MANIFESTO TO CHAOS

we preach the chaos,

the evidencing of what has been mutilated,

the violent stroke

the color red,

(scarlet growing)

the frenetic vomiting

the tearing out of eyelashes,

[one by one]

in bright bursts of laughter.

we believe in chaos,

in little puddles of blood

in little paper airplanes

in savoring misfortune.

we preach

the mutilated corner

and we want

                               to fly apart in pieces.  

we exalt

the movement of the tortuous,

that tiny scratch that cuts

within asymmetry;

the handfuls of molars screaming in misfortune

(building little houses

        everywhere)

the throbbing organs that threaten

we do not believe in capital letters, but we do believe in punctuation marks.

we exalt construction

[solely for the purpose]

of the destruction,

the constant bruising

of everything that evokes peace

[that might bind us to it]

we attack like wasps

the stillness of the wind

the flickering calm,

the name that is repeated three times, one after the other,

to those

who are unwilling to disintegrate

                              each time       they open their eyes.  

we believe in fire,

in colored scribbles,

in the color red.

we believe in the qualities of destruction

                                                       in the debris

                                                   that suffocates,

we believe in misfortune

and in what emanates from it,

in the skill of bugs

and the eyelashes

[tear them out again,

one by one]

we pursue the red days,

the shadows of komorebi

the sweaty palms -that give birth to little dolls-

we pursue calm,

only to ruin it;

we want to swim,

to submerge ourselves in the void,

in saliva

to fall.

we believe in the possibilities of memory;

in screaming in bursts,

in spitting into the wind,

in evading any sequence that does not seem absurd.

we exalt the lyrical practice,

we believe in emitting flashes every now and then,

in not tying our shoes,

in f

       a

            l

               l
                  i
                    n

                        g

more frequently

than we get back up,

in tearing out the yellow days,

in sailing while stranded,

between time

and memory

to challenge it

                              never arrive

so as                        to never leave.

we wait until the end,

although an unequivocal second offers us a way out,

and we leave

we want to blink everywhere,

to be the fragment that falls

[to the rhythm of a grimace]

within the debris

we want to pretend to fall

to laugh ourselves to death.

we want to devour everything

attack to bites

every single one and

each element of flight,

we want to vanish,

rummage through misfortune,

sing from within it;

emerge from our entrails to evaporate with the sun,

boil

within its hands,

play, fight, scream.

we want to forget the color blue,

taste the blood,

burn while contemplating the stars,

while the world is consumed,

while we destroy it

while we build it again

and destroy it

and build it again

...

[and so on]

we want to destroy,

to destroy ourselves as well,

and to be destroyed.

we seek no followers

the sparkles are only where they belong.