One day, maybe not the coldest day in the world, but not far off, I decided to remove my clock. Heavy flakes soaked with rain piled up on my shoulders It's a good day to tear off the heart, I said to myself. When I pulled on it, it felt like a bulldozer was crushing everything between my lungs. People say that we see a very intense light when death arrives, as far as I am concerned, I only saw shadows, giant shadows as far as the eye can see and a snowstorm at the black flakes. The snow gradually covered my body, first my hands then my arms outstretched. The roses seemed to grow from the snow, so blood soaked the powder, then they faded away. My face and then my entire body disappeared. I was strangely relaxed and anxious at the same time as if I was preparing for a very long plane ride. A final bouquet of sparkles grew under my eyelids: the memory of Miss Acacia dancing in balance on her little stiletto heels, Doctor Madeleine leaning over me winding the clock of my heart, Arthur shouting out his swing with Oh when the Saints go marching in!, then Miss Acacia dancing on her little stiletto heels over and over again. It was October 28, 1906. The clock, my heart and its mechanics stopped for good. Giant Jack is on your back now
Oh my baby my little one
How romantic it could be
To climb the sky
Walkin'on a stair of stars, that shining blue
And build a hamac of clouds between the south and the north of the halfmoon
And fuck in 'it again and again
I hang my head like a snowflake-man in a burning sun
Because I'm my own ghost I'm really dead, this time
I'm dead like the corpse in their mother fucking graves
How romantic it could be to climb the sky in a hamac made of clouds
A hamac made of clouds my little one

INVIA LE CORREZIONI