The Walker - meandering though a mountain range

Thus, after some days sleeping in the middle of the shrubs, dreaming with my doubles, I’m leaving the roundabout now, and then, there I go, walking along some earthy roads, meandering through a mountain range, and at some point, some kind of three-wheeled motorcycle is actually passing by my side and without coming to a complete stop, its driver, a chubby middle-aged man with grayish tousled hair fluttering with the wind, is already making some signs for me to jump on his vee-hiccle, and so, said and done, there I go, already jumping on the back of his cart, placing my feet over the brims of the rear axle, my hands holding the back of the driver’s seat. And thus, this way, we follow along a zigzagging provincial road, going up and down through a hillside filled with shrubs, groves, fields of cultivation, and so, here and there the farmers are even waving at us as we pass by, and we, also waving at some of them, as we advance. And then, after the cultivation fields are gone, we are actually entering a pine forest, and at some point, the driver starts wagging his arm around, pointing to the surrounding landscapes, while saying something like, "through this pine forests I used to roam, this is, from pinewood to pinewood I used to go, on the search of the sap… I mean, I used to be a resin collector… and so, I may also say, I had no family or house of mine, this is, all the money I used to get with this resin work, would be spent at the local tavern or at the local whores houses... until that… a bad day came, this is, something happened and, I felt in a pit, and, I could never walk again… this is, God punished me, I don't know why... me, that was already miserable... anyway, I could no longer work, but people would help me, because I have helped them before, this is, above all, they bought me this machine so I can keep moving around… I can continue to run through all the taverns, and, this is, I take the news from here to there, from this to that tavern, and when there is no news, I invent them... that's my job now... you know… I became some kind of messenger… and so, now tell me, what about you, what have you been into? And, where do you wanna go? What's your destination?”; “Well, I have no proper destination” I say, “I just wanna go, somewhere…”; “So, don't you have a family to stay with?” he asks then, “I’m not sure about that… I guess I passed through a long coma, I forgot all about my past, and, this is, I don't know from where I came, and I don't know where I’m going!”; “Hum, I see now…” exclaims Albino, “so, we are brothers with similar backgrounds…” and then he turns up the radio volume, and there we go, advancing through this pine forest, listening to some sort of classic music, some “gnossiennes”, some “nocturnes”, and even some “fugues”, all this punctuated by a pleasant southeast wind, dripping against our faces and imagination, and then, after leaving the forest, we stop at the tavern on the roadside, and as it goes, after getting out of this strange vehicle, I also help Albino to get off, this is, I pass him his crouches, I let him hold himself on my back, and there we go, slowly advancing to the tavern’s entrance. And then, already inside, the taverna man, a man with big sideburns is already saluting both of us with a mischievous smiley, and so, as I look around, I see that there are only two or three persons seated at the tables around, this is, at on of this tables a small man with a strange mustache is holding a small accordion attached to his chest, the so called concertina, and the man on his side have red pimples on the nose, and there are also other two men on the side table, one has hair coming out of his hears, and the other one is wearing a funny beret. And so, we seat on the third table, and as we seat, wine is already coming to our table, and then, in the meanwhile,  the concertina player is already opening the bellows, making the air coming in, and then he stops, with this totally distended leather lung on his front, now throwing a deep look over us and then over the two friends on his side, as if, in a mood to eat them. And thus, now, the one with the more scavenged face, is already licking his lips, and then, he begins like this "Here we are now my friends and fiends and so, this is, here you are and here I’m, singing to all the stepsisters and stepbrothers of the world… waiting to put the hands on the dough” and then, after a short solo by the accordionist, the other guy, this is, the one with hair coming out of the hears, continues like this "Yes that's right, here we are, and there you go, already crying like a toad on the loo…” and as it goes, I keep drinking glass after glass, and at some point I see Albino throwing logs on the fire, and then, after another small solo from the concertina player, we know, it’s his time to enter in the duel, and so, he goes on like this “Yes oh Joshua oh Joshuoh… from whose is the fault we should apurate nowha... who to blame after all, hua hua owoh... the abominable snowmen or the gullible postmanuah”. And then, after a while, also comes my time to enter in this ditty, and so, I have no chance, there I have go, moaning and groaning words and forbs with no meaning, and once again, I get kicked out of this place because things I didn’t want to say and then I’m on the road again. Again advancing through this mountain range, going up and down, and so, after hours without spotting any kind of car, a brand new jeep comes by, and, as a start, we begin a conversation about experimental music, free-jazz, Stockhausen, John Zorn etc. And then, at some point, he even goes on telling me some details about his ex-wife etc and then, he begins a confusing speech about fashion that goes like this: "When the future is threatening and uncertain... there is the retraction... the retraction of the present that is constantly being protected, arranged and recycled in an endless youth... while putting the future in parentheses, the system proceeds... the devaluation of the past... impatient... for cutting off the chains of archaic traditions and territorialities... and for instituting a society without a base of anchorage or opacity... and together with an indifference to historical time... collective narcissism is established... a clear symptom of the generalized crisis of the… since the jeans, the fashion has not stopped to promote the original clothing of the working class, the army and sports... bib pants... napkins... parkas and the sailor jacket, the jogging style... peasant skirts... the frivolous one identifying himself with the serious and the functional... and in doing so it adopts an explicitly parody style... imitating utilitarian clothes, fashion maladjust its points of reference... the solemnity dissipates and the forms lose what they could have to be polished or studied. Fashion and its exterior cease to be radically opposed... in parallel with the movement, everywhere visible, denial of oppositions... fashion today belongs to the sloppy, relaxed... the new must seem used and the studied spontaneous... a more sophisticated fashion imitates and parodies the natural..." and then I’m vomiting on the cockpit of the car, and so, when he stops, I straight away open the door and there I go, running down the slope, passing some boulders, running over some coarse bushes, and then, debouching at another earth path, I keep going down though a series of forest roads, still thinking about my queen of none, and then, seduced by the moon, I jump into a yard on the back of some farm house, and as I go through, I see the scarecrows, and then, I climb one of these fruit trees, and guess what, I haven't eaten anything for days, so, these unknown fruits from the moon are tasting amazing. And, I even have to say, from here, the world looks like an amazing place, so, I take my time ingesting these gifts from the cosmos. And just then I see, on the upper side of the yards, some lights, and so, after quenching my hunger and thirst I come down and stealthy, move along this flabby cultivated land, already approaching some of those farm houses with light on the windows. And so, protected by some shrubs on the fences, I spy the insides of one of these illuminated windows. And, effectively, from here I can see a proper family in the dining room, man, woman, and children. And, this is, by now the kids are messing with some stuff under the table and the mother is warning them, but they don't stop. Then, the man is admonishing the woman and the woman is threatening the man. Thereupon, the man stands up and hits the children. And as it goes, at some point, I decide to throw some stones at their window and quickly I get off, and so, there I go, running along the yard, jumping the fences and coming back to the road, a different road now, made of cracked tarmac, a village road. And as I go through, there are some yellowish lights here and there, but no people. And many abandonments, many rotten houses. And so, here I go now, walking through this apparently abandoned village, still thinking about my Queen of None, and then, more into the center of this town, I find the fire brigade building, and I see, there are some lights inside, so, I decide to try my luck, and therefore, I press a button by the main gate, and afterwards I can hear real bells ringing inside, and so, after a while someone comes to see me at the gate, first one, then two, after a group of them. At first, the peace soldiers do not understand my language, so I have to make some signs with the hands in order to pass my message, but even this way they still do not understand me, so someone goes back to call the transmissions man, and here he is now, a pale dude that can speak some dozens of languages and also understands about sign language, and so, I’m happy now, finally someone that could understood me, and then he kinda tells me that this village is cursed, so that's why almost everybody emigrated. And to this I just say “that isn’t a problem to me, I’m some kind of gosh too”. So, then, this man starts to talk in other kinds of languages, maybe testing me, and me also speaking different idioms, we both testing each other. And while we establish communications, the other firemen, around a dozen, are standing there, on our back, looking at me and to the translator with some expectation. And of course, they all want to know who I am, and from where I come from, and what I’m doing here, or there. And so, taking his time, calmly the transmissions man turns to them and  starts to explain that I’m just some kind of vagabond looking for a place to stay, plus adding, that, I’m actually coming from far far away and so, I have just arrived here after weeks, months, years of hitching all around the world. And then, more he informs, to satisfy their curiosity, that I may be someone from the “Tauramataras, a extinguished country, now submerged under water”. And the peace-soldiers, amazed and bewildered by this accounting from their brother-in-law, there they go, opening their way in order to make me get in their palace, actually a huge pavilion with corrugated metal walls. So, here I go now, getting inside this large living-room decorated with ancient fire tools and big photos, like puzzles, photos of the men combating the fire. So, instantly, they make me sit on a big table, and they bring me food, drinks, desserts, and I eat this and that, and there they are, staring at me, munching, while making all kinds of questions about my identity. And so, the transmission man is still here, making all kinds of needed translations. And, to answer their questions, among other things, I said to be some kind old-fashioned messenger, I carry messages from country to country, from the past to the future. And the soldiers, intrigued with my exposing, now want to know more about these messages, but I just say that these are all secret messages, I can’t expose it like that… nevertheless, maybe I could give some advice to them, personalized advice to each of them. And very much they liked this idea, and so, into a private room they take me in order to receive each one of them individually… Said and done, to the first one that comes in my advice is “You should completely change your life, leave your house and leave this place, because danger will be coming soon.” And to the next one I say “Do not worry no more about what others may think or not think about yourself, do it as you please”. And to the next one I suggested “Be less arrogant with yourself and with the others around, and you will be loved again”. And to the fourth I say “Go and look for God”. And the fifth, I advised him to “Study the water and the sky”. And to the sixth I suggest “Pay more attention to your dreams, and you will see what is missing…” And to the seventh “The only true love is the love at first sight” And to the eighth I write a message in a paper and tell him to deliver it to a person of his choice on the streets, far away from here. And to the ninth I say “Stop eating bullshit”. And to the tenth I counseled some good black and white movies, like Tarkovsky, Bergman, Polanski. And finally to the translator I confessed the truth, “I’m just an impostor, you know, I know that you know!” and he also confesses to be not so different from me... and so, up we go, into the bedrooms area, bedrooms with bunk beds, where other guys are already sleeping, and as we get in he tells me that I can choose my bed, my bunk, and so, I can choose to lay on the top bed or on the bottom one, as I prefer, and of course, I chose one of the top beds. Afterwards, they give me some clothes, a towel and they tell me where the shower room is. And so, there I go, with that new clothes under my arm, moving into the shower room. And once there, it is very difficult to regulate the temperature of water, but after I managed to do it, I don't want to leave, I want to stay there forever, thinking about life, thinking about where I have been and where am I going, thinking about how I came here, thinking about all this quaint people I have met, and then, as usual, thinking about that desert where I came from, the sky falling over the dunes, and me being absorbed by all that digital machinery. And then, thinking about my queen of None, about our meeting at the psychiatric hospital, thinking about when and where I will meet her again.

The Walker - is leaving the town

 So, after leaving the airport surroundings, I go through some dirty roads between shacks and hovels and then, somehow, I end up sleeping at some cottage, somewhere at the end of the suburbs. And then, in the morning, a man with a small tractor pops up, already asking me what am I doing here and so, my answer is confusing, even so, he ends up inviting me for breakfast at his house. And then, I’m already mounting the trailer of his small tractor, a trailer full of pumpkins, and so, among farmlands we follow, farmlands with sheds and old pavilions from factories in ruin. And so, after a while, we are already arriving in front of a big yellow building with scaffolding attached, a house in permanent construction. And thus, as we pull over, I’m helping him to dump the load of pumpkins and then there we go, already entering the kitchen of the house, and once inside, I see men and women seated around a big raw table, talking aloud, and I also see, some children climbing the walls around, and then, jumping out through a some kind of window on the back wall. And here, at this point, on the wall at my front, I find a picture of saint Sara-la-Kâli, the patron saint of the gypsies, a very worn sort of portrait, with big spots on it, and then, my host tell me to sit and introduces me to his comrades saying “I just found this one outside, he was sleeping at a hut on the agrofields down there, he says that is traveling…” and at this point, some of them are staring at me with curiosity, with aloofness, a mixed expression of innocence and malice in their eyes, and then, a fat woman with a colorful dress is already bringing me coffee and porridge, “eat that” she says like giving an order, with a big smile in her face, a odd kind of smile. And then, “Traveling!?” exclaims the older man at the table, the one with a long scar on the face, a scar that goes from the corner of the eye until the corner of the mouth, “the airport is not far… did you lose your flight? We can get you a brand new passport, if you need…” he says while emitting a soft but hoarse kind of laugh. “Ah yes, the airport. I was there yesterday, but the security sent me away… I was there asking for money…” And so, while I say these things, some of them are actually emitting suppressed laughs. “But where do you wanna go, afterall?” asks me one of the young guys at the table, actually not that young, more like middle aged, something like that, well, I can't guess his age because he’s got a very slim kind of face but his skin is very rough. “North Pole, South Pole…” I say, and then, “Where is that?” some of them asks. “It is the extreme north and the extreme south of the world”, I say. “Stop bullshitting us” one other tells, snot dripping from his nose, “and tell us where have you been, for real”, he insists. “Well, I have been to different kinds of deserts, searching for different kinds of oasis… ”; I say, “Oh yeah, I also have been to some kind of deserts, the Golden Triangle, the Golden Crescent and the Shan State, do you know about that?” he asks, and as I say no, he explains, “The Shan State is the leading global production area for YahBah methamphetamines, also known as 'horse drug', "bikers' coffee" or "kamikaze", and now is this telling you something?”; “no idea” I answer. “Well, they there are other alternative names for that, like “ya khayan “ or “palarkar”, “pil kuda”, “shabú”, “ma-goo”, “baba”, “guti”, “laal”, “khawon”, “jinish”, “bhul bhuliya” etc etc. And then, the kids around start to repeat all these names and change their forms, making onomatopeias with it. Then the older man at the table tells them to shut up, and sends them out of the kitchen, and so, off they go, all jumping out through the window, still repeating this names as they do it, “Yahbu-Shabu-Baba”. And then, the one with snot dripping from his nose continues his explanation “the most common of these pills are red, pink, orange, or lime green and carry logos such as a big "R " or a big "WY", and, you also can put it on an aluminum foil and heat it from below, this is, we call it ‘chasing the dragon’, wanna try it?”. “No!” I say. And then, he also shows me some tattoos on his arms and chest, this is, a few piranhas, some kind of flaccid monsters with multiple eyes being pierced by swords etc, and he tells about the meaning of all this figures and as it goes, we even get into some kind of arguing about symbology of this drawings and then, because I say something they don’t like, I get expelled from this gypsy place, and then I walk all afternoon through some secondary roads without spotting a soul. And then, at nightfall, while I was stopped at some crossroad, thinking, in a groove, surrounded by eucalyptus, a guy riding a bicycle came by, and then, as he approaches me, he points me out the seat of his bicycle. And so, as it goes I decide to accept his suggestion, and I mount on his bicycle. And so, there we go, together, in silence, going down the hill, and as it goes, I've decided not to ask him any questions... but then, it was he that started to ask me what am I thinking about at this point. And so, “Home” I replied instantly, and thus, almost everything was said. And after, just to make conversation, I broke my own rules, and decided to ask him where he was coming from. And so, promptly he tells me that he had already done the silk route, the cedar route, the coal route etc. And then, this new friend also wants to know about my travels, and which kind of adventures I've been into. And so, by now, I tell him I have been in many places, my memory is no more good, but “I still remembered about Heliopolis, the city of the dead, a place I have been wondering about before getting here”. And then, “Where is that?” he wants to know. “Heliopolis is the biggest slum in the world…”; “And who lives there?”; “Well, the original profession of this city of the dead was guardian of tombs, allied with the guardians of treasures... plus orphans of various wars, things like that…” and then, he starts to tell me about his life in the jail… the sexual assaults,  the forced labor, his addiction...  and about his family that never looked for him while he was there, inside that inferno… “But, while there, I have learned all sorts of tricky techniques about traffic, robberies, looting and whitening... plus, I got a specialization in the locks matter, whether they were built-in, tubular, magnetic, or telescopic…” And then, when he was already comfortable enough with me, he decided to confide me that his future project is actually, to rob a bank. This is, “Now I know how to do it in a totally clean way” he says. And then, he even invites me to assist him in this process of bank robbing, and, as we go down, he even explains to me how we could do it, everything in detail, and thus, after these explanations, we started to talk about what we could do with the money. And, this is, he already had a plan for it, “I want to buy a boat, make my house there, and travel the seven seas on it” and then, he also wants to know what I would like to do with that money, but, “I’m not sure”, I say.

The Walker - thinking about potatos

 Well, while walking through this potato town, I’m thinking that you may think that they think I might be thinking about you. This is, when one starts proclaiming things like this, one must be careful to not lose the coat... But my cynicism, apparently, is shallow, because actually, I believe that the system is perfect and so, there are no flaws. All actions are perfect and if God is macabre, we should be the cubic root of that desire. Whether by acts, or by words or by advertising symbols. Therefore, the crisis exists because man can not live only from dreams, we must have some truth... And yes, we may need the delirious in order to transcend the duality of things, but also, I advise you, do not stay too much time in the middle ground, coz that may bring you some misunderstandings, this is, you may end up being bait for moss-troopers, and moss-troopers may kidnap your soul and take it to the courthouse in order to exploit all your suppressed feelings. So, at some point you may say, “sometimes I feel so full of all this shit”, and I know, you have escaped so many times. So, now, escaping again, but to where? Some say that everywhere is the same and that is kinda true, but not totally. In fact, people create problems in order to entertain themselves with the operations of solving those same problems. Well, my problem, your problem, I noticed, is to put the feet by the hands when it comes to selling the fish. And you may say “The world has just become a huge open-air wasteland filled with burnt sand, shards and enigmatic worms…” And others may say “The hearts of the world are becoming shaggy, atrophied by the lunar impatience and eagerness for protagonism”. So yes, we are all ejaculating anachronistic fluids in various directions and time-zones. Fluids that can corrupt both the sacred will of the understanding and the very bones of the office... but it will be nothing... relax... as you sing they may dance... we may continue with this little theater... no need to force it, coz, the built-in radiant radiator of this conversation will care about absorbing only the necessary for the potentialization of our fortune and  love. Well, yeah, I'm starting to get a bit fed up with monologues so, now I try to approach some of these people on the streets, people like you, and so, I try to get into some conversations. Thus, I begin by asking things like "who you are"; "Where are you from"; "where are you going"; "what brings you here," And so, the answers I get are ambiguous enough, some even obtuse, but others more mundane. The thing is. We all distrust everyone. Brotherhood is just pretension. We all distrust everything. All atrophied by the idea of having a future to achieve. All bogged down in a blue virtual world, walking the dogs around the lake, eating narcotic goldies on the way.  This is, all suffering from a hypothetical crisis. And the mountain that already gave birth to I don't know how many mice and rats, I don’t know for how long it will last more. Therefore, what lies beyond thar genetic tree, what lies beyond this synthetic body, what lies beyond this avenue, what lies on the back of this toponymy, it’s just an equidistant sky full of fearful mathematical equations, full of promiscuous radiation… and so, here I go now jumping into this avenue with all these machines standing in a row with their engines bumping out, and you are here too, inside one of this machines, looking at nothing, and so, here I am, outside, with a bucket and a rag in my hand, I’m coming to clean your windscreen, this is, I’m coming to delete your meaning, or, I’m coming to sniff your petrol, even if you don't want it. So, now think about all these trees that grow old and drop their foliage and fruit on abandoned benches, think about the souls that drift about in search of someone that could massage their ankles. Close your eyes, my lady, my boy, and soon you will see the panic turning into mint... We are the matter, and this ventricle is almost like an atomic bomb doomed to give and receive… and so, and these benedictine synthetic flowers that shade the unprecedented intelligence of the bewildered epicurean are now becoming blurry… this is, it isn’t important how many mountains you've already conquered or how many inhospitable valleys you've already crossed… no matter how many bitches you've already trapped or how many mosquitoes you've already idolized… the purple light is always here, has always been, absorbing the meaning of everything, that is, the universe is never satisfied… Everyday we see people eating mandalas in the morning, people playing with their machinery after lunch, people investing their lives in probability games in order to keep the flame of seduction and despair alive… And so, here we are again, with our duties and rights, and at this point, tired of everything, you may say that words are just a bunch of abstract non-sense… and grammatic is nothing more than a nest where spiteful rattle snakes give birth to an extent number of poisonous toads… toads that are already falling over thorny cliffs, their mucus spilling through the rocks of abstention, and those first few seconds of rational decentralization in which a person still does not know who is what or what is who, are now gone. And so, at this moment, I no longer want this conversation about the abyss, so, let’s leave. Yeah, leaving now. And thus, as I get off the bus, I’m already picking up a ragged newspaper from an empty seat and there I go, still thinking about potatoes.

THE WALKER - going through an unknown city

 So, here I go, walking through an unknown city, opening my way through the masses, and so, as I go along this pedestrian street, I can see that there are some pawns looking at me, others walking their way like there's nothing else happening, and so, as they pass by now, I’m actually studying their faces, analyzing their pretensions… and then, fast-forward, let’s go for some description, I see some man in suits with ties strangling their necks; males and females carrying plastic bags; shemales with indignation on their expressions; men in sportive clothes looking at their phones; young girls wearing vestments that highlight their breasts and ass and bellies, some looking ahead, others looking their feet, some watching the skies, others carrying rucksacks, some carrying extra-small wallets, others carrying backpacks... and so, between these walkers, there are many kind of t-shirts with funny sayings like “Just do it”; “Good girls go to heaven Bad girls go to...”; “Sometimes pretending to be normal”; “I'm not rude I'm just saying what everybody is thinking”; “Not perfect, just limited edition”; “Warning! explicit contention”; “Stop following me!”; “Pizza princess”; “Blink if you want me”; “Obey”; “Too much self control”; “etc.” and so on. Some of them with colorful haircuts, some with sharp hair, some with curly hair, others with no hair at all, all going through. Plus, people waiting in corners, munching, chatting, yawning, some talking on their phones… and me here, looking at them and thinking, “Should I also get one of these phones in order to integrate myself in this society?”; “No”, a shoe-shiner tells me in a corner, “first you should get a proper job, then a proper house and then some kind of wife…” and then, I’m already entering a commercial center, still thinking about what the shoe-shiner just told me. And so, as I wander through the ground floor of this comercial-center, I see a series of stores selling all kind of trinkets, illogic artifacts, and then, in the first floor, it's all about clothes, toggery and shoes, and the second floor it's all about electronics, computers, and tv screens, and on the third floor there are a serie of fast-food restaurants, and so, as I wander through it, I pick some leftovers from here and there and then I’m coming back to the mechanical stairs, coming down, and as I descend, I lean against the handrail of this same mechanical stairs, staring at the reflexes that run through the yellowish waters of this big fountain there on the ground floor. And then, here I’m, already seated on the edge of this same fountain where other people are also seated, alone, in silence... the moist coming from the fountain jets landing on our backs, caressing our nape and scruffs... and then, as I close my eyes and open them again, one man with long gray hair running back, but bald on the top, seems to come closer and closer to me each time I close and open my eyes. And then, he even dares to say that I’m making him remember someone that he has met a long, long time ago, when he was young...  “So very familiar to him you are... you have all the looks…” And now, I look seriously at him. “Even your way of standing, it’s awful, you are pretty similar to my old fella from the service…”; “From the service?” I say. “Yeap, my comrade... he died in my arms, actually... in that bloody war... he was so young... we were young... yes... my old fella, his name was Diego, but we called him...  Dee Dee…” “Diego? Isn’t that Italien?”; “Think so!”; “So do I look like him? but I'm not Italian..”; “You do... the same pointed chin... the same half closed eyes... the same far away expression... the same shabby hair…”; “Yeah, in the end it's all about the hair…” I say. “And you also look like you're coming from some kind of war …” he says. “Do I look like a war victim?”: “You look tired, but proud of your achievements, I can see that... I wasn't born yesterday... I was there in that hell... I looked the devil in the eyes…”; “Sorry to disappoint you, mister... but I myself just born today... you believe or not, I don't know anything you are talking about…”; “No problem buddy, I will no more bother you with this shit war conversation, I just wanted to tell you how you look so much like him... and, we loved him...”; “So you are a war survivor?” I ask. “A victim, actually... a fucking victim…” he says; “But you survived…”; “I survived with a smashed leg, if you wanna know... this thing you see here... (and he is now pointing down to his right leg) This thing is not made of flesh and bones, this thing is made of wax, platinum and screws... that's how I survived, they sent me away, I was no more useful for them, I got a pension, I didn't have to work that much... I went through life with a lot of free time, I had time to think... to overthink, you see... but I'm not complaining now... I have achieved something, just to say, I became a kind of Guro... that's what some people call me…”; “Guro? So you are a expert…” I ask. “Yes, I'm a fucking expert, you can say that…”; “So, are you a war specialist?”; “No, not that shit... enough of that shit I got... sorry... let's leave that for the psychoanalysts, psychiatrists, and psychologists…”; “So, what's your specialization?”; “I don't want to talk about myself, kid, I'm tired of myself, tell me about you, what have you been doing, why are your skin so flaky? Why did you just say you were born today? And were you born with these cement spots on the clothes?”; “No, actually I was born separated from the cement... but got lost in the desert, huge sandstorms I crossed, that's why my skin got flaky like this, you see…”; “Looks thrilling... but which deserts are you talking about, in this world or some kind of dream, kid?”; “I don't know the name of the desert... I was there, and all the spirits came to me. I tried to run away, but the sky was coming down, a black sky full of mathematical equations running at the speed of the light... the numbers changing its form, like in the screen of a stock-market... and I was engulfed by that sky, I was sucked by the tentacles of the big machine, space travel I went…”; “you crazier than what I thought kid, what kind of space-machines are you talking about?”; “Not sure about that, coz when I woke up I was already on the stairs of the parliament, the freedom statue on my left and the democracy lady on my right... or the inverse…”; “Yeah, I see, and did they speak to you, did they whisper sweet word into your ears, or you three went to have a “ménage” at some city park, was it like that kid?” And then, after saying these things, as the man swallows his gasps, a chubby middle aged woman with bulgy black eyes is already coming by, approaching us while carrying some bold shopping bags in both hands and then, straight away, she begins speaking about something she couldn't buy because it was already sold out and now the man stands up, joins the women, and there they go, both swagging, this is, now I can see, one seems to have some kind of deficiency in the right leg, and the other some kind of deficiency on the opposite leg, and so, there they go, both holding the bags on the opposite hand of the affected leg. And then I also leave this commercial-center, I go though some middle class neighborhood, with three and four floor buildings with double-glass windows, and then, as I reach the suburbs of the city I see myself planted under some kind of poplar tree, in front of a huge construction site. And so, there, on the other side of the fence, it's all hustle and bustle, this is, I see men carrying materials from places to places; men operating noisy machines; men yelling to each other. And as I look at all this scenario, I’m actually enjoying it. And then, there I go, already approaching the rusty fence, now watching the working men from a closer angle… but in a while, some of these men get aware of my look, and then, I’m already hearing someone making hot comments about my presence here or there… and so, one of them even comes closer to the so said rusty fence, already asking “Who are you and what you want from here, boy!?” and me, peremptorily saying “Actually I’m this guy looking for work… I can do everything… I'm very motivated and, I can start any time, this is, it can be now, and I don't mind about shifts or how much is the salary… I just want to do something with my hands… you getting it?” and so, at this point, the man is already lifting up the fence and there I go, passing under it… and then, “Barefoot!?” he comments while looking at my feet, and me “What's the problem? Isn’t it the way we came?!”, “That's the way you are actually coming, not the way we came!” he says while making some signals so I can follow him coming back to the working place. And then, in a while, we reach the other men, the ones working up there around a manual concrete-mixer. And so, as I reach the place, some of them even welcome me, but others laugh about my presence there. They are five, or six or seven. Some with hoes in their hands, mixing the heap of sand with the mount of cement.  Others put water inside the mixer. Others filling buckets of ready made concrete. And others, already approaching with wheelbarrows, bringing more sacks of cement, opening it with a jerk and pouring the content by my barefoot while asking me to stand back. And then, “What is the kid doing here?” someone asks. “He wants to work,” some answers.  “Oh yeah!? If he wants to work, let's give him work!!” Said and done, at this point someone is already bringing me a new pair of boots. And I feel happy, as I insert my feet inside those buckskin boots, while hearing some instructions about the job I have to do “The pipe is over there, you should open and close it at our demand…”, the guy operating the concrete-mixer says, and then one other adds “So, you pick these buckets full of concrete, you go through that garage, you cross to the back of the building and up the metal staircase you go… and then, the bricklayer up there will tell you how he wants it, more smooth, more rough, or more creamy, and you have to inform use here, understood?”; “Right!” I say. “So, hands on”, and there I go, already advancing, carrying buckets of concrete up and down the stairs, listening to the men's jocular comments about the weather, but taking it easy, and then making it faster and faster, until they even tell me to slow down. This is, as said, sometimes they want more smooth, sometimes more rough, sometimes creamy, and so, I have to pass this information up and down, like, some kind of messenger…  And as it goes, I see the wall growing, and I think to myself “Yeah, I'm contributing to the creation of something real now… a big house, a big building, maybe a gym, maybe a new commercial center, I don’t care, the purpose is now, not after…” And so, talking about the men I'm working with, their kind of humor, and what we can learn with them. The bricklayer upstairs is already telling me some confidences about his wife, “a donkey, that sometimes stops by in the middle of the road, and there’s nothing that can make her move again”. And then, downstairs, the concrete-mixer operator tells a quick story about a politician that after a scandal involving his personal life, left the parliament and went to a distant country in order to establish some kind of religion based on the belief that we all came from outer-space... and then, the guy handling the hoe, also wants to make some confidences about his wife, he says that she used to sell sardines around, but now, she doesn't leave her bedroom, and so “now I have to do everything at home” he says. “I have to do the cooking, the washing, the cleaning, the shopping, and the bills, It’s me paying the bills… and so, while I’m here, working, there she is, much likely inside her room, watching soap-operas all day, and then, making desserts all night… but on sundays, while she goes to the church, or to the doctor, whatsoever, I go gambling…” and as he says this, the younger boys around are already making some jocular comments about the quality of the meat with whom he is actually gambling. And then, my buckets are filled up, and off I go again. Upstairs, the bricklayer is silent, now concentrated in the plumb bob thing, but the kid, his assistant, has something to say, he also wants to prove some kind of smartness. And so, while I’m wetting the wall, he starts talking about chickens, eggs and gold shops. And then, off I go, already walking through the suburbs of this city in deconstruction.       

THE WALKER - staring at the sky

 Here I go now, running through the desert, and while I run, I see the sky falling down over us, and then, while dragging myself over the sandbanks, down there, on the horizon, I see some kind of blurred towers appearing and disappearing, and as I stare at this vision, I feel a strong desire of getting closer it, but, probably these towers are just an illusion made of sand and smoke, even so, it doesn't matter, I keep advancing on the prowl of that mirage… but, then, as I’m apparently getting close to it, it tends to disappear, to change place… and then, all in a sudden, as the devil rubs his eye, I’m already being engulfed by a sandstorm and so, while I turn in the sand, there are various shadow beings coming closer, turning, dancing around me… this is, goshes, sprits, jinnees, whatsoever… mumbling, hollering, yelling, freedding quaint laughs while turning… and so, in an instant, some of these shadows manage to get really close, and then already inside my body, I have a palette of voices babling inside my head, voices saying things like “I’m the true-true, and I will guide you through the stars…”; “I’m the real-real, and I will carry you to the matter…”; “I’m the freeda-free, I will take you wherever you wanna go…” and then, there I go again, running through the crest of a dune, still trying to approach these vanishing towers… towers that are now looking bigger and closer, but, well, after a while, there they go again, disapearing, changing their locations… and so, I have to change my directions too, change my directions in order to go after them… thus, down another dune I go now, and while descending, again, I fall on the fold, and then yes, while looking up I see the sky getting really close, and as it comes, on its surface I see some sort of blurry numbers showing up amidst that leaden clouds, numbers that are also toppling over, blinking, changing its form, somehow like the figures at some sort of stock market screen. This is, numbers becoming blurred faces with pointy teeth and then, the voices I was hearing inside my head are actually incorporating those blinking faces coming closer and closer and... then, there I go, already being sucked by that magnetic sky, this is, my body and existence being choked by the jobbery of numbers and their meaningless. So, now, I’m just a prey being analyzed by the matrix. Electricity and dysfunction running through my skeleton, meat and sap. This is, a soul being washed by the passions of the future, whatsoever. Though, in my mind, while rolling through these tunnels at the speed of the light, being sucked by the tentacles of these ultratechnologic machinery, I still know who I am, or at least, I pretend that I know. And then, while being engulfed by this meta-mathematical sky I have emotions like misery, hope and contentment fighting inside myself, and this is, I feel like fighting against the wind and making love with the sand at the same time... anyway, I’m falling through a hole now, but I still fell confident, and so, as I go down I see images of the world’s history passing by at high speed, this is, I see imagens of big spaceships, big explosions, flying crocodiles, the primitive man naked in the hoods, under some big rock, trying to make fire while rubbing two pointed sticks… and then, in another cave, the sons of Adam all fighting together, because of… well, I don’t know the reason they why they are actually fighting,  but, then, I see a lot of dollar notes hanging on the ceiling of this same cave, and after… I see all these people working on the pyramids of egypt, and while they work, I also see the gods up there in the sky, laughing, drinking whiskey, making toasts with it, and while they do it, some drops of their drinks are actually falling down over the bare back of the workers/slaves now looking up, and then escaping their service, fighting with big bears on the side of the road, dancing in circles with cobras around their necks…  and so, as I go down, I keep having more visions, I see the pilgrimage of Jerusalem, and I see the medieval man inside big ships, arriving at other continents… and then, naked man/ women trying to stop bullets with their own breasts… and I see the outbreak of the first great WorldWar, and the aftermath of the second great WorldWar… this is, I see the men inside Auschwitz concentration camps, chooking, and I see the atomic bomb falling over Hiroshima, children screaming in the suburbs of the city, and then, I see the advent of internet… people stuck inside computer screens, and then, I’m already passing through an opening between some roofs and in a while, I’m landing precisely on the chair of the defendant/accused inside a big courtroom, just in time to hear the verdict from the judge, now staring at me, half smiling, his silly wig falling a bit on the side, and then, as he bangs the hammer on the table he shouts “Acquittal!”, afterwards, the public are clapping their hands, and, then, as I look back, at the assistance, I can see their vain expressions, and, at this point, all them are actually looking at their phones, not at us at all. And, in a while, the judge is no more here, and, at some point, I’m already being seized by a couple of security/policemen, this is, they pull me through corridors that lead to another corridors until reaching a big door, and then, as this door opens automatically, I’m being shoved outside, down this big marble staircase, just in front of the courthouse. And then, as I manage to turn back, I look at the statues on the top of the building, and in the middle of it, there is a big lady, half naked, with one hand holding a two pan scale, and the other hand holding a sword, that looks more like a trident. And then, as I think about the meaning of all this, some beggars are already coming to me, asking questions in a language I can’t understand, and then passing their hands through my naked body, and I don’t like the way they are doing it, so, I pull them back… and then, there I go, running towards the big square in front of the court building, where some kind of demonstration is happening. This is, I go though groups of people turning around, some of them with rags covering their eyes, making figures, and as they twirl they are actually screaming stuff like "Long live to the Crisis!”; “Hail the Crisis!!” some say, in unison, and others, “the Crisis is friendly, the Crisis is primordial... the Crisis was already here when we came…” and each time they say the word “Crisis” they say it louder than the other words, and so, as I go though this huge square, they keep saying these things while turning around, going against each other, and against me, sometimes. And then, more to the middle area of the arena, I hear “Love the Crisis, trust the Crisis, enjoy their fruits… coz the Crisis appeared to kill our desire for reality... the Crisis exists because men can not live only from dreams... the Crisis is a river that belongs to the monopoly of the creator... the Crisis is the main energy of the universe itself... the main energy contained in the tail of a lizard... at a snake's tongue... so, in the name of all the ancestral mothers and pataphysical fathers, and in the name of all the colorful aunts and all great motherfuckers… and also, in the name of the holy spirit in quarantine, long life to the CRISIS…HAIL the CRISIS!".       

THE RUNAWAY SISTERS (Runaways, Refugees & Escapees)

  On a roundabout, out of the city, I hid inside the bushes, waiting for the right car that would give me the ride I was in need of.  And so, after a long wait, there it came, meandering from one side to the other side of the road, a brand new Jeep came. Electronic dance music coming from the insides, like an aura. And so, from the bushes I jumped out suddenly and to the middle of the road with arms up. Thus, the car brakes abruptly, almost stopping in the ditch. And then, inside the car, we can already see, two female mischievous smiles, bulgy eyes staring at me. And so, as the back door  opens, I get in. And as I get in, the girls turn back to inspect my complexion, and there they go, making some dancing moves with head and shoulders as the beats are making the windows tremble. And so, the driver got red hair and a slender face. Yet, her accompanist has bluish hair and a bit more chubby face. And so, at this point, It was already accomplished that we are family. So, one of them reduces the volume of the fast beats a bit, in order that we could talk and be heard. I get to know, they are fugitives like me, they have stolen the Jeep from their parents, and here they are on their way to an electronic music gathering that supposedly should be happening in the surrounding mountains, this is, in the middle of nowhere... or just, down there... And as it goes, I promptly agreed to accompany them to the so-called rave. And then, as normal, they want to know my name and from where I come from. And so, I tell them to not worry, because actually I was coming from some fictional tale and my name is Shima. But then, the sound is so high (the power of the beats almost making the window crack), that I doubt that they understood anything I said. Anyway, they share looks between them and laugh bizarrely. “My name is Mila” says the driver, while reducing the volume of the radio. Mila that has red hair and slender lips, “and I don't like boys” she adds. And so, now the other one, the one with blue hair, also presents herself. “My name is Daphne, and I have nothing to do with Greek mythology, OK”. So, Daphne's face is kinda oval, a bit chubby. And I saw almost nothing in common between their faces, still, I decided to ask if  they were sisters, and the answer was Yes. “Criminal sisters” says the driver while turning the music up again. And then I even had to grab myself on the front seat because Mila's driving style turned somehow crazy. And while I felt to the right and to the left on the back seat, Daphne spoke to me with a loud, but sweet voice, “and what is this story you are coming from a fiction tale, what do you mean with that? I mean, what kind of liar are you?”. And to this I say ”I´m no liar, well, I have come from far far away, my memory is fucked up, fiction and reality is the same thing to me now, I have been sleeping rough here and there, and as I remember, I was living under a bridge with other indigents in a country I don't remember the name now, so, I have been on the road for days, weeks, years, not sure, but last night, I’m sure, I slept in the fire-brigade building, in a village not so far away from here. “What?” she says. And then “What fire are you talking about? By the way do you have a lighter?” And before I could answer Mila continued “We are looking for an old military base... that's where the party is happening! Ok?!"; “OK, perfect” I say and then I grab the cane between my fingers, I take some deep puffs that make me stand against the back of the seat, and they tell me to not worry, they want to know nothing more, they know already everything about me, need no more excuses. And then, as I try to look back, for an instant, I get blind... About the music, its style, it goes from goa-trance to dubstep, from dubstep to afrobeat and then from afrobeat to tekno-punk, and from tekno-punk to acid-house, and from acid-house to a strange kind of pop music or whatsoever... and the GPS teaches the way. "Are you not fed up of changing your identity?” asks the driver. "No, never, this is an endless search", “And what do you like to do more? Besides walking around?”, “I steal the rich to give the poor”, “Oh yeah, classic… and what do you steal?" Daphne asked, this time. “I have been stealing backgrounds,” I said seriously. And they laugh on it, but a strange kind of laugh. And then Mila says “I also want to rob the office of the president… Would you help me?”, “Sure, I'm here to play the clown”... And then, I don't remember why, the conversation changed into the Olympic modalities matter. They ask me if I have any favourite Olympic modality, or one that I would like to practice. To what I say “Maybe the pole vault!”; “Because?"; she asks, “Perhaps because I find beautiful that quasi-stop of the bodies when passing over the crossbar"; “And what else do you know about beauty?"; “I know that she likes us!”; “And let's see, which one of us do you think is prettier?"; "That's a difficult question, but I see that you two complement one another, anyway, I may say now, I'm far the more handsome here, and yes, I'll explain... let me just ask, I have the right too, what kind of Olympics modalities do you actually practice?"; “Pentathlon... Triathlon... Spartacus... a mix of cycling, swimming, belly dancing, cooking potatoes and bullshiting... and you will need to eat the ball at the end!” No one laughs here. We ride now in silence. Enough of ridiculousness. Now I´m thinking about how many people are giving birth now… And how many are dying? That's what I think while  we change roads... moving at a slower speed now, because we are going down on a muddy earth road, and then the GPS is gone. Mila stops the vehicle here and there, and we come out, in silence, trying to hear something, trying to find the clue that we are going in the right direction. But no, there are no sounds, no beats coming on the wind. Just stars moving stealthily, and trees cracking.. And inside the car we go again. And down the hill again. And out we come again. Many times we repeat this procedure until that the confirmation arrives. Still far away, but yes, now we can hear the beats, we can feel the groove. And so, down we go again a few  kilometres plus, the road getting worse, more tricky, until that behind some bushes begins to appear the valley, the valley where that supposedly ruined military area is. And the sky is getting  cloudy, pieces of scaffolds appear and disappear in between the trees. Lights turning around. The sub-bass becoming more and more evident on the back of our head, and that feeling on the stomach, like someone putting the hand inside. And then, finally, we leave the car (covering it with roots and branches) and as we walk following the sound, this is, the fat beats, we see that, actually we are just a few meters from the barbed wire that surrounds the citadel. And so, I tell the girls to watch out for the rusty grenades around, to see where they put their feet and they, making fun of me, they pass me the bottle of Whiskey, the bottle of Gin, the bottle of Liqueur, whatever... After the barbed wire, there is a wall, and the space between the barbed wire and the wall, is like a war trench, where other individuals are undressing their personalities, humans becoming silhouettes and silhouettes becoming monsters, and whatsoever... while standing on the top of this ruined wall, we are heroes, happy to be here on this border, here now is the top of the world... deep breath... "Attention with the radiation", someone says as we land inside over the oiled brambles.  Then we see, people with toxic masks approach us, trying to sell something, but we run away from them, in the direction of the pavilions, the sound of helicopters prowling over our heads. This is, the pavilions are buildings in semi-ruin with colourful but rusty decorations attached, this is a postmodern-almost-never-seen-kindof-plastic-world. And inside each of these pavilions there seems to exist different micro-societies… So, we have to choose the one that has more to do with our identity and then I see a guy dressed in a gorilla suit (the number 777 stamped on his back) approaching, and as he approaches he throws a ball in my direction, a basketball, and I'm holding the ball now, and then I understand, he wants me to sign my name in the ball, or whatever, but then he goes away and I stand here with the ball in my hands inspecting the other signatures on its surface. Not just signatures, but also drawings, phrases, mixed symbols... But now, I don't feel like writing anything, and so, instead, I throw the ball to the sisters that brought me here, and here they are coming now, wearing different clothes, pyjamas with underwear over it, and so, I see, they are actually already playing some silly game with the Gorilla´s friends. And as they play, I stand back. Coming back to the big aquarium. And as I walk around it, I realize that there are actually no doors to enter inside. So, as I understand, the entrance should be made through the several round windows at middle height all around the building. And I may say, by these windows, I see some  creatures clambering through the walls with the help of sticks, tattered clothes shining in the dark, this is, jungle techniques from medieval times being adapted to the circumstances. And so, in the meanwhile I call the girls, and together we manage to jump inside one of these aquarium buildings. And once there, there we go, sinking into those sticky chill out ambiences – glitch sounds that make my feet slip over imaginary conclusions… and then, I see the girls moving away, and a series of shiny-blue teeth heads dancing around them, around me, and so, in the meanwhile there are some individuals descending from the ceiling embracing thorny crocodiles that are bursting as they land in the middle of all of us.

The Gorilla man (Runaways, Escapees and Refugees)

 

It's night and there is only one big star up there in the sky, it's the the gorilla man, here he comes now and there he goes, uphill, surreptitiously walking along a narrow street with a cluster of stone houses on each side, old buildings pressed against each other, squeezed, skewed, some tumbling apart, some good, embalmed, and various balconies with all kinds of trinkets hanging from the balustrades, and so, as the creature advances we become his shadow, we become his partner, we listen to his small conversations about… and then, at some point, halfway up the climb, we get to a crossroad with a broken fountain and a pedestal over it, and so, straight away the gorilla man climbs onto the top of the of the pedestal himself and there he stays, nestled, inside the shell, eyes wide open, tongue sticking out. So, I approach it, already saying my prayings and with no blinkings I deposit a “holy leaven” on his tongue, and thus, as he swallows that thing we become the same thing, this is, I'm the gorilla man now, and there is no more narrator. So, then, as I leave the fountain, I go across a jumble of alleys again, and as we go through it we can already hear what looks like echoes of giggles, laughs, jeers coming from… apparently coming from the top of the hill. And so, up we have to keep going, following the human noise, until that, yes, we get to it, and here is the gorilla man again, waiting in the back of some trees. And there, on the sidewalk and adjacent gardens in front of the bars, nightclubs, tavernas etc, there are clusters of people wandering around with beer bottles and plastic glasses in hand. Some seated on the sidewalk, and others skating on the adjacent gardens. And so, amidst all this giggles, whispers and whimpers, we can hear tattered discussions about the existence of unnamed beings. Interjections of dubious connotations. Lascivious looks topped off with weird pronunciations and what we can describe as, slingshot poses, this is, the atheist fervor, or the imagery of a bizarre god with many arms and legs but incapable of making decisions. And so, in the middle of all this, some kind of paranoid heroism is exalted, half-truths, unfinished sentences… People murmuring, maybe happy in this or that instant. Plus, stories about transgenic fairies, smart woodworms and fallen caterpillars. And then, I can see, here on the adjacent gardens, some guys and girls letting themselves fall aback, looking at the sky,  preferring to dream than to talk, while others spill beer over them… and then, here comes the gorilla man, now going through all these people and saying "Uha uha, ed io ho due amori (and I have two loves)... Uhu! Aha! Uhu! Aha!... che in nessun modo sono uguali (that in no way are the same)... Uhu Aha Uhu! Ma non sono sicuro (but I’m not sure!)”... he now says, while giving punches on the chest “Uh! Ah! Ah! Se sono immaginari o irreali (If they are imaginary or unreal) Uhu aha! aaah!”, and "Ma non ne sono sicuro! ahu! ahu!" (But I'm not sure! ahu! ahu!); "Che mi piace di più, fantasy o reale!! (Which I like best! fantasy or reality!)” he says, while doing a series of pirouettes among the bohemian creatures. And then, some nerd guys are passing by and we can hear “Relativity only exists with knowledge of the absolute, but...”, says a younger nerd, a guy with a studied beard, hands on his pockets. “But I'm not sure... uh ah uhaa ... the absolute or the relative... which one is the most... uhu ah uhaa”. the gorilla man says now while dancing around the nerd boys. And then, as these guys walk away, we can see, to one of the sides, a group of students dressed in black, dragging themselves across the floor, perhaps looking for ancient coins, perhaps eating the grass, and so, there goes the gorilla man again "Ma non sono sicuro.. ahu ahu ahu...  dottore o ingegnere... quale sia più banale - But I'm not sure... ahu ahu ahu... doctor or engineer... which is more trivial". And then, standing in front of the entrance of one of the bar/taverns, I see a green-haired young man playing the guitar in a fast and awkward style, and another guy on his side, a dude with with a ring on the nose, growling phrases like this “diffondi tua merda, diffondi tua merda, prima che ci si impantani diffondi tua merda, ovunque tu vada diffondi la tua merda - spread your shit, spread your shit, before you get bogged down on it, wherever you go, spread your shit…”  and  “non mangio pasticcini, non mangiamo più pasticcini, a noi non frega niente vostre leggi puzzolenti... I don't eat pastries, I don't eat pastries anymore, we don't give a damn about your stinking laws…”; and “vaffanculo tutti, fottervi-fottervi-fottervi… farti sparire il culo  - fuck-you-all fuck-you-all…get your ass out of here”, and by this pair of rickety musicians, some other ragged-looking boys or girls are walking around staging disconnected dance steps, mistreating each others and then hugging each others and at random figures of time, nailing those who enter and leave the bars in front or the ones staring into the vain, on the sidewalks. “Utsh-Utsh-utsh, per favore, fare l'elemosina al gorilla - Utsh-Utsh-utsh please, give some alms for the gorilla” I say upon entering a bar, “if you please, compiacere, non possiamo amare con la bocca secca, we can't love with a dry mouth, fai l'elemosina al gorilla, compiacere  - give some alms to the gorilla…” I say as I go through the insides of the bar, and then, after saying my saying, I can hear something like “torna allo zoo, cagnolina - come back to the zoo you doggy”; or “girati e vai a cagare al cimitero, pipistrello - turn around and go to shit in the graveyard, you bat” and “ma dove vieni, faccia da mucca - but from where are you coming… You cow face!”. Even so, I insist “fate l'elemosina ai gorilla, che ha bisogno di monete per recuperare la sua condizione umana - give some alms to the gorilla, that is in need of coins to recover its human condition”. But despite cheering up the crowd, I’m not being very successful in my requests, and so, before I turn around, the establishment's security man is already coming within my reach, saying "Non puoi essere qui mascherato, e non puoi essere qui anche a chiedere soldi! - You can't be here masked, and you also can’t be here asking for money!” to what I oppose "Non posso essere qui mascherato tanto quanto tu non puoi essere qui con un beccuccio… - I can't be here masked as much as you can’t be here with that nozzle…” I say while I'm being pushed and pulled out, and at some point, the punks that were outside polishing the hooks are already coming in, and those billy boys who were playing snooker there in the back, are also coming armed with sticks and in the meanwhile there are chairs and tables flying around the establishment, and some other figures are already running to the bathroom door, and those that were on the street are now trying to enter in order to see the show, and those inside, are now trying to get out, breaking glasses and bones as they pass by, and then someone turns up the volume of the music, thats goes more and less like this “Quando cammino per strada (when I walk down the street) / Tutti mi guardano (everybody looks at me) / Sembra che vogliano mangiarmi (and it looks like they want to eat me) / E questa merda non finisce mai (and this shit never stops) / E quando accendo la televisione (and when I turn on the TV) / Tutti parlano di problemi nazionali (all them talking about the national problems) / Niente può essere risolto (nothing can be solved) / Loro sono animali (for that they are animals) / Sono animali (they are animals) / Sono animali (they are animals) / Tutti vogliono andare avanti nella vita (everyone wants to get ahead in life) / Sentirsi potenti (feel powerful) / Tutto quello a cui pensi è rubare (all they think about is stealing) / Nemmeno smettere che deve uccidersi (even if they have to kill) / quando arrivano in cima (when they reach the top)  / Continuano a volere sempre di più (they keep wanting more and more) / E non possono mai essere soddisfatti (and they can never be satisfied) / Sono animali / Sono animali / Sono animali (They are animals / They are animals / They are animals)” and then when I wake up I'm already on the road, laying on the back seat of a big truck, a house-truck actually, and there are two other girls laying on my side, both of them with extra-whitish faces, as if they are using some kind of nivea cream on the cheeks, and they also got dyed hair and rimmel on their eyes… One says “Easy!” as I wake up, already passing me a gross cannabis joint, and it hurts as I move each centimeter of my body, so better stay still looking at the expressions of these actually fat girls. Their semi-naked bodies displaying long tattoos with many dragons, swordsmen, unicorns and other creatures difficult to name. And so, as it goes, at some point I have to ask “Who are you and how did I get here?” and then, one says in a strange english pronunciation “we are the ones that, yesterday ti abbiamo salvato il culo, recorda?”, “no, actually I don't remember very well what you are talking about! Can you say it in full english? You saved my ass but from what?”; “We saved your ass from the sticks man, we and the other boys from our circus-crew, these sticks man came and started to hit our dogs as we got in the taverna where we have find you turning around, hands in the hair, people pushed you as they liked, and you covered your face, I didn't know why… “And I have two lovers ah uh ahu, not the same not the same, but very different from the main…ah uh ahu”, mocks the other of these two girls, the one that is furthest away, the fattest one. “Ohu I have a damnmotherfucking headache,” I say and straight away one of them accordingly justifies “It's normal, yesterday the security guard at the bar gave you a big headbutt, and then you fell, and then all of them fell on you… don't you remember?”, “kind of… What about my mask? Could you bring it?”, “Yes, yes we have your mask sir, and we also loved your show, actually that is a number you could perform in our circus, a gorilla man asking money around, asking money for juice, asking money for lies, asking money for hearts or even, who knows, money to revenge the lost and the fallen, ah, yes, yes, a gorilla man trying to save the humanity…” she mocks. “So, and where are the other clowns, if this is a moving circus”?, I say “The clowns are together with the magicians and other buffoons in the second roulotte, the one coming on our back, they are the roulotte number two and  we are the roulotte number one of the Atesh Circus, so, as you can imagine, here on the front we have the director and the co-director of the Atesh, both of them are contortionists and they are waiting for you on the driving cabin, go there and present yourself…coz they also helped to save your ass yesterday”, “No” I suddenly interrupt “I still can't move, all my body hurts, when will we stop?”, “there will be no stop soon, we are actually leaving Italy now and not sure if we will stop in Slovenia or if we go directly into Croatia, I don't know… it all depends…”, the fatter one says. And then I may ask, “but after all what's your speciality, what do you do in this “Atesh Circus”? “We are aerialists, trapeze artists… you know? the slimmer one says, “We open doors in the sky, actually windows, we bring the burning stars down and we take the illuminated ones up… that's it… my name is Mona and you, we still don´t know your name… “Xavier” I say and then “Doroteia, encahantê!” says the chubby one, stretching her arm with a limp hand on the end, as an invitation. And so, after some massages they apply in my body, using martial arts techniques, I guess, I'm now able to move, and as promised, there I go in the front cabin, I get to know the director and the co-director of this moving circus joke. So, almost there, now looking through the windscreen, I see we are driving on a secondary road by the sea, it should be the Adriatic sea, and by what the signboards are saying, I´m still not sure if we are in Slovenia or in Croatia already… so I present myself “Hello, I´m Xavier, thank you for your intervention yesterday but, where are we going?”, “Hello Xavier, I´m Bruno, just a clown like you here, I don't know where we are going, but ask this one here, because this one yes, he is the panjandrum, if you getting me…” says the  truck driver, a young man with a big pendant in one of his ears and a scar that goes from one of his cheeks until the forehead… “Nice to see you asking questions, stranger…” finally says the so-said big boss, the bearded man on the side seat. “We are actually going to Analotia, do you know where it is?” he says while passing me the gorilla mask I was missing, and so, happy with this reencounter I try to take the mask out of his reach but, he's squeezing it too tightly, as if waiting for something, and then I say “Yes, I know where is Anatolia, I have been there a couple of times,  Anatolia is the western-most extension of continental Asia, it's the bigger part of Turkey and so, geographically, bounded by the Turkish Straits to the north-west, the Black Sea to the north, the Armenian Highlands to the east, the Mediterranean Sea to the south, and the Aegean Sea to the west. Topographically, the Sea of Marmara connects the Black Sea with the Aegean Sea through the Bosporus strait and the Dardanelles strait, and separates Anatolia from Thrace in the Balkan peninsula of Southeastern Europe. The word “Anatolia” derives from the Greek Anatolḗ, meaning "the East" and designating, from a Greek point of view, eastern regions in general, and also, the place where the sun rises, being “anatello” to rise up, in greek language”. 

The Expat (Runaways, Escapees and Refugees)

So, now I ride inside a broad car, accompanied by an ex-history-teacher on the run. As a start, we have been talking about experimental music, free-jazz, Stockhausen, John Zorn etc. And then, at some point, he goes on telling me some details about his ex-wife etc and then, he begins a confusing speech about fashion that goes like this: "When the future is threatening and uncertain... there is the retraction... the retraction of the present that is constantly being protected, arranged and recycled in an endless youth... while putting the future in parentheses, the system proceeds... the devaluation of the past... impatient... for cutting off the chains of archaic traditions and territorialities... and for instituting a society without a base of anchorage or opacity... and together with an indifference to historical time... collective narcissism is established... a clear symptom of the generalized crisis of bourgeois societies of…” And then I'm getting sleepy but I still hear his voice like it's inside a tunnel… "Since the jeans, the fashion has not stopped to promote the original clothing of the working class, the army and sports... bib pants... napkins... parkas and the sailor jacket, the jogging style... peasant skirts... the frivolous one identifying himself with the serious and the functional... and in doing so it adopts an explicitly parody style... imitating utilitarian clothes, fashion misadjust its points of reference... the solemnity dissipates and the forms lose what they could have to be polished or studied. Fashion and its exterior cease to be radically opposed... in parallel with the movement, everywhere visible, denial of oppositions... fashion today belongs to the sloppy, relaxed... the new must seem used and the studied spontaneous... a more sophisticated fashion imitates and parodies the natural..." And then I’m dreaming… dreaming I’m inside some kind of cellar/basement/garage/bar and there are some guys around involved in abstract conversations, and two of them are here on my front, confederating on international football issues, it looks, this is, they seem to get a bit upset about my getting into their conversation but then the first thing they do is asking that perennial question about “which is my club of election”. And so, I try my luck, I tell them that I have no club of choice, that I go with everyone and I do not belong to anyone, but somehow I prefer the black and whites... And then, as I say this, the guys seem to turn happy with my comment. They even want to pay me a drink, a big one, and so there we go making toasts to the black and whites. And I drink it all in a sudden because I'm really thirsty inside this dream, and so, as it goes, the guys want to know who I am after all, and why I´m I here, putting myself in the middle of their conversation and so, to this I say that “I'm an actor on a loan escaping from a bad movie in order to find true love” As as they hear they this get silent. Everything gets silent inside my dream. That's it, we all get silent when the word “love” gets in the game and so, I can stand this silence now, thus I’m already walking away in the direction of the wall, to the corner. And there I stand, and then I look in the mirror, but in this mirror I can’t see myself, what I see is some familiar face approaching. And then, here he is, dressed in sportive clothes, this mate gives me a clap in the back. And I don't know why, but I'm happy to meet him here. This is, as I look at him, I already know what he is looking for, and instantly I point to one dude with rastas til the floor, that is passing by, but he does not show much interest in that matter. So, after we have exchanged recycled drinks, there we go remembering some details about our past adventures, like that story about a bathtub we have stolen from some posh house… how we removed it through the window, how we made it come down through the branches of a tree on the window, and how we crossed all the city with it, even carrying people inside... and how we have ended up in cemetery, still holding that thing. And then I wake up, and as I clean vomit from my clothes I see the road, and the driver, this ex-history-teacher on the run, he stars to my figure now, inspecting it carefully, and for a long time he does not look the road, but the car does not wags. And then, he assures that by looking to my attire (dirty t-shirt, long-shorts-made-from-jeans and broken tennis) he can read my life pan. And so, as he says that, I tell him to go ahead. So, he gets his way to say that I wasn't properly loved as a child… “Certainly, you used to shut myself in my own world..”. and I, I somehow, I agreed... and then, he also suggests that “...We need to look around, because inside the self we have only darkness…” and here, I also agree... and then, he continues “...due to your inadequacy to this world you haven't yet managed to get out from adolescence period..”. and I agree again… and then “... probably you are still looking for something sacred in this moving about, but… beware, coz… you can get frustrated with your searching…” and here, I don't know if I should agree... and then, he says that I should look for dignity instead… and now, I’m not sure what he means with that… so, here we go now… both facing the road, facing the white line, classic contemporary music playing on the stereo... and then, then I come back to that dream... that dream inside the cellar-bar... There on the corner, I find a spiral staircase and down I go... around... and it cracks, and so, before reaching the bottom I stop... trying to spot any familiar face in that kind of hubballu performance that is going on. But, actually, I can't recognise any faces, because they have blinds on their eyes, and as I perceive it, they are actually screaming stuff related to the word CRISIS. Stuff like this. "Long live the crisis” they say, in unison “the crisis is friendly, the crisis is great... the crisis was always here when we came... the crisis is primordial...” and while they say this they turn around going against each other. And then, “Long live the crisis, love the crisis, live the crisis, trust the crisis... because the crisis is the challenge of nature itself”. And so, now I´m advancing between them, trying to pass unseen, but it's impossible, promptly they come to me and involve me in their performance, so… I'm being engulfed in their slogans now. “Long life to the crisis, because from the crisis comes cutting-edge technology... The crisis appeared to kill our desire for reality...  The crisis exists because men can not live only from dreams... The crisis is a river that belongs to the monopoly of the creator... The crisis is the energy of the universe itself persi... in the name of the father, the mother, the uncle, the son, the daughter, and the holy alien spirit, long live the to the crisis... long live the to the crisis now… let's dig our fertile lands... let's love the crisis... lets hug the unknown" they say. And finally, when I reach the other side of this CRISIS room, I get to some youngs, girls and boys seated on the floor in a circle, and I sit by their side. So, as I squat, one of the boys is already turning to me, saying “"Welcome bro, just close your eyes now bro, and you will see your panic turning into mint, coz we know that we matter, we know that we are are matter, and we know that the navel can save, this ventricle carries the love, so… we are actually doomed to give and to receive… and is, the illusion is real, and the reality is an illusion, then, everything is real, so, by now, we are more real than the concept of reality, yeah. And then, another one on his side, like in a competition, says something like this: “through the ruins of thought sacred monsters stroll and then… the circulation becomes slow and heavy as the irony falls into the gutter... and then, there are sirens that never stop... day and night a permanent pulsar... this is, reason deviates freedom... and freedom says that, it's always a good time to leave… coz being in the shadows creates worms, and the worms are bad advisors, that is, they have a crush on philosophy and sometimes they spit their poisonous puke in your face...”. And so, after that, their conversation motto changes into the money subject... and futurology and control… and then I wake up and ‘m on the road again, still listening the expat driver, and it's like his words are a continuation of the words I still retain from the dream, this is "...When there is no longer any military and police monopoly, and when, therefore, insecurity is constant… Individual violence and aggression is a vital necessity... on the other hand, as the division of social functions and... under the action of the central organs that monopolize the physical force establishes a daily security... that is where the use of individual violence proves to be exceptional and the extreme and unbridled impulsiveness of men is no longer necessary or useful or even possible. From the societies that carried out the absolutist states... a co-regulation of behaviours is replaced... a self-control of the individual, that is.. is to forget that violence was, from the most remote times, an imperative determined by the holistic organization of society... a behavior of honor and challenge... and as long as priority norms have priority over particular desires, as long as honor and revenge continue to prevail... the development of police apparatus, surveillance techniques and intensification of justice will only have a limited effect on private violence... hence the process of personalization that works to increase the responsibility of... individuals... favors well see, see, see, aberrant behaviors, unstable, indifferent in some way to the principle of reality... and for this very reason... in line with the dominant and correlative narcissism...” he keeps going and going and me dozing again, now coming back to my dream, listening to Zara, the transvestite, talking about politics and cosmology and genetics and cosmetics and micro-biotic organisms… And then, as we get to the costumes, I wake up, and while we wait for the passports to be seen, I'm hearing my driver's speech again. “Today the master's discourse is completely trivialized, desecrated, on equal footing with the media, education is a machine neutralized by the school apathy, made of dispersed attention and jaunty skepticism about knowledge... and all I have just finish to express could have been just black humor... because nowadays… for example... the sense of humor of the media no longer tries to ridicule the logic ... report or satirize… the humor now fills a factual function... It is not bad no more to confess personal problems... to show our own weaknesses... unravel the loneliness that we feel… nevertheless, the important now is to express all this in a second degree... through modernist hyperboles… and when I say modernist I mean... disruptions are becoming increasingly rare, the impression of déjà vu prevails over the novelty, the new changes in society are monotonous, we no longer have the impression of living in a revolutionary period... there is a trend fall in creativity rate of the vanguards, which on the other hand… coincides with the very difficulty affirmation of anyone being truly vanguardist... the fashion of “isms” have passed, the noisy manifestations of other times are no more appreciated nowadays... but this doesn’t mean that…” and our passport is being seen now. And then, as we advance in this new country, I turn to the expat driver and say “So your grace is talking about art now!?”; “Yes, the human being is artistic by nature... in every move we make art ... but into this discussion about what is or what isn't art, I don’t want to go… coz, I think that is an outdated issue…”, and then as he says that I also say “Not only is the concept of art is outdated... but all concepts we call concepts are actually outdated, as, the concept of God, the concept of knowledge, the concept of information, the concept of family,  the concept of what is a border, the concept of what is a country, and why we still need it, isn't it?” I say. And then he continues “As in all great dichotomies, this one about the body and spirit also got blurred, thus the body is no more relegated to a status of material positiveness… now the body is becoming more, we can say, some kind of ana-cosmic consciousness… an object-subject thing, a floating mélange of sense and sensitiveness…” and then I´m no more listening to his words, I’m just looking the paisaje, the landscape that surrounds us becoming more and more rough, this is, the road we are following now is entering some kind of desert, and so, while we advance through the haze, he keeps going like this… “Actually, at this precise moment, the world is being destroyed by brutal radiation, this is, the most powerful bombs ever made are currently being exploded somewhere... and that is much more clear that what people watch in the news… so, in my point view, if God is empty, as you said, we are just some kind of animist electrolysis in assonance with the phantasmagorias of the green but... there's really nothing that can be described about that, because, what is language, after all?” and here, as he get through this conversation about the aesthetics of linguistics, I put my hand in the door unlock button, and surreptitiously,  I make deep breach and there I go, opening the door and jumping out from the car while we are moving at high speed. And so, after much rolling on the gravel, I end up laying on a bank of sand, on the ditch, belly up, watching some kind of flaccid monsters passing through the sky, appearing and disappearing, changing its form, and then, as I look to the road again I see the car disappearing on the sand-covered horizon...