Unexistent world with odd colors, heavy air and acid rain, every kind of pollution, corruptions, and the craziest nightlife of the surface and the underground of the Earth, some say it’s the best, some say it’s the worst, I say it’s Electric City, the alive and imaginary metropolis, the city that cries nails of smoke, the concrete cancer that infects thoughts in people’s head, She, She that always calls you back, with her sexy voice and her symphony of noises, my beautiful and toxic Majesty.
No ancient or modern disaster will make You fall, no pandemy can make You stop. And Your streets with sweet taste of oxidation will keep running and Your graceful holes in the atmosphere won’t close. From the old Convent Choir to the drug trafficking and prostituition on the World Wide Web, You will raise more and more. They killed me but they can’t kill You. Your Muse and my Hunter, my daughter and son, my murderers. You’re in the bloody dirty hands of my murderers now, in who I trust, ’cause they know that we’ve always been under and above the laws, real or virtual. Your people, the ones who were born in You, live and die for You, wear gas masks and latex clothes – Yeah! The german porns were inspired by You, my caustic empire. And they know how to use the triple W to warm your organism. They know how to speak in codes. World Wide Web to the Wax Wild Worm. Negociations leave trails. I’m Madre Joana of the Thorns, married with Crhist, Devil’s lover, once a queen, once a whore, now a ghost. This is my reality and my fiction.
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