Escritos para un unwitty writing

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el silencio./ the silence
el nino buscando algo en la oscuridad/ the child looking for something in the darkness
la luz del reflector/the spotlight

el banquer/ the banker
/ the guardian
/the chorus

/ the tower
/the pool
/the hill
 the desert

the woman

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THE PLAN:
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after the first click, the buttons are reassigned events
event listeners are removed and changed by new ones.
the same with the second and third click.
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plus the woman would be places as a video-like-gif-replacement file, and also a skull video will
be added, these
videos should be square and of white background with a cut out figure in th emiddle
so they can be used both in desktop and mobile.

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this might be a little surrealist
but mainly there are two figures,
the headless man and the woman portrait
and they organise the narrative
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MOMENT 1: 

slowly like in a stage, develop the moments of the piece
a white screen is everything we see at the beginning
 
Beep, beep.  The piano sounded slowly in the neighbours house, beyond the gray walls, painted with an undiscernible colors slowly built up by the feet of  person who reclining over them to kiss, to think, to smoke to cry in many night of cold silence.
An unfinished cigar, over the top of the cornice, slowly, also, dying slowly away its last fire, unnoticed.
 
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guide for smartphone:
also for the moments, the poem lines should appear one at a time filling the whole
screen in smartphone, so they can be read slowly maybe

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The flowers, always the flowers, red and purple, they appear
and the beings-also-appear, multiformed, bold, dragging themselves through the floor
to open then their wings and fly to the highest roof
they are the buttons, the triggers, the starters
later the background video appears but with low opacity
as always backgrounds do
but later appears the headless man seated over the box

The headles man
the woman in the box
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MOMENT  2

And at the end, I was in a Flemish winter, I guess, but I dont know, on a second floor, of tiled floors, of brown -framed windows, furnished with red Paracas textiles along all the walls, with all the mythical animals as witnesses and chorus, waiting.
 
The oven was shut off. The boiler was down. The bells were still hangimg. At the right, an empty glass. To the left of the first corner, a paper of yesterdays. 

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The crown in my eyes dilutes trough the hands like a viscous liquid
slowly, rhythmically like a snake from my eyes

The hair is white now, dusty and old
fragile and broken by times
of yore and sore

the buttons trigger the different actions, like:
one starts creating flowers randomly
other starts creating random skulls
other move the parallax effect, disappearing the man and letting the woman appear
other plays a video
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The car.
The car, shiny and bulky,
curvy and slim, steely and hard
reflect my shadow under the sun

But after the first click, the buttons are reassigned events,
event listeners are removed and changed by new ones.

The sands of the desert protect my steps
covering them softly with dusty oblivion
carefully but neatly
for me to never see my footprints again
to forget myself in the dust
as dust myself I am
under the sun
of the midday
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MOMENT 3

I noticed it was a sleek, modern office, an empty one in the morning. And then we knew that the person who was carrying the book in a chained suitcase, ahs lot is in the middle of the financial centre, just as he was going trough the escalator. The book was a long sheet we a Chinese ink written word, with a meaning that I forget.
 
waiting the moon./alone with just a dim light / at the end of the room,/ just looking trough the window 
the streets full of snow, /or people,/as it seems, as you like, /either was this a summer /or a fall
 
 
the dark trees and some houses of slopped roof.


and the same will happen, as it has been said,
with the second one
and the lurid third click,
forever again

Click, click, click
Touch, touch touch
Press, press , press
Scroll, scroll, scroll

Click, touch, press, scroll

Push

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and my skin will burn after the crown fall from the eyes
 and the sound of the wind protrudes itself from the horizon I lost
in the silver water of the illusion

It is not a car, it si only sand
and where I am now, I am no more
and my name will be forgotten
as will be my rage and my lust

See, watch, feel
touch, click and push
draw and text

rage and light
battery and love
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-Please turn on the oven, the food is almost ready, and the bread.
And I will put my head inside, and flowers will grow
and dreams will be born  so the ideas I have will  come to light
so they can die, putridly, in this world.
 -All right
-What is in the radio?
-Oh well, I do not know, will check
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MOMENT 4

In a , possibly, a forgotten Christmas night, maybe, waiting in a cold and distant night, or better, well inside the night, those moments of transition, one hour or two before dawn, where time hangs undefined, and eternally, full of silence, full of truth and a velvet emptiness.
 
The woman will appear from a box, the whe will go out and open her mouth and from
her mouth flowers will appear and for the flowers a box will appear
 
and inside the box a man in oxygen mask will look out
another idea is the headless man riding the skull and flowers appear radially from them
forming a Escher-like figure, maybe.
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now
are the  reference
in this world only
the towers I see,
floating as overlords,
the ones I can still see

I have been in there
in the reflective elevator cage
in the mechanical eternal ramps 
in the stairs they create
the reflections of the skies
in the mirroring floors 
in the aromatized lounge

but I am no more
barely from the distance
and even that I am not sure to know
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Still my skull is in my hands
I do not have yet a new brand
it is not a car,
it is only sand
and where I am now, 
no more I am

- Shhhhh,hey,  I want to sleep ! Why are you talking that much?
Sleep and accept your destiny, come on, shsuuss!

-Indeed.
 
-Some people have to live, you know?
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battery and love
electricity and lust
neon and rage
smoke and flow

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