Homo Eternus (EN)

Awakening. The thirst, undeniable.
It happens always the same way,
all these millenia: Yearning to be-
long, to be relevant again, to sail
again the waves of the contempor-
ary, the tide of passion, the shores
of communion. Then, languor,
angst, ennui… Again the siren song
of final oblivion. Endless despon-
dency. Terminal madness. And an
escape to the welcoming earth.
Digging. I gain the infinite center,
never sheltered enough by Gaea,
never to return again to the inter-
minable maternal bosom. Forget-
ting the sun and everything under
it. Peace… Silence… Non-existence…
Until dreams of thirst, of blood, of
life, and of pulsating, ruinous, vo-
luptuous, true memories, until life
itself comes and takes me in arms
that are at once tender as a lover of
many years and voracious as he
who tears and rapes, and draws me
once again to its undulating and
obscene rhythm, sybaritic and vir-
ginal, and beseeches me to surren-
der myself and take possession,
both at once, that I be Me and I
be You, that I be Everyone.

Once again, another cycle, another name, another me. Perhaps another you. For all these centuries, my abandoned progeny, without any guide nor any understanding, without knowing how to survive this lunatic transubstantiation, burning in a blaze of so many different kinds that I even forget how many each time: in the sunlight, in the friendly blaze, in complete quarterings, in new and horrifying manners that no one would have imagined ever before; and, that once imagined, are forgotten after a few years. It is a few years they live, forgetting everything, and believe that they discover everything. The world is always brand new to them. Such good fortune, for them. I hate them for it. I never forget. Never forgive. What is my origin? My first name? My first home? Impossible to know. Buried under titanic shoals of unsurmountable years, they live like the memories of the dead, that teach nothing to no one. And today I awaken in the midst of rubble and rocks, where there ought to have been eternal cities, where I ought to have returned with the burning thirst presently quenched.

The last man on the face of the
Earth. No matter, whilst there
be living beings, the blood is
home. It is I, the man with no
name for so long, the man that
left behind mortality for an emp-
ty promise of duration. It is I,
Homo eternus, Nosferatu, tra-
veler in time, and last avatar of
man, who awakens in a world
thousands of years innocent of
mirages; forgotten by the Naza-
rene; after hundreds of years a-
sleep, I awaken to a world empty
of intellect though overflowing
with life. I am the eternal man.
Pity me.

November 11, 2007.
Dallas, Texas.