Inhabitants of bewilderment:
On February 15th, «Sueño con grandes superficies lisas» will be released. I began writing this collection in 2018. Since then, the words have mutated.
When you visit the Las15Letras Editorial website on the 15th, you will not just find a book. You will find 21 videos. Call them video-poems, if you require a label to make sense of it.
Today, I am sharing a fragment of the genesis: one of the poems in its original form. Black signs on white. A line of insects —or monkeys— crawling across the paper.
This
is LITERACCIÓN. This is LAS15LETRAS. This is DEJA DE INSULTAR AL
MONO. Enjoy.
Click to enlarge
STOP INSULTING THE MONKEY
I step aside.
I hide.
I lean.
I sniffle.
I look in the mirror
and I hear myself whisper
that maybe that face in the distance
is mine.
Once
again.
In this circus, there is no shortage of mirror games.
Stop insulting the monkey,
he has as many hands as you
and maybe he still has a brilliant idea left,
even
now.
He was baptized in your same parish,
maybe he laughs at the same stupid jokes
you laugh at
on weekends.
He’s a spiteful monkey.
He’s a one-eyed, decadent monkey,
that
much is obvious.
At some point he offers you a riddle,
this monkey.
He asks you: «Green on the outside, what’s inside?»
and leaves you stranded in a labyrinth
you don’t just not know how to exit,
you don’t have a remote clue
how
you even got there.
And then you curse the monkey’s ancestors
and all the she-monkeys
you enjoyed in the dark.
God,
they smelled, those bitches.
Maybe this is the trick,
you think,
maybe by closing your eyes,
in the dark,
without a single clue about the steps you take,
without knowing a fucking thing about anything,
maybe that way you manage to escape
the
macaque’s maze.
Because the monkey
represents great wisdom, in China.
And you tell yourself that for wisdom,
you’d take a good swig of gin,
a shot of gin in the throat and you’re flying, whoosh...
You’d clear the labyrinth walls for sure,
but from above,
through the sky,
where the gods roam.
And if anyone can help you in this serious mess,
it
has to be a God.
Or a Goddess, mind you,
so better
start
flying as soon as possible.
I sniffle,
I look in the mirror
and I hear myself whisper
that maybe that face in the distance
is mine.
Once
again.
Go on, move,
in this circus there is no shortage of mirror games.
Stop insulting the monkey,
he has as many hands as you
and maybe he still has a brilliant idea left,
after
all.
Stop
insulting the monkey.
© Max Nitrofoska
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