1- The walls are taken. The imagination here perseveres and we are coated by rough matter. Is there opposition? Now, it is not the smooth or the striated, but very small reliefs organized in the small offense to the point of the careful fingers. In order to move in this reality, it is necessary to despise the pain a little. Protasio precipitates the black surface through all the walls, even the structural column is involved. There is something very threatening in this environment of sandpaper aimed at the world. If turned in another direction, if rubbed with any will, they would reduce all imperfections to dust. If we invested against them, we would certainly be interrupted by drops of blood. We would bleed before we can overcome the resentment represented by this form of heaven. Despite all this, even challenging the odds, golden birds cross the horizon.
2- Impossible not to remember The Story of Gerhard Shnobble. In it Will Eisner shows that Shnobble is an ordinary human being, the son of ordinary parents and created to be common. On his eighth birthday, he slips off the roof. Instead of dying, He flies slowly to the ground. His father, dazed, reacts by giving a beat to the poor, warning never to fly again, hurt, the little forget the skill. He grows and becomes bank clerk. After 35 years of work, instead of being fired, he is transferred to the night watch function. One day the bank is assaulted and he is beaten in the head. As a reward, it is finally sent away. He walks helplessly through the city. Apparently because of the blow he took, he can remember that he can fly. He climbs to the top floor of a building. After playing in the void, he begins to fly. Note that no one sees him. He does some pirouettes and tries to get some audience attention. He is hit by a stray bullet. He floats to the ground and dies. Eisner asks us not to be sad for Shnobble, but for humanity. Because we never knew there was a man who could fly.
3- It is not only in blackness that we are involved. How to hug a body dressed in aggressive sandals that would welcome us smiling? Would we expect the immediate birth of wings? Would it be feasible to wait for the golden share? Or not. Is it, then, how to talk about the contact of thorny animals in the cold? Would we approach as much as we could for body heat, without exaggeration, however, by the danger of the incompatibility of thorns? Yes, it is different, if the sandpaper body is approaching, it may be that we accept part of the nuisance, as a dynamic of cordiality, provided it is known, that it shelters all the good effects of familiarity, with which experience presents us and of which Unconsciously we are debtors. If the body is strange, if the life that it holds can be misrepresented, now only those who look for the sandpaper would tolerate having embraced it. Is it so easy to get heat, so that one can dispense with its source only because we have no sympathy for it?
4- It seems ambiguous to take the mood as intrinsic. In this account the same for the inanimate. Who tells us we can not be confused? If we admit that the difference is all in the heat, how to predict? Was heat the sign of the mood or the reverse? Could not the source of high temperatures be behind sharp sanding, strange to any familiarity? Heat is something put, who needs it makes it present in the body of which it approaches, a little like beauty. But if we always need the heat, and if animation is always possible, why can it happen that we are taken to the glacier? Was there something perverse in sympathy? If so, we could be led to seek heat where there is none and to ignore that cold can be a form of mood.