get out the old metate so that i might let it devour my words of a cloud like a halo , of the most handsome man ive ever seen , of a white ox smashing the window of a cowboy store , of the man who helped me find my art , and that art which disappears in its original physical form when the paper which describes it is pulverized into cold blobs , and now materialized on this new flattened plane , a new art , which sketches for you the story of the old metate and my act of wastage , which you have just consumed mentally .