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Rating: Meanwhile, kingdoms fall,
people and languages pass by: she does not see;
and man boasts of eternity.
Concrete is not enough to destroy the Rites of Spring. Their calls still echo in the sulfur rivers, in the barks, in the dying air, you just need to know how to listen to them, remain silent and listen. And then the hollows of the cut trunks will vibrate, the skins will shudder, the sand will explode...
The atoms do not change, they are always the same in circulation. Sometimes you come into contact with particles exiled for millions of years in the most abject layers of the atmosphere, helpless spectators of that great struggle that is the Earth. They Know, and now "you" too (if you still recognize yourself) may perhaps have the impression that you are about to understand, but it is only a vague impression, a slight increase in salivation and nothing more. It just makes you feel a little small, and wonder if it isn't All a superb distraction.
They are small flashes of dawn, dances hinted at to the Moon, the sounds of the empty plain that seep from the Enten Hitti, a work without time and age, as it is time, the ancestral wheeze of our origins. They do not invade, they envelop.
What is engraved here has wandered in the air and perhaps someone has managed to collect it and make it concrete and tangible. Atimeless journey not contextualizable but never suffocating and dispersive, always focused in the fading of its contours.
This is our future, it has already passed and it happened tomorrow.
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