The knife is precisely inserted into the thickness of a blue jelly, separating it into deformed and trembling bodies. Light falls on the pieces that are in the old and rotten wood that is next to the damp wall causing it to shine with the force of the barely young moss that is on its surface. The feeling is only possible to express it in its limit, a bubble floating in space alone that contains in its diffuse interior the sign of a hope about to die. Which could come to have (according to the cunning put into the elaboration of the story) its signifier or referent in the jelly split from the mossy room; it would seem that somewhere in everything described in the first lines I repeat or reproduce in some way the image of the bubble floating in space. Something like someone in a contest of Persian rugs or Bengali cats who at the opaque point of its course says or makes the announcer of the event say that in a certain place there is or may be a talisman that converts sorrows or pain is reborn. That is to say that the jelly knife is a new place in literary customs.