The stuff of dreams - Monique Gun - "Spiral invisible
have Alba, I have forty-five, fifteen working as an architect in a group practice. I live alone, no, with a budgie on the top floor of an old building downtown.
I had a rich social life, meetings between frivolous and important meetings. Normally, up to two years ago.
I started with two bus tickets to go and return, reported the date of the day I met him.
inside a pastry shop, crammed with people, I loved it even before he could ask to sit at my table with a croissant and a cappuccino. We exchanged a few words. The
I glued my eyes on him, as the most shameless of courtesans, regardless of his years at least. Him with the smile of children playing, after less than an hour I was pushed into a doorway, taking expert, without any embarrassment.
I had played with care, as you would a porcelain doll, dismissed with a tender kiss on the tip of the nose and leaving a note in his hands: his phone number. As a teenager I was enchanted path flying the long way home, I never had happened.
I had thrown on the couch, curled up, decided to keep all the ecstasy, the unbelievable. Did not wish to bathe or eat.
I just wanted to keep. I was unable to separate myself from that clash sparks whose providential I had entered in the flesh.
so I spent an afternoon and night unable to move, to find a solution. Then the idea: I have sealed in clear plastic bags inside the clothes I wore, numbered. Panties and bra bring the number one and two.
have told me this: just a game, the collection. Of course I have not washed them and I never made.
The matter now has become cumbersome. Each time was a new lipstick, a perfume, a pair of socks, shoes and more ... Need to amaze me, to cover my rust, but his eyes went immediately over to cannibals, proceed regardless.
I hated the blatant indifference to my wasteful, but I could not do without his assaults. I was the booty, he is the bandit.
Dirt bandit.
repulsive for its hygiene Spartan served by thousands of outdoor work. When marked with black nail points that I tried the scent of talcum powder in my respectable lady, totally at the mercy of opposing forces. But the desire broke all reasoning.
I know, it was the fault of that look grainy, innocent, in which confused me sinking in a spiral of evil.
bought some things for him of course, to remind him that I appreciated that I wanted. Perhaps only to repay him for his being in excess. Licked.
was a constantly licked from the looks of women, though.
Despite, or in any window display I could never choose it.
hair I kept them after a few meetings in envelopes with stamps, long, golden, thick as fusilli. Appetite. I could not
separami from skin sauce that I penetrated to the throat. One day I found myself in the bathroom and, with a quick gesture language of lizard, I stuck my hand into the water - catching the condom he had used - I have heard that the game took me. I wrapped in a piece of toilet paper and I have hidden in her purse and placed it in the box. Then, I sensed the danger. Like a magpie I seized a piece of fingernail or hair remained between the sheets, but also set aside the bills sip with the layout of our telephone conversations. The relics
all there, well preserved, available to testify.
comforted me when he was away fishing, in a bar or in the arms of others. At first I did not care. I called, he would come. He spoke little but at least his hands were so able to explore simultaneously all my territories.
gives itself with the instinct of a predator, always with that smile, lively little boy with primitive gestures, concentrated sull'attimo.
No promises.
Over time, these fleeting encounters - between strangers and different - not enough for me anymore. I pretended to be content. But in that silence that I belonged celavo jealousy and resentment inside.
My goal was not to lose, clinging slowly in a transparent texture.
I began to weave a golden lasso in the first meetings rarely - trusting in the rising tension of waiting - then a first holiday for two. After a year of fleeting encounters: with every day! So triumph, victorious, won on that everyday.
We can defy time. Overbearing feelings emerge huddled with their claims, now you're mine! Confident of victory, check the impetuous Marzia seized - that by six feet - which asks, demands, demands ... I break the spell and while it discovers that they really are, a woman madly in love with that show on his behalf, is separated discreet. On tiptoe. He saw the move but are unable to recover, even forcing myself. He regained the silence but he, perhaps, that intuition in the affected animal walks away. Start chasing him, study strategies for riacchiapparlo, nothing. Then the pieces, the vomit on me all my anger in the crowd, slipping eroded under his eye of compassion.
I get home destroyed, as if I had a hyena heartbreaking. I take the relics and place them inside two bags per order. Seal everything with duct tape, three rolls of the wrapping.
Closed. Finished.
throw scissors, to remove the temptation to reopen, to begin again. Then go to the kitchen exhaust. I need to drink something, to recover.
knife.
I see him there, leaning on the edge of the basin, long, shiny: how could I forget. Pregnant with his hands, used to cut a watermelon - sucked together - where I keep the seeds. It's a sign.
I took it and went out. I walked like a robot to the pier. When I was close to me it was natural to stick in your belly. With all my affection. It was like punching the balloon to a spoiled child and spiteful.
finally free from the spell.
dismay and terror on her face showed me what he really was: a stupid man who afraid to die.
Now I'm here like you. Employee. Addicted. Consumed. Abstinent. In a therapeutic group of alcoholics, smokers, drug addicts, with the only peculiarity of myself enslaved to a substance but not a man. Sick of that substance or maybe just my obsession.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
How Long Staph Infection Last
Matter Dream - Roger Zanin - "The dream material"
What was that, that time, which prevented the old Uncle Karl (Marx, I mean) you're right? Remember those things like alienation, liberation, revolution? Perhaps his was an excess of materialism?
Nah, just the opposite: in fact he stopped to historical materialism and did not have the courage to go further, to arrive so the more rigorous and final "dream material".
You say: "Hey, it should 'calm down to put together words that pull in opposite directions. If you talk about on talk of reality, tangible, and that reality is opposed to the dream itself, which is illusion, fiction, nothing. "
But are we really sure about this?
Uncle Karl said that the material facts of which we are all called "social relations of production", which means, in short, that is the economy that makes the world go round, and inside this world we women and men to pursue the true raw material of all, that is vulgar and mean what we call "money". Got
perhaps the dreams of all this?
You will say that no, and instead here's the catch.
All men give their lives in search of the base money for what?
to meet their own needs, of course!
What needs? Something to eat, a rag to cover themselves, things like that?
Do you remember that passage of the Gospel [Matthew, 5, 26-29], which says: "Look at the birds of the air do not sow or reap, nor gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. (...) And why take ye thought for raiment? Observe how the lilies of the field do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of them. "? He
Bravo! - You might say. This is poetry, if badassimo literally what He said, we still Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. But we must grow and to do this we must always create new needs.
But that is precisely what has cheated Uncle Karl, one not content to satisfy those who are his needs "necessary" to free it the rest of their lives from the requirements, from work, dependence on, chasing the other hand needs always new, to become a compulsive consumer. This is the real engine of the economy lead to ever new needs! That is to induce dreams, always different, to be implemented as soon as possible in increasingly fabulous shopping malls - so forgetting, among other things, to make a social revolution, which has become a dream of a third category.
This is also the essence of what we call the civilization of communication, our civilization. The Communication truth, falsity and fiction intertwine inextricably. Not understanding this means not understand how going on the world in which we live.
To illustrate, I draw from a major newspaper some time ago: "The man who turns everything on television is able to reduce the political talk shows and institutions, the leadership jokes in international competitions, the government in a festival, the old questions in a quiz, even earthquakes in a set. Now plans to make the election of the President of the Republic as much fun as Big Brother, perhaps due to remote voting from home. But in the meantime we need to see what is holding the trick. "[Curzio Maltese, La Repubblica, 21.3.2010, p. 35] How
holds the trick? But what are we talking about? This is a man who makes the good and the bad weather for over 15 years!
We call it "trick"? This however, is the true stuff of dreams, will also be an illusion, but this is what moves the blades of the large mill that we are all brought around.
Now, however, the real problem of the dream material is: why, even in the dream, I happen to live increasingly in a nightmare, or at least have the impression of having been cheated? Is there anyone who can tell me how to make a revolution dream? No, not for anything else, it's just that I would like to talk with Uncle Karl - and, given that there are, indeed, even his uncle Sigmund.
What was that, that time, which prevented the old Uncle Karl (Marx, I mean) you're right? Remember those things like alienation, liberation, revolution? Perhaps his was an excess of materialism?
Nah, just the opposite: in fact he stopped to historical materialism and did not have the courage to go further, to arrive so the more rigorous and final "dream material".
You say: "Hey, it should 'calm down to put together words that pull in opposite directions. If you talk about on talk of reality, tangible, and that reality is opposed to the dream itself, which is illusion, fiction, nothing. "
But are we really sure about this?
Uncle Karl said that the material facts of which we are all called "social relations of production", which means, in short, that is the economy that makes the world go round, and inside this world we women and men to pursue the true raw material of all, that is vulgar and mean what we call "money". Got
perhaps the dreams of all this?
You will say that no, and instead here's the catch.
All men give their lives in search of the base money for what?
to meet their own needs, of course!
What needs? Something to eat, a rag to cover themselves, things like that?
Do you remember that passage of the Gospel [Matthew, 5, 26-29], which says: "Look at the birds of the air do not sow or reap, nor gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. (...) And why take ye thought for raiment? Observe how the lilies of the field do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of them. "? He
Bravo! - You might say. This is poetry, if badassimo literally what He said, we still Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. But we must grow and to do this we must always create new needs.
But that is precisely what has cheated Uncle Karl, one not content to satisfy those who are his needs "necessary" to free it the rest of their lives from the requirements, from work, dependence on, chasing the other hand needs always new, to become a compulsive consumer. This is the real engine of the economy lead to ever new needs! That is to induce dreams, always different, to be implemented as soon as possible in increasingly fabulous shopping malls - so forgetting, among other things, to make a social revolution, which has become a dream of a third category.
This is also the essence of what we call the civilization of communication, our civilization. The Communication truth, falsity and fiction intertwine inextricably. Not understanding this means not understand how going on the world in which we live.
To illustrate, I draw from a major newspaper some time ago: "The man who turns everything on television is able to reduce the political talk shows and institutions, the leadership jokes in international competitions, the government in a festival, the old questions in a quiz, even earthquakes in a set. Now plans to make the election of the President of the Republic as much fun as Big Brother, perhaps due to remote voting from home. But in the meantime we need to see what is holding the trick. "[Curzio Maltese, La Repubblica, 21.3.2010, p. 35] How
holds the trick? But what are we talking about? This is a man who makes the good and the bad weather for over 15 years!
We call it "trick"? This however, is the true stuff of dreams, will also be an illusion, but this is what moves the blades of the large mill that we are all brought around.
Now, however, the real problem of the dream material is: why, even in the dream, I happen to live increasingly in a nightmare, or at least have the impression of having been cheated? Is there anyone who can tell me how to make a revolution dream? No, not for anything else, it's just that I would like to talk with Uncle Karl - and, given that there are, indeed, even his uncle Sigmund.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
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