The flying intent ◄ Back

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The labyrinth is a nest. A space full of secret power, an intricate web of tendrils and roots growing inside comers and walls. I walk through it slowly, the feet become aware, the ears amplifiers - should an ant make me stumble. Theseus carried a great yam of wool and a two edged battle-axe to kill the monster, but now Ariadne is married, and Dedalus doesn't believe m weapons anymore. Now he is a gardener, so he takes the bees for a walk in the forest. The passage narrows, I stretch out my body like a sunflower looking for the light. In one bag I bring embroidery made of tobacco leaves, on my back a sweater of coffee paper, in my pockets, time and non-time and infinity. Young Theseus only managed to get out of the labyrinth because Ariadne, her hair adorned with light, illuminated his steps. I follow the advice of Dionysos's bride, I drink sea garlands and I make a toast to honey. Minutes acquire the breath of cen-turies and because of so much stretching I smell the odor of the Minotaur. I veil my face - they say the odor of wild beasts is enough to dazzle the prey but by the quality of the odor I foresee that the olden times gave way to a menu without grace and shouts. Oh, after all the Minotaur has not a bull's head but an infinity of heads inserted on a metallic body. Cloistered in the subterranean labyrinth where only a warrior can intrude, it became an anguished, depressed being. Disconsolate, it yearns for a party, a good story, and a new book to read. As soon as it sees me it raises the thousand heads that say and unsay all it feels and finally it confesses that it's got a pair of skates to exchange and a turtle's shell, from the time when the python's priestess read the oracles in Delphi's temple. Sitting on a beautiful sofa, the only belonging of this famous character, I put on the skates and because the thousand heads became a gigantic knot I offer my services to untie them. Tough job. As I untie it my eyes swell and I get corns. However I feel gratified. As each head is freed it smiles, dries and shrinks until it falls on the ground in the form of a seed. There are a hundred heads that long for tales and five hundred who only talk about illness and giving up. I tear all the pages, one by one, from Aesop's fables, and rolling them into little paper balls make it swallow, as if it was a medicine. Immediate success. They laugh like idiots and with the voices of soft rain they ask in a chorus "Aesop made a fool of himself when talking, how come they listened to him telling fables?" And all the other heads, awakened from a long lethargy cackled, "He was ugly, blubber lipped and paunchy, he saw evil everywhere". And as I did not know how to silence them, I carried on untangling more heads from the beast. The labyrinth floor cracked, small fissures appeared where the thousand heads (transformed into seeds) disappeared. Now, by my side, sitting cross-legged, there is a pale man, without voice or wings. "Did you know that the labyrinth is a nest?", I ask. But he still can't talk. He opens his eyes wide, hissing, he sticks out his forked tongue until it winds around his neck. He really looks like spaghetti and as I became hun-gry with all that work I satisfy my appetite. The man laughs and his laughter is so Joyful that out of it are born meadows and mountains, sheep and wolves, foxes and eagles, donkeys and chickens, dolphins and monkeys, all of precious gold. "Theseus killed the Minotaur with a weapon built by the same artisan that sculpted the wooden cow where a splendid bull and your mother, king Minos's wife, conceived you", I say suddenly, without thinking. And he whispers: "One cannot trust the gods". Then he snorts, and with 1its tongue it draws dancing bodies on the floor. It tinges itself in blue, rises up in the air and vanishes as salty foam. I hear an echo saying: "The labyrinth is a nest, where one must get out". With a slow agility I use the embroidery as a map, I put on the paper sweater, I store all the precious golden animals and I follow the voice of the wind that talks through the treetops. Sometimes my hand feels the bag. It's a throbbing heart and the fingers read: "Just a pretext to eat ya Pyreus my great friend kindled greed kills the faeries bad fortune mimics the heart ya watch your consciousness better skinny alive than dead satiated". And when I least expect it I've got wings, I whirl, I make it out of the labyrinth and all the constellations make a circle to welcome me. These mysteries cannot be explained; they're as strong as tornadoes and they make dust and mountains, seeds and oceans dance. In Creta's labyrinth there were a lot of people outside, some mollified and beaten, others disguised as victory. Inside, there were trophy's heads and immobile people with eyes looking as if they'd seen a ghost. Also we would see names on tombstones that said "live happy after being dead". Ariadne wrote yesterday, she tells me that in the centre ofthe labyrinth where I was, a vegetable garden was born, where every afternoon all the wizards come to dance.

Susana Neves

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FONSECA MACEDO - ARTE CONTEMPORÂNEA | 2017