Thursday, September 29, 2005


This is a story of my past. In a quite remote corner of the Universe. Regarding past lives, I think I was a star in my former life. A very beautiful and gorgeous star who was shining in the firmament. It was so amazing the colour of my light that everyone on Earth could see me at dusk and night. And, thus, I was promoted to a human being. This was my deepest honor. I liked being a star. I worked for a iluminating and waving the cosmos. Clouds of dark matter and galaxies tried to get past me almost every eon, and not once did I lose a planet. The Creator rewarded me with good destinty as far as I can think of it. He may have been luminous, but he think on me. And his children stare at me, when they weren't in school or working in the field. I had all the dreams any star could hope for. When I got old, the Creator got a new star, and I trained it in the tricks of this bussines. My Substitute quickly learned, and the Creator brought me in to the Earth to live with the human beings. It is a fair miracle.

Saturday, September 10, 2005


There are a great deal of workers, several couple of soldiers, a huge number of slaves, and an one queen, that's all. All of them are the trappings of royalty and agriculture. Having watched with extremely attention a documentary on africans ants I begin to question why you would take offense and hurt at being called “antlike.” Such ingenuity and cool precision, willingness to get along with your cohabitants who, genetically and environmentally speaking, are also like you. What you're lacking diversity when you make up in artistry, easy enough when every move is a dance. You attack in legions, colonize whole continents. You are the dream of the Republic realized and suddenly gone.

Like Etruscan, your language is indecipherable. I know this much: you herded cattle made small by memory; your banquet-floor mosaics depicted scraps and bones — no need to clean up. Coins under the tongues of the dead paid for passage, so I have no choice but to feed you the quarter you saw coming. You, well-off, engraved skeletons on chalices as a reminder of mortality, that the soul exists and exits through the mouth.