quarta-feira, 28 de dezembro de 2011


I'll tell you the story of a village in the remote corner of the Earth, a village where the mountains obscure the Sun, where the wind doesn't blow, where the rivers are stale and youth is banal. Surrounded, trapped, all the same. The air is breathed repeatedly, even at the border of the woods, where the darkness crawls and the villagers are forbidden. The trees stop growing and Nature mourns the death of it's beauty. Here there's nothing for anybody but nobody stays still. The young play, the man work, the old drink and death dances along with its shadow. Look around, what do you see? Crystalline mountains underneath the clear blue sky and a tyrant rising.
No one speaks of the growing power, no one fears it. The lake shows the reflection of those of wish it and of the sky but can anyone truly see it? Can it truly be that there's so much space, so much freedom? It's forbidden now. Forbidden to think, to act, to move. It's forbidden to believe, to have dreams. A tyrant rose and everything fell into his domain. And the cost of such power? Nothing. No one revolts, no one is bewildered about the order of things, the orders given to them. Maggots, trees, water, they all digress because they are free. Humans, they stand still on time, not proud, not individuals, not free. No one rips the borders of the woods with a sprint. No soul, not even a tearful rejected child. And I watch this every fucking day. All puppets played by the hands of those who bought the souls of the villagers. They sold them so easily. They just threw it away, laid down in their beds and fell a sleep. Only a whisper and they all vanish.
There's an image. There's an ideal spoken in the various child tales, sang in every song. There are words to kill the loneliness, to explain all the mediocrity and secrecy. The light shines only on the few but it shines overwhelming. There's a revolution in people's mind. The tyrant's power conserved in a crystal ball is about to explode and everyone feels the upcoming day where the village will be so much more than anyone has ever seen. The youth won't be a designation for those born more recently, will be used for the children playing in the field. Everything will be new. All the pieces are coming together, all that is left is to wait, patiently. And who am I? I'm the on that sits by lake all day, remembering the days of the old, waiting for the river to run its course again. When the tyrant realize that the youth is no longer a child, the river will flow, the trees will breath and the Sun will shine. I'll vanish, mission accomplished.

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