HOUSENIC

house doesn't look like, lost in the middle of the bush, rotten wood and on top the ugliest chimney. reaching it hurts and tires: in these strange and sad paths all resentments and hopelessness thrive.

here is the sewer of the immediate universes, a black hole swallowing the dirty matter of the filthy world that drains and disembogue into the fissure where the rats live.

house of desolation, no home sweet home, sharp corners, pointed edges, dirt and corrupt worms that infest the latrines. nails pulled out broken hooks barbed wires surround all sides, quicksand next to dry and brittle mud, dark swamp, venomous animals with dark eyes and inside the house a single dim light that darkens the future.

entering is a fall, the body disappears in a hole, driving a brain whose synapses are raucous electroshocks, crash thoughts, virulent amputation of logic, steatosis of errors choking the steps, you become a spiraling figure in concentric dance, whipping top made of flesh that pierces the floor and earth, wallows and meets the jealous and spiteful hell that sucks the wicked into a proverbial and visceral reckoning: this accounting sums zero in all vertical columns, the verdict is a painful corrosive extensive abrasive goodbye.

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