“They pierce us with burning iron, from the side, from the front, they look us straight in the eyes, satisfied, motivated, aware of their immunity, and lowering their wings, they smile. They spit green fluff, raise their hands in the air, chewing sulfur and melting snow. Their fingers are projectiles, our hands are words. Our blood abundant, powerful and tireless rivers. Waterfalls of history and vessels of indignation. We fight their insolence, their endless pressure with our elbows. They are tumultuous and scandalous. We are romantic and metallic. Like sheets after the weekend, like food just before being ingested. Like new batteries, like cellophane frying pans. And we still go out into the streets, without fear, with fear. With light in our chests. Shouting their names. Writing their names. Wearing more than seven colors, Wearing neon black. The battle begins, history is at stake, the thunder and the spheres await us.” • • • 🌺 rainsupremen...