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If I were I Dream

looked bent on the cliff a quarter of a worm that moved as he was impaled on the hook. A can of worms that was bloodied by a column of flies feasted. And I wondered: is that all the world? A huge feast? And this life eaten by worms, flies, baits that choke fish, so people who die by chance after spending their lives watching TV or going to work, or to please their bosses or their wives, or do gardening. Or simply abused throughout their lives. A useless nonsense dance where blood and sperm are mixed repeatedly without end. It was then that arose the fateful question. Without the smell of the church, what of the ego. What of my once I die? I mean, trying not to fall into the trap comforting the soul. If everything is organic then there should be I, but only human, only a whole without ego. But no, end up in this farce without a sense I have that I makes me subject. And once dead, then what sense does it have had this or against this latest mockery of life. Might as well let us be born without a global bodies of a whole without subjectivity. Why Me? Then the worm he's got the ego? And if that is the sense that we have? What is the point I have to be a worm wrapped, cut into small pieces and used as bait? He probably has not even the perception of being an ego, perhaps his brain structure is not capable of an ego, so maybe the ego is only a distortion of human brain structures with more developed brain. Another mockery of life, which tells us you exist, no nonsense, just you, with your self and everything around. And so one day, without sense. You will die. Just before your self.

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I remember now. It was a dream. A dream that I often did as a child, I was in a deserted mall. Surrounded by shelves full of shiny packaging beautiful, shimmering. An explosion of colors infinite, everywhere I turned. I ran wildly into the infinite space without ever again find an exit or entrance. I threw myself on the shelves and suddenly began to discard those shiny packages, but inside there are other packages and more packages and parcels, as in a matriosca. Inside there was nothing. I walked away disappointed and confused to some output but I still find it not so fallen to the ground in despair. I looked up and this huge shopping mall desert was homeless. Then slowly I began to rise slowly, swaying in the mall, not knowing to check the route, at the mercy of external forces and winds. I left the center. The surrounding city it is a pile of rubble. The world is finite and for some strange reason I was alive just me. In the shopping center. I close my eyes and suddenly I find myself in a dark room. I see across the room a fire and all around a strange smell of burning spice, a haunting music fills the place of anguish, like a constant equal to lament himself. I try to get up but I can not and suddenly I will pour out of a colored mask and frightening. From behind a voice whispers to me. Do not watch the fire. Concentrate on the light. Then suddenly I woke up. Here for a long time I wondered what that dream meant. What I met on time every month. One day towards the 10 years he stopped to visit me. At the last apparition Form I repeated, not watching the fire. Concentrate on the light. He gave me a pat on his face. A tear began to flow from his mask and then added. Now it's up to you. Remember that. Then he started to take off his mask and suddenly I found myself immersed in a bath in red water. From the faucet drip slowly tears of blood. A sheet in the bottom of the tank. I grab it. Not God but us. We do not but You. You do not, but the Whole. I woke up with this image. Then, gradually, over time I began to forget these memories. Until now. Sitting here watching TV in the dark room to this prison, I watch impassively the election results. The president's party had won Bislosco everywhere and hordes of angry mob rose the sky's the leader. A moment after the presentation of Tg is connected with another left that talks about the great victory, that of the President of the region Turbinola Frisell. Leader of the party opponent Bisolosco. Is carried in triumph as the new savior against the devil Bisolosco. They appear in every corner logos and trademarks bearing the name of Turbinola, a journalist and even showed a line of underwear in his honor. You so I came back to that dream. The words of the form: Do not watch the fire. Focus on luce.Ci think about and understand. I walk over to the bars and the jailer brings me to the Bible that I had asked. The comrades had to leave there in the coded message. Page 24. I read the underlined words: No God but us. We do not but You. Everything but You Do not. Now everything is finally clear.