From the three of Joh, came Jemuel; walking with a cane his shadow; projected three legs across the lacteal valley; his shadow projected.
the old man blind, sat at the door of his house built of bodoke and ox shit, asked him:
'Jemuel, if seven trumpets sound for the ones who cannot hear, and seven lightnings strike for the ones who cannot see: what the time will right be?'
The young man left the erected donkey tied by a fig-tree, did spit on the cracked terrain of Phallustein, and did draw an enigmatic symbol on the mud.
The Suns were falling down, hermetically towards their tomb, the starry night of the desert: the conchoid, black sky itself...
