I try to totally
concentrate on the discussion.
I say that I no longer I’m expecting anything good from Italian politicians, after
just over a century of mismanagement, since political unity, which has not followed any
social unity. Touching obviously dear themes to Giampiero.
“Italy is a bad mosaic of peoples with too many
problems to be treated with the same medicine” – he replies to me – “ Only the worker’s movement can succeed uniting these different people, giving them a strong identity to join together like the fingers of a hand!!
"- he concludes closing his right hand in a tight fist.
I tell him that I do not longer believe in the workers' movement; neither I longer believe in the model of state
organization inherited by the French Revolution, with tired rites of indirect
representative democracy ...
- "You're wrong to take the French Revolution as
a point of reference. The real, unique revolution from which the talk is, is
the revolution ......... "
-" Revolution? On Saturday night all the serious
speeches are banned, "- Michelle says cheerfully -" “Look at what
Marcus gave me! "- she says showing us a black ball she holds between her index and the thumb. "" Do you want
to roll it? "She turns to me.
- "No, I think I’ll do it" - offers
Giampiero promptly. - By the way, who was that guy? "He continues with
indifferent air, while already manages with some cigarette’s papers beneath the table in order to arm a joint for
the Michelle’s smoke.
- "He's a good customer of mines," replies Michelle,
with a strange air. "He comes from
Rotterdam, but he is living from many
years here in London. I met him at Camden Lock where he handles an
"stall" of second hand clothing with some of his English members. He’s
a bit crazy or at least an original one: he's always stoned as hell, morning to
night, because, he says, he believes in smoking, as a flag of peace and
brotherhood among young people! "
- "Bullshit," said Giampiero in a caustic
tone, "I've met smokers who were total assholes, and I'm not even okay
with all the big business that's made of smoke ..."
- "Well, as long as it remains illegal, trade is
lucrative; Especially for big dealers who do not even pay taxes on it; It would
be enough to legalize it. It almost seems that politicians are afraid of the
spread of smoke ...... "- I say to dampen the tone of the discussion
between the two.
- "But they do not seem to have the same approach
to heroine," Giampiero says, remembering perhaps the lost friends on that
street. - " Do you know Michelle what Pino writes from Italy? When the social
tension grows, in Italy smoke disappears from the streets and only heroin is
found, do you know? But nobody seems to get to point out that with the heroine they just
want to destroy us? Do you light it up? "He asks me in a more relaxed
tone, asking me to light the joint up.
- "It's up to Michelle, really," I say,
passing by, after burning its tip with
the lighter.
Martine in the meantime asks Michelle if she
understands the topic of the discussion and, after explaining it, says that
many rock motion representatives have been mysteriously torn from heroin and
thrown down the names of Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison.
she also adds that she is concerned about the
apparently very close relationship between rock movement, music, artists, fans
and drugs, all the drugs, from the lightest to the heaviest and most dangerous
ones.
Meanwhile the "joint" goes turning around.
The dense buzz in the room is interrupted by laughs and laughter, while a thick
smoke hood comes from the floor below to the ceiling, becoming more and more
condensed.
While the concert had resumed its rhythm, with some
skillful voice variation of the solo voice, I suddenly realized that my throat is
dry and my mouth mingled to the point that almost I cannot speak, while at the
same time I notice that our beers were still intact on the table in front of
us.
I drink directly from the bottle a long haul of
Carlsberg Special Brew. I feel that cool liquid in my mouth, coming down my
throat, I mentally follow its way to the
stomach and from there spreading with heat; I think of small rivers when they
enter the streams and lakes; from the
great rivers that are slow but inesorable in the seas and seas all connected to
the oceans, as a single large stream of energy, wrapped in impenetrable cosmic
synergies; even the conductors of our blood, from the smallest vessels to
the largest arteries, converge into a single center; and if our bodies have been
pulsating in the air for millennia, interacting through immaterial life-force
contacts, sometimes conflicting and opposed but always guided in one direction; if our brain contains our present together with the past, and who knows,
perhaps even in the future, then where is the center of the universe? The
pulsating heart of humanity? The center of Everything Buddha was looking for in
the tortuous paths of the mind?
Was this what my brothers were looking for, fleeing
the materialties of the West, on the uncertain paths of the East? But why look
for it with the deception of acids, with the illusion of opium? Why with the
heroine? And if the East, for millennia has absorbed the devastating blow of
opium, the most inexperienced and weak civilization of the West, will survive
the shots of its most hallucinating and deadly essences?
Take me away, friends,
but guide me, do not miss me, love me, as a father loves his prodding son,
because I want a dream of sweet awakening, a hope that leads to truth, a
journey that has its return to the origin of life .
34...to be continued...
34...to be continued...
