London for ever - 34

 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...