by Pedro Proença
There is a problem with language.
In itself, it’s just a way of communicating uselessness. What we are are mere specks of something on a big beach.
The beach is connected to a desert, and beyond that, we can’t even imagine.
Once I swallowed a car. It drove itself inside of me, its tires leaving marks on my stomach. People called those marks tumors and tried to zap me with laser beams. I fled.
Looking back, I think I should have been a dancer. I had the body for it, the skill, but I was too ashamed. My head was to small. Freakishly small. I looked like Brain, from the cartoon, the lab rat, in the episodes he used his robot human body, with the black suit, and kept his own head on top of it. He said he was transformed into a mouse by a freak…
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