Transparent Labyrinths

Vampiric confessions sending chills down my spine in a beautiful full-moon night. Practical theories, theoretical practices. Some words illegally overtake some others. The lust warning gets increasingly dangerous within seconds turning into an invitation to explore the joys of freedom. The clock strikes four, its bell makes me tremble. I keep its sound in a musical box, I stare at the silver handle and make it go round in opposite direction. I admire the flight of the sky-blue eagle that murmurs strange premonitions… strange but positive, and amazing. I associate with the vagabond thoughts that wander the nooks of any sunset and make them stand still facing adversity. Books open back to front, beginning with the end. Everything seems neat when the tiny blue squares vanish, the blue ink gets brighter. The border of the past and future margins. The coherent incoherence makes me fall into empty words that acquire chameleonic meanings, but every spiral ends up in the middle of the labyrinth. They know where the exit is and stay away from it, they take a walk around unknown rooms looking for wisdom. Characters. Colored crayons. Magical potions. When you walk over the walls of the labyrinth, doing some kind of balancing act, there’s no exit or entrance, there’s no labyrinth… there are just places. Places where vampires just leave marks in the mirrors; places where time stops to let them spin around in the opposite direction the Earth does. There’s no labyrinth.