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Faithful to the Line

The item was circulating for a while '. But strangely silent. There almost ashamed to say it clearly. Even the news, even those driven by gossip, not even those of the dog that did 300Km to find his mistress have spoken. The silence, dumb and scary as a black plague that circulated by word of mouth. And yet it success.

A story so strange as to appear real. Yet it is not for me. I know, I, I've always been a man of science, I, a man loyal to realism, to reason, the certainty, to the explanation ... materialist and atheist. And now I find myself at the mercy of this spell, driven by some kind of hidden strength in going to discover, watch more closely this strange phenomenon of which all speak quietly anxious. Perhaps it is my faith in reason to push. My faith.

I spent the exit of Bologna. From Radio London Calling by The Clash. I'm tense. This does not please me at all and I wonder why the editors of the newspaper sent me just for this sort of thing. The know what I think. This kind of rubbish then, it is not from them. Yes, the problem is that it does not seem rubbish, it seems the usual stuff, I know, I know stuff is crazy, but I do not even know this story. This story.

Ore 12.23. Arrival in the village. 2000 souls. 2015 bodies. The remaining 15 say they have played for the soul Karina. A Russian who moved here after the collapse of the Wall. Or rather, she says, after the collapse of the USSR. But it is the same. Karina rounded off its revenue. Also in his apartment. Between a picture of Lenin and a companion of Saint Nicholas. But, as she said, is the same. Karina worked for free but when it came to poor bastards. He told them: Now I'll explain what socialism. And once out of there was to be bet for those who had voted.

Ore 12.34. Here I am this is the place. It's here. Around me a crowd of crazies. Of every kind. They start kicking, flying insults and fights. Faithful of the various congregations are gathered here to watch the event. We are everyone, male or who ever can imagine. There were 15 training Trotskyites, 11 Marxist-Leninist-Stalinist Maoist including 7, 3 and only Stalin only a Maoist. There were the Communists of the new millennium, the Marxist Catholics, Guevara, the Castro, the Third World, feminists, Marxists, Gramsci, the Luxemburg, and many acronyms scattered. Then there were the Socialists, the Social Democrats, the Reformers Socialists, the Social Revolutionaries, and even a symbol of unknown Marxists right. It was a Babel. It was hell.

At one point he approached this sort of guru. He was a boy of 22 years, which no one would give a penny. He was dressed in jeans, a black shirt and Converse of Dream Theater. He went silent for sure for a moment and raised his hand to attract the attention of all. The crowd stopped suddenly at war, all holding out the look at the boy. He began: care companions and dear friends gathered here / i, are about to witness a unique revelation. Many of you will probably be full of doubt and skepticism, but have faith. The Master spoke to me here on this rock from which now I'm talking about. Now a week ago and told me that you gather from all over the world. She said so, here called all those who still refer to my name and portals in this place in a week and reappear at the same time I'll tell them the great secret. Well

the apparition took place at 12.45 and there is only a minute. For this go down and let the teacher appears to speak.

The crowd fell silent. There were those who began to kneel, to those who cry and pray, some to tear their clothes off. At 12:45 a punctual light blinded everyone. From that light came slowly, its silhouette. Unbelievable. It can not be true and yet it was there. It is here in front of my eyes. Karl Marx. The crowd

increasingly incredulous and dumbfounded not knowing what to do, someone speaks of a closed fist, but Marx calmed them all with a smile. And then he began: Comrades come here, appears to you that ye may know from my living words the great secret. I've found in life to posterity the great secret of the machine that is more evil and destructive man has ever created: capitalism. I have found for you alienating its intrinsic mechanisms, its continued exploitation, its eternal contradictions. I have also explained the ultimate goal of the working class, revolutionary force, the role of the party organization of the working class. I've told finally Workers of the world unite! But you only answer you have divided into a thousand sects, declare their faith in this or that leader in relation to his thought, and even this is enough. You have created the church in my honor, rather than the liberation of the proletariat. Just as the church created the clergy, rather than the liberation of souls. Then you want to know something. You are idiots. Here's what you are.

The crowd began to rumble inside the first, he felt they say is true is true. The fault lies with the Stalinists, obsessed with the cult of personality, and then: No you are traitors Trotskyites, and you then Social Fascists, that you are, revisionists! Shooting the crowd to rage, fights to create one another. As long as Marx shouted angrily: dickhead! the crowd stood still turned towards the rock and saw the Master with eyes of fire watch Saving Silverman. The crowd began to become exhausted clash against him rather than herself. But who the hell are you? eh? Who are you? You're just a crook, you're a capitalist spy that you're here, get away! Objects began to fly towards the rock, verses insulting to the Master.

Marx disappeared into tears. While the crowd was still thrashing and beating each other to just off the small boy listened with his early twenties I-Pod a piece of Napalm Death, and with his hands quickly mimicked the sound of drums.

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If I were I Dream

looked bent on the cliff a quarter of a worm that moved as he was impaled on the hook. A can of worms that was bloodied by a column of flies feasted. And I wondered: is that all the world? A huge feast? And this life eaten by worms, flies, baits that choke fish, so people who die by chance after spending their lives watching TV or going to work, or to please their bosses or their wives, or do gardening. Or simply abused throughout their lives. A useless nonsense dance where blood and sperm are mixed repeatedly without end. It was then that arose the fateful question. Without the smell of the church, what of the ego. What of my once I die? I mean, trying not to fall into the trap comforting the soul. If everything is organic then there should be I, but only human, only a whole without ego. But no, end up in this farce without a sense I have that I makes me subject. And once dead, then what sense does it have had this or against this latest mockery of life. Might as well let us be born without a global bodies of a whole without subjectivity. Why Me? Then the worm he's got the ego? And if that is the sense that we have? What is the point I have to be a worm wrapped, cut into small pieces and used as bait? He probably has not even the perception of being an ego, perhaps his brain structure is not capable of an ego, so maybe the ego is only a distortion of human brain structures with more developed brain. Another mockery of life, which tells us you exist, no nonsense, just you, with your self and everything around. And so one day, without sense. You will die. Just before your self.

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I remember now. It was a dream. A dream that I often did as a child, I was in a deserted mall. Surrounded by shelves full of shiny packaging beautiful, shimmering. An explosion of colors infinite, everywhere I turned. I ran wildly into the infinite space without ever again find an exit or entrance. I threw myself on the shelves and suddenly began to discard those shiny packages, but inside there are other packages and more packages and parcels, as in a matriosca. Inside there was nothing. I walked away disappointed and confused to some output but I still find it not so fallen to the ground in despair. I looked up and this huge shopping mall desert was homeless. Then slowly I began to rise slowly, swaying in the mall, not knowing to check the route, at the mercy of external forces and winds. I left the center. The surrounding city it is a pile of rubble. The world is finite and for some strange reason I was alive just me. In the shopping center. I close my eyes and suddenly I find myself in a dark room. I see across the room a fire and all around a strange smell of burning spice, a haunting music fills the place of anguish, like a constant equal to lament himself. I try to get up but I can not and suddenly I will pour out of a colored mask and frightening. From behind a voice whispers to me. Do not watch the fire. Concentrate on the light. Then suddenly I woke up. Here for a long time I wondered what that dream meant. What I met on time every month. One day towards the 10 years he stopped to visit me. At the last apparition Form I repeated, not watching the fire. Concentrate on the light. He gave me a pat on his face. A tear began to flow from his mask and then added. Now it's up to you. Remember that. Then he started to take off his mask and suddenly I found myself immersed in a bath in red water. From the faucet drip slowly tears of blood. A sheet in the bottom of the tank. I grab it. Not God but us. We do not but You. You do not, but the Whole. I woke up with this image. Then, gradually, over time I began to forget these memories. Until now. Sitting here watching TV in the dark room to this prison, I watch impassively the election results. The president's party had won Bislosco everywhere and hordes of angry mob rose the sky's the leader. A moment after the presentation of Tg is connected with another left that talks about the great victory, that of the President of the region Turbinola Frisell. Leader of the party opponent Bisolosco. Is carried in triumph as the new savior against the devil Bisolosco. They appear in every corner logos and trademarks bearing the name of Turbinola, a journalist and even showed a line of underwear in his honor. You so I came back to that dream. The words of the form: Do not watch the fire. Focus on luce.Ci think about and understand. I walk over to the bars and the jailer brings me to the Bible that I had asked. The comrades had to leave there in the coded message. Page 24. I read the underlined words: No God but us. We do not but You. Everything but You Do not. Now everything is finally clear.

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The look of the feet

The toes stuck. Unroll my socks faded. I look straight in front of me. The blank white wall that looks like a Swiss watch stories and images unfold before her. Some black spots there on the edges indicate their age, no longer young. His head falls to my feet now finally breathe the light while sprawled in front of the infinite space. My walks are getting longer. My goals ever remote. Now here in my childhood bedroom watching in amazement my suitcase too exhausted. Also experienced a thousand trips, of infinite languages, excessive odors. Looks sprinkled with centuries that question my world. Outerspace, new geometries, altered vision. The tremors of a thousand places resound in my head without goal, without any home. Crossed by the din of the centuries that run, the people that chase, the dance crowds of the revolution of the Earth. Two years since returning. Two years away. Two years out. Two years walking here and there. Two years running away, running away in search of something. Maybe my eyes. At 12.00 am I get up shooting from my childhood bedroom, while around me seems to be changed nothing, two, four or ten years. I went home, woke up from a night of travel. I go out, walk up surrounded by the sun and the freshness of spring, the faces of this land, from the greetings of the same, those who view me from growing, the world was still here, still had the fruit in the house, holding the newspaper, without The square where the elderly gentlemen seated at benches, without the association fighters, holding the bar of the course, without the midweek market, without the guys who take the train to school. I am heartened to find everything in place, I can reassure the save something, I could find when I was upset here in my womb. The angular lines of the old farmers. In the rough road. Through the center and look ecstatic, perhaps for the first time I admire the wonderful times, wonderful palaces, hot chianche, the medieval lanes, the stone walls of the campaign fills my soul, the huge expanses of land, prickly pears, olive trees, daisies in bloom. And the adage in bicycle path between the dirt roads. Here is my journey, here's my goal, here's what I tried running away from something, here are my eyes, my new eyes. My new earth. Only now do I appreciate it. Only now, but my alien love you. I recognize you.