JOSÉ ALBERTO PHOTO 04

There is no trace of man, the thread, rolling on the ground, indicates that it has also become a mountain. The line between what "is" what we are" then becomes blurred. If the mountain can be made of someone, then something is no longer an object, but personification. Perhaps the nail of the flake or the hair of the cord is not so different, and in infinite arrogance we discard, as a dead slave, a precise combination of fabric, blood, glue and skin. The mountain rises behind a gate where you can hear the rubber that crosses the room splashing, leaving a disgusting mark, it smells of low, a repulsive mixture of gasoline and blood. FRAGMENTO 4 - ESPAÑOL No hay rastro del hombre, el hilo, r...View all