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MARIO J. TORRES
The Poison of Myths
For 45 anniversaries I learned to
repeat, know what to say and decide what to hide. My innocent childhood made
up of fantasy, cartoons and supermen was replaced by a forced reality and a
new imposed truth full of prohibitions and limitations came to stay to
accompany me along all my adolescence and adult life, isolating me from a
world to which I aspired to belong. A malignant being arrived and stopped
everything freezing my life together with those of many other souls. Then, I
grew poisoned and hypnotized by numerous compulsive red vampires that for
years tried to ruthlessly absorb my brain and I spent all the time trying
not to fall into that spell and so wandered among activated robots
pretending to be obedient under penalty of whip. I got bored of listening to
the same tired phrases and detested to praise what it did not find
beautiful.
Meanwhile, in my most intimate dreams, I ambitioned to own a lamp of Aladdin
to travel in time and space and create my own castle, this time enchanted to
my taste to always afterwards, in sad frustration, be able to confirm that
my thoughts and desires would become broken before the curse pending on my
race, my land and my flag and to which, by the stigma of my blood, I was
also sentenced. Then, I got to the conclusion that my God had gone away and
I felt him blurred and only heard him through a distant whisper and finally
I understood that he left at the sight of so much ignominy, negation and
injustice and He had included me in that punishment as guilty and accomplice
of that sin and then I let myself sink, full of cold depression, in the
swamps of the maze. The untiring and stubborn devils, meanwhile, were not
satisfied with silence but they forced my dissatisfied but scared lost clan
to utter incomprehensible phrases in their own tongue with which the latter
would act as servile parrots almost decimated by the lack of canary seed and
their only way out was to evoke better times or other masters. One good day,
finally, my invocations were heard and I was removed from the quicksand,
exhausted, without any strength and on the verge of perishing as others and
so I was turned into a chosen one. Now, like bold intruder, I steal daily
pieces of charity from someone else's Eden and I keep on carrying on my
yearning old shoulders the inevitable weight of an ideal island designed in
nostalgia and at the same time can't stop searching for the precious pearl
of the hidden Paradise that I will not find until the sentence of my times
stops and while it still lasts, it will make me wander, lost, astray and
with no orientation through coming lives, worlds and missions.
MARIO J TORRES
JULY 2004
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