'beneath the Mexican sky, drink some Margaritas in a string of blue lights"...sing the Lost Frequencies while I wash the dishes, peel potatos off and out of their raw dresses, slide the carrots with their orange silhouettes into the fresh vegetables soup.
Then I see the car sliding over huge surfaces covered with wild vegetation into the world of beautiful lost civilizations. I remember the guy of small stature and aztec look telling me about the metaphisics of this place, about life trancending death, about the feathers of that supreme snake, the one that keeps inside all wisdom of earth, its gravity, its tradition, its body, and unifies them with the sky. Its freedom, unboundness, its soul. And we walk on the Calzada de los Muertes and we drop some seconds on the pyramid of the sun embracing the eternity, I breath this sun with its burning heat inside, as if I would smoke it, and I seat there...where they probably stood, the sacerdots. And then I stirr again in the soup pot. I put some onions too, for the taste.