Giannina Braschi - Empire of Dreams

Hysteria, I have a dead son in the belly of the city. My mourning is the edge of the world. I have both navels empty in the center. My mother abandoned me. I’m raising the belly of the city. I gather pigs, the breeding ground of mourning. There is no belly, pedestrian, there is no belly, transitory wind. I scream at the top of my lungs, my lever is the parachute of life. I hear you, fertile belly. I examine your limbs, electric organism, ventriloquist. Marionette woman, sleight of hand creature, the wolf married grief, and Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother fled crying out to the murderers. You bitch, cold hysteria. Neither the policeman nor his motorcycle stop you. But I stop you. Halt, cold hysteria! Halt!

Laughter, laughter, laughter, I’m happy, I dance, because you’re crazy, unsettled, I’m lost in a world. You said world, I understand, I see world. Hell. I don’t feel you. I’ve stopped thinking. I felt cold. And I went wild, dancing in a cardboard tumbler. I wiped it out, erased the line, animal, only you remain. It was twelve. I’ll be back in five minutes. No, please, let me sleep. Ocean, I need to find out. Returning eye, go away. I am asleep. Approaching eye. Back off. Please, I need to sleep. Anesthesia, I keep lizard hours, but please, I don’t have a centaur’s tail. I’m not a dragon or a giraffe. I’m finished. I need some sleep. Lifeless, no, I’m not that old, but tell, tell the lizard, I love. And even if the tail is fire. Prove it with kisses. C’mon, I dare you. Coward. I try to erase the line twice. The giraffe’s line or laughter’s? No, the centaur’s line with a dragon’s tail. I mean, the giraffe. Unsettled. The dead man rises. Poor thing! Let him sleep. I am asleep. Not me, not me. Please, corpse, leave me alone, I beg you: let me sleep.

I vanished, I almost became wind, phantoms are not white. Recognize them, I told you. Learn to vanish. Don’t fly so high. Keep sleeping on the stairs next to the drunkard. What are you talking about? Don’t you understand me anymore? What are you asking me? It’s been two days, speak to me. I’m listening. And we’re not two elevators, let’s face it, we don’t have buttons or buildings anymore, we don’t even have seas or deserts. The streets have spoken to me four times. The fifth time, I’ll shut them up. Traffic, the red light says walk, the green, stop. Traffic is submissive, solitary. Policemen are firemen, ambulances are the ambivalence of danger! Danger! Hysteria told you to halt! And halt! arrested me. Life is coffee made from rainwater. The house’s hat is not a chimney. Steam, evaporate. I subtract three months from March to December. The addition of two zeros, see you later, see you later. The door up in flames, and the garbage asking for the corpse. The world chatting with the dialogue. And life at the railroad station emitting smoke, unsettled, the months of the world’s train and the gates of the northern hemisphere.

Happiness is the quiet hand, don’t you see it flying, happiness is crazy, I see it near the couch, sitting, rising, flying, leaf falling to the ground, and floating up again, I see it floating near the river, fishing for turtles. Happiness. The killer’s hand, the Sunday turtledove, as Papa had a canary and Miguelito had a parrot. And I loved Bracho. And I played turtles with Juan. Edmée! Edmée! Juan hit me with the racquet. Bracho, we’re near the tennis court. They look at us, we hit the balls, they send them back, the racquet got angry at me. Can you believe it, the world, no, not the world. Pilo, come with me, follow me. Mama, it’s been a while since we played tennis. But there are two huge racquets that hit me, two huge shotguns, two billiard balls, in the world’s court, horror, playing with us, playing with me.

It wasn’t fire, and you said it well, no it wasn’t fire. Someone started to call me. Come, he said. And I went. What do you need? he asked. I need some sleep. The clocks woke me. No, it wasn’t the cold. No, it wasn’t the game. I still have the clown’s pants. I still have my pockets full of sand. I still open my arms and embrace you. No, it wasn’t the game. I still don’t have hatreds in the sand. I don’t have knives in my pants. I have stars. Listen to me. My huge stars drawn in the port, the ships of my welcoming. My innocent farewells. The world won’t leave me in peace. But the stars, the ships, the caramels, the soap bubbles, the centaur. No, it wasn’t the game. I’ve looked through elevators, prison bars, handcuffs. And the world looks forever like a star to me. Its huge dungeon and its huge jail imprison me on the seashore. There is no exit, there is no outlet from the sky, only an echo screaming: I’m still living in the stars, I’m still sleeping in the stars, still. What do you need? he asked me. I need to sleep in the stars.

Mathematical equation, you said, the multiplication of bread and fish. A centaur’s eye wanted to go through the mouse’s needle. A really big man wanted to be a dwarf. But failed. Then the world marched onward. Wire boots, how could it be? Mathematical equation. The world declined twice. Life played a poor hand. Stood up furious. And moved far away from the city. Mathematical equation, they shouted, the multiplication of bread isn’t going anywhere. I’m marching somewhere, said the soldier. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! An elephant’s eye wanted to go through an elevator. The doormen stopped it. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! The world’s bicycle, where is it? Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! I don’t have your underwear. It’s not my fault if you can’t find it, said life. And the world started laughing. Mathematical equation, you said, nothing is marching forward. The little dwarves didn’t know what was marching, neither did I, I have to admit. The world is marching nowhere. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

My tanks were filled with gasoline and wars. I was a lead soldier. I marched against the smoke of the city. There were difficult moments and there were, Hello! How are you? They were all worth the same. I had two pennies. I could enter the city. But they closed the doors on me. I closed my soul on them. They didn’t know what had happened. Did my soul pass by here? Body, I said to you, how are you? I have been a lead soldier. The voice that said it was not what it said. I almost swear by the road. But the segment, the march loaded with clay, eyes of asphalt, hands of lime, legs of drill, navels of cement, resounded, resounded, resounded — the anvils of the hammer against the beams of the body — drilling, drilling, drilling me. Marching in time, the wall and the latch, the heart, my soul, the precipice of the trucks. And everything was black, black, black, white — like the asphalt. And the world closed its doors — anvils and hammers against the sleeping men — the doors of the heart, cities everywhere and little lead soldiers.

I want everything to be in my book. So nothing is left unsaid. I want to say it all. Live it all. See it all. Make everything anew. The end must be the beginning. The exit from the tunnel. The entrance to the highway of life. The motorcycle chase. The full-moon gaze. I was the magician. All must know it. The world must know it. I was the only magician who performed a trick on a page. And the nightingale appeared. And the girl with red slippers. And the poet appeared. The poet. The poet. The barefoot poet. The child. The comet. The musicologist. I invented the treble clef. I invented the star of drama. So much time has gone by. I’ll close my eyes. To be alone. Alone. Alone. I’m the loner. I would have liked to make you happy. I would have liked to invent paradise. An ice tavern. Or a milk-man. A puppy. And a penguin. And I have it all. I have it all. I’ll soon extinguish myself. Like a flash of lightning. Like the entire planet. Orchestra. Orchestra. Let the music begin. Let the singer begin to sing. Let everything begin anew. I want everything. Everything. Everything.