Dove and manure


Raul Pompéia
I want a rich bridegroom … Let him not be beautiful! … I am beautiful already … I want a bridegroom of gold, of gold like the calf. I love everything that is gold: the jewelry, the coins and the mosaic calf. When I sleep, dreams cascade over golden cascades over my body … The auroras are beautiful for me, because they have golden diadems. The mountain is generally loved for its sufficient and leafy greenery, which covers it; I love the mountain, because I feel the thick golden vein inside the granite crust. There are those who love the tossing of the stream, falling down the pebbles; I find the stream just lovely, when gold reeds roll over the sands of the bed … With gold, dominion is made and the throne is merged. The Roman emperors made the figures themselves carve in gold …

The sun’s rays are golden.

Anyway, I will be won by gold … The beauty has the glory of being worth the great metal and being able to exchange for it.

The woman who allows herself to be won by gold becomes a winner; the weakness of beauty is transfused in the omnipotence of metal … Of what use would other women, beauty, if beauty were not gold in the life market and if gold did not demand the beautiful pink of our flesh for more? fine enhancement?! … Men dominate by matter, which is gold, we dominate by the ideal, which is seduction. The alliance of the two domains makes the domain supreme … This is the truth. So, I want a rich groom. A golden groom; solid gold like the calf of the old testament … I belong to whoever gives it! … The vulgar scoundrel’s slang calls it selling itself …

I sell myself!

I was horrified. And she said the brilliant catastrophe of blasphemy with those tender lips, which I had supposed made for the sweet murmur of the holy confidences of virtue and love …

How horrible was the yellow gold caterpillar, coming out from among the roses of that mouth!
………………………………………….. ……………

Ahead of us, down in the garden, a large amount of manure had accumulated in a corner.

On the manure, a white dove, with beautiful bloody feet and bloody beak, revolved the infected mound with her nails, looking for food …

It made me feel the epigram of chance.

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