<p>What did words and the world say, and then what he said. The land is gnawing at our teeth. We all entered the world of ghosts too early. I copied the first page of a classic on the balcony, as if its magic could also enter my mind, electrical circuits intertwined with shit. Never seeing, never seeing anything as it is. An empty room, a white tablecloth in the frame on the wall, there is no glass pane on the table. Someone came in. The texture of their leather shoes was dull, like the solo piece sung by twelve hyenas endlessly. A Latin dance tune. We once saw, by the sea, the purplish-red light of everything appeared under the pale sunset, but paintings could always only be paintings—watercolors' distortion, the ever-repeating stutter. A gunman walked down the street. No one noticed him, or so he thought. In fact, no one was around. The one destined to stop him is swimming in a sky-blue cradle—a boundless pool like a coastline.The river of vomit. He walked, until the eternal weariness descended. The woman he was going to kill lived in a treehouse or a basement. He told the old man at the newsstand that tonight, is like the twenty-eight nights before, would be a night of peace and happiness—an ominous night. Each of these nights there was a little girl walking alone through the forest, looking for a beast in disguise. A wolf would say to her: "Don't walk any further, I am the final wild wolf you're searching for, I will wear on you until your skin and flesh stretches and tears, then together we will perform the final act of the eternal puppet show." The girl asked, "Will you eat me?"The wolf said, "No."The girl left. "Today we have seen the last ghost in the world." The old man said. The gunman said, "This is just our presbyopia.” The gunman walked down the road, thinking of the girl: she‘s thirsty until her death. When she died, the sun thought, "Things are always like this, no one will ever accept my help anyway." He saw twelve carriages sliding down the hill and a woman sewing her skin with needle and thread while sitting in a tree. He didn’t dare look at her. A woman was a kind of white bone. He closed his eyes, climbed the tree and stuck a needle into the woman’s neck (his needle). He left. There are no ghosts in the forest.</p>
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