20 PARANOID CONSIDERATIONS

20 PARANOID CONSIDERATIONS

A trillion of trillions of years later …

The letters were a blurry map towards the mysterious transmundo, my heart that had born dead and he would die dead, now it(he,she) was dreaming of living in that place. Only it could only to come to him(it). But to come was it(he,she) possible?
Oh, punishment of the vices! Obsessed for understanding what was passing on having read the letters, I came to extravagant hypotheses and finally I gave in the terrible one:
I thought:
Only there is a language for every human being. I understand this language, therefore these letters only I could have written them.
If the language that I think and I never declare it(he) is only mine, there are others in me who wrote these words, and if I do not understand them now, are that I am lost in me itself, of me itself. Because of it do not be who I am.
I shivered with horror in the empty room.
Then, inside me - in my madness - other personalities were living; some separated from others. I now me was stumbling, for accident, over the correspondence that there were sending these other secret personalities that were living in me. Only it would explain the familiarity that they were producing to me and the premonition of understanding(including) something that he(she) was never understanding(including).

Probably it(he,she) does much had solved a battle in me for the domination of my conscience. I had lost and been doomed(condemned) to disappear. Relegated, now I only was when other one was relaxing, when he(she) forgot, when it(he,she) was getting tired of thinking. Probably other one was living in a different planet, in this coherent and royal(real) transmundo, and was misled me inside this other one I, living(inhabiting) only his(her,your) distractions, his(her,your) deliriums(ravings). Probably, reading you, that you accompany me in these elucubraciones, share this unreal corner with me, in some place forgotten the mind of a stranger.

Or you are you the royal(real) owner of what I believed my conscience, and scouts with disdain the meditations of something lost inside you. Something that however much you strain, you cannot silence.

In end(purpose), this hypothesis filled me with an unspeakable melancholy, more than for confirming my alienation, for my dream breaking of being able to investigate and reach the dreamed exterior(foreign) life. In fact, if this is true, there is no exterior(foreign) royal(real) life, there nor is Emissary there nor is Thecnetos. The transmundo of perfection would not be any more than a dream, fabric with you swim.

This way I was turning in these solitary emotional masturbations, jumping untid of conjecture in conjecture.

Soon I forgot the hypothesis of the madness and happily I never returned to her(it). I was like the slept one that takes momentarily conscience of which it(he,she) dreams, and then the forms of the dream catch it and turn it to being deceptive, sinking(destroying) it, already without hope to emerge of the mistake.