell to the floor.

-Watch your language, I owe it to your dad, who's a great lay by the way, to teach you some proper manner's of speach. Now listen up, needn't worry about your bravado lover because a couple of friends have already erradicated him from the face of the earth, but don't worry, it was quick and painless and I've something slighty more mind boggling for you my little tart.

As Deidre shrieked all the bones in her body seemed to crack and her mind collapsed into a gelatinous pile of dung.

-Have you ever heard of a Harem dear Deidre? Well, I shall explain. We have arrived in Ankara, the capital city of Turkey, and I am about to sell you to an oil Lord with a Harem in the middle of the desert and an insaciable taste for young western girls. A harem is a place normally remote in it's location which serves the wishes of it's master. You shall enjoy the company of roughly a hundred women fighting for first string and when called upon you shall deliver your fanny as a sack of meat laid on the feet of rabies infected hounds. So you see, you're fucked.

-Well. doesn't matter. I like fucking, especially Jim, and with you. Fancy a fuck Becca or are you too conservative to suck the rift between my legs?

Becca gave a freaky and ravishing smile and grabbed her between her legs whilst kissing her with her pulsating red tongue.

They arrived on shore and after a few altercations with Jim, trying to understant the error of his ways she was led into a grim and smelly square full of huts and market trollies. They sunk deep into the city and entered an impressive palace that'd knock the white house of it's foundations any day of the week. She was bathed, dressed, prepared and beaten into submission until she was presented before her future lover. After a couple of days of exemplary treatment and a certain probing of her adequacy she was led into the back of a truck with no food and just a pair of knickers, driven into the desert for days that seemed like months. At some point Deidre believed this was her end but it was to imporatant to find Charles alive to die on all this know. The estate resembling a mirage with palmtress and lakes was equally opulent and if not for the chipped away paint oon the walls it woudv'e outdone the latter. She entered singlehandedly a bathing room with dozens of naked women gazing her threatfully and a couple of them doing biblically forbidden thins in the pool. There were all sorts of women, from the beautiful to the disgustin, the old to the young and the incredibly young and there was even a boy or too looking her ever like the hounds of hell waiting for their serving. It seemed to be paradise and the antecipation of what would happen next sort of aroused her but she decided to stick to a corner and remain there until she was called upon. And she was...

End of part 2

Deidre and the conniving Red Ribbons

Deidre had it in her to burst out all the secrets trusted upon her by so many people, she always was a very trustworthy person but for the moment, given her current situation she had no respect of self containement, simply contempt for all that were letting her down. She loathed being entitled the prissy little girl you could rely on and was fed up with responsabillities she couldn't or even did not want to handle.

So right now a great number of persons were compromised by their ill fated deeds and on the path to disgrace for deidre would cough out all the grim details of her trustees sick life, lies and rascal rendez-vous.

The passing of days in suburbia was something of a camouflage to those on the other side of the picket fence and business was hard at work in all fronts, how people got to spill their beans or to get so sloppy as to fail in their concealment was beyond even Deidre herself. It all began with her own father who had turned their basement into an ilegal casino fully equipped with black jack tables and russian roulettes, even a team of créme uniformed dealers with a history of counting cards in the casino they used to work for. In the house right in front swing parties were organized with pledges of secrecy amongst practically everyone in the neighbourhood but the most disturbing was this lovely lady, Rebecca was her name, but Red ribonns was her reputation. She was an incredibly sex oriented and desirable person to look at but as it happens this made her a tad particular about her tastes. She would make videos of kids and teenagers in the neighbourhood and once in a while even invite them over to watch themselves over a glass of wine. As these sessions came to an end she would strip down to but one red ribbon protecting her most private and inapropriate expositions to these children aching with the possibility of opening their present. A gift from heaven, but the problem was she was so much for them that they lost taste for life and that one shot was all.

As banal and ordinary as ever if not for the day when all went wrong, Jim, a very well known kid around the neighbourhood also known for collecting a few cherries from the willing girls around the block. Jim was absolutely awe struck by what he had had and felt and was also very fearful for the video rebecca red ribbons had managed to collect of him and his stepmother in the pantry having it off like lions or rabbits. So he dared to go back, and she said she was done with him but he wouldn't have it and after some confrontations at the door witnessed only by our little angel with horns he stepped into the house. He hasn't been seen since and Becca the babe left town for a fortnight.

Deidre wouldn't settle for this due to her having also been willing towards Jim and although he had discarded of her promptly like all the rest she couldn't help thinking Jim couldn't have been so weak and so she got around and revisited her connections and her journal. Coming across a friend who said they had seen both of them together in Mexico she got a hold of her long time buddy and drove drown without a second of hesitation.

As she and Curly arrived in tijuana as last were spotted the dodgy duo she went around hotels asking about these people and was only informed that a month ago a lady and two teenage boys left a room with a couple of tapes and red ribonns, this man had heard something about Italy, about visiting a couple of similar friends with equal fixations and after some rounding up of money by some significant blackmailing letters to those back home they set off to Italy, Venice. There was always, and unfortnately not to deidre's knowledge a sort of understanding between her father and Becca and after she got wind of her being hunted she sent an email: Dearest Deidre, I trust you will believe I have nothing to do with the dissapearing of your friend Jim and can undoubtedly keep quiet on what I once showed and layed upon your lovely set of ears. But now you shall hear me out you little bitch, if you and your friend do not stop that quest of yours in due time I shall take matters into my own hand and dissapearances will increase so lay off for your own good. Yours Truly, Rebecca Braithwaite.

End of Part 1

Desde que haja descanso o bom senhor não se incomoda

Vou idolatrar hoje e sempre a continuidade da decadência a que me submeto nestes dias tão nefastos. Não acontece nada, não sucede uma única hípotese de figurar nos anais da história senão sendo apenas mais um habitante do planeta preguiçoso demais para se empenhar numa causa. Foi naquela tarde sombria por baixo dos ciprestes cientes de quem abrigavam que se submeteu o senhor á pena máxima imposta pela tal dona clotilde. Estava ele sossegado e quieto quando gritou aos quatro ventos e mais outros ainda não oficilazados mas que esperam ansiosamente a sua vez:
-Porque e que a vida e finita?! Porque deixar espaço a ser preenchido pelos mais novos e cedentos de omnisciência, querem tudo, perdem nada. Querem nada perdem tudo? Mas que se trame que noutro dia irá haver um bom proveito?
- Tá mas é calado que só dizes merda!
-Ah tá bem.
E assim dormiu na segurança de quem sabe que talvez, numa outra dimensão, num outro plano onde se encontram aborígenes e caucasianos, onde discutem alexandrinos com mongoís que existe uma concisa e simples alternativa á sociedade que nos propõe tão vaga e vazia de objectivo?
Interpretar? Porquê? Então se os críticos ainda não o aclamaram como um génio não é nada! Aquele limiar entre a genialidade e a parvoíce, o gajo e mas é parvo catano, deixa-o dormir!

Natalia Vodianova and the attempt to write a picture. (Below)

Mercy on the unworthy
You are not from this world
Break apart from what happens so suddenly

How to express the synchronicity of both things
I wish I could
The song and the woman
To say a feeling
To gesture through the utmost simplicity, you.

How can I love you?
I don’t know you,
I don’t see you yet those 4 lines that limit your image are to be damned
Why should you be confined?
It is a sin, a trick played on me by an ill intentioned lord of wrongdoing

Please be mine, come and stroke me with your eyes if ever that is possible
Do what you will, stop the sound, I shall persist and have no difficulty
No effort, just submission to the natural word that fails to ring in my mind

How can it be? How can it be that I ask such questions through genuine doubts?
Forgive me for not rendering all and failing to give justice
A religion should be made, I shan´t be a follower for my devotion is singular

To end, so lacking, to make haste out of what is insultuous in it’s briefness
Have I crossed borders into saharas way away, taken it a step too further on a cliff?
So basic the phrases I put down! But being subjected through the sole path of the arm, the fingers and the pen.

This is it, no more.
You would be best left untouched, unaged, unaltered, unlived.
I do not believe this but I forever yearn to be your shadow and as such to care for perfection.

A asneirada e "o asno" (e uma fotografia originalmente para aliciar o leitor/mirrone mas que acabou por ser algo que não se faz justiça com palavras)

Forçar um conto, fazer nascer uma ideia de uma frase ao acaso e leva-la a partir daí para o caminho que pareça ao autor o mais ilustrativo da sua linguagem é ao mesmo tempo que absurdo a única forma de um sujeito preguiçoso e de certa forma obstinado na crença de possuir as tais enfatizadas “capacidades para mais” ou até as ditas “tu conseguias se quisesses” (frases que ressoam e apressadamente se fazem esquecer na cabeça que já tanta vez se acomodou a estes comentários e outros que tais, acomodados numa barreira intransponível, um check-point por onde só se passa com passaporte marciano, expondo-se para o mais limitado, não se passa).

Ou seja, estou sempre dependente de surtos de inspiração e do assistente de sinónimos do Word, sim porque na era em que estamos, vergonhosamente a escrita é facilitada para o que não detêm o vocabulário suficientemente preenchido ou não terá a prontidão para aceder ao seu, este segundo sendo o meu caso que me leva na última das hipóteses a ceder. Posso apresentar como desculpa a afirmação de que as palavras já as sei, mas infelizmente a ponta da minha língua está muitas vezes a vários quilómetros da minha boca e percorrê-los é uma árdua viagem que envolve catanas e calções acima do joelho. Apresento também, (quebrando um bocado a musicalidade da frase anterior, havia assim um espécie de “gingar” que tinha antecipado mas abdiquei do movimento de cintura para frisar algumas ideias também importantes) uma vontade de escrever à máquina para não dar tréguas a lei do menor esforço, escrever em papel não é má ideia, a interpretação do que está explícito apenas para o olhar mais experiente ou estudante de medicina é que depois frustra quem a lê, até porque o único leitor que se mostra minimamente interessado é o próprio que benzeu o papel com uma cruz -a cruz do mal-entendimento, e outra -cruzes credo “q’esta” merda!”

Nadar como um sapo num pântano é para um ser humano que procura uma flor sequinha e pronta para se oferecer a quem se dispor a receber o tal fenómeno é a analogia mais disparatada mas coerente para acompanhar a tentativa de dar alguma razão ao que me passa pela cabeça e tenta escapar do viscoso invólucro que é esta, isto é, as conjecturas que abalam, chocalham sem necessidade ou propósito definido que fraquejam sempre na altura de se fazerem ouvir –falta sempre um elemento, uma palavra, uma eloquência. Falar de mim próprio e da minha insatisfação bastante subjectiva perante o mundo é basicamente o que faço e de forma alguma permitirei que caia no erro de o impor como um drama ou um auto de self-importance. Proporcionalmente ao que existe eu não existo, sou brilhante e todos esses adjectivos da mesma categoria que alimentem o meu ego vazio de razão de ser mas tenho a plena noção da merda do caralho que existe por aí, ou melhor, não a tenho.

Patético agora que me apercebo que não só desacreditei uma eventual capacidade revelando um segredo que é melhor guardado mas também pelo facto de que me encontro a descrever o padrão e a forma de escrever que o tão conceituado artista adopta. Portanto, vou-me despedir de tentativas vãs do que se reforça vezes sem conta numa introdução ou contextualização ou o que quer que seja e proceder então á “tazer-ada” no cutelo imaginativo que pasta no meu cérebro e muito ocasionalmente vomita cá para fora um belo de um bolo alimentar saboroso e intacto –que se admira, que se contempla no trajecto até à nossa goela insensível e se mastiga com prazer e se mantém até a próxima cagadela que inevitavelmente abra espaço para outra apresentação, (o que se quer, mas raramente se obtém é que o defeco seja dotado de um amendoim, o fruto seco inesperado que raramente se esquece, que persiste na memória e atormenta o sujeito boquiaberto e surpreendido consigo mesmo) bruta e feia imagem que se roga compreendida e ignorada, posta de lado.
Então cá vai disto.
Estou pronto, coragem!
Qual inspiração qual quê?!
Eu consigo, eu quero!

“O asno”:
Ao passear pelo jardim vi uma menina mesmo muito bela, ela olhou pa mim e eu pronto, fiquei logo fisgado, nem me contive, avancei pa mulher como o meu tio me ensinou: “O touro encara-se de frente” dizia ele. Pa sentei-me, conversei cm a gaja e passadas umas frases bem treinadas nos retrovisores dos carros lá na oficina quando o meu tio não espreitava ela tava sobre o meu efeito, sentiu o poder de um Santos. Fomos comer um gelado à baixa que me custou um bocado pagar, deduzi que iria lucrar a longo prazo em confrontar a minha relutância, pois porque eu consigo ser relutante quando quero, na boa. Não falamos muito na gelataria porque depois de ter desperdiçado as minhas frases e a ter perguntado donde era e que idade tinha não havia assim muito mais pa dizer.
-Mas vives cá há 6 anos é?
-Sim
-Fixe
-Sim.
Respondia ela as minhas perguntas em que ficava minutos que mais pareciam horas a pensar mas continuei a tentar.
-Tá bom o gelado?
-Tá, obrigado.
-Ainda bem, já ca tinhas vindo?
-Não
- É giro não é, e os gelados são bons.
-Pois, é engraçado.
-Tens de ver a minha mota
-Tens mota?
-Tenho, uma 125 muita boa, não é de uma marca conhecida mas a minha tia rute disse que não se arranja melhor áquele preço.
E logo me arrependi de ter dito aquilo, engoli um bocado em seco e forcei uma pose relaxada que não tinha nada a ver com o que tava a sentir.
-Ah... Boa. Onde é que ela tá?
-A minha tia Rute?
E espalhei-me outra vez, piorei quando me ri sem sem saber como agir.
-A mota claro, tá em casa, o meu pai não me deixa ao fim de semana pa não me poder afastar muito. Normalmente nem repara depois quando saio mas hoje não quis mesmo sair com ela.
-Começo a achar que essa mota se calhar não existe…
-Podes vir vê-la, juro que é verdade, até posso ir buscá-la. Aliás, se não quiseres não acredites, não tenho de provar nada.
-Ah ta bem. Então até logo. Prazer.
-Prazer.
Deixei-a andar um bocado mas depois para mal dos meus pecados persegui-a e agarrei-a pelo braço.
-Espera. Desculpa. Fui um bocado estúpido
-Não nada, eu é que sou teimosa e não quero acreditar.
-Tens razão, desculpa. Fazemos assim, dizes-me onde vives e amanhã á hora que quiseres eu levo-te onde quiseres, na minha mota. Tá bem?
Ela hesitou.
-Tá bem.

E é assim que se dá por terminado o ensaio menos esforçado e mais idiótico, tanto como chato, que já escrevi mas que no entanto pode talvez contribuir para a minha maturidade como criativo.
Podia transformá-lo a ele em alguém com sérios problemas de sensibilidade no que toca ao que é encarado como normal e podia escrever que ele não tem mota, podia ter amigos que lhe ajudavam a perseguir um objectivo cruel e fundamentalmente mórbido. Podia adoptar um tom mais melancólico e fazer com que a morada dada pela rapariga fosse inventada pela mesma e levar o rapaz a vaguear pela cidade, ou até conduzir pelo campo, uma quantidade de cenários que não levam a nada. A ficção é um mundo melhor deixado inexplorado. Que é que pode surgir de positivo a partir de personagens e locais nunca testemunhas destes acontecimentos? Nada. É uma distracção como qualquer outra, no meu caso, como no de tantas outras pessoas suponho, um pouco mais obsessiva e muito mais inconclusiva, nunca terminada, nunca perfeita, sempre parva aos meus olhos, os dos outros não posso nem quero comentar.

Elbert, Lord Emille and Lira.

Arriving in the end of time there is surely no escape from the past, i mean, what else is there? For the simpleton that drove his truck every single day of the week up and down the hill, getting up at hours unacceptable to some, the latter being the tean-beat generation that in it's renewed wisdom and fresh approach towards the infinite possibilities of the opening of the world. He was unhappy but relatively pleased with the simple sums he could bring home to feed the single daughter and light of his life. A wife long gone, succumbed into the spirit of the treacherous kitchen enslaver, work that monetarily amounts to nothing but feeds the dying certainty that tradition and loving dedication is permeable to happiness.

The more complex the human subjects himself to being or in turn is drawn into or dreadfully conditioned from the start the more it becomes easy for the mind to deliver itself to ambition, yearning or yet another element that when truly considered is improbable to satisfy. The cycle is a parasite, a disease unto those who meditate beyond religious or spiritual beliefs, quests for meaning. Eggs, bread, company and the occasional predicament of where my patch ends and yours begins should be the civilization in the vision of thinkers and the likes of these. Discussion, debate, revolving around themes and insisting on the ideals of one another, based on adequate citations. All is background, feedback, the right environment, every once in a while there comes along the man who escapes his empty, from this standing point, life and manages to succeed in whatever area he sets his most tireless mind to. But it is this my point, areas and sections of cultivation have no place in the utopia of my eyes. Of course I am not stupid to the point of overlooking matters that can only benefit from persistence through empirical, theoretical and any other -cal that has discovered preventions to sickness and aids to development. Why must things have a cost, if they ever do? Must progress towards the safeguard of life lead ultimately to death, skipping a whole lot of shenanigans and comically referred matters that are all but this. I got carried away, making an objective out of vagueness and pointless generalizing.

The unsaciable thirst for intellectual supremacy, a super computer fully equipped with all weighed against the oblivion of those who know not beyond their ride up the hill... To me, there is no competition. He carried a sack of potatoes from the market and the occasional personal assortment of vegetables from his own reserve, a way to repay the kindness of the wealthy eremit who rarely escaped the top of the hill and his villa of this demand left unperceived by the driver, Elbert was his name and the luck of falling into the graces of said bat was something he never overlooked and thanked humbly on the also rare contact with Lord Emille. Although to this man's ever thankful eyes this was a one in a lifetime break the truth is he was payed miserably, barely covered the gas to fill up his truck, but all he needed was that unconditional smile and reassuring words uttered by his emerald eyed Lira. Lira was, since an eager suggestion from a a bewildered Emille, tutored up on the hill amongst the valleys of books and rainfalls of papers signed by her own personal, hardly concealed admirer. Skeptical at first Elbert had allowed Lira to follow a life which he himself found fit for another sort, he had come to this conclusion on realizing the facilities in transportation(the local school was of a distance worrying to any parent, blindly trusting as he may be) and the possibility of spending more time with his "lovely Lira," a name never worn out by use.

It had befallen upon him from very early in her life that he was to be outsmarted and would let no one get in the way of this fact, specially himself. "I have no interest in making my remaining family into a prosperous society for the delivery of goods" he had concluded on an exclusive episode of consideration. So it was that Lira was dropped off to 4 sufficient hours of learning, walking back down to her home keen on telling her father of yet another story too involving
for him to understand, he had sacrificed selflessly simple conversation but in overwhelming happiness observed the talent his offspring had to never make him feel dumb or in need of something more. Emille, partly intrigued by the sponge that was this girls brain and mostly delighted by the firmness of her young bosom, him not being that old himself, gave more and more of his person every time, reaching the advertised desire of passing the thirst onto the kindred spirit. There was little expectation of a riot in the skies, in the elements, in all that was grand enough to determine not one but a monstruosity of destinies calmly minding their own business on a yet to erupt earth. Nevertheless it came, at an hour of slumber somewhere, an hour of leisure elsewhere, hours of work, meditation, tramping, ranting, loving, desperation, breaking apart or driving from point a to point b, the last being the occupation of the fewest possible generation ladder that were at present moment discussing in a restrained manner Lira's recent tendency to arrive home later than expected, beyond even a tolerance supposed by Elbert to consist of a normal offer of Emille's, such as a cup of tea or a display of his own patch of vegetables.

The sky turned a shade of dark purple, apocalyptic and bizarre yet the mystery it induced and the fear it caused was accompanied to the eye of the vegetable and family oriented beholder as beautiful. To the full intellect and culture of the objective hilltop monk all sorts of theories, prophecies, damnations spun to mind, and to this the inevitable cold sweats adjoined propulsing the genuine physical feeling into the unfaithful task of terrifying the receiver of it's sensations. Lira, still in an early stage towards enlightenment saw only what was to displayed: unlikely colors crying over each other and prohibiting the slightest feeling of hope that such phenomenon was similar to that of a sunset of impossible description, this was no green ray, the end was nigh. Had she been in control of the wheel the instinct would have been to step hard into full throttle and foolishly let one area of the sky behind her and the rest above and ahead, the same. Elbert dazzled still by a real image that hadn't even been seen in similarity fictionalized or illustrated into documents out of his interest and area of expertise, kept on committing to his delivery that would not be kept for once due to a pretty picture. By the time he was arriving at the gates of the presently somber mannor deaf from the sycophantic panting of Lira and the meanwhile downfall of Emille's sanity he was long gone into an inexplicable trance of organic LSD proportions. It was then that the patches of cosmic flora dropped violently into the planet's core, such was the massiveness of these brute colisions that a wandering look would lose track of theses blocks of "worldacide", an implosion was to gradually take place and most of the earth's inhabitants would be deprived of such spectacle. Lira began to manically shout and run into the house where she found Emille under a table counting the strips of wood under an oak desk, victim to his many cerebral rages, emphatic punishments laid from dusk till dawn until hand and wooden surface became one in harsh matter, exhaustive studies and ramblings. There lay locks of hair beside him on the floor covering a number of piled up books opened in specific pages, on sighting this obsessive dedication to a logic, rational explanation to everything and all she made her way back to the arms of her father. Elbert, though in a state of ultra-self-conscience through incomprehension was unloading the sack of potatoes into the service door, left open by a few dedicated yet reasonable servants when confronted with the definite precognition of a sudden final installment to their suddenly realized short lives. Embraced by his lovely Lira a smile brought to his face the eventuality of return but it was not to be. He held her hand and passed through the gate, this time on foot, cut through the green and found a privileged spot from where to absently witness with the prized company of his daughter the fall of civilization, the one that crept into comfort only to go back in a false evolution. Under the shade of a cypress tree he gazed into what seemed almost an expectation, Lira, frightened by so many things she had not the maturity or the foolishness to decipher delivered in part her gaze into her fathers. She set her head on his shoulder, crying silently and assimilating all that had been left to do, remembering her mother and that one specific time when she was taught to peel an onion under the supervision of her entertained mother, laughing and weeping, mixing these ingredients leaving but a breathless taste for being, simply taking in what was to be offered. Elbert had no thoughts, just a detachment from all that he had known prior to this event, to say the least. The chunks of matter seemed to pace themselves slower through an invisible atmosphere and recollect themselves before the plunge into their individual contribution to the world's demise. The ground began to shake, this did not change anything, father and daughter trembling back and forth from each other, the purple sky fell. A last cry over the surface of what they had held dear escaped Lira embracing her father in fear and a warm response marked what ceased forever to be.