It has long been common knowledge that unseen bells rejoice. That the mouth was made much bigger than the band it forms. This is the one misunderstanding I hope to clarify: Do I describe myself? Yes, I describe myself. The presentation of an inhuman and static head on a body that is human, and thus moves to endow a comfort that rules out any possibility of survival. The crematorium allows speedy changes in character where one can seek refuge. For example: When after he was stabbed multiple times in his leftmost eye and lay contorted at the bottom of the pile, there were many illustrations to prove this possible. Do I describe myself? Yes, I describe myself. Such that the front was large and projected over his eyes, the skull endowed with the same peculiarities, showing the same roundness, the ears animal and pathetic, the forehead etched with curious, well-worn lines, as if it died in a country once known as Macedonia, the land of confused and misplaced skulls. The face itself as if laid in fire and placed in eternal static type. I sense my hand in what I put into myself and when I think of my skull, when I think of every ounce of gold I wear: Thank god, there is no gold. And the skull such that, when trepanned, a blue colt unfurls from the bottom of an oven.
