Envuelto en una melodía angelical, Mat Johnson nos regala este cuento de terror para explicarnos, volviendo al pasado, cómo es el presente duro que masticamos sin digerir. La dulce ironía de lo siniestro, la tragedia vestida de belleza y anunciando la perfección del infierno...
'PERFECT'"... la gente, por ahí, con ojos que no ven, buscando algo que no existe"
"The world you once knew is being eaten up by rust.
No-one has time for the past, but still, in God they trust.
The future is now, but it's all going wrong."
"This town ain't going like a ghost town.
It's going like hell..."
Perfect
It's a chilly English winter,
And solitude is never easy to maintain,
Except when it rains.
So I hang an empty smile beneath my empty eyes,
And go out for a walk.
The wet morning sun reflects off the paving-stones,
While a little dog barks its head off,
In the distance.
Oh, what a perfect day,
To think about myself
My feet are firmly screwed to the floor.
What is there to fear from such a regular world?
Passing by a cemetery,
I think of all the little hopes and dreams,
That lie lifeless and unfulfilled beneath the soil.
I see an old man fingering his perishing flesh.
He tells himself he was a good man and did good things.
Amused and confused by life's little ironies,
He swallows his bottle of distilled damnation.
People turn around with unseeing eyes.
They're looking for something that doesn't exist.
The world you once knew is being eaten up by rust.
No-one has time for the past, but still, in God they trust.
The future is now, but it's all going wrong.
Bodies good for nothing, but it's to nothing they belong.
People say their prayers and some work hard.
If you give them all your money, they'll give you their hearts.
This town ain't going like a ghost town.
It's going like hell....
TAMBIÉN DE MAT JOHNSON AQUÍ:
(But the wars on the televisions will never be explained, All the bankers gettin sweaty, beneath their white collars... Esta es la tierra donde los pensionistas son violados...)