After this, see the invisible notes stained eyes and saw an open door in the mirror. And that voice I had heard when he was not yet, and seemed hopeful lament of the Phoenix, he said: "Back to you and show you things that will never happen after the death of the seed." At that moment I was under the power of the idea and saw a throne built on a spike, and someone was sitting on the throne, invested in the lotus position. And he looked like a polished stone by the sound of rain, or a flock of crows lapis lazuli, and around the throne there was a desert that shone like a moonless night. I also saw approximately throne seven quarters in which a mantis waiting forever, and were clad volcanoes, and wore a crown of lighted lamps in the head. From the throne came caresses and promises burning before the throne and good wishes of men without souls.
And to the right of the throne was a melted clock whose drops were falling on a scroll written within and without, and closed with seven kisses on the eyelids sleep. And I saw a winged old man singing with closed lips: "Who longs to undo the time putting on these hot lips eyelids frozen drops, to open the scroll?".
But neither heaven nor on earth nor under the earth was no one to dream of the parchment. And I wept ink and dreams because there was nobody who believed in that stuff.
Then, amid the lethargy of men sleepwalkers, a transparent bishop took the drop in your little finger and proceeded to weave a blanket with them to turn on the pulsating stars.
When I was kissing the eyelid to suck the first drop, I heard a siren song virgin crackling voice said: "Dream!".
When I saw the second kiss lingers on another drop, a cry came out of my tongue stammering that pronounced: "Omsitardaioestornuvosenti."
When I was kissing the third drop sliding down the eyelids asleep, the house of cards stood as the wind vanes and the ants came in through the eye of a lock, singing opera in an African dialect, "ukelefurtivombolacrimamkalakalacrimaaaaaaaa"
When I was kissing the fourth drop, the tabs on the Angels swept the feet of the living, paving the way towards the sacred mountain, stone consist of letters without reading: "lduebapcijhfenfoehab cpñoakwxmjh cbueagxbuxpac"
When I saw kissing the fifth drop of the sea foam solidified build a tomb in the middle of the palace, and saw below della the living who had been seduced by proclaiming the message non nato. And said with a voice impossible arpeggios: "Oh, Queen Mother, when danced by the inhabitants of the earth and engulf our deaths?"
Then each of them was given a robe of bare skin for them to learn to love being part of the mystical body.
When I was kissing the sixth drop, I looked clockwise and showers of susceptible plants. The sun became small and a child ate a snack, the moon became fresh bread and sparkling eyes of men fell sea \u200b\u200bto light the unknown depths, such as apples fall from the tree when the soul is inflamed with lust for love. And they said the mountains and finite spaces, "Tumbaos on us and hide us from the loneliness of dying in the ear. For the day has come full fusion of flavors."
After this I saw four candles standing positions on the four cardinal points, holding the four winds so that does not blow in the face of the Muses extinct. I also saw another candle that bore those who read the word without understanding it, and gave off a light whose flames deconstructive.
When the seventh drop falling clock on parchment, and rested her lips open with her last kiss, there was silence in heaven which lasted ten beats.
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And then they opened with the sound of a thousand crystals and melt the clock chimes sang each of the drops that were pinned on the lips of the bishop .. . and one, two, three, four, five, six ... and the seventh drop began to dance in the air hitting each other and causing a whistling sound as musical notes. And I saw men who had dropped their eyes on the sea of \u200b\u200bthe earth, wandering blind in the palaces of cards, clothes and dancing naked as wicks faltering, with arms raised to the universe.
Blessed are those who drop their masks and their thirst for unspoken words, which were stripped of rags to wear the skin soft, smelling of incense and parchment. Blessed are those who open their lips to the truth fluffy dropper and are able to hear the rustling of the leaves are not printed.
To all who hear the posthumous message from the scroll that hangs from scratch, I warn you that if someone adds something to the message, click in body and soul, to write with their hands, to issue a licking, you paint on the skin with hair, which inspire the smell of the ocean and breathe life transparent.
And I, I saw all these things a second before awakening, I am writing now to give testimony of it before my mouth mute. I say goodbye definitivapocalípticamente, longing to have someone who still believes in the stopped clocks, and praying that drops Shed grace and laughter to everyone. Nothing will ever write in this blog, but I will draw my words on the ground floor with the tips of my bare feet.
So be it.
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