E. by T.A.

The Bodies Artist

(Taken from The Bodies Artist)

How can we define the actual phase of our processes of escrementificazione? Pessoa has warned that every clear scheme is clear really why indeed not exhaustive. I have the V° theorem with me however that it will help me to remain borderline. I have eaten a light egg and convinced birth of my incompleteness. Ensign's game. I have with me four characters that can make the idea of the moment. Me, you, the Moth and Picasso. Each of us 4 to the actual state are a Body Artist. That is a single body that escrementifica thought through a specific line, a style (as what regards I think on the concept of style rhyming to another job, I don't now have time to take back the concept). Me and we are aware of it, the Moth no and Picasso doesn't want to admit him. Or you and I are trying better to cross a door to see that there is later, the Moth won't follow us or he will pretend to do it, Picasso will try to hold well closed the door. Boundless. To the moment the moth is worse of us but Picasso gives a footstep to us or at least still all they seem to believe him, even you. However you come. They are the two extremities of the phase of the Body Artist and us the medium one. Hardly envoy the nose out of the door however we try to make the thing more disposition of the world: to become Bodies Artist. Human that unite their process of mental escrementificazione giving life suddenly. The MIT comforts us even if we don't need it. Every human being can manage at the most alone 50.000 words. You and I already in two we can hold under control of it 100.000. The Moth in the meantime follows us to distance hello to betray us, Picasso we don't see him more, he arrives there some voice but we have not already seen him for months. You and I extreme on the right part of the line, Picasso I complete datum for lost. Medium moth of center left. And it is here that by now we live from over ten years, with the Moth to our outskirts that attends the course of the events to decide whether to do. We are met in these ten years with others there you and I that to them it turns other Moth they were brought in the near. We have become a community of Bodies Artist and one of Moth. Of Picasso we will never like alone legends for other sustained only from the Moth but to us the purgations and therefore we live shoulder shoulder with the Moth. A tribe always existed, from the night of the times and that, even if not he to be seen, has had his part in the evolution of the kind. We will speak later better of it we now return to ours ten years passed together by Bodies Artist. We have done of it of all the colors (the sinestesia is a frequent illness among the Bodies Artist), we have had a good time and we have discussed so much, we have tried to recompose, we have succeeded there at times. Someone would like to pass others one hundred years in this phase, someone no. You and I no. We think for a long time that it is possible to go further without rubbing of anybody, even of the Moth that so much will probably follow us to distance wherever. Ready to betray us damn him. And then I don't want at all to abandon anybody, cannot ever be abandoned as cannot be been ever corresponded, do I want to think only and do you agree. I confide You that it is a few times that I meditate to make plural also the adjective. Thing? You I am meditating on the Bodies Artists. You retire to think, the Moth listens to our shoulders but he doesn't understand, Picasso has died. Of him not even legends. It is an idea that fascinates me and you retire to think, studies tronica. Bodies that escrementificano not with a line but with endless, bodies that they talk to thousand styluses, don't use her this word, with thousand different lines. What nobody can say anymore I recognize them in this expelled expression. I think that perhaps it is impossible that lately say always the MIT of it optimist on the human possibilities (as me of however). I Think that what I have thought is never able human being. I'm stunned at times by this concept when continuous to see in my summary escrementificazionis of the lines even though transitory of riconoscibilità. I cry and I laugh. I laugh at the end. It is me more congenial. You in the meantime make a discovery main point. It has been for a long time as usual there. We are spent nearby there thousand times. We have not realized of it, never. You tell me that my hypothesis according to you is possible but that I have jumped a passage. A passage that is so much main point in how much it constitutes precedent in comparison to my hypothesis. You speaks, speaks, the Moth to this I aim it loses every hope to follow us, also listening. You say that so much a long time ago, when the boundless door it was not opened, a human entirely unconsciously and believing to be who knows prey of what esoterism, escrementò in admirable way like a Body Artists, from ortonimo and eteronimo. In life he didn't confess this faculty to anybody. The chronicles, tell me, they bring that this anomaly of his was discovered only after its death. In life it published the ortonimo and his eteronimis without Nobody was hastened of nothing. It built biographies, the places of residence of its eteronimis, reviewed them, it raised them and it contradicted them. It's difficult to everything today to establish if the ortonimo were better or worse than its eteronimis, you say that it is only perhaps a matter of tastes and that us, me you and who we think, we would owe ripercorrere, this time knowingly, this road to make I count us some expressive possibilities of that that I have glimpse. You are sure of it, it is the omission of this phase that made difficult to imagine my run. Azz. I say me but the name of this genius. Sssss. You do. Nobody has to know him, there is the Moth in the parts. That pretends to support to us and then zac. We are you and I, extremity and medium, to 18 billion frantunesimi from a Moth that it tries to follow our traces: Anybody to the horizon. Terrestrial arid. Reality anagogica. Four escrementificazionis later to east of. On the. We meet two bodies. They ask the road to us, you/they have killed their Moth but of the road we don't even know a penis us. It is gone together.