Seven years I lost my grandparents. I loved her. And long before, like any other child, I felt a fierce panic, hysterical death. Of my grandparents took me to a point beyond. How would you define that point now? I would say it was a kind of antiorgasmo dry hole, before sleeping, I cramped temples. It was something I did that, look at my hands for some time, they would become rosy brochette skewers of meat on a skewer in ivory. It was a stifling vertigo, an unfathomable unborn waiting for me so fatal. At that time I remember that I always slept with two overlapping images: one was the image of myself, old man, in my death bed, trying not to look one last time. The other was that I stepped on a wasp for months, rolling on the floor, with the sting shaken by spasms, pointing upwards. My dreams were no better.
Mine was like other children, yes, but taken further. Far from the host. And we all know children, even those who did not come from religious families, especially, were very clear that their dead grandparents were in heaven. I worked so splendidly that excuse pilgrimage which served also to console themselves for their siblings decapitated in a traffic accident Brunete outside, their mothers died of breast cancer, for all those parents who fell from scaffolding. All were in heaven, then close together, with the same goofy faces with which they posed at the time for the flu pictures that adorned his bedroom.
I did not have those tools, I grew up in a family fiercely materialistic not hesitate to treat me like a genius. An enormous able to fit it like an adult. And he did, if he did go! Fit all far better than many adults but, inevitably, was in a anomalous.
In a surfeit of existential angst naive, popular science magazines misunderstood , movies and comics chungas Don Mickey conceived a strange subterfuge to support the idea of \u200b\u200bdisappearing forever. It was the existence of infinite universes . The trap of immortality would die if I touched one of them for any reason there would always be another universe in which that circumstance and would not be alive. I mean, something like that if a particular universe died hit by a car, another universe would slow the car in time and instead of dying crushed under the wheel of a SEAT 127, I win smacks of a startled driver.
The months following the death of my grandparents did not stop mulling over this foolishness. I got to weigh the possibility that there were worlds like saviors, there were also others in which the most casual incident became deadly disasters. Every moment of my life was to turn the last moment in a remote universe. And here comes a problem: if he was alive because there was always a universe in which, in fact, it was, why could not the other way around?, Why was not permanently die? Something was missing. There was something monstrous in all this, a permanent suspicion: a kind of "original universe " we were dead at birth . What being alive was limited to a jump from one universe to another in which others were dying but it does us. Self would never die, we would be immortal. But how this leap occurred? I mean, if one has a twin brother who survives him, one is dead. Why produce this sense of sameness from one universe to another? Ah, here entered fully the real problem of consciousness. The only answer I could think of was a kind of metempsychosis between universes. But then, I was a materialist. A materialist seven years, but did not believe in souls. Again, the come-come, ants devouring beetle kicking my last breath moaning at a hospital, the pieces of meat in the market offal, dead grandparents.
I decided that perhaps I was not ready at my age to materialism. That if all children asshole nursery were religions, I would my own. That way I clung to that amorphous pluriuniversal phenomenology, with fervor and fanaticism, beyond my most basic beliefs. Me and a newly calved marsupial makes the nipples of her mother as the noose. But it was completely useless. Very soon I realized that if it was possible that other universes exist, it was necessary that they be infinite. Even more, even with an infinite number of universes, this does not imply infinite possibilities . Damn it, surely this was the only universe in which beings exist able to call "universe" the universe. Maybe my world outside the universe. He was only sentenced.
remember that time almost better than the time of the death of my grandparents. It was something like a cold sweat, stomach cramps followed to finally reach a profound relief: perhaps dying was not so if compared it to having to live with such mental zorza .
Mine was like other children, yes, but taken further. Far from the host. And we all know children, even those who did not come from religious families, especially, were very clear that their dead grandparents were in heaven. I worked so splendidly that excuse pilgrimage which served also to console themselves for their siblings decapitated in a traffic accident Brunete outside, their mothers died of breast cancer, for all those parents who fell from scaffolding. All were in heaven, then close together, with the same goofy faces with which they posed at the time for the flu pictures that adorned his bedroom.
I did not have those tools, I grew up in a family fiercely materialistic not hesitate to treat me like a genius. An enormous able to fit it like an adult. And he did, if he did go! Fit all far better than many adults but, inevitably, was in a anomalous.
In a surfeit of existential angst naive, popular science magazines misunderstood , movies and comics chungas Don Mickey conceived a strange subterfuge to support the idea of \u200b\u200bdisappearing forever. It was the existence of infinite universes . The trap of immortality would die if I touched one of them for any reason there would always be another universe in which that circumstance and would not be alive. I mean, something like that if a particular universe died hit by a car, another universe would slow the car in time and instead of dying crushed under the wheel of a SEAT 127, I win smacks of a startled driver.
The months following the death of my grandparents did not stop mulling over this foolishness. I got to weigh the possibility that there were worlds like saviors, there were also others in which the most casual incident became deadly disasters. Every moment of my life was to turn the last moment in a remote universe. And here comes a problem: if he was alive because there was always a universe in which, in fact, it was, why could not the other way around?, Why was not permanently die? Something was missing. There was something monstrous in all this, a permanent suspicion: a kind of "original universe " we were dead at birth . What being alive was limited to a jump from one universe to another in which others were dying but it does us. Self would never die, we would be immortal. But how this leap occurred? I mean, if one has a twin brother who survives him, one is dead. Why produce this sense of sameness from one universe to another? Ah, here entered fully the real problem of consciousness. The only answer I could think of was a kind of metempsychosis between universes. But then, I was a materialist. A materialist seven years, but did not believe in souls. Again, the come-come, ants devouring beetle kicking my last breath moaning at a hospital, the pieces of meat in the market offal, dead grandparents.
I decided that perhaps I was not ready at my age to materialism. That if all children asshole nursery were religions, I would my own. That way I clung to that amorphous pluriuniversal phenomenology, with fervor and fanaticism, beyond my most basic beliefs. Me and a newly calved marsupial makes the nipples of her mother as the noose. But it was completely useless. Very soon I realized that if it was possible that other universes exist, it was necessary that they be infinite. Even more, even with an infinite number of universes, this does not imply infinite possibilities . Damn it, surely this was the only universe in which beings exist able to call "universe" the universe. Maybe my world outside the universe. He was only sentenced.
remember that time almost better than the time of the death of my grandparents. It was something like a cold sweat, stomach cramps followed to finally reach a profound relief: perhaps dying was not so if compared it to having to live with such mental zorza .
