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An existential void product of an apparently empirical dream, like an epiphany of inspirations. The burning smell of red candle wax and the angry patter of the downpour on the ceiling serve as a metaphysical method of purging my mind and soul. In search of the lost requiem that wanders in my consciousness.

In the writing of the bars of life and death, melancholy and hope, mercy and misery. The memories that brim at the edge of my eyes like photographic fragments of a forgotten image, already abandoned. In the midst of the living flame of the candle, the room is clouded in a dystopian vision, typical of the folds of my morbid imagination.

In that place, in the sky above my head, there were several souls in a stream of heavy lamentations that are forging an infernal vortex. The souls talk to each other, as if each one helps the other in a collective action of self-help. I thought: “These souls work as one, a single being,” as in a process of total homogenization, the defects of all these souls were complemented with the strength of the others, as if they were trying to eliminate among themselves the fears and insecurities that afflicted them in regrets.

Meanwhile, at my vanguard, a pressure riddled me in the chest. In front of me was an amorphous creature with a biblical appearance, and next to it, a being with the body of a man and the head of a horny ram. He prostrated himself before me, and in a language that did not exist, but that I somehow understood, shouted in my head: "I am a servant of the tree of life and omniscience, a submissive of desire. I am at your request, master."

He was completely understandable; he had to keep his end of the deal for mine. My lack of inspiration as a composer and musician took me like a slaughterhouse cow. I was on a thread of collapsing, and with a Machiavellian smile I said: “If you are a servant of the whole, if you are at the point of being and not being, I order you to play a symphony with a violin. A symphony that makes me be born again and hate any other sonata that doesn't provoke the same feeling in me”.

With a look of complete apathy, that anthropomorphic ram tore his own skin with his long and filthy nails, until ripping an old violin from his chest, composed of finely carved bone and dyed in an oily black substance typical of that ram. And so, he composed a sonata so beautiful, so exquisite and so magnificent, but at the same time too depressing, that it made me feel a violent prick in the heart. It sounded a bit dirty, however, that was what added emotion and originality. My heart rate and my breathing was extremely fast and tense, and how not to be? He knew that this would be the first and last time he would hear the magnificence in a divine symphony like that.

I tried my best to memorize the melody. I knew that this was the chalice that would help me rejoice in my whims and greed. However, and unfortunately, I had lost myself in the plainness, pessimism and melancholy of the subject, so the years that flew by in that epiphany went like sand between my fingers. Sooner rather than later, a thunderous lightning had returned me to my damn reality, a great pity.

Despite this, an ace up my sleeve helped me remember the melody. Not everything, but it was either that or not remembering any of it at all, and letting my veins burst from anger and frustration. I prepared the sheet of paper, the pen with the metal tip, and my violin at the same time, to be able to compose a masterful piece that would help me get out of the misery that was my room, isolated from hope and flooded with despair and past frustrations. However, remembering that epiphany disguised in a therapeutic dream along with the melody of sorrow and suicide, an enormous pessimism and lack of life dragged me.

It felt as if the sense of being alive was something simply useless. Out of nowhere, my mentality went to a meadow of no longer being. The feeling was extremely foreign to me; disgust and hatred repudiated my soul while the requiem of life and death was decomposing until it represented only the song of death in its surreal expression. I was a living dead playing out of tune strings, waiting to reconnect with my instrumentation.

Despite the extinguished spark of life, my empty eyes full of indifference, despite the fact that I couldn't sleep, I kept playing the melody, trying to replicate the piece I remember in my dreams. I was persevering, determined and foolish. Although my fingers began to bleed and his skin was destroyed like sheets of paper, he kept playing the melody, trying to copy the Devil. Even though the voices said it was stupid to continue, I continued anyway. Until the candle was finally consumed in its entirety, I continued to play a melody lost in a sea of ​​depressed and desperate souls, where mine awaited its eclipse.

Despite the fact that the corpse of a woman harassed me with hatred and resentment, it continued to play a divine and perfect symphony. A familiar corpse danced with me to the sad sonata. While the Devil sat on my wooden chair at the desk inviting me for a drink, the corpse was still a slave to the waltz looking for my soul. My violin and my soul. This is the lost requiem of death and punishment, my body won't take it anymore and sooner or later, I'm going to tear my face apart with my coagulated fingers.

The piece of music was accompanied by a dancing corpse, and next to it, a painting with a beautiful woman, an extremely beautiful woman, like Aphrodite. And next to her, a decomposed body, lover of the symphony, in search of revenge.

Memories of the room flood my dim vision as the violin plucks its strings in search of the perfect symphony. Pain and sadness prick my dismal heart into a frenzy, the heavy burden of guilt dulls my heartbeat and the corpse is brushing against me. The more I listen, the more fragments of my mind wander like ghosts in a place of infertile life, a voice that seems strangely familiar.


Satan's trial takes me as a tourist to the nine rings of fire, while my ankles are fervently massacred by a decomposed ghost, repeating successively: "Remember, remember, please remember" While ripping limb by limb. Even though I stopped playing the violin, the damn sonata rumbled off all four walls, increasing in volume as time went by. While death devoured and dismembered my body, a thought passed through my mind, a fleeting memory, a beautiful woman, very beautiful. A woman he loved. A woman who paid for my ambitions. A woman who submerged me in the tide of guilt. A woman who was looking for my body and my soul, a woman who is enjoying my flesh right now.

The devil mocks my stupidity as a voice whispers from inside my skin: "Let it go"

“And in my thoughts I remember her, I remember a woman that I really loved, now I hate her. And she hates me, but she was counting on it before.”