The Free Stone


The Free Stone

Frankenstein is creature of summer, creature of the furiosity of life.

The Sahara of the Human, that is you Frankenstein, not his devastation but his hugeness his furiosity. The inhuman of human is neither coming before nor after him, it is beyond him – in every organ, every cell.

Free stone, where are your masons, your Hesperus, where is the rose of your knights?

The human is in captivity. Captive of the world. The human is captive of world. The human is world in captivity. The human is captive world. The world of the human is captivity. Human world captivity. Humanworldcaptivity. Captivityworldhuman.

Free stone, where are your masons, where is your Hesperus, where is the rose of your knights.

The stone of freedom.

The stone of freedom shattered the glass of the Human.

How inhumanly shook us the wind of the tower, the stone tower. 

The wind is inside my head, perfectly inside.



Angels-cyborgs, you, unknown techniques, reassemble my atoms, thicken the electricities, give me last chance to justify the invention of humanity, the inventing of humanity, let me save you. I will walk on beaten tracks, will listen to your wisdom, but will have the strength of electronic bull to seed in Hercules’s veins, to traverse the peripeteia and the tunnels of evolution, to cook you fresh food after blast, to wash your wounds and lick your dried up genitalia, to dry and inflate you, my inimitable rubber toys. Give me your hands, aunties, give me your hand, stupid brats, uncle will take a picture of you, uncle will copy you, uncle will perforate you in folder, uncle knows everything about you, that’s why uncle loves you. My little fishes.


Fragments from Frankenstein, or the New Pandora (2011)