The hands, they were mutated by what I felt and remembered. The blanket of darkness spread wide around, between lines depicting memories of human hands. Pure colors moved like electric discharges, like lightning that burned flesh and those eyes that did not want to open again, as the fluid movements created trails of continuous agitation.

Clouds, with showers and liquid colors, where reality bent twisted in ways that defied illustrious logics. I lost a breath and, with it, the world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of pulsating shapes and swirls of light. The boundaries that once defined things dissolved like sand in the wind, in earthquakes and internal tremors, barely perceptible, perhaps.

They were deafening.

Walls breathed, expanding and contracting lungs frozen in misses and voids.

Twisted dancing figures ... memories of muscles transmuted into beams of other winds, ready perhaps to tell Absolute Truths. The air itself, filled with dense visible smoke, woven with lightning discharges.

Then, there the ideas materialized into mental images.

It was not the time, to open the consciousness of the gaze.

It was not the time, to stop the bursts of light.

It was not the time, to open the eyes, to the everyday space.

It was not the time.

The suffocating glow around, tumult of my soul, made those lungs and muscles, which I thought mine, in the past (?), of paltry measures, a nothing in space or of space, was I really part of it?

Of what space?