The valley

It all began in the valley, like a river instinctively seeking its course, with the earthly impulse to survive by making something out of nothing, leaving behind a mark that is the shadow of that creation that was always nothing more than a self-satisfying game.

Everything was conducted wrapped in the laurels of virtue and truth, of a morality that looked the other way and left darkened the forgotten rooms where suspicions dwelled, and the nocturnal noises that awaken doubts and infiltrate our bodies like alarm clocks with their own rules.

The binary idols were incorporeal; in an almost mystical union between the immaterial dream and the unattainable abundance, we touched God with our fingers.

Like raw, amorphous, limitless pleasure, an indecipherable region in which we take refuge to escape to the epicenter of our desire.

We invented sumptuous mysteries with alabaster bodies, primitive in their faith in blind, unconditional progress, goddesses with prominent bellies bearing the promise of spotless offspring.

We made the semiconductor a totem, and just around the corner, happiness deflated our glimmers of omnipotence, obstinately subjecting us to its bittersweet principle.

As we plunged into that dazzling gaze, we felt the plastic to our touch, and there the silicon revealed itself as silicone.

Beneath our feet, the ground came to life, and a drugged dragon, launching us into the dizzying sky with its titanic marrow, shattered that exhilarating sensation that the world's order bent to our desires.