is little more than dawn, but the traffic is already intense.
There is often a red traffic light on this road last long and when you have to go to work, you can see.
is being lined up everyone in their car, one by one, only one car for one man.
Hundreds of cars that stop on, snorting in the mist: Then, suddenly, the light turns green and starts accelerating to fast, or, proceeding slowly, as to express the struggle to sustain sleep, boredom, tram tram every day spent on wages.
wages needed to pay all debts, arrears of a life that disassembles itself in the supermarket shelves, in phone shops, buying rather than that other set-top box, to keep junkies images , stereotypes, the false comfort of regression passes for progress.
But sometimes, for some, the gear is broken and the infernal machine stops. Then it becomes a wreck that also annoyed to those who continue to run.
When a homeless man on the edge of a street beggar or just sat shaking is head lice, or play with hunger, you prefer not to see it. This action disgusts us in the depths, but there is always the excuse ready: Do not you look for respect, not to infringe upon their human dignity at the edge of the world. A false piety that exonerates an idiot giddy the other side. That bum tomorrow, we could be us.
We live in a world where there are no certainties, but perhaps we know, there have never been.
We live in a world that can make you switch from one condition the precariousness of ordinary life, the annulment. We live in a world that does not suggest who has the will to do so, only because it has the financial means to do so.
I am still and wait. A figure moves between the row, but I do not distinguish the face for the fog. All of a sudden comes up to me, is a woman of about thirty years. Knocks and I open the window. He handed me a small piece of paper and a ballpoint pen and goes, continues to walk in silence and do the same with the other drivers in a row.
A house has a child, like her husband out of work and debts payable by the our world.
before the light turns green to look back: he knows the time now. Ribussa the windows, some damage something, others curse and return objects other uncomfortable, it is green, start with the warning, the pen and they go happily on their way to the end of waiting.
remains firm in the cold on the curb, it has the blank stare and I do not think the Pens lost, but the child who is waiting anxiously to return to the arms of her mother.
Giordan
... Money makes me afraid. Maybe because we have not really in a mental hospital. When they tried to give it to me out, I did not know what to do, and it badly. But I had many secret desires. For example, a desire to cry, intense, on that note ...
taken from: "The other truth," Alda Merini
the asylum Where is it? Which side of the wall?
Try to go in the asylum of your city and once there, read the inscription above the door 'entry - It says the asylum.
As you read, you're out.
The way we act, our relationship with money, the slavery that we live every day for money, does nothing but increase the wealth of a few jackals on the skin of all.
These jackals are those who govern us, pulling the strings like fire eats with his puppets. They are the ones that if they can see a glimmer of consciousness least popular rebellion of the system, you say you are a destabilizing democracy, an anarcho-insurrectionist.
are the ones that give you work to use you to pay and when no longer needed, you throw away and force you to beg for this is the end of those who fall or are pushed off the train. A fate that it is for everyone, workers, artisans, small entrepreneurs latter, most drugged by the system. Please note that the train runs on a dead end and does not lead to freedom. In the train you do not select by ability, but for stupidity. In the end, only a wall where to stay in the din of plates
Giordan
