What an air conditioning grille was, is suddenly shown as a hieroglyph which we have to guess whether we want to stay alive. Always, that fear of staying alive, to not fall into the wrong box and disappear, swallowed by quicksand in which the mattress we lie will become.
The adventures of children spread in the head: comics, stories, horror movies that are in these small areas of memory, fertile soil where grow and become jungle.
We find in the arms of the serum sticks, trees of hangman in the far West, the machines that surround us, alive instruments of torture to attack us if we sleep. We are in a state of surveillance and stalking from the bed, our castle without walls and moat, where we beat against dragons, giant snakes, spells and other evil arts that always want to destroy us. Or something worse, to leave prisoners in the dungeons of Wonderland, where the white rabbits and the Alices long time ago departed.
Memory has so many rooms, so many lockers in each of them, to keep treasures from the afterlife, that we leave behind the ICU doors, that belongs us not yet inhabiting it, that life without bad dreams or drugs which soothe but also distort us thinking, memory and space.
Please, think.All those who take care to the asleep: we don’t always see what you are seeing, nor hear the words that you say, that we are on the edge of your reality and our dreams, without distinguishing which is the right side, with the hope that in the next awakening, we would be able to recognize the way.