FROMIST

I look in the mirror and the face of a Romanesque capital appears to me, the one I have inside. The transverse arches of the church of San Gregorio support the vault that collapsed and the desecrated altar comes to mind, the litters and bayartes where the deceased were transported, the steps of the spiral staircase going up to the tower worn thirty centimeters by the footsteps of the sacristans of the centuries. The bell tower without bells, the manes fell down or the French stole them from us. Step of centuries. Undaunted faces. Bishop Saint Vincent who blesses thumb and heart erect triumphant fingers, I implore mercy, Lord, you already know, you already know me. If you want you can cure me. The holy water font that was a lustral pool for baptizing neophytes by immersion. I was born in a medieval city, I was baptized in San Millán de Segovia under the spectral gaze of a disjointed Christ. Deinde, I better understand the gospel written in stone and sung by the philocalía of polyphonic masses, long and reverent at the time of the roosters crowing. Kiries who ascend to heaven in search of redemption and eternity. Faith by hearing. Fides ex auditu. It is a melody that does not understand the reason but plans or summons the heart like a bell ringing eternally.

  I understand then why the Cid Campeador placed an icon of Our Lady on the pommel of his horse Babieca. Life is riding. The music comes from the east through the litanies of a deacon. Lord, have mercy. It is horrifying that Satan has plunged his damn buttocks into the curule chair of the Chair of Saint Peter. They walk him in a gestational chair. He has the face of a donkey, he only needs the muzzle, the earmuffs and the headstock to be rigged. In Romanesque iconography the pope is represented by a mule or a wild onager that kicks and blessings.

It is the true effigy of hypocrisy. The bad shepherd who does not take care of the flock and in Frómista under the tejaroz a donkey appears fornicating with a child (horribile dictu) and a wild animal is giving birth to a human being through the mouth. In the corbels of the church of San Martin de Frómista the execrable homosexuality of two monks embracing is stamped.

  The monkey represents lust, the lion represents the passions that devour us, the donkey represents the clergy and bishops, and the owl represents the bird of the night, wisdom. This church supposedly ordered to be built by Doña Mayor on June 13, 1066, as a donation for the soul, is a lesson in morality and a Holy Scripture in stone.

I also think it is eschatology of the future warning us of the dangers of the evil serpent. Gregorian motets sound under the domes and an angel of mercy walks around the dome. Two archangels open the door of the predella. That coming and going of the centuries. Birth and death of generations.

  The snake that crawls and coils around the bellies of women to give birth to monsters. Feminism? No, feminists are butches. I would send some of them to pay a visit to this Palencia town that is the chapel of Romanesque art. The papal apostasy is already announced in that stallion who tries to fornicate with a teenager. The Interposed blesses the emigrants with his fingers turned upside down and shouts from the pulpits converted into microphones, ordering the European women to lie in carnal council with the black strangers who spit on their boats and come with nothing on their backs.

The Holy Father blesses the mafias but no one has told us who they are, how many or from what countries. An intolerable vagueness when everything here is pointed with the finger.

  I think they look at us laughing out loud from those corbels in the imposts of the Romanesque atriums. They speak with their stone language of the coming of the antichrist. Francisco is a blasphemous Jew.

09/23/2023