The Creation

book 1
Mauricio Otero
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Pintura de Carlos ParejaThe bubbling zeros that sailed in his body

were dispersed,

and when he awoke, everything was made

of crossings; stretching himself,

he put out his hand and grasped a cluster of metagalaxies

that burst from his mouth

- a full mouth, that did not remember the void

of his exploded zeros -.

When he opened his eyes

all was clarity:

the night had died

in the twilight...

in the cleardark

where he had been

looking without seeing anything


the unlimited

had been awakened

to sleep Again

and recover consciousness

astonished before the celestial marvel

of his imagination.

Because we are that

The Imagination of a God


To make unmaking

at the same time to unmake making

such is the fate

of the supreme Being,



lost in thought

reclining on a couch of pale stars

near the gateway of universal destiny:

the solitary of solitude:

He is further away from where all meet;

the loss that is lost in infinite remoteness...

which is his own isolation radiating all ways from



His soul flooded all cosmography

He flies - still!- through all eternity

testing his wings and projecting his body towards

the big crunch:

His fluttering is the whisper of the dreams

of all possible beings in all possible


Today, He is a wanderer with wings

o u t s t r e t c h e d; his mind flies

separated from his corporeality;

a mind that is still tangled up in the Universal History

of the Infinite.

The last and Only atheist;

his irrational rational rationality

troubles him, but he is as calm as a twilight

bathed in balsamic waves;

he dreams of his remotest youth

when he broke the hymens of galaxies:

it was the rebirth the not dying dying in

each orgasm.

Pintura de Isabel Aranda *Yto*It was the same somnolence made clarity

/outside of the organ

palpable as spermatic music,

as pent-up come;

compulsive in its creation:

things took their shapes from his reflectiveness,

rose-bush purple galaxies to the weeping in the

thousand pointillisms facing the roseclear mirror:

he admired his face


his most intimate ideals,

and all his innocent guilt as creator

without frontiers, despoiler of limits;

his blue heart distilled

all unimaginable imagination:

but He, creator, at his age,

had arrived


to conclude

that he had been invented by himself;

as the one who twirled the silk hat

of spirit

as a star that turns a key slowly


Pintura de Claudia CollaoHis irridescent thought

surprised him; he played with it and stroked it

like a mane of light become transparent...

And alone, alone! in the midst of all he had created

there was nothing to do but smile with joy:

He failed to notice what his

/configuration produced;

the pulse expanded so much in him,

that he did not see the birth of new cosmogenies

from between the legs of one of his lovers

who he had already forgotten...

God was God;

today he has one

like any of the mortals

to immortalise himself in the cosmoeternals...


The supreme Being was unconscious

While he was in that state

another supreme being arrived

who started to haunt his bed

amongst shadows, and made his speech:


he heard him in the hearing of the Unconscious


and when he spoke The Creator let

the white flow from his heart

which flooding the little cosmos,

dissolved the assassin:

Then God awoke!

wrapped in transparent sheets of the nothing

and when he looked around, stretching himself, his surroundings

shivered the word "Life" into his temples...

Since that imprecise moment

- moment of moments -

stars of vapour began to swirl

Pintura digital de Isabel Aranda *Yto*and soon condensed into red foam

making palaces of hot ice

already seeded by the emissions of the Omnipotent Being

who thus was beginning to make Consciousness of Matter

astral in the astral, finite in the


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