Sobre lo inmediato: notas de viaje

Luis Moreno Mansilla 

The music seems to be moving away although the musicians remain where they are. One imagines it has turned the corner because it is not fading out linearly. Instead, random notes or chords suddenly burst forth louder than the rest, as if pushed by aleatory gusts of wind.

That same wind wafts through the windows and the curtains draw open and close in the air, as if an invisible someone were not pulling at them but perhaps blowing from a distance, handless.

The sound of silence takes over and the lights dim, leaving only the reflections in walls that have been lacquered in a totally uninnocent red tone. A sinful red, a greasy reflection. The last light has remained glued to the wall. Trapped, it slips back only slightly, as if the walls were shifting a bit or the room were getting larger, dilating a few centimeters... [+]

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