Gehenna to Zion
And back to Gehenna.
from the spanish by Antoinette Poulton
are times, many, when I think that I speak alone. Does it matter?
Scarcely 30 hours ago, on a night with a bloodstained moon, I discovered
what life could be. From Gehenna to Zion. I liked what I saw. Girls
in miniskirts and terrible women. Nordic beauties with intense lips.
Hot blood behind eyes black like the midnight sea. Cognitive apotheosis.
I want more! For hours and hours the phrase is repeated. From Gehenna
to Zion. The mist that covers everything is attractive to the heart,
and the feeling that everything is within reach makes you feel infinitely
better. I want more! Strains of nights that flood the senses, create
dreams of a strong world and the Will of Power. From Gehenna to
Zion. To abandon the Valley of Hinnom for a day, to feel beyond
oneself, to arrive where YOU are. I want more! The sky is so high
and it turns out that you have already passed it. Have you
ever seen the yellow brick road? From Gehenna to Zion. Gehenna,
Gedena, Gemela, Geoda, Gema. From Gehenna to Zion. Love without
limit that will be killed by the light of day. I want more! Time
passes and it doesnt crush you. My hands are free and they
plough and work Gehenna. Before, putrid valley, dump of sins and
ridiculed of Nations (the nation You, the nation Me, the nation
The Rest); now, fertile field of mechanical devices, slender flowers
and bi-cephalic dogs. I want more! The touch and the smell, the
eye and the hearing are blurred and they open the way to certainty.
I want more! I want to make Gehenna to Zion eternal: that inferos
and infernus are blurred; that the limbo recovers what
is its own and the hyperconscious sky burns until it turns
you to smoke. I want more! That Gehenna: Zion. Sand on the beach
under the feet is like time that we lose. Perhaps youve already
had enough? I havent, never. Fausto, who sells his soul, knows
that it isnt necessary. I want it all! Because I know that
the only thing that never ceases is the desire to want. The past
was never better, memory is the ash of failure. From Gehenna to
Zion. Look for your number on your back; be careful not to bend
too much; your crystal bones will shatter into a thousand pieces.
More! Now! Scratch the number, erase it; tear and pull the skin
and perhaps they wont recognise you. More! GEHENNA. My face
is blurred by the morning sun. ZION.
is day and they have returned, and the blood from my back doesnt
cover the number, tattooed a thousand times, marked by fire, carved
into the bone through to the marrow. Maggots feed on me. The bi-cephalic
dogs agonise and steel rots in the sun. The strains of nights return
to the sewers where night and day are only notches on the wall.
Gehenna is again Gehenna. And Zion is further away than ever; Unattainable,
further away: the map has become indecipherable and the path knots
itself, suffocating. You see and you hear, you touch and you smell.
And I dont like any of it. The morsus conscienciae
returns, and a gOD in a distant place feels proud of it. And still
you want himme to speak? You think that I can say something to console
myself? Difficult work. Porcelain Hercules riddled, destroyed below
the hooves of time that gallops impassive. Time that you left behind,
now cant be frozen . Zion above the sky. Gloria there where
she wants to be and peace in Gehenna. Peace that negates want, hunger,
man. How do You, I, The Rest want me to say something?