Schutzhaus

(PHOTOS BY ELIAS HEIN)

The fireworks don't feel joyful here in Puebla anymore. I'm not making promises any longer. Typing helps. It's a very loud and spooky tradition here. No colors in the sky, only thunder, an oxymoron everywhere. Like a ghostly battlefield. Every day, from church to church. Especially Santa María Tonantzintla, standing on top of the vast pyramid, Tlachihualtepetl - the biggest in the world - with the view to Popocatépetl, the smoking man. He's yawning ashes at the moment. I'm not yawning, I jump. It isn't only the rockets that give me nerves, but the poor dogs that bark every time one explodes. They seem traumatized. Soon I will bark too. Escaping trauma.

I'm now with a volcano rabbit, Romerolagus diazi. The rabbit time forgets. Smallest in the world. The only animal to survive here. We are like the Ometochtli, Two Rabbits. Where are the rest of the 388 drunken rabbits, Centzontōtōchtin. Nine rains, nine storms, nine moons, the ninth heaven is near. Whispering gently goodbye to my path. The path is whispering. I am the path.

My shadow too near Iztaccíhuatl, the White Woman. I'm on Popocatépetl, her lover. Maybe soon I become Secuistli Keckotoktik, the headless volcano. Seen from a third party. I travel far to arrive at nothing and record it. Then nothing becomes everything. Blue sky, blue birds, moon and the stars, your eyes. Sun drops quickly behind ash haze. Location feels terminal but calm. Temperature drops immediately. Soon it's dark, so long dear sun. The beautiful sunshine hides. Now it's dark. Can't you see I'm burning, father. Only real men are burning. On the top of the world. Gazing at the pale blue yonder through the shimmering mist.

Archiving helps. With my electronic arm. The sea I'm always seeking. The end of the world, maybe. I don't believe in this world. Only in satisfaction. Unless. Life in reverse. Seeking the past. I have always filmed as an exit strategy. Exit reality to create the one I desire. The world down there. Place of unhappiness, place of fear, place of terror. Oh, mommy and daddy. My head is too much, I try to keep it intact, but I just keep spilling it, spilling it, the world too beautiful here. An ocean too far to seek. My spelling is backwards but not MOM and DAD. I'm telling lies backwards on the mountain. Fata Morgana. The place to be. Mountains of Madness. The place to be. Eight billion people on earth hiding down there. Eight billion strangers. Eight billion aliens. Eight billion shadows in darkness. Can't you see I'm burning, father. Only real men are burning. On the top of the world. Leaving the mountains. In reverse.

Words of wonder, my head like thunder. I am a shadow hunter. I am getting ready for my haunting. I don't want to haunt you, but I will. Seven and seven. A date in heaven. Popocatépetl breathing. I am not. Body insists: go down. Mind insists: record. I'm nearing the fire. Ashes in my lungs. The blue bird is gone, the moon is gone. Think of ocean. Too far. Too far to sea. The forever sea. Eternally giddy world.

This is a tribute to Corona. Leftover memories. I'm a future ghost in a sorrowful world where time collapses. Where no one is allowed to feel sorrows, only sickness and endless existence. And death.

We drink to forget the coming war,

MAGNE

TERMINAL BURROWING BOOK, 90 pages, 55 editions, pal publishing

TERMINAL BURROWING BOOK + sOUNDTRACK FROM THE FILM