Poetry of Science Fiction

book 2
Mauricio Otero
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Pintura de Roberto MattaThe postmodern so-cie-ty

had a depersonalised con-science;

many distinct voices were heard;

many different "lives" were "lived"

by beings who would die

their mad daily death dis-u-ni-ted;

but there were many children-bytes.

The gigapopulation was a rubbish heap

of people

so dead

that they seemed alive.

Listen to the waves of heaven:

The dead singing mutely ( )".

(The FINAL INTERVISION which was spoken of).

"I see myself between - God and him -The Devil -

as if The Day was the Good and

The Night the Evil

of God

wingless ships of fire

vessels of stone crossing the cosmos;

sick of existence forever;

I see myself amongst dragons of concrete

that Cast fire from their wings which consumes and consumes them

I see them between life-and-death,

I see them amongst chi-monkeys."


Pintura de Isabel Aranda *Yto*"Who is talking to me then?"

My existence was virtual;

I always pretended to live

and the truth was that alone

I would die, I would die!.




Animals are crossed with buildings:

oh, concrete placenta!

My arms cry your blood

mixture of pain and humiliation of the flesh;

The inanimate come back to LIFE!

Every animate animal is dead!

So that the night of your memory cries,

hey, Master of the mixed-bloods!


There are buildings that sleep

in my interior;

in their windows are seen

the phantasms of my spirit

that leave at night to wander

narcoticized wandering through ancient avenues

but I am the one who never leaves

ah, wanderer in my interior


Steel birds come

wailing computer songs

exhausted by the afternoon

ancient looks remain in the petrification

of sensual organs;

they don't know where they come from or where they're going,

for the first time it is man who

"directs" their flight:

where I want to go to sing,

nobody sings

whistles a solidly airy bird

and the nothing within does not reply

Perhaps it would be better to stop and still the flight

What does my boss say?

Can I? ( ).


Heaven has been stopped


worlds advance

in search of lost hope

space is stopped

Alone, ah, alone!

all worlds, yes,



Pintura de Omar GaticaThe whole sky was inserted into earth through

its smallest orifices

grasping the sea with its free hands it was an unborn who had a baby

and he was born

next to death, alive,

while there were those who dialogued alone

with indifferent buildings

that passed by on the way


Skyscrapers for arms and legs

an electronic synthesiser for a head;

a spaceship for a heart;

a sphere for buttocks

and the sea of rock as a delirium that has gone

spinning peacefully through

the shadow-filled breast.

What I was what I will be what I am

(galactic waste-scrapped satellite-)

and the pain (of God)

Ah, From Within.


I saw the tide of waves of phantom buildings,

that came from other legions, strangers;

their black veils fell sad and lugubrious

wave after wave from heaven to my time..

Shedding painful tears was inevitable

in each one, a soul was shattered by the concrete

sea water that came to die

intent on killing the dawns of my calm

AH, I was dying in each wave

in each ghost the front part of

my impotent past was leaving me

but if I was dying I was not moaning,

the sea of my dream yes;

and now Outside of myself, I was being reborn,

Pintura digital de Isabel Aranda *Yto*to fight emboldened against the iniquity of cement,

that was already covering the whole firmament

and as no time was left I made the weapon of my steel

and, crazy, crazy!

I drilled and drilled through that terrifying sea to its ultimate limits

and beat beat with the rhythm of natural feeling

so that the water would become water again and the

sky would be transformed into sky!.


Ship of water on

Sea of stone

The crimson arms

of afternoon fluttered

My language left my tongue

and was the antifrasis and the aphasia, and the visual hiperbaton,

the stopping of time and of things.

and the anxiety of eternity of the here and now! YOU ARE!


Fotografía deFrank SpringerThat there was a skyscraper in front of me

did not impress me at all

What did was the trivial expression of its inhabitants

There was a sad morphine look about them;

even more when I saw the fields sown with the fright in their eyes:

the cows would give birth in these meadows to black nights that had no

destiny but to die,

to kill the hunger, the pain, the madness of living far from the centre

of its breast.

and from its back hung necrophiliac cities.


The inhabitants were injected

so as not to feel alone

It devoured interplanetary worlds

when it was feeling more peaceful

it drank the soup of happiness and every afternoon went walking

around other worlds

to stretch its pains.



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