Aquel que es noble
sabe de donde proviene su nobleza.
Chilam Balam de Chumayel
No se sabe si el dios maya sin nombre y conocido como dios L, también llamado el viejo o el fumador, es un dios del inframundo infrarrealista, tan, tan, tan bravo, que quiso conocer la vejez y la miseria en pellejo humano y con el hígado de Bolaño, o un viejo sacerdote que por pura tozudez arañó a ratos lo divino,y quiso santificar al menos las paredes de un cuartito con tabaco o versos, no se sabe.
No se sabe si el dios L era delicado como un brujo con abrigo de jaguar negro que extrae corazones y sacrifica virgencitas, tan delicado que aunque el mundo le apretara el alma "con usura" sólo respondía con una libra de rabia tan bien pesada y cantada como sólo Ezra lo haría, o era cruel como un colibrí Eliot, fijo en el banco, chupando rosas y disparando por un tubo conjuros del fétido y limitado amor de los hombres,no se sabe.
En realidad ni siquiera se sabe si fumaba tranquilamente su enorme sikar o chilum pacífico de barro, o tocaba uno de esos espeluzanantes aérofonos, artefactos de ruido, pasión infernal y dolor, para invocar a seres terribles hambrientos de sangre humana, no se sabe.
No se sabe si anoche Txarly Montero, o el dios L, hechiceramente tocaba la flauta de multiversos traveseros, la gaita de codo en Connemara, la cabra bereber con plástico en Adrar entubada, o a Itimad embrujaba en el corralón FLMNKO de Sevilla, e Imperio Sevilla, o morcilla, escuchando a Olga la torera, dejaba su espectro clavado en estela sobre la cáscara metálica de un transformador, o en el recibidor de la pirámide de la cruz, no se sabe.
No se sabe si alguién, con ciencia, canto, budismo, trampa rasayana, alquimista, caldo de Yoni, viento, humo o brujería, rompió alguna vez el dique del cerebro Artaudiano o humano, y le arrancó la boca estrechísima y consciente al embudo, y después de una inundación de cuatrocientos mil millones de bits por segundo, borracho y loco de gloria, de sinestesias de tubos-pinceles con volutas de humo en musicolor, y riadas de información Juan Ramón moguereño niñodiós meándose encima de risa y bailando, pudiera sostener una flauta, un nombre, o al menos una letra, L o cualquier otra, vivo o muerto, hombre o dios para contarlo, no se sabe.
No se sabe, te lo juro, no se sabe.
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The man who knows himself noble,
knows where that nobility comes from.
Chilam Balam of Chumayel
It is not known if the unnamed mayan god known as god L, aka the old man or the smoker, is an infrarealist god from the infraworld, so, so, so brave, that he wanted to experience old age and misery in a human skin and with Bolaño´s liver, or an old priest that just out of pure stubborness managed to scrap the divine intermittently,and decided to sanctify at least a little chamber with verses or tobacco, it is not known.
It is not known if god L was delicate as a heart remover and young virgins sacrificer sorcerer wearing a black jaguar coat, so delicate that even though the world were stressing his soul "with usura" he would answer
just with a pound of rage, so well weighted and sung as only Ezra would, or whether he was cruel as an Eliot hummingbird , with a permanent bank job, sucking roses and shooting through a tube fetid and limited love spells of men, it is not known.
In fact, it is not even known whether he was smoking quietly his enormous sikar or a peace clay chilum, whether he was playing one of those spooky aerophones, noise artefacts of pain and hellish passion, to invocate terrible entities with thirst for human blood , it is not known.
It is not known whether Txarly Montero, or god L, was playing the transverse multiverse flute last night in a wizzardly manner , an uilleann pipe in Connemara, a berber goat with plastic tubes in Adrar, or bewitching Itimad in the FLMNKO backyard of Seville, and Seville Empire or bloody black pudding, while listening to Olga, matador woman, nailed god L as stella onto the metallic shell of an electric transformer, or onto a wall of the welcoming hall of the cross pyramid, it is not known.
It is not known whether anybody, with science, song, buddhism, rasayana or alchemist trick, juice of Yoni, wind, smoke, or sorcery, broke anytime the artaudian or human brain dam, and pulled out the extremely narrow and conscious mouth of the funnel, and after a flood of four hundred thousand million bits per second, insane and drunk with glory, with synesthesias of musicolored smoky volutes, coming out of tube-brushes, an more floods of godchild from Moguer Juan Ramon information overflowing, pissing on himself with laughter and dancing, could possibly hold a flute, a name, or at least a letter, L or any other, dead or alive, man or god able to tell the story, it is not known.
It is not known, I swear, it is not known.
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