This man enters this house. He thinks is forced to. I observe it as wishful, to forcefully retreat only to cope with his ambitions of Isolation. He will enter this house. Some follow. A house with a view to Transformation. A house with a view to his Fear.

At the same time in another refuge someone is impelled to a different form of Isolation which is to bring together the pieces into a register on a story. Rarely the Isolations are to be matched.

To start the tale, someone has to refuse the Unbreakable. Via imposition, enlightenment, herd acceptance or simple because he is tired. All that is to be seen or perceived can be object of cutting. He approaches the window like a cutting fog. A small cloud springs out of his mouth. He is the only one conscious of his breeding Making gray, airy canvas for his shy symbols, statements and floral incursions, automatically translated by the cerebral, still-life movement of his right, shrinking cold hand. He welcomes confusion like a self-inflicted blessing. The action of a fog breeding from the mouth of another fog. Into the solitary window. Dictatorial. Random. Be always firm when you have to cut.

_______________________When we are children, we fear Death and abandonment in many ways and many times a day. Our parents play dead so we can believe it. Sometimes they give us reasons to wish them dead, others they just excavate on the very bones of our fear. Many times one wakes up goes silently through the small nights- the size of our ambitions- ignoring the walls, the corners, and the clues, on a true act of courage. Just to, step by step, approach our parents´heads and whisper awake on them. Fingers also make you sure at night. Like an advanced squad of looking skin. We trust them when we touch their backs and arms. And then we consume the reward in whatever shape it comes to us: a grunt, a yelling, an invitation. Just to make sure. To bring them back from where no one knows. To agitate. Company always comes at hand when facing the unknown. It distracts it.

The rigid life. The rising. The laying down. The stillness. The breath that starts in the moment of the last breath. They have just stopped when you started. You caught your hand forgetting the line, the minimal. The squarelike horizons you put in the past. The easiest connection between two points is a circle. The circular just caught his attention. And he is not leaving.

_______________________What do we desire but to desire? In my three wishes, I always double the bet when it is the moment of the last one. There is a rule to forbid that but it did not come out clear on the classics being spontaneously ejected of any legit contours. Desire is elemental sickness. Stands out this one, goes in circles, in an infamous macabre combination between Nature and the Intelligence of it. Our thoughts are fast in chasing themselves. They can only win. Spin. Spiral. Gazing forever at it. No click of fingers to bring us back. He wants to turn. He is closed in. And he looks, and overlooks, and observes. And then he might just started seeing.

_______________________Vapor is the essence of the running Horror. If you divide Horror, vapor is the escaping physical element that can be looked while it invades you. It is a timely, orderly operation:

When smoke comes out from the ground, who does not stop for a quick disappearing?

TRANSPLANT:
Solutions come in boxes. Packed, wrapped, ready for delivery. One must not know the contents, which one carries.
Transport was successful yet not absent from Danger. Will you please sign the receipt? A hand of air picked up my notebook and wrote a signature on it. I could sense its trembling. The smoking spirals in full alert. Level Truth.

/////////////////////////////////////////// “An equal pleasure was caused by the crystal clear flowers of ice in the windows of the Buchel´s house, and, in winter days, he was capable of examining during half an hour, naked eye or through a small magnifying glass, those humidity products, that covered the little rustic windows, and whose structure he desired to know about. I would be tempted to say that all of that would be normal and that could now move forward to another subject, if those deeds of Nature would have stayed, as advised, inside the scope of figurative symmetry, mathematical rigor e orderly regularity. But the fact they imitated with a careless illusive fashion all vegetal species, pretending, playfully, to be fetus plurals, (…), chalices or Corollas stars, invading, with its gelid resources (…) the routes of the Organic-that fact was something that never ceased to intrigue J., who couldn’t stop himself of shaking his head low in a sign of reprove but also of bereavement. Such phantasmagorias- he asked then- prefigured or corrected the forms of the vegetal kingdom? Immediately he came up with an answer to his doubt: neither one nor the other thing! They were parallel formations. Nature, creative, wild-eyed, dreamed the same in two different places, and, if one could admit Imitation, that imitation would be simply reciprocal. Should we, then, consider the legit creatures of the fields as paradigms, only because they had the true organic tri-dimensionality, while the flowers of ice were mere phenomena? Well, its appearance was the result of an organic combination as complex as the one from the plants, and if I understood well enough our host, that which concerns him was the animated Nature’s togetherness with the one Nature conveyed as unanimated; it was the idea that we have sinned against the last, by drawing, with excessive rigidity a dividing line between both territories, being that, in reality it’s permeable and, for all matters, there is no domain strictly reserved to the living beings that can not be studied by Biology in an unanimated model.”

Thomas Mann, Dr.Faustus (1947) //////////////////////////////////////////////

The only way is up down.

_______________________It echoed fully in his head while the man, now isolated in our study, was seeing through the airy window. He froze completely in his purpose. He stayed. And he is not leaving. And he is not leaving. And he is not leaving. And he is not leaving. And he is not leaving. And he is not leaving. And he is not leaving. And he is not leaving. And he is not leaving. And he is not leaving. And he is not leaving. And he is not leaving. And he is not leaving. And he is not leaving. And he is not leaving.

______________________The track destroyed. The anchor set in. All covered outside by the falling snow, that piled secrets over the secrets she was, wisely, covering up.

He dared to the door and looked up Night all over. All set now. The Vapor zone opened the abyssal mouth and the procession started slowly to walk from the Inside of it. The steps are mounting.

Loop. The feeling begins.

//end 01

TRANSPLANT:
“…through Imitation, Tranquility could be established. But profit defeats this very same ideology because the Consumers do not want to get aroused only by the Good’s warranty (certificate), but also by the chill of Evil. Therefore, in Disneyland, side to side with Mickey Mouse and the sympathetic teddy Bears, the Metaphysic Evil (the Haunted Mansion) and the Historical Evil (the Pirates) should come to evidence, in the wax museums side to side with Venus de Milo we should be able to find the Grave Desecrators, Dracula, Frankenstein, the Werewolf, Jack the Ripper, the Phantom of the Opera. Attached to the Good Whale, the plastic mould of the Evil Shark. All at once credible, all at once False. To conclude that, entering its Iconic Tranquility cathedrals, the visitor keeps on not knowing if its final destination is Heaven or Hell, being lead to assume new promises.”(UE)

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The Ones who choose knew that only one of the three was telling the truth-both the others were lying.

So who stole the soul?

//end 02