All texts were written by M.D.A.E. Some of the originals being in Spanish; the hereby English version is but a transmutation by the author rather than a proper translation. The content is protected and no external use is allowed.





Excerpt from "Elegy for San Cruel" © 2009 M.D.A.E.




San Cruel can barely listen to the whirlwinds of his safe Realm,

because San Cruel has only eyes for bereavement within his lands.

And so San Cruel undergoes this, which is his drone, which is his blare,

Isolated by promiscuous eloquency, surrended, and with no care.

San Cruel undergoes his prone, undergoes his life, undergoes his name,

and no other name his life deserves than the one which is voiced 'amêr'.


Only San Cruel could,  if he could only get away,

to remain attached by his foot, to be cause and not to fade.




And so San Cruel lives within Almigthy Acreness

undertowely irritated inside her Putrid Womb.

He desires to overcome, to vanquish

his mellow Vanity for Loss,

but San Cruel can't choose any reason,

San Cruel can't reach any top,

because San Cruel is devoted to his prison

San Cruel believes he's Lost.





"Downpour" © 2016 M.D.A.E.


False paraboles of idleness

compose a poet that does not judge anything but his impressions.


Reproaches of what has been lived in the form of chants to tight-fitting stars

that so appealingly...

...seem nearby.


But their siege,

in between the arrow and the wall of what's sensible,

is not but a mirage.

A necessary escapism to express with shortcuts and colors,

the destruction of all beings.


Writting with broken quills and crouched organs,

verses get channeled, yearning for what was felt,

an under a downpour of narrowed emotions,

all is reduced to a last-minute scream.





Excerpt from "The Shadow without a Face" © M.D.A.E.


 "(...) It was a nocturnal and devastating day. In the city, the houses laid in the horizon without form nor firmness, as if dejected they were observing the gradual stirring of their entrails. Under the blackened sky of this, and October's urbe, a Shadow not belonging to any face noiselessly ploughed through the concrete labyrinths without hunger nor  splendor. Its roaming among the streets, made any encountered living element come to shivering, as if from its great bitterness an invisible force had the capacity of obstructing the intimate heart of things.


Such was the horror that this soul projected into the open, that a single glance towards its infinite madness would have prolonged the end of times until eternity.


Door after door, the shadow without a face transcended observing that the charms by which the gods provided the pedestrians with, were none others that the very same source of their smashing irrelevance onto the World. Recognizing and assuming  the inarguable fact of being vulnerable to its own subsistence, the shadow without a face concealed itself unaware of the fact that under the same light that continiously soured its every breath, a hidden habit made him die in every instant by the effect of its self-projected venom... (...) "





"Black Blood" © M.D.A.E. (in memoriam Charles Baudelaire)


"At the Night's scent, once more was He rambling through this, a city blooming with warren-like hives and in which every single of its inhabitants, willingly or not and, being satisfied descendants of Abel's race, ate, drank and slept under the gaze of a complacent god.


Pursued by a dream of blackness and self-inherence, Cain opened its eyes, unison to the fruits that the Earth seemed to sprout, and observed: 


The rotten fall of the springs prevailed within their entrails... indiscriminately impaling souls and flesh...


Hungry and fleeting, His Influence dwelled with great soothing and desperation, as when rain flows down the thousand-year-old stones...


And in their faces... 


Sweat and decadence. Wherein sweetness fades away.. down there where the Fire gets consumed... 


And then... The Fall. 


A collapsing sensation emerging from a prolonged vacuity, profound and subconscious. 


A comprehension born from Lament, forcing Ego deflection into the catacombs of forever gone impressions...     


Fear! All commences when it is all finished, Misery alone getting scattered, spreading, haunting us.     


Feel! A versatile and fluxuent touch... that which transforms light into praxis, unaccommodating roars... 


And before His eyes: 


The Domination persevered, supreme, eroding the paradigm that resides in every horizon,


 where there was only room for submission,


 where there is only room for submission


 where there will be only room for thine submission..."




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