NOWHERE - Coming into this world

 And so, still being absorbed by the gravity, I go from tunnel to tunnel, halls covered with some kind of analogue microchips and optical fiber intersections. This is, I go through big cogwheel rooms, hammers and spades, I pass all that shit and finally arrive on the gangway of the courtroom where I’m being dumped, still coughing, just in time to hear the verdict from the judge, “Absolved” and the public clapping, so that’s it, I'm a free man now. Then, I’m outside, trying to cross the highway in order to get closer to humanity. Cars are passing at high speed, honking and quacking as I cross. Some breakages. Some swearing. And as I reach the opposite ditch, a pack of cracked biscuits is waiting for me, on the floor, I pick it and there I go up the bluff in all fours, like a dog, eating biscuits. Then, as I get to the top of the hill I will find what can be described as a suburban garden, sandy earth, turf, female pine-trees and big artificial stones, here and there. People walking around with dogs etc. And further I'm going to sit on a wooden bench, resting and watching these people that pass by now, far away from me, indifferent to everything. And from here, I can also see a kind of a statue, that is a big man made of cement, and on the side a shorter one made of... and then, a tourist approaches, shooting from many positions, taking pictures of the bushes around, the rocks, the trees, the floor, the ground... everything he finds he shoots, including himself... and then, to my surprise... here he comes in my (our) direction, and click-clack, without giving us a chance... he makes a picture of myself seated here, rolling this thing, and then he runs away. Afterwards, a young lad approaches, bringing a dog with him, and sits on my side. And yes, we know already what he wants. So, as a way of presenting himself, he starts his speech about… flags. First he reveals how he's fed up with this country. A job in the area he has studied would be very difficult to find... and “people in this country are trash” he says, because “they just criticize... they just say bad stuff about anything they can't understand… and they do not create anything new” and so, as he says these things, he smiles and I let him talk, also smiling. Then, in the meanwhile, I pass him the cane, and while pulling it, he continues his sayings, revealing that, “almost all my friends have emigrated, and I also want to leave, but because of this actual girlfriend, I’m still pondering... but soon I'll throw her into the cabbages, coz she's a soap-operas sucker, and….” then he also says he don't like her parents, (coz of) their regressive mentality... and he even thinks “it was them who poisoned my foxy dog…” And now, as he turns to the canine, still puffing, I say “Afterall afterwalls what do you want from life? What do you like? What's good, what's wrong?";  and as I say these things he quickly turns to me and says "Oh man, what’s good, what's bad... you know... I want a big car, travel the world with it, me and my dog, that's what I want from life, and after that, I will tell you what's good, what's bad and much more... after my trip I will tell you everything… but now, now is your time to say, you tell me, have you seen God, have you seen Satan? Did they talk to you? What did they tell you?” And without regret I tell the boy everything I know about God and Satan and then I go away following the directions he has just told me in order to get to the city. And so, as I arrive at the center, I see many kinds of people walking in many different directions, some excited, some dull, some with confused expressions. I try to catch up with some of them, 'cause I'm happy to be here again, in the world of real people, and I want to touch, I want to hug my fellow humans. But, unfortunately, they run away from me with panicked faces. And damn, what's wrong with me, I think to myself. Then “to be accepted you must have certain clothes on” someone tells me. So, there I go, entering the first boutique I find and instantly I pick up some reasonable pieces of clothes to wear. This is, I pick some trousers, some shirts, one overalls and I dress them right there in the shop, leaving the old rags there on the floor, around. Then, I make my way out, but, as I leave, a young lady with a strange haircut (bigger one side than the other) is coming on my back telling me that “You have to pay! Have to pay! You have to pay for that” she says and me OK. Now I understand. I remember. Money. I even try to explain to her that I just came into this world and I need clothes in order to be accepted, but she just ignores my saying, instantly adding that she will call the boss right now if… and so, here I go now, a newcomer into this world, already escaping from the boss, from the police… I open my way through the masses, some of these individuals looking to me, others walking their way, absently, like if there's nothing happening. And, I study their faces. I watch their moves. I analyze their style and their pretension, fast-forward. And so, what I see is men in suits, with bulgy eyes or normal eyes or little ragged eyes, sweat under the armpits of their sleeve-shirts. Plump ladies carrying plastic bags.  All kinds of girls showing up the bump of the breasts, some proud of themselves, some with indignation in their expressions. Male and female teenagers with strange decorative elements attached to their clothes, hands in their pockets, some looking at their feet, some watching the skies, while talking to their phones… T-shirts with more-and-less 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, sharp hair, curly hair, no hair at all. People looking inside shops. Others just waiting in corners. Munching. Chatting. Yawning. And some, as they spot me they look away, I don't know why. So, should I also get a smartphone in order to integrate myself in this society? “No, first you should get a proper face, then a proper job, then a proper house and then some kind of wife, that doesn't have to be proper…” that's what a shoe-shiner tells me in a corner. And as I hear these sayings, I'm not sure what all that means, but I will discover... so, as I think about it now, I watch him polishing the shoes of someone... and then I watch the shoes of people passing by... and in the meanwhile, he tells me that we can read the personality of men by watching their feet... and so, here we are watthing the gaits of people passing by, and building theories about that in our head, and then, I think to myself, maybe I also need a new pair of shoes... new clothes are not enough... but for that I need money... and I don't want to steal again... so I must find a way of getting money... and where is the money? Should I ask some of you where the banks are? “Which bank?” someone tells me instantly, “any” I say, and “there'' someone says while pointing to the other side of the road. And then, as I approach it, “Too late” the security man tells me. And in fact, as I try it, I get the confirmation, the big door is actually closed. “Come back tomorrow” he adds. “Tomorrow”, I think about the meaning of this world as I walk away, barefoot, because my boots were hurting, and all I see now is trees and houses and cars, no people. Until that, a hand on my shoulder makes me come back to reality. And as it comes it also goes. So, here I’m, now planted in front of this big building in construction, and there is a high metal fence between me and the construction site. And so, over there, it's all hustle and bustle, men carrying materials from place to place, men operating noisy machines, men yelling to each other. And I don't know why, I’m enjoying these scenes. This is, I even get closer to the rusty fence, and so, as I stay there, under a big street tree, watching the men working, from some distance, moving tools and objects from place to place, they get aware of my presence, and then someone is already making hot comments about my persona, like, asking me what I want from their scenario, etc. And this is exactly what I wanted to hear, so now I'm being peremptory in my answer. I say “I'm looking for work”, and “I can do a bit of everything…” and “I'm very motivated..” and “I can start at any time..” and “I don't mind shifts or schedules…” and, as I say these things, the men on the other side keep working, sometimes glancing at me, here, squeezed against the fence, and then, someone comes by, lifts up the fence and orders me to pass under it. “Barefoot!?” he exclaims, with some disdain. “That's how we came, isn't it?” I say. “That's how you came!” he says while making signals to follow him. So, in a while we reach the other men. All working around a manual concrete-mixer. They are five, or six or seven. Some with hoes in their hands, mixing the heap of sand with the mount of cement. Others are throwing water inside the mixer. Others are already filling the buckets with ready made concrete. And others, with wheelbarrows, bringing some more sacks of cement, opening it with a jerk and pouring it by my barefoot while asking me to stand back. “What is the kid doing here?” someone asks. “He wants to work,” another says. “Bring him a pair of boots!”; the boss says. “Here they are!” and me, all happy now, already sliding my feet inside these buckskin boots made of... “The tap is over there,” a comrade informs. And I think about this suggestion. Then I go around the amount of sand and I come back to the cement. The one operating the concrete-mixer now tells me “You take that buckets, you go through that garage, 5 cross to the back of the building and up the metal staircase you go, and once you get there, the bricklayer will tell you how he wants it, more smooth or more rough, and you have to inform us here, allright, understood?”; “Super!” I say. “So, hands on!” he says. And there I go, carrying buckets of concrete up and down the building, listening to the men's jocular comments, making it faster, and with my new pair of boots, I can almost fly up and down. They even tell me to slow down at some point. Sometimes they want it to be more smooth, sometimes more rough. I'm the messenger here. And I see the walls inside growing, so, I think to myself, I'm contributing to the creation of something real, a big house, a building is rising… and I wonder for what purposes it will be used, and if it will really be “useful” or if it's just for speculation. 'Cause I'm not stupid, I know some people make houses just for decoration. But I don't want to talk about that now, I want to talk about the men I'm working with, their kind of humor, what me and you can learn with them. Then, the bricklayer upstairs tells me about his wife, “a donkey”, that “sometimes stops in the middle of the road” and then, “there is nothing that can make her move again”. And then downstairs the concrete-mixer operator tells me a story about a politician that after a scandal went away to another country, became a porno star and found a new religion based on the belief that we all came from outer-space etc… and the guy handling the hoe, also wants to make some confidences about his wife, he says that “she just wants to sleep”, and he have to do everything at home, like “cooking, washing, cleaning, go in the supermarket, pay the bills, etc” and while he works here, she is mostly out, “hunting flies in the park or watching operas in the hair-dresser”, and sometimes “making desserts during all night long…” and while she’s doing that desserts, he’s alone in bed looking for bitches in the internet... and on sundays she goes to the church, to the doctor, while he goes to the snooker hall... “and my best adversary there is a butcher, a one-eyed priest…” he says and I hear comments from the boys around helping with the mixer. They also know about these femmes moving through the snooker hall and then, in the meanwhile, they start to argue about the quality of their meat. And by now, my buckets are being filled up, and off I have to go, first through the garage, and then up the metal staircase, enjoying the view, and when I get to the room in construction I find the bricklayer in silence, concentrating on the plumbbob thing, but his assistant, the kid, is now turning to me smiling, because he also have something to say, he also wants to prove some kind of smartness, and so, while wetting the walls he start talking about chickens, eggs and a certain gold shop, but the bricklayer tells him to shut up and I see he don't want to shut up and so, both start arguing whimsically, and then the thing gets more abrupt and they are already throwing stuff onto each other, and now I try to stop them but I also get hit, so, I go down the stairs, and all the others are coming up, and we all bump into each other, and there are a lot of swearing in the middle of all this confusion, and then off I go, coz there’s nothing more to do here. So, as I go through the city, I watch people, from where they are coming, to where they are going, and I also wanna go, somewhere. So, I ended up entering a commercial center. The first floor it's all about mobile phones, computers and techno-ilogic paraphernalia, and I'm quite afraid of all that so quickly I jump on the second floor that is where all the boutiques are, and I go inside some of them, watching women, guys, their indecision about buying this or that item, and me approving or disapproving with expressions, and they coming out of the shops with their packets, controlling the pressure. And again going up. The next floor is all about fast food restaurants. Different kinds of burgers, pizzas with funky names, colorful spaghetti... etc. So, here I watch people  with drowsy faces, eating those things, and I get to understand that, a lot of them don't even finish their plates... So, I stand up and pick some leftovers from here and there... and then the waiter cleaning the tables even offers me some different sauces, personal questions being involved. Then, I  leave this area and come down through the mechanic-staircase. And at the bottom of this staircase, on the ground floor, there is a big fountain ejaculating a sort of dark-silver water and as I go down, I lean against the handrail, staring at the reflexes that run through that yellowish water. And, once I’m down there, I sit on the brim of this same fountain, where other people are already seated, alone, or accompanied with bolt shopping bags... and I sit  between those people, but no one from the sides seems to be interested in doing any sort of eye contact with me when I seat... So, here we are, our 6 backs turned to the jet of water, and the moist coming to caress our nape and scruff... some drops even coming further to land on our face and projection... and then I close my eyes and open them again, and I do this same thing again and again, and as I do it, 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 present himself saying that I make 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, and you three went to have a “ménage à trois” in the city park, was it like that kid?” And so, as the man swallows his gasps, a chubby middle aged woman with bulgy black eyes is already coming by, carrying some bold shopping bags in both hands and straight away, she begins speaking about something she couldn't buy because it was already sold out and the man now, stands up, approaches the woman, and they share some whispered words, and then, there they go, both leaving the fountain together, both swagging, one with a deficiency in the right leg, the other with a deficiency in the left one... both holding the bags on the opposite hand of the affected leg.