frederico penteado

Cosmogony

 

 

In the beginning there was action;

the Demiurge created the universe

as a flowing milk river poured with honey

all the jigsaws would fit in a

constellation of moments never to be questioned by memory or grief

bricks laid down as one stone only

flesh and soul were one,

spirit was his garden, flesh was the blooming flower of the atom,

fresh water arouse from the abyss of nothing with sparkling life

past sprang from the future as it bend to mirror its divination

nothing would not be that could not be

one united the two keeping the two

pain, if any, was always absolved by the bliss of life as there was no heaven that one could not blind itself in its belief,

the graceful sleep of animals and plants and things

the golden boredom of perfection

but then

then the work started to leak in hypothesis and doubts, theories, scaffolds of imagination raising the real

drops in the unstained virginity

warm drops

soiled, dusted, black and red and white and yellow,

they were permanent and toiled and struggled over the solar map

wondering, hearing what is beneath the ground,

scanning the sky,

rising obelisks of dazzle and quest,

the subtlety of becoming conscious

every son secretly wishes the death of his father;

it was a moment of distraction in deity’s mind

a small crack in the plumbing of the stellar source, the core of suns

a small crack like in an egg about to hatch

fissure of will and move

fissure in the narcissism of a god that only created intelligence to be worshiped and abided, a spark in the nihilistic thought

a microscopic misconnection in the wiring of stars

a sudden spot in the sight like the random mosquito in the eye

and the undefined moment was blurred

the artwork damaged by an inner blow, a slip of the steady hand that is overworked and about to rest

an uncertain urge

an unjustifiable mistake, unfathomable

an unfixable damage

that millimeter the perfectionist cannot rectify

when the vase is broken and the glue adds up to subtract beauty

 

and then the Big Bang. To start again.

It wasn’t the beginning. It was the end.

We are the survivors.

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