Estele Rigia

He made metalanguage of his own metalanguage and therefore had long since distanced himself from us, behold, he lived in the limbo of a virtual athenaeum and there sprinkled with letters and meanings the dough of bread-word that he consumed in the semantic fever of his post-erudite routine. From above, he saw that the world was collapsing for the lack of reason to live, people banging heads in search of the meaning of life without knowing that they were banging heads in search of the meaning of life. Never will I return to the infamous hall of commonplace, he said. I live here where the language beast lives, and there isn't a day that I don't sacrifice a little sanity for the sake of lexical adventures, he said. Tomorrow I discover that time as well as grammar can expand, that space is elastic and the verb dominates everything, he said. For now, the soap opera of daily human life and its stupid rush towards nothingness is enough for me, he thought. Then he closed one of his books and the world went dark. He smoothed his hair with one hand and with the other pointed at a cloud in the sky. - Hey cloud, I'm catching you, he said already hovering over this metaphor.