: N E W : Y O R K : T Y R A N T :

                    From the Novel 

                                                                    80M84RD3R0

       by Czar Gutierrez

IN THE CEMETERY OF Montparnasse, at six in the evening, Rachel gets up on the tomb of Cesar Vallejo and spreads her legs.

THREE LIRIUM LEAVES fall from the sky and a late drop of semen descends slides languidly down her groin. I am completely drained and completely drained I try to decipher the traps of love in the sky: from that love of light music nothing saves us, nothing remains. A plane appears in the sky.

I SLIDE MY HAND UNDERNEATH her jeans and feel the cold sweat of her inner thighs. A white line has been formed in the sky, I see. That sweat with the aroma of the crypt will take a long time to dry, I think.

--I want to be a fresh mouth, still water, sometimes only rhythm—I say.

TWO PLANES cross in the sky.

WE ARE in the air.

SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE on the planet, is sending a line of planes against the orange sky, sometimes red, streaked with yellows, stretched in scarlet, almost ruby.

SOMEONE GETS READY TO DISFIGURE the geometry of the globe, someone wants to erase the coordinates, someone wants, someone seeks, someone plans.

SOMEONE GETS READY TO PRESS insistently the delete key and later the reset button and then we will all be fleeing the line of planes and the four pilots of the Apocalypse: the evolution of dust presides over the events of life, we run towards the dust as if it were our only destiny below the attentive gaze of the stars.

--I think they are bombing New York.

THE FALL OF THE EQUILIBRIST

A SONG IN 11 TEMPOS

1. HER BODY HAS BEEN in the satellite for two seconds but the vertical memory of the teleobjectives and the wide angles freeze the light so it becomes The Light That Floats Forever In The Sea Of Time: she is a blade of static, a satellite's digital eyelash, an ether saturated millimeter in the solitude of the cosmos.

2. NOW SHE IS a spark charged with electricity flying parallel against the intermittent steel bars that frame her perspective: hair stirred by smoke, lips laminated in ashes, cones of magneto that enter and leave her body, translator of mister CANTOR Fitzgerald and show room model of mister Salvatore Ferragamo falling now like the light of a star that has travelled millions of years in order to gather in this cone- this cone where a lightning is being sharpened -.

3. IT IS 9:38 A.M. Eastern time in this WTC2 / 0 Time in the edges of Planet Hell: bathed in pure physics, Rachel cuts the air curtains while Battery Park is being drawn out-of-focus shutters drained by gas clouds and petroleum vapors and compasses without North.

3.1.- Downwards the profound wound in her voyage through rapid windows.

3.2.- Upwards the appalling pressure of a skull gripped too hard by the pliers of her temples and

3.3.-Insidewards, oh, insidewards: arteries connected to the celestial orbit, towards the already invisible wake of a embedded plane, towards the dead noise of an engine and the white sound of my scream:

          - Love is the skin of an expansive planet- I think.

- Love is a slow rupture of symmetries- I say.
- Love is the dramatic vertex of a collapsing star- I write.

4. LOVE IS THE VERTICAL that tears me apart while you fall (This is how I will live).

5. FLASHES FROM THE SKY FILTERING on or maybe crossing her skin (which opens up): it opens up or it is bared, inverting itself like the red prairies of Arizona against the feverish skies of Hiroshima.

6. MY EYES DO THEY CLOSE or darken or are filled with glass?

7. IT WILL BE A BLADE OF STATIC, the satellite's digital eyelash, an ether saturated millimeter in the solitude of the cosmos, but a discharge from her lips is the luminous trail that outlines the orange curve of space.

8. SHE FALLS PROFOUND, INFINITE like a silent rain: her breasts arched to break the waves, her open arms measuring the vacuum's length, measuring the wave of attraction, her mouth open towards the firmament, the frozen mouth looking for an incandescent kiss, a frozen mouth traveling in search of a lone and generous kiss, searching for the kiss that covers the world, searching for the enormous and prodigious kiss, the frozen mouth in search of a Blue Kiss.

9. THE WESTERN WALL finds its base: a fistful of concrete:

9.1.– the creaking of the tree of her veins while folding,

9.2.– the gleam of her brain, silence against abyss, and a rosary of heartbeats that is born and grows and is lifted,

9.3.– a rosary of beatings constellating the spatial swell so that—between auras and chiaroscuro—tamely the Being rests.

10. I WANT TO WEAVE A NET with my bones but I end up converted into a deformed polar icecap, into a poem covered in moss, crushed at its edges, burned at its core, bathed by the silent and spectral and cathodic rain of a television without weather that, as it feeds me, converts me into plasma. 

11S. FOREVER

Translators:  Marta del Pozo / Nick Rattner / Ata Moharreri

Editor: GianCarlo Ditrapano / Drafting: Luke Goebbel