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A JOURNEY FROM 2010 TO 2038 (V)


Read the first part HERE



In 2010, the Malefic Time website began to post these texts on the blog. Do these days seem like a coincidence? We will reran the texts that were published in its day about the creation process. 



Caged Wolf 



-Jesús Vilches (Hatter)

Shit, shit, shit, shit!!!

The walls seem to fall over me. Second week locked in. 3.30 in the morning. I want to bite, to break things... I'm isolated. I just need a straitjacket to look like a mad. Bloody hell!! I would kill someone, I swear. I would kill for some oxygen.

Second week locked in. Keys, words, fragments, pages, pages, pages. Damnation!

«No, not this», «it can't be so obvious», «more action», «no, more suspense», «no, more action».

Make up your mind!! If I wasn't crazy, I'd be on the verge of losing my mind. «We're late» «More pages, more pages» «Luz wouldn't say that» «Allen is more… she's not that way» «What way!??» Fuck!! «Don't name him Gabriel», «don't say what they are», «this part goes first», «no, before», «no, now it's very prompt» Come on!!

Sentences, fragments, beginnings, connections. I'm walking around this room. I haven’t known anything about them for more than a week. More pages in the trash can, more useless conversations, more scenes making company to a pile of half smoked cigarettes. It won't beat me. It won't beat me.

Hours in front of the screen. The lines go dimmed. Days pass without any difference between night and dawn. The voices don't shut up. My head is going to explode. Sometimes she's the only balm... only her...

But why don't you talk to me?! I can't create you without your help, I can't. Talk to me, I beg you! The old man has his American guy. I don't have anyone else but you!! Tell me, confess, undress yourself once again, please…

I'm running in circles. Each sentence takes my blood, demands my breath. Waves of time spent in one drag. Talk me!! I need you. You can’t imagine how I need you. I’m begging. I’m yelling to the void. Only these walls crashing my soul are the silent witnesses of the giving birth of this story. Blood. Each page is blood. Blood that soon ends up in the garbage. One page is raising over ten corpses. It’s the price to pay, a necessary sacrifice.

«Have you ever was afraid? For real? »

(Is that a question? Are you talking to me?)

«If you have to think the answer it means you haven’t felt it»

Great start! It could be good... but, would it be convincing for them?

I’ve got parts, fragments, like pieces of a disabled body. This story is nothing more than a handful of dead flesh, scattered. I need the soul! Connecting its fluids, to make it walk, to breathe. Rhythm, rhythm, tension, break, more tension.

Beat, heartbeat… miracle.

Open your eyes once and for all and kill me. You know I belong to you and you play hide and seek with me. But we need each other. We both need the other to exist, to be complete. Open your eyes right now and tell me your secrets. I’ve got a story to give it your voice.

Stop, that’s enough…

Tomorrow I’m going to try it again.

Today I just only want to sleep… and dreaming with you, my love.







-Jesús Vilches (Hatter)

We were full of unexpected moments, in this unexpected silence, replete of unexpected news and unexpected faces. In an unexpected way it happens that, from this unexpected corner arises an unexpected magic and suddenly everything runs underneath our feet. The present is cherished by unexpected futures and a legion of unexpected hands attend to this unexpected war to fight along with the madmen that in this unexpected Madrid, filled with unexpected moons and dreams to foresee, we yell at the naked desert, at the top of our lungs, in an unexpected language, full unexpected omens.

The best things can't be measured, can't be quantified by numbers or statistics. They have no weight or real shape and they can't be expected. The best things are unexpected. It wasn't planned this place, nor this instant, nor the people that would form the pack of wild hounds that are added to the stele of this ghost galleon. It takes an unexpected body, unexpected soul, unexpected strength. To our favor, a wind blows that ought to take us to unexpected corners and beaches. The unexpected reason succumbs to the eternal embrace of an unexpected heart that beats at an unexpected rhythm. What we are here, who we are here, was never expected.

Because this night was unexpected and that unexpected kiss tastes better than all kisses. Because someone had, sometime, an unexpected dream and decided that it was worth making it true, I tell you: Now is the time to reset the broken dreams, the broken breaths, the wings of the Angel that lost its wings. This is the precise moment to put on the warpath all the tears that we kept stored for the unexpected moments. Everything that happens has already happened to us...

Don't expect order nor hierarchy in what we do. Our end will be unexpected, but I swear it! I feel it! It will be an end to remember.

Our life is a big unexpected thing.




The path of the desert




-Luis Royo

Baal didn't change his position in all day and as always, she respected his meditation, seeing him out of the corner of her eye, he was all she had. A great master, patient and wise, a master who also attended her mother until she died. He was everything she loved, except that short sword almost without adornments that had already transformed into an extension of her arm.

At night, after lighting the candles, the master prepared dinner of pieces of meat full of spices and a bitter drink to swallow it. They had dinner in silence, she didn't lose sight of him, everything there, was special, and she knew that something was going to be revealed in that strange day.

He told her that the moment had come for her to walk alone, to cross the desert of life, that even though she was almost a little girl, she was special and her moment of preparation under his guidelines had ended.

Luz, follow your path by yourself from now, make destiny fulfill itself.




The Cat from Amarna 




 -Luis Royo

When I was moving around Amarna, things were not easy. In my beggar years I used to wander around the surrounding areas of Ajenaton’s temples and palaces. There I met a black cat, a female cat that mewed at night and was seeing me from a prudent distance, just once she passed between my legs making her tail touch me.

I know this little event doesn't matter to you, nor you find any connection with the story which developed thousands of years later in a decadent New York. But to me, all those years are filled with questions that stay, after so much time, in the corner of my brain's pending things. Anyway, you don’t even believe that I lived very badly in Amarna when that place enjoyed all its splendor, fine. But I would like you to know that it was in that time when I contemplated from a distance, for the first time, the handle of Malefic and its nine snake heads. At that time, it was not a sword’s handle; it was a great piece of jewelry carried by Nefertiti, covering her sex and protecting it with its hundreds of meanings that even nowadays, in 2011, I haven’t completely deciphered. What I can tell you for the moment is that this number nine is also mentioned by John in his Apocalypses, and that's why I'm writing this note now, the nine of this very first month of the year.

In 1993 I painted that handle and sometime later, a lonely night in that studio, that cat from far Amarna walked over the messy papers on the floor. You will say this is just a dream but that night the cat transformed into a girl with exceptional desires and sensibility, who made me create a little tale that I called ‘The Blue Prince'.

About this number nine and despite of all its important cabalistic meanings that can be looked up in hundreds of sites, I would like to tell you that: it’s the second time it sets our lives to zero already; that it’s the multiple of three by excellence (you also know how many meanings this number three has and the relevance given to it by our western culture, it can be proved by only naming ‘trinity’); and that it's the following number of eight. I'm mentioning all this because we're talking about the year 2033, which covers all these numbers I've just mentioned, and added up they make the number thirteen, the feminine number by excellence, the lunar number and from Luna, the number that was cursed by popes and chosen as the day to do away with Baphomet and the Templars.



The Crooked Road (2011 and Countdown)


-Jesús Vilches (Hatter)

2011. 365 days wrapped up as a gift. 12 months to release. We are children with brand new shoes (or at least half new). We need them to walk down this crooked road.


Someone has taken this seriously. Our space gives us a new dress. New York shows itself transparent from its ashes and dust. It reminds us the end of the journey. Neon lights count the seconds of an Apocalypse that is about to arrive. Our Damocles sword will fall long before. However,...

Since we have been great bad boys, we came back loaded with Christmas presents.

Grey-Haired got:

A suitcase of invisible brushes to invent new traces.

A paddle of impossible colors with a lifetime guarantee.

A pair of spectacles to see the future without forgetting the past.

One kilogram of reusable tattoos to decorate characters.

A horizon to never stop walking.

A direct focal light, special against dead angles.

A box of heartbeats to accelerate the pulse.

A pocket lion that can bark.

A Dolce & Gabanna straitjacket.


A fake dragon in a crystal bottle.

A crescent moon that decorates the nights.

A shadow in the back to never feel alone.

An extra dose of madness for a mad person.

And a handful of grey hair to share.

Stains received:

A bag of prime quality stains to put anywhere.

A clown costume to be camouflaged among people.

A giant printer to print nightmares.

An AutoShaping paste to give dreams a shape.

A wireless television so we never get distracted.

A trained bear that gives hugs (bear hugs, of course).

A container of “Whys” family size that don’t need answers attached to a box of answers in case anyone asks.

A digital camera that photographs non-existing things.

A drawing that paints itself (for a change).

An envelope filled with blank checks in case the future is grey like the ashes.

and a clock without numbers to forget about the time.




To this hatter 2011 gives:

A box of infinite hats for any occasion.

A mirror in which Alicia can be reflected (although it is hard to appear/get out).

A jar of fairy powder to share and to teach to fly.

A list of dawns with no dreams to invert on ghosts.

A dream dressed in pink with flowers in the hair.

A bit of pink in the wardrobe that reminds me how well I can trip.

A photo album I know by heart (and I always review).

A bit more of good memory to never forget what matters (because it matters).

A dictionary with all the unwritten words that I am going to write.

The promise of receiving the most beautiful smile in the world every morning.

A present to give in the shape of a poem (and that no one gets angry).

A package of winks in just one direction (that sometimes return).

One more madness to add to the list.

A sin ready to be used.

A bag full of nothing to be transformed into everything.

A bit of cowardice to make me braver.

and a direct access to Neverland.

And among all of us we distributed:

A year of work that starts today.





-Jesús Vilches




Damn holidays! Almost a crime when is said by someone who was born on December 24th... but damn holidays. Is being hard to cast anchor and again I'm forced to leave. It is assumed that is what decent people with a normal life and those things do at this time... nevertheless, I don't know what means (Gray-Haired and Stains, too). I pack while looking back; a gesture I forced myself not to ever repeat. Luz stays. Again distance. I barely stand... but she did not even know, I'm afraid.

I've found an old picture of Gray-Haired. He assures me, if he does remember correctly (I'm not very sure also) that is unprecedented. Old. I have been enchanted looking at it. I have it recorded in the retina and is the reason why I have my heart broken at this moment. Luz is just a girl in it ... How old might have been there? Fifteen, sixteen? I know what time is passing by: The chill of abandonment. She also has a broken heart at that moment and her pain and loneliness stabs me, they nail deep into me. I know exactly what point in her life is... a life that has not yet begun and which I know too well. A life that I have the enormous task of drawing and building. She is in love and she don't even know... she only knows that someone she need is far. The expression of pain is infinite, and its cold takes me apart. Somehow, I'll write the pages where she's abandoned. I will trace the lines with the phrases of her distress, I will place words in her questions. I will know all the why and I won’t tell her. I will leave her to suffer and I'll cry in secret with her.

She's in love and she doesn't know. She can't even afford to know it. I wish I could say it to her. I wish I could peek through a window, wrap her at night, watching her restless dreams... I wish I could apologize as well. Her fragility breaks my soul. I admire her strength. I envy those whom she yearns. I wish I was the object of her tears. I wish it was for me for who she sighs... I'm just the ghost again. I have no place in her. She doesn't know me. No sighs know my name... and yet, all mine know hers.

It will be a short trip. I'll be back before I left, and I'll be back to keep looking to her solitude. I'll keep giving her reason to hate me if she could know that I'm going to construct, stone by stone each of her silences. I'll come back to remain being no one. I'll soon return to not returning. But these days when I know it is not possible for her to think of me, I'll miss her for the two of us...

The Mad Hatter is lost among the cracks in his own mirror. How hard is sometimes not to exist!

Goodbye, little Luz. Missing you will be my birthday present... curious gift.



Read the sixth part HERE


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