Читать книгу Caricreatures - Diego Maenza, Diego Maenza - Страница 7

THE SEA MAKES HIM HAVE NAUSEA, vertigo, panic, even if he has a map in the form of a maze. The horizon is so broad that seems infinite. It overwhelms him. His desire to conquer his domains fills him with despair and helplessness and discover himself so inexperienced and insignificant in front of the vastness of the waves. He, precisely he, who is just beginning to take his first steps in the world of piracy. His ambition is huge, disproportionate, and therefore laughable. He pretends to conquer the seven seas. He wants to cover them as a whole and he can´t survey them with the shortness of his gaze and limitedness of his navigation. So he chooses to remember where he walked, even if he had only been in daydreams, a novice traveler who relies more on memory than on the ability of his inventiveness: the Black Sea, the Red Sea, the Caspian Sea, the Mediterranean Sea, the Persian Gulf, the Arabian Sea, the Adriatic Sea.

And he opts for fantasy by taking refuge in the tavern of dreams, where the minstrels sing strange and foundational stories of bifurcated beings that fork and metamorphose, that are at the same time elements, animals and gods, numbers invoked in immemorial rituals that have arrived in the ancient world to contaminate everything, precisely them, so learned in their culture which descended from Olympus and forged and perfected in the smithies of Rome.

Metaphysical and spiritual stories that infect, in a good way, the materialistic and rational sharpness of his wise friends; or fables closer to him, apprentice of a filibuster who wants to take flight like a seagull and then dive into the elusive prey, like the beggar pirate who, in front of every-one´s laughter, claimed to have been a slave trader and to have inaugurated a renewed insignia that conferred courage and transformation to the acolytes who welcomed her as a banner, or like the black man who escaped from his masters and be-came king or the unhappy little man with a disfigured face and sad clothes who claimed to have been the victim a hex, as if his soul was worth more than Faust´s. Poor him, innocent creature full of optimism who barely knows the world and thinks that the tributaries are as comfortable as veins of his gums, salty arteries that lead to the truth. What are you afraid of, sailor, that you falter at the sight your own face reflected in the calm of the ocean? That the foam of the waves hits your skull and breaks the rocks of a virgin island? Or that the bobbies go crazy and start pecking your eyes? Of the corsairs of the word standing up as supreme doers, as unequalled demiurges who consider sea as their property? You, hesitant friend, must be the quintessential pirate, the one who sabotages all the languages and codes established in the foreign kingdoms: you will have to appropriate those kingdoms. You will be the one who forces the fish and the albatross to copulate in order to give birth to a new offspring, a mythological creature born from your womb.

So, our friend, facing his fears, with a renewed but equivocal vision, clings and drinks from his labyrinth, and is determined to invent the seas where he will navigate, a traveller trained on the experiences of others, and who now trusts himself in the capacity of his inventiveness more than in his hazy memory and creates and believes:

The Atlantic Ocean, the Indian Ocean, the Arctic Ocean, the Mediterranean Sea again, the Pacific Ocean, the Caribbean Sea, the Gulf of Mexico. Yes, your reality will start at the place where your imagination has culminated. It will set sail towards the banks of that world recently discovered by them, but inhabited by the immemorial.