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El Mar Tiempo Raśl Ferrera-Balanquet One never knows when the story begins or ends. Attached to my new roads and in to the inquisitive gaze of a fairy spaying through my bedroom's window, I felt hungry. I decided to go to Plaza Oriente in search of something that would make my stomach happy.
When I parked the car, I looked up. The sun was inside of a circular rainbow. It was the first natural phenomenon of the day. The Mayan and African deities, from the bottom of the remembrances, came from the sea to move my roads. "Where will I go these days?" I asked, entering the Plaza.
The dream scraped my body. I found granola, natural yogurt and a Californian Avocado. I left the Plaza placing my hopes on the changes. In the way home, I glimpsed to distance. There was a dance of lightning. Chaac and Shango were jumping over the sky. The rain never came. That was the second natural phenomenon.
Miguel and I had agreed to meet in the corner of 53 St. and 56 St. at nine o'clock that evening. I arrived five minutes after the hour. Miguel Angel has not arrived yet. I wait for a while and then I called home. The phone was busy, but I was not surprised. I hung up and looked to the end of the street.
[Icaro] What time? [Icaro] the truth, I am a regular guy, ->Ernesto Where is more convenient for you. I am free after 7:00 [Icaro] 1.70 light skin. 66 kg, [Icaro] dark hair, ->Ernesto: Don't worry. I am also a regular guy. I am not interested in the "look." I prefer to talk. I like the conversations more than the physic, [Icaro] Where do you live? I work in Francisco de Montejo. [Icaro] And you? ->Ernesto: Near Plaza Oriente, but it doesn't matter. I can pick you up. -> Ernesto: I am 1.76, and also light skin. [Icaro] ok.
One never knows when the story begins or ends.
When I called back, the busy signal worried me. "Who would be hooked to the phone?" Miguel Angel, still, was not showing up. I felt an anxious disconnection from the moment. The absent of Miguel Angel and the inaccessibility to the information diverted my body from its normal movement. I dreamt of a late metaphor in a cyber space inhabited by inanimate bodies whose voices were concentrated on stereophonic equipments placed outside the bodies. The spatial construction of this landscape stirred my inner self.
A Ford Taurus turned around the corner. His driver attached his eyes in to my body. I went back to the phone. I dialed up my home's phone number. In the distance the busy signal came buzzing to my right ear.
-> Ernesto: Where are we going to meet? [Icaro] me too, I love to talk [Icaro] well, if you like it. -> Ernesto: How are you going to be dress? [Icaro] I give you the address -> Ernesto: yes, give the address. [Icaro] if you promise to call at [Icaro] 5:30, [Icaro] I give you my phone number. -> Ernesto: Yes, I will call you at that time. I am going to be near a phone. [Icaro] ok [Icaro] you are winning my trust -> Ernesto: Well, give the phone. [Icaro] I am going to trust you since it is my working phone [Icaro] so, don't call me very often -> Ernesto: You know what, I am glad we talked about the school and those other things. [Icaro] it is 467227 [Icaro] ok -> Ernesto: I only will call you today. If you want, I can call you again. [Icaro] ok [Icaro] Then, you will call me? -> Ernesto: Should I ask for Mario, or are you going to be near the phone? [Icaro] I'll be waiting for your call [Icaro] ask for Mario [Icaro] ok [Icaro] then, we will figure it out -> Ernesto: well, my name is Ernesto ->Ernesto: We will talk at 5:30.
I only know that the story moves like the waves of the ocean: it spins around, goes in and out, comes back, goes through the bottom, comes back as a swirl, collides with the other waves.
From my body, the information channels closed. Prosthetic extensions came toward me. Slowly, the car came by again. I could not contain my desires. Our eyes made contact. I changed, again, the angular uniform protecting me from the unsuccessful intellectual manipulations that the mass media tries to do over me. I destroyed the fiber optic and placed myself inside of the dreams I had before I owned the Mac that is next to the phone.
I entered my car, waiting for the Ford Taurus to come by for the third time. I turned on the car and drove tree blocks. I parked across a colonial balcony where pink buganbilias were hanging. Noticing the smells, I perceived the driver of the Ford Taurus getting closer. I stooped my gaze in front of his eyes. The technological spaces were gone. The dreams, full of the present, scrubbed the clocks. Our hands, tighten, suffocated the encounter. The existential conduit of two running bodies, loaded with historical information, crossed the arches of time. Translated to the rhythms of the blood, we despoiled the passers by. The nervous fears marked the dialogues, arriving to the surface. We agreed to make a date. In the inevitable space of our sexual pathologies, the sensations were denounced. "If another man crosses the night and steel the kisses that are for me.?" I asked ingeniously.
Decided not lose the battle, we walked into a park of centennial tree: Unimaginable Ceibas whose trunks were more than tree meters square. It was the third natural phenomenon.
We walked toward ourselves. The sound of a train getting closer to the night took us in to the present. The communication among our bodies was established by our kisses. Then, ready for the date, we said good bye.
I called my house again. Still, the phone was busy. I thought that may be my brother could has discovered my code to access the Internet, and I throw away my fears. An absurd regret came again. The phantasmagoric sad reality of a successor of passion collided at the sea. The fishermen came jumping from the boats. The twist of the swamp opened in front of humbles gazes.
The days went by and my simultaneous anxiety discovered new programming languages. The intentions came up. Back to the park of the centennial Ceibas, we got lost, that time for sure, in our bodies. Three hours later we showed up in the mouth of the river. We said good bye promising a reencounter. What happened that night got recorded in the memory of our hard drive. The driver of the Ford Taurus never came back.
My body, throwing itself, again, into the urban jungle, constructed new prosthesis. My defense mechanism did no allow my feeling to come up. Miguel Angel finally came back. His has resolved his problem with his wife and wanted his belongings. I didn't speak. I pointed to where his stuff was and kept connected to my lengthen computer keyboards that were programming a new trip across the nine Mayan worlds.
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