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by Camila Tellez


Ever since Vulcan ignited the mercurial wheel of anguish on which the soul is projected, it covets nothing but the multiplicity of natural things. It is now totally under the sway of the passions...

Alexander Roob


It is said that only folds will guide us to the opening. Here and there I see a fold that appears to be the threshold, but when I am ready to traverse it, I walk around it and am suddenly back at the outset again; I have tried it too many times.


I have grown tired of this logic, because I have verified that winding around the folds as a serpent, only takes me back to the beginning of my journey; I start in the head that devours the tail, only to finish again in the head. Surely life is the most mechanical of things. The wheel of the head/tail and that of the body/machine, coexist repeatedly in the seam of a cloth, or without that seam, and even without any unifying linkage, when the individual, devoid of all continuity, ruptures his body in the vacuum, cutting the bindings that hold it in place, and then painfully falls.


Shall we crystallize that wrapping? Shall we reinforce the seams so as not to lose the logic of continuity under which we live?

Here I am, ready once more to spin the gears of time, ready for a countdown of the seconds that refuse to accept the end. I yearn for the moment in which my body is gripped by the loom and I lose my boundaries to the folds, with one foot in the past and the head giving birth to the future.

Do not even think about it! - Arachne said in unison, because apparently it is three women, or three graces, or three fates (if you prefer) that embody the spirit of the weaver.


- That’s it, get in, drift through the uterine looms of the generations, but never think, because if you do, you will trade the everlasting for the accomplished, and then you shall instantly reach the other side! –thus spoke the three mouths, but they were sunk in the constant labor of weaving knots, one in each bend of their body, and their vision was impeded by their moving hands.


- In this timelessness, you shall realize you are unconscious, and inconsistent, and unable to judge, because you have left your body, you are just a spectator of the linkage that unifies your individuality with fabric of the generations. You shall stroll by each link that’s woven in your physical borders, gliding through the infinite denotations of your composition, that is, the basic structure of your unconscious!

Are you a slave? You are anxious to ask yourself, but it is only we that may speak for you! – said the three.


- And the answer will be your own obsession for perfect fits, for the irregular seam that’s different to the succession of perfect links. That match, that irregular union on which you mechanically insist, is the closing of the chain, is the exit and the cause of everything. Where that particular link is located, the strongest clasp is as well the weakest.


That is the object of your desire, and in its search, yearning for the measureless, and nothing beyond it (because under the subjective power of desire, everything loses dimensions, becomes deformed and acquires the exhilarating sensuality of the baroque), you shall disengage the chain itself.

Your unreasonable desire of knowledge, of science, of reality, shall only make you feel you’re crawling in concealment. It is here you forget the boudaries, it is here you stand perplexed, you interpret, you manipulate. And in this darkness you will discover that the bottom of your

spirit is delirium!


He cut the bindings and fell again, thus confirming the emancipation exercise, but his body and his consciousness were abruptly reunited on making impact with the ground.


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