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A Carne Constituinte

por O Gil, em 21.10.16


A totalidade de um ser pode ser entendida

através da soma das suas partes individuais.

Duas pernas,

dois braços,

uma cabeça,

um orgão genital

e até um baço.

Também se pode discutir que este ser

tem dimensões psicológicas dentro

de cada parte,

para se concluir que

não é apenas um saco de carne com

ideologias no epicentro.

Pode-se ainda debater a existência

concreta deste ser exteriormente

à cúpula paradigmática do observador

que o estuda incansavelmente.

Mas ao erguermos todas estas questões

mergulhamos num poço de argumentação cíclica,

onde não nos é permitido afirmar que nada é

sem admitir que em simultâneo também não é.

Coloca-se assim uma charada enigmática

sem solução em todos os aspetos físicos e metafísicos

da realidade sem ter em vista uma solução prática.

Enquanto narrador de paradoxos sinto

necessidade de expressar o meu ódio visceral pela realidade,

e sei, como é óbvio, que a minha opinião não é imparcial.

Contudo, compreendo,

embora por vezes relutantemente,

que sofro de ausência da apropriada constituição

para escapar livremente à contenção do mundo.

Não sou nem especial nem único,

tão pouco transcendente,

para ser suficientemente diferente

de todos os outros que, como eu,

por muito que sufoquem num poço

da sua própria inescapável natureza,

não conseguem fugir à ironia

da mentira de sobreviver à vida.


Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 21:07

The Lung of The Underworld

por O Gil, em 20.10.16

All of existence was an illusion. Not outside itself, since that space was filled by which was never seen before, but inside each sentient being. A trait shared not only by humans but by every organic life form that held self-awareness in the universe.


For these beings, it’s not as easy to lose control of oneself as it is to gain control of others, yet the entire structure of reality was shifting, from its innermost backbone to the distant exotic outskirts of the cosmos. Each point-like particle and each planet and galaxy shared the same fate, existential demise. Everything was spiralling out of control, as it would have never been possible before, when entropy hadn't reached its peak. It was maddening, but what was the cause? What was that force surging from within our bodies and minds, that intangible nature that seemed so unstoppable?


We, humans, spent our scientific era calling it entropy, the intrinsic chaotic tendency of all matter. Another illusion, as it later became known.  However, when it reached its peak as we thought it had, it revealed itself as a sort of unseen hand, one that lifted a curtain from our eyes. We could see through a blindness we never knew we had. A finely tailored veil of deception that encompassed us all. Surprisingly, not only our eyes adapted to the transient fashion of existence but also our thoughts and so called values. Everything seemed preposterous, all that had been and all that we believed in was gone, removed. And we understood it logically.


It was a wondrous moment of intellectual bliss for every being involved in that strange process, but moments define themselves as such because they exist only within a fraction of time, so that spectacular particularity quickly vanished, as we were levitated away from Earth as one. Each and every human that lived and had ever lived returned to life and learned that death was only a necessary evil for the continuation of the illusion.


As we moved through space and time we learned more about reality and its unattainable form than the pre-existent truth had rendered us certain, not told directly but perceived intuitively. The time for upfront confrontation, however, was still to arrive.


After coursing through the increasingly more disperse and ravaged scenery of the universe, we were transported to different dimensional locations and separated individually. From that point forward I could only speak for myself, for I only knew the particular description of my circumstances.


I was placed in the middle of a remarkably Earth-like prairie. The autumn breeze and the dried-out plants suggested a feeling of comfort and an indistinguishable sensation of belonging. The texture of the grass and the saccharine fragrance of the land felt almost tangible, almost like home. Then, abruptly, destruction ensued and took hold of the otherwise peaceful state of the landscape, turning it into a turmoil of unnatural anarchy. The plants, the trees, the streams of water and the rocks that defined their paths, that not so long before stood vivid and alive near me, began to dissolve in a consuming dark fire until there was nothing left but ashes. Even the skies and the clouds could not escape the hellish black combustion that burned and devoured every object and my frightful fragmented thoughts. I was left physically untouched, for some reason. At the moment I thought it was a method of psychological torture. For once, my perception was correct.


After the fires had virtually extinguished the scarred land began to tremble. The remnants of the trees crumbled and vanished along with the suffocating breeze of fiery death. The ground started to crack, but not randomly, since the cracks established a pattern that consecutively collapsed. A gargantuan chasm took the place of what preceded it, but it didn't stay as such for long. Something from far below was ascending. The degraded rooftops and the deteriorated chapels and towers rose first, then the haunted walls and the hollow streets. It was a city. It was Carcosa. Never in my life had I heard about Carcosa, but somehow I knew what it was. I could understand it. I could grasp its faint silhouette. It resembled to a city in constitution, but something else emanated from it, a psychosphere that felt too real. It was as much of a city as it was a concept, both physically and philosophically.


Upon entering the city, I encountered immediately some small wooden constructs, contemplated their shape and concluded that they were remarkably similar to pyramids in shape, although their interior was vacant and their menial form was composed of dry twigs alone. I remember fearing them, not simply for their construction but also for the pressure they induced in me, almost like the terrifying act of holding hands with Death itself. I returned the objects to their place of origin and proceeded further and deeper into the city. Every street, every house and building showed signs of a decay that had stopped somewhere in time. It got as old as it possibly could.


I eventually reached the centre of the city. Like the exterior and the rest of the interior its architecture remained vaguely ancient and covered in roots and wooden branches. In the innermost ring of the central circular square was another wooden construct, but this one felt different. Not in shape or constitution but in its location. It was perfectly centered and adjusted, so much that it felt like everything revolved around it. Curious to discover some distinction between it and the other I had seen earlier I lifted it, and by doing so, I felt a spontaneous crushing hit of profound horror. The burned sky exploded from an origin point and became dark, but only until slow swirling blue clouds filled the void. The sensation of horror only grew in me, as the blue mixed with dark in what seemed like an upside-down volcano, and the Black Stars started to rise.


Then, there was utter silence. I fell in a pit of total dismay, pure fear I felt, as my eyes witnessed the descent of death taken form. The wooden object I had held until that point slipped through my shaking hands and shattered in the ground, and so did I. I felt the tissues and the sanity that had kept me together for all those years being ripped apart like fragile twigs. No tear, no scream, no plea for help would come out. My voice was stolen. Stolen by a monstrous creature of unspeakable and incomprehensible shape, plunging from the skies through what seemed like wings, until it landed on the ground with its tentacles, shattering not only the place of its landing but also the cohesion of my mind. I had been defeated without even attempting to fight. The mere presence of this being was enough to bend me to my knees, and even those could not withstand the pressure that it induced in reality.


Death seemed certain, as it does now, but I have not been blessed with its grace yet. I have been stuck in what seems to be just a fragment of a second of all the eternity I have to suffer before actual obliteration. I'm barely able to write between the strict lines of reality that appear broken now, but I choose to do so in expectation to reach someone outside of me. Not for salvation, for there is none, neither for me or for whoever reads this, but to remind that person that my fate will be shared, and all of what Is or will ever Be will not escape the far-reaching tentacles of Cthulhu and His infinite purgatory of endless suffering.

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)


publicado às 21:33


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