To my Granma.

From construction, processes, times, textures. From idealization, planning, verification. From the temporalities that enunciation allows. From the point of origin, from, the question for what is, from, the same word that is enclosed in commas, who is in charge of materializing those points, where do I locate the beginnings of, before whom, under, parameters, between
the names, concepts and institutions, beneath the abysses, about my fears, my rages, my own prisons, in the text. From the word that translates to me in grammatical games.

The body inside, immersed, its depths dissolve in the constant search for concepts that enclose it between commas, my commas are pains, each pause in the text hurts, it increases, body within the text, what am I going to be in these times but my symbolic abstractions, I abstract myself to be read, to be understood, to share prisons, however, the one that is
always explained, sustained, exemplified, ends.

Even abstractions in translations end, neither the text, nor the body, nor the intention is enough, since, when, it, is, not, reached. The enunciation has already chosen its favorite raw materials and is massified, the sensorial is simplified for us, the possibilities of expansion are specified, experiences are configured and the stone tools are detached from their rivers, we only have to crossdresser essays to find those from, to locate.

The body as a preposition, because the origin will never be enough to know that we are decontextualized, because the discourses that cross those who are concerned to understand without being at its end, without locating themselves in all the possible angles ;to be able to
be- are not finished-, the concepts without a preposition proliferate, bodies without prepositions are always located, but, be is a verb, and not all bodies have the luxury of expressing themselves through action, concepts enter only through their eyes and get stuck in their throats like Adam with the apple, speeches get stuck in our throats and no one coughs
in public, it is illegal to spit in the streets, with concepts stuck in our throats no one gets sick, concepts saved those who could always be located.

Entering through my eyes, my vision becomes hierarchical, the spectacle of daily life does not even reach my throat, it stays in my mouth, it falls into my mouth, there is no process, the time it takes for the information to travel through the seven centimeters of distance from my
eyes to my mouth is not enough, but it is demanded, the verb bodies demand, they are there, they arrive, they produce, they never spill out, they contain themselves.

Without processes or times, with a number of failures carried on the back and explained, among, prisons, of, grammar, the words accompany the little significance of the place from which they are written, there are spectacles that do not enter through the eyes, and are tell in
dreams, there are lives that are lived asleep because of the absence of location, asleep there are the tools to be, I have slept so much that when I wake up only five minutes have passed, I have slept so much that when I wake up they have massacred entire towns, I have slept so
much that when I wake up it takes me a while to understand that closing my eyes is not enough, I have slept so much that I try to sleep at every moment to remember, I have slept so much that I carry with me, on me, my mother’s sleep, my grandmother’s sleep and between dreams we sometimes talk. 

Where is the body of my grandmother who died when we did not
synchronize dreams, who is going to tell me where to locate her.

Tell my grandmother that I write essays, that her body is just as valid as the spectacle bodies that are inserted through my eyes, tell my grandmother that it seems that words are enough,
that grammatical games are the answer to the demands of the speech, tell my grandmother that it is necessary to take action, that no one cares where her body is, that no one cares where all the bodies that sleep at the same time are, tell my grandmother that she is on me, that she can rest, that be calm, that we will all soon go to sleep with her with all the concepts crossed and stuck in our throats, to then see, who we meet in our dreams when we are all what we can no longer verbalize, when there is nothing left to say.