NOWHERE - dreaming the homeland

Now, here I go, walking along this narrow road with one floor houses on both sides, each of those houses having a small garden on the front. And, up there on the windows, as I pass by, there are people beating pans and pots, just like a premonition, as if they were waiting for me, but actually, I can see their pans and pots moving on the windows, but not their faces… And thus, in the middle of this garish cortege I follow, happy, analyzing their rhythms, and sometimes, I also hear like muffled screams, callings, voices that are kinda familiar to me, but I can’t really understand anything from what they say, coz, it’s like they are howling, not really speaking, and so, I keep advancing, until that, I see myself in front of this huge lodge door where some young lads are seated on a wall, young lads that are reminiscences from my childhood, I 2  assume, but their faces have changed, this is, I’m not sure who is who by now. And then, as it goes, they are whispering things between them, but, I’m not sure if they are talking about my persona or not. This is, they don't ask me anything, there are only these looks. And me, I’m also not asking anything. I just sit here, on the other side of this wall, opposite to them. And then, strangely, it starts to rain, a soft kind of rain, or maybe it’s not rain, maybe it’s people spitting up, this is, droll falling from the sky, as we used to say when we were kids. But now, I can understand, one of the guys seated on this same wall is actually telling bad stuff about my persona, calling me a wastrel, a lazybones, a cornerman, things like that, and then, they laugh, and I let them laugh… And as it goes, the rain, or the spit, gets heavier and heavier, and more people are coming up with umbrellas and getting stuck at the entrance of the lodge, and so, when I try to help them, I too get stuck in that mess. But from here, I still can see the young lads, the ones that were seated on the wall, they are leaving now, smiling at the situation, a dubious kind of smile, and there they go, making signs with their hands in my direction, signs I can’t really understand. And so, here I’m, turning around this mess of interlocked umbrellas, bumping against village people, trying to get off, but it's impossible, and then, as if automatically, this big door made of wood opens,  and someone or something pull me or push me inside, only me, not the others, and then there is a big boom, the sound of the door closing on my back, and this boom 3 keeps repairing in the background, like cheesy techno music being played far away. And so, here I’m now, inside, still staggering while my eyes are adjusting to the twilight, and just then, I can perceive that the floor is not flat, actually the floor is made of black earth, and it has some bumps here and there… so, as I raise my head, I can perceive that there are almost no people here at the entrance, just a big man stretched against the stone wall, by the door, probably the securityman, looking up, and there is like a strong magnetism that makes me move away from this muscular stone man. So, then, I drag myself into an area where there are some people walking in circles, they approach the big door and they come back here, like if they wanted to leave the place but they couldn’t. Then, I’m trying to move more to the middle zone of the arena, and I have to make a few pushes against some of those figures in order to get through, and so, with this physical contact their dark faces are gaining new expressions, like, if before they were ghosts, now they are becoming more human. And in front of me I see now, a very familiar character, it’s the butter-man, a mad bohemian character from my childhood, and once again, here he is, smoking through the nose and speaking through the elbows, monologues, as usual, he tells his typical interjection: "shoup shoup shoup..." and well, as normal, he pass me the butter as a dude with long dreads is coming against me, back against back, and straight away I pass him that same piece of butter as he says “the grass is always greener on the other side”, what I agree. And after some more turns, a lady with big tits and a fluff comes also against me asking for money, and suddenly I run away from her, passing in-between some people that are wearing big jackets and clocks, even if it is hot here, and I take one4 of this clocks with me, just in case, and move more to the sideways, by the stairs, where I find my old friend Piricas. And so, me and Piricas, we hug each other, with contentment, almost breaking each other's bones. I ask him how he’s going, and straight away, he tells me that he has just escaped from the reformatory, that's what he tells me with his nasal intonation, and as we meet, I promptly introduce him to the butter-man, the two begin some kind of confederation, and then, someone puts a bowl of wine in my hands, and as I drink, this someone says “Do you know why Jay Christ came so late?"; "No idea!"; "Nor me, but before his arrival the cow and the donkey were already waiting for ages…" and I look to the man with a pale expression, and he looks to me with a strange kind of smile, more like a grimace, and then, out of nowhere, we can hear a squeaky laugh romping,  and so, afterwards, I can see a certain figure wrapped in scarves coming from the shallow laterals of this place, and this figure is pushing a shopping trolley full of trash while blowing kisses to everybody in this area here... and so, as he/she approaches, to my surprise I can recognize the personage, it’s Zara, yes Zara from the under-the-bridge encampment we call the Mutter, and, once more, her face is painted like a puppet, but she’s not coming close by, actually she goes towards the toilet entrance, and then, coming from inside the toilet area, I can hear her mad laugher, and then the butter-man also runs into that same toilet… and in the meanwhile, that woman with big tits like melons that were asking for money meets Piricas, my friend, the psychiatric-hospital escapee, and they also move somewhere, together. And I run away from all this, moving more into the middle zone, where there are more people, the well dressed ones… So, I try to stick through this crowd, but it's not easy, because these people here do not want to move, they are dancing very slowly to a quite minimal kind of techno music, and so, some of this mummies even step on me while I try to open my way to the front area, where is a kind of Irish bar, made of black varnished wood. And leaning against the bar, there are some girls, all of them much taller than the men on their back, and there they go with 5 conversations like "the square root of the adjacent collateral must be..." or "the soul of the impubescent system..." or "the disaffection of knowledge that is significant..." or "a bulge in the facts in convergence..."  or "the dualistic and central ideas of..." or "the new powers provided for instance in between the statute…" and such other barbarities the likes. And I guess this is all people connected to the show-business, and those tall girls without enthusiasm, maybe wanna-be models, or perhaps mere presenters of television in quarantine. And so, in the meanwhile, the barman looks at me with that look that I already know, he will give me nothing, because he’s even more bored than all of us. And the music coming from the bar speakers, it makes me remember the bumper-car tracks of my infancy, plus the stupidities generally associated with them. Thus, I try to move more to one of the sides of the bar, looking for something different, because I'm getting all deaf and dumb here. But, when I reach the maids, and ask them for free drinks, they, either do not understand or don't want to understand. So, as I point to the beer machines they turn their heads to other sides and rush to serve other bored customers. But, I don't give up so easily, and so, turning back, I look around to see who can I outrage now. And further there, more to the sideline, I see a lady in a vest dancing awkwardly with two glasses, one in each hand. So, I move to her side and straight off I ask her for a drink, but she confesses, smiling, that she’s actually waiting for her future husband, and whoever takes her drinks will have to marry her. And I agree with that, telling her I wouldn't mind marrying her, but she assures, “I can see that I’m not your type…” and so, I have to move away again, better to leave her alone now… and as I move back, I perceive some guys that are confederating on international football, or something the likes, and I approach them. But as I do it, they seem to get a bit upset when I’m putting myself in the middle of their conversation. Even so, the first thing they do is asking me that perennial question about “my club of election”. And there I go, trying my luck, letting myself be realistic for a while. 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 stripes, the black and whites... And the guys seem to be happy with my comment. They even pay me a drink, a big one, and we even make a toast “to the black and whites”. So, I drink it all in a sudden, because I'm really thirsty, and the guys ask me who I am after all, and I say I'm an actor on a loan escaping from a bad movie in order to find love, something like that, and as I say it they get silent. We all get silent when the word “love” enters in the game and so, I run away to the wall, to the corner, because I can't stand their silence. And so, once I reach that corner, I look in the mirror and I can't see myself, what I see is another familiar face approaching, first a face, then a body dressed in sportive clothes. It’s Mika, and as he approaches he gives me a clap in the back. And I'm very happy to meet him here, I don't know why... but I think I know what he is looking for, and so, instantly, I point to that place where the dude 6 with rastas until the floor is, the one I gave that piece of butter before, but Mika does not show big interest in that matter. And then, for some reason the    conversation      goes      into      that     familiar   story   of   a   bathtub we stole from some kind of posh house, how we pushed it out of the room through a window, and how we made it come down through a fat tree on the side of that same house, and then, how we crossed all the city dragging that same bathtub with us… even taking people inside it, and then, as I think about this, Mika is gone, and so, while I walk around looking for him, at some point I find myself at the top of a the spiral staircase and down I go... around... but before reach the bottom I stop... trying to spot any familiar face in this kind of manifestation/performance that is going on here. But actually, I can't recognise any faces, coz some have blinds on their eyes and they twirl around themselves screaming stuff related to the word CRISIS. Stuff like "Long live to the crisis” they say, in unison “the crisis is friendly, the crisis is great... the crisis was already here when we came... the crisis is primordial..." And they keep saying these things while turning and turning and going against each other. “Long live the crisis, love the crisis, live the crisis, trust the crisis... because the crisis is the challenge of nature itself…” And now yes, I go down trying to pass unseen, but it's impossible, this is, promptly they come to me, involving me in their performance,  “long live to the crisis, because from the crisis comes the 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 main energy of the universe itself... the energy contains the lizard's tail... in the snake's tongue... in the name of the father, in the name the untie, in the name of the son of a bitch, in the name of all the siamese daughters, in the name of the holy spirit in quarantine, long live the to the CRISIS... let's dig our fertile lands... let's love this CRISIS now... let’s hug the unknown". And finally, when I reach the other side of this CRISIS room, I enter a smaller room where some youngsters, girls and boys, are seated on the floor in a circle, and I sit by their side. One turns to me and says "Close your eyes bro, and you will see, the panic turning into mint, you know that we are the matter yield by the navel… you know this ventricles here carrie only love and nothing more, we are doomed to give and to receive and all this illusion is real, everything is real, we are more real than the conception of reality.” And then, another guy, like in some kind of poetry competition, says something like “through the ruins of the sacred stroll, the circulation may become slow and heavy as the irony falls into the gutter... And there are sirens that never stop... day and night a permanent pulsar... a reason that deviates freedom... and it's always a good time to leave... being in the shadow creates worms, and worms are bad advisors, they have a crush on philosophy and sometimes they spit flames in your face...”. And after this the conversation changes into the money subject, futurology and control...