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    Inflections
    Inflections
    Inflections
    Ebook97 pages1 hour

    Inflections

    By Antonio Almas

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Of all that we are, only one part is visible to others. You have to be attentive to understand, to feel, what goes behind the various covers we wear. Transparency is not as translucent as water. Not because we intend to deceive someone, but simply because in this world so self-centered, we have to use subterfuge to protect ourselves.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBadPress
    Release dateJul 1, 2020
    ISBN9781071554296
    Inflections

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      Book preview

      Inflections - Antonio Almas

      Inflections

      António Almas

      ––––––––

      © Proper Edition by António J. F. Almas

      Of the whole that we are, only a part is visible to others. It is necessary to be attentive to perceive, to feel, what goes behind the different layers that we wear.

      Transparency is not as translucent as water. Not because we intend to deceive someone, but simply because in such a self-centered world, we have to use subterfuge to protect ourselves.

      Datasheet

      ––––––––

      Title: Inflections

      Author: António Almas

      Edition: Proper Edition by António J. F. Almas

      7160-999 EC Vila Viçosa 

      Design and Pagination: António Almas

      Imprint: P.O.D.

      ISBN: 978-989-96808-8-3

      Legal Deposit: 380972/14

      ––––––––

      Vila Viçosa, October 1, 2014

      All rights reserved in accordance with the legislation in force.

      In the abstract of my senses, I let the body inflect, releasing the soul in the tiny space of this instant when I leave. I am not, locked in this dismal place, I do not wait for the time to come out, I will, without further delay, go beyond the extreme of reality, crossing the vacuum that serves as a wall and prevents the body from moving forward.

      In the ground floor I leave the remains, the remains of what I am no longer. Air is my world, where I feel free, where I make myself alive. I burn the senses that fall into pieces of ash in a trail of departure, in a lament of farewell.

      I don't look back, because I don't need to feel that ardor that caused me the immense pain of knowing to exist without realizing why. There is this silence that takes me in my arms, an ethereal moment of prolonged ecstasy that makes me just light, energy.

      ––––––––

      In the curve of time I am a body abandoned, part of a silent silence that I cannot stand. I get lost in labyrinthine thoughts, nightmares that increase my fears. I hope that the absence leaves for my body to follow my soul. I hope that the ghosts will dissipate and in me, that the storms will dissipate in rain, that life will be washed from all misery.

      I await the sign of the times, the moment when my call will come, when Someone collects my energy, when the body dies and dissolves on Earth. I will leave knowing that at any moment I was a seed, a tree and a fruit, I was food, debris and a wall where those who needed my shadow were supported.

      I just wait, and I feel at peace at this stop, waiting for my turn to return home.

      It is difficult to deduce in silences the wishes that are not said. Not always what it seems is, it is often a reflection of light that overshadows us and makes us deviate from the path, other times it is a warning that tells us when to change direction. It is up to us to be able to read what has not yet been written, to feel what has not yet been felt, in order to ever be able to overcome what needs to be overcome. Inventing oneself means discovering one's own path, destiny and the will to be what one is not yet. Unfortunately, we disperse instead of concentrating on everything we like, then, the abyss comes and we simply let ourselves fall. 

      I tear the tissues that surround the body, I run with worn nails over the skin that is scratched in a dry desire to make the meat hurt. I don't want to be here, I don't want to stay in this wrapper that suffocates me, let my wings tear this carcass that gags me. I scream, in a spasm of madness, in an incoherent desire for freedom, in a pained lament of wanting to be what I am not.

      You don't understand, you don't see that what you look at is not at all what I am, that it is just a reflection of the light that defines the shadow of a dead body. Look at me with my eyes closed, to see what really emanates from my soul, what is really the reflection of my aura, or will you be blind? Don't you realize that it's not just what you can touch that you can also see? Ah woman, why don't you feel the heat that I transmit when in dreams I overwhelm you with madness? Why not discard the skin and decide once and for all to be eternal, full, and immortal.

      In the violence of everyday life there is a peace disguised as calm that only rots the body in fetid burgers that mix human sadness and mask it in the luxuries of current society. Emerging generations lose their sense of orientation, the real world restricts itself, contracts and dies closed within four walls. Facilitation leaves human beings less prepared, making them dependent on a hollow world, built on crumbling foundations. We cannot move on, lift the house, without support, a foundation that is the foundation of what comes next. How can we apply rules that we don't follow today? How can we punish offenders in the future if we are not punished today for offending?

      This snowball that descends the hill of today's society, will end up swallowing us all, bursting further down the valley when it hits head on with a thick and hard rock, then we will go back to zero, and the human adventure on Earth will begin again...

      I wonder so many times about the paths to go, about the sanity of the days and the madness of the nights that torment dreams and explode nightmares with immeasurable voids. I don't know where all this comes from, if a vertiginous fall in the abyss of the senses, or, an eventual elevation to the skies in a morbid anticipation of an

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