One day there was a pause.

In the case that the entire world stops | that with steps of those that neither make noise | his stubborn inertia will cease | time would then yield to silence | countless footprints would have been scattered | traces that would give the impression of making things resonate | even the most fragile | with a subtle movement | But the footprints remain | inert and inaudible | until dissolved | and the assumption of pause is simply impossible | That's where things live | those things that are never spoken | where sound wanders, spreading itself | without anything ever perceiving it | in a complementary dialogue | Homologous organs | similar to the frequencies that extend | always until they disappear | with a unique persistence | even impalpable curves |

What here is, it is a bunch of isolated images who were born dumb. A sudden exodus, altogether so fortuitous, due to the attempt at the absence of noise, it's the silence of his image and the materialization of his sound.