To Mato I.
While facing white columns shining into a hard light after the rain (and what is truly old vanishing up to the depth as already known, given), a yellow vehicle as old as the hills cathches the eye.
It arrived here from the cities of the north east, cities all full of mud and dirt. It is anxious to throw off its metallic yellow skin. A frantic dance of small, tiny little shops. Nowhere in the whole world you wont’t be able to find so many small little shops together, and no shop wandering about anything.
And further down one accomplice next to the other. In every shape and color. A whole city full of them, conspiring on every little mater. See them wink at each other as they slide like sea-currents into the big ocean. Once into the waters, they stand out due to the difference of temperature. They form many different groups of conspiracies, that exist only for themselves, because they have nothing to subvert.
They can only constitute this big, this important city with the white shining marbles and the masses of semi-squashed garbage that lay into the mud. Garbage that dry rapidly, because this is a supreme law: Drying rapidly.
-And what does the seal looks like, grandpa?
-Hera, like that, said my grandfather, gesturing as if he had a seal before him, using me as a model to define the seal’s members with his hands. From the belly button on she is the prettiest woman; from the belly button down she is the scariest fish. She lives in the bottom of the sea. But when she sees the shadow of a ship passing by, she moves hop! and emerges; she moves again and hop! grasps the ship with her hand and stops it. Then she calls for the captain and asks him: Does Alexander the King live and rule? She asks three times, son, and when the captain answers three times that he lives and rules, that he lives, she sinks and drowns him.
The only voyage I ever had