Posts
I have never killed a man, but I have read
many obituaries with great pleasure...
[C. Darrow]
I WISH I KNEW HOW TO TIE MY SHOES, run faster than I do, and hold my breath for longer. Perhaps I have wasted too much time looking at it and, now I just wonder: Why time goes faster when you don’t look at it? Oh… Would you look at me now? I’m mumbling and giving out excuses that only suit my fears.
Back to the subject:
You are real. You are not a dream. You exist; but perhaps, now that I have you (at last) in front of me, I realize: I must be dreaming. How quiet this rooftop. Isn’t it? How abominable is the approaching night; it will cover you, in darkness. And you’ll be gone forever. How tormenting the sunrise will be. How monstrous my realization. Listen to the choir… How silly they look with their little Austrian costumes! Where are you?
YOUR blinking eyes do not belong to this moment; they shift. I don’t remember our first time; but do you? We started so long ago; didn’t we? And yet, the menace of time and space (if there is such thing) turned us into this. I guess that whatever it is brought us here turned the favor upon you; you got lucky. Don’t you think? Well, just look at me and look at yourself! Look at me looking at you, admiring you, from this quiet rooftop. What am I to you? Is it true that we were once the same?
We are fourteen billion years old; can you imagine! Fourteen “big ones” and counting! I should have wrinkles by now, but I don’t. I’m only eight years old; or so our primitive number system tells me. I have been looking at you for quite a long time, and your reddish face blinks faster by the day; we are definitely getting old. Your blood is getting hotter while mine is getting colder. I have a charming face (or so they say) and you have a burning surface. We are brothers, sisters, sons of a primeval atom… Is it true that we were once the same?
Down here we believe in spirits, in an after-life; after this one. We are so naive and so defiant that we have managed -as beings of chance- to believe that we know the order of all things. In here, I even have a name: Human. Would you like to know yours?
<<I knew you wouldn’t…>>
We have chosen, for the sake of order and for the lack of reason, or maybe because of our inherited, useless and disproportional value of fear; a man, a figure, an idea as our master, as our guide. God! Can you believe it? It turned out that we have also used “that god”, that “figure” as an excuse to multiply and to spread a confused and shallow message of separation and hatred that had traveled faster than the speed of light. Religion, as we know it, has killed more men, women and children that all wars and sickness combined. We now have as many gods and beliefs as we have pores in our skin and grains of sand in the sea. It is funny! The one thing that was initially supposed to bring us together has turned us against each other; and all in the name unity and peace. Can I tell you a secret? I am thinking about becoming one of those gods. What do you think? But I am far too young and inexperienced to compete with them; too young! I’m sure they only mean that because of my human years. It would be easier than I initially thought. I just have to tell people what to do, what to believe and how to live, or face eternal fire. Just like a dictator does; but with greater power and a far greater reach: The entire universe.
Oh… Would you look at me now? I’m mumbling and giving out excuses that only sustain my fears. I am talking to you; as if you could actually listen. Can you? Are you still there?
Everyone here seems to be in a constant chase: a chase to become somebody, wanting to be somebody, to emulate someone, to look and talk like someone, to be remembered, revered and even envied; and they use their short time as “beings of chance” on trying everything that someone else did or said; anything that could explain their origin, their purpose, their vision of themselves and their end. As I mentioned to you before: you got lucky! You are up there; floating in space, unreachable and magical. We were separated at birth, but I remember you, as clear as if it had happened a minute ago. Look at what you have become! I am expected to live up to one hundred orbits around the Sun; how old are you now? What can you tell me about the bearded man? If you see him somewhere, anywhere, tell him about our hunger, about our thirst, about the suffering of the younger ones, about all the wars we have endured on his name. Oh yes! I almost forgot. Down here, almost every conception or image that we have about our “superior being” comes in the shape of a male; interesting formality considering that almost all living things in the world that he created are brought to life by the “weaker gender”. But what do I know? I am only fourteen years old.
We are lazy beings. We have invented destiny in order to explain, in a more incomprehensible but fashionable way, (we enjoy not understanding, we are addicted to it, and also to finding explanations that suit that necessity) the things that we don’t want to invest a second on understanding. Things like: death, life and love. And we reassure ourselves with the abstract certainty that everything is meant to be; that everything happens for a reason. Are you laughing at me now? Maybe that is why you are dead!
But not everything is as bad as you may think. Down here we also have great things that I wouldn’t be able to abandon or trade for anything or anyone, not even for you. We have music; the union of different sounds that when combined in harmony, they can build anything out of nothing, anytime, anywhere. And we have love… Just don’t ask me to explain to you what it is; it would take my entire time here and probably yours to come up with a good and partially complete understanding.
Love; that is the best thing…
But what do I know, I am only 16…
We keep digging holes underneath our feet, trying useless to find a fueling force; ignoring that the only energy capable to take us back to our origin lies in our core. No one will make it. One of my traveling partners, whom I love, we will fuel each other’s journey on our way back home, to our origin. And while a seventh string plays for us a song to make our long journey home; we will meet and end up our time beginning a new one; a time that will never be measured.
Don’t be so rigid. You definitely manage well your impersonation of a dead corpse. Your biggest accomplishment yet!
Back to the subject:
You are real. You exist. Cold, but you exist.
Now I remember; I mean, I remember how we met. It was in first grade. It was my first day at that school and everyone laughed at me. The nurse came to verify the medical files of the new students and, her white coat and her mercury smell scared the shit out of me; literally. Who am I kidding? I saw the needle on her coat’s left pocket and, that is when it happened.
-Teacher! Teacher! It smells like shit…
And you laughed at me; only not with your lips. We spend our first six years in school together. <<Well, I don’t mean together as in a couple>>. We attended the same classes, the same classrooms and you never dared to look at me; as if I was dead!
-Now look at you!
Then one day, for my surprise, you sat down in front of me at the cafeteria. You smiled. I was nervous. I blame the milk. I am lactose intolerant. I’m not. I have a weak stomach. I vomited. And you laughed at me; again. You can’t laugh now; can you? I did not see you for a while. You were gone; I heard up-north. Then one day, for my surprise, as usual, you appeared again. A man and a woman; and you looked stunning. That was the first time I kissed you; remember? What a splendid night! I am not sure if the car accident afterwards has something to do with the fact that I don’t remember seeing you again for the next ten years or so. But you were always closer that you thought. But your insolent and ungrateful game of chance is over now. I got tired of seen you fucking other man, breathing another air, living another life. Is that what you call a life?
-There is no life if I am not in it!
Did I ever mention how great you look when you wear red? Oh… but that is a white dress; how silly! That’s right; I remember now. You were going to get married with that insignificant resemblance of a sub-specie. No. I don’t hate him. That is why he is not the one here. But let’s not speak about him. You betrayed me. So many times you have destroyed me. How could you go on with your life knowing that I was dying for you? That will answer your question:
-That’s why I killed you!
WHEN MARCO’S BODY WAS FOUND on a deserted beach in Cascais; he was missing the back half of his head. A gunshot to the mouth; the police said. Adriana’s body was never found. Some still believe that her body is still buried, deep in the sand. Others assure that she is still alive; that they have seen her walking on the shore, wearing the same dress; asking them: Have you seen Marco? At his house, the police found thousands of photographs of her, covering the walls of every room. They also found countless notebooks in which he had written her name, over and over; Adriana, next to tiny drawings of broken hearts. For decades he had followed her; chased her, in silence, ever since that first day at school.
He invited her for a drink. He was leaving the country. He wanted to say goodbye properly; he said. They discovered, after the forensic examination, traces of some substance. What is the name of it? This will sound awfully comforting: But she was asleep when Marco opened her chest with his bare hands. They believe that he ate her heart. Well, they found bits of a human heart inside his mouth; they just couldn’t verify if it was in fact hers.
A lifelong obsession…
In one hand, he had a gun and, in the other, a note.
I lived my life devoted to you. And I have cherished every single moment of your life ignoring my own. I do not regret what I did, for it was the only way possible for us to be together.
Aldebaran…
Back to the start... And we’ll be together, forever, where time can’t be measured.
But what do I know? I only managed to become god when I could be anything far more practical. I killed Adriana Walsh. I am 35 years old. I am no longer afraid of the dark.
ADRIANA WALSH died in 1988 in Cascais, Portugal. Her body was never found. I still remember and enjoy the smell of her blood, still warm, running through my fingers.
Oh, well... I guess this is farewell. The night is young and there are still a few old friends to visit.
Until then!
_______________________
