Don Calavera

Student in California

Don Calavera

Student in California

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Intrigued by the quotidian matters of life and by the meaning of its impenetrable complexities alike, he walks the earth, seeking to cast meaning on his own footsteps …pupils high, eyelids low, as if they sought to protect his iris from the truth, scared that he’ll be blinded by his own light, his own splendor. So, he trips over a small rock, but never lifts his heavy eyelids. Ah, it’s just a protruding pebble, he reassures himself, a pinche piedrita que me hace los mandados. See, Don Calaverat is bold enough o dismiss the authority of an ancient being, a rock, an elder, but breaks down at the thought of a domestic chore. Quick, wise for his years and insightful he decides to live within the comfortable confines of his soporific mind. Something about that guy is strange, they once said about him, about his cerebral thinking. Atypical, often abrasive in character, sensitive and loving when humbled, he seeks to find himself, knowing that day will never come. In the meantime, as he looks to the world with disdain, he indulges in the succulence of words, strokes their face and makes them blush with emotion. He uses them, abuses them and runs after a night of exhaustive love making with- –those sensual beings. He talks to words, whispers at their grammar, howls at the ones that don’t make any sense, the useless words. El es, como la faz de un periódico, viste de simplicidad blanca y negra, esconde información que el mundo anhela, y es reciclado, solo para reencarnar nueva suculencia léxica, ¿un libro será?