Merciless city of my youthful dreams, you are dead,
by Juan Alvarado
Centered in the primordial issue, sinuous road, absconding description,
Slow motion replays of a shot badly done; the confusion of a demented director,
I, still steeped in the historical muck, repudiate the scene.
Walking northbound on 20 De Noviembre,
Quiet in the set, take 151, silence, lights, camera, action,
North-bound, always with people, and always alone,
Take 151, here we go again, props.
It is the measure of diabolic sanity, the disappearing walls,
The teeming jungle, or, divine, attesting all,
The fact that in such splendid, clear vision,
In the translucent lightning of awakening, I am quite mad.
Please everyone, please, quiet on the set, I repeat again,
Take 151, camera, action. Is this a new take?
Scenes parade in a dance macabre through my mind, take one-five-one,
Is this a new take, or did I go off again, take 151, again and again.
It isn’t the madness of this feeble mind, in your solid outline,
You Cadereyta, are melting before my very eye.
Aye, aye. Manuel had only one good eye. Let’s do it again, take 151.
(Not altogether convincing, the scene reveals its warped sense of substance;
Its hallucinant beauty makes its grand stand, no problem, it’s all mine.)
Can this madness be franchised? No royalties beyond the grip.
There are no affirmations but for the surrealistic beauty of the dream at hand,
The hardest part, the untold premonition is yet to come,
But it is here to accomplish something in the past, the easiest part, never to be one.
I am here, I know at once, like the architecture in its ephemeral outline,
I am here not due to something that I may perceive, any thing,
Any thing at all that may place memory on my side,
I know I am here because I know I am here, simple as that.