It 's been over a year, and I would not be realized.
Thoughts travel at the speed of light, time dilates and becomes an impossible task to take account of a mind sublunary.
Have a little patience, because history is about to end.
I'm too tired to write a summary, it is better to publish the material as I wrote in these long months.
Following are my memories of March 2007, I divided into parts to avoid creating a tangle of events and stories.
Some said that even the bad luck gets tired in the long run.
I do not know if I believe anymore.
Good reading.
FROM MY MEMORIES - March 2007 - Part
literary prizes, you know, are half a farce.
are all the more important, the more they are architected and operated.
Pull the wires of the game there are editors, who decide everything about the participants and winners in perfect optical market.
is the marketing, baby.
have money, bucks, cash. There is nothing to do.
is why we sit here to watch the staging of the new literary prize created by the City Council of my fantastic city is quite unnerving.
The Boss has already told me who wins, removing all the suspense and making appropriate hence by alienating the whole ceremony.
him, the boss is not sitting with me, but leans heavily on his fat ass fake red velvet chairs in the front row. It is still a publisher, for that matter.
But I am in the twentieth row that I try not to fall asleep in a presentation to another.
"Our" Spring Sterile came a whisker away from the podium and to us this result is enough.
If we consider that the novel is mediocre, I might get to say that I and the Big Boss this time we made a masterpiece of promotion, almost like the Jehovah's Witnesses with their brochures and pamphlets.
However, knowing now the fate of our book makes even my boring morning, bringing my body to the brink of a crisis of sudden sleep. I have to fight Morpheus
at all costs, because if I come again caught sleeping at a premium or a submission, is the good time that I lose my place.
To my left is Silvia, the author of Spring Sterile, talented girl, for God's sake, but as boring as his pants ribbed brown (because the writers always have to dress up as writers? Sweater not too challenging, maybe some 'crumpled corduroy trousers and scarf still around her neck, even if they were to be in Death Valley in the middle of July).
To my right, for Fortunately, Alberto sits, an old college friend and tireless sparacazzate gun.
is thanks to the stories of Alberto-and-three cafes that I can remain in a state more or less decent, if you ignore the dark circles that gradually expand, taking over the rest of the face. As I said last
aspiring writer who is fucked, my mind wanders through the hilarity of the words of my friend and the weight of those of the presenter of the event. I try to imagine
Alberto cunnilingus and spends himself in a sinking between the legs of a sexy young blonde, but the funny scene is interrupted by my conscience, which, coming back to me suddenly reminds me that it is only the fruit of the visionary mind of a cacciaballe.
This is the ugly of the bales, then the fact that one does not believe it.
Yet it would be so nice if all those stories were true: fucking, drunk women, models under the desk, fisting the wife of the head while he is in the other room.
Alberto is a short dick, but also a piece of bread, delicious, a true friend.
And then, not cheap, keeps me awake until the end of the award.
A win is a young writer Medeghino Luke, with his first film, "The face of my mother."
is a good book, all dedicated to his mother and that if the disease is devoured.
In some places it is terribly boring, but it is well written, moves and has a very large pool of potential readers.
After he deserves it, even though Spring Sterile is probably more inspired by a pen, as too prone to boredom.
Patience, it will be for next time, I worry for now just go home and get some sleep ', as they are exhausted from lack of sleep due to headaches in this period was made under a boxer pissed last round.
The Boss walked past me, smiles and is all red in the face to appear discolored his crimson tie, I trim a pat on the shoulder and swinging between people and the seats went to the open air.
Given the temperature of the theater, including Alberto says goodbye: "We feel one of these nights, maybe do a beer on the ships."
"Great," I reply.
stuck in traffic, looking in vain for the quickest way to get home to Sylvia, meanwhile, which speaks to me of how outrageous that literary prizes are won only by the publishers stronger.
"It's marketing, baby" ... I try to explain it but it seems not to understand.
Maybe it's a bit 'wound, a little' disappointed. It has every reason, poor Sylvia. She dresses like a professor of physics but it is always a creature with a heart.
I let it be, does not deserve my lessons to the world, at least not today.
thus arrives at the destination, passing and greeting my allotment home.
Upon entering the hallway I walk fast, I go down to the kitchen and open the refrigerator looking for something to drink. All that coffee I kneaded her mouth.
There is only water, but not a bad thing.
raised his head and sticking to start drinking bottle, carbon dioxide tickles my throat and I puffed a bit 'cheeks.
I stand motionless, his mouth still full of ice water to such an extent that it created a slight pain in your teeth.
are in a kind of catatonic state, as bewildered.
My eyes, however, move and scrutinize the objects on the table, house keys, car keys, a badge with a photo of me faded, blackened the bowl with a banana and a dried apple, mail a few weeks.
I close the refrigerator door, I support the water bottle on the table and sits in front of the small, untidy stack of envelopes.
bills and advertising, is not much between the mail, usually.
I open the envelope on which stands the logo of the telecommunications company that manages unfortunately my phone and try to understand why every two months, the rate seems to increase.
do not understand, then I give up and let the prospect of my account on the table to keep company with rotten fruit.
The rest of the throw.
I return the bottle and I get closer to the living room drinking another sip.
turn on my computer and I start the player, selecting a disc at random.
I lie on the couch without turning on the light and TV on the Radio fill the room with their music.
close my eyes and start to sleep almost immediately, I feel your toes warm you up while the music gently pushes me out of consciousness.
Upon awakening I think I closed my eyes for a few minutes, but I realize the temperature of the water that I probably slept for over an hour, because "Return to Cookie Mountain" is to be at least the second round.
Lying on the right side, I can see the corner of a red flashing light, I swear, I've seen in years.
I wonder who still has the courage to leave voice messages. There are
SMS, is the first thing that comes to mind.
When I do not think even the fact that callers may not have my mobile number.
The only thing that turns me on the head, which makes room in the soft confusion of awakening, is the music that has spread during sleep in my ear.
I get up and close the player, stop playing by Kyp Malone and associates.
Then I look at the screen and into the bottom right are two issues that I bring excitement, I must go to dinner with Claudia and Julia, and I have to do in 15 minutes.
I'm late, as usual, so I carry out at warp speed the following activities:
_ I light a cigarette.
_ I walk home rubbing his head and stumbling against any object while trying to retrieve some clothes that look right.
_ I open the tap and throw me in there first to probe the temperature with his hand, causing burns to spread all over the body.
_ I put clothes, hat and shoes, take the keys and turn off the lights.
_ go down the stairs.
_ blasphemy. _
climb the stairs.
_ Back at home, this time take their wallets, back down the stairs.
_ I light a cigarette. When you finally arrive at
local, my delay is about 26 minutes.
Claudio Giulia are smoking and leaning on the window of the room, close to fit in hot halogen light cone.
Their faces are relaxed, is ultimately a good time, would not be able to get angry about a delay so innocent. Also because now-hopefully-they know me and are therefore aware of the fact that punctuality is a skill that I have not (such as plastic caps on screw threads in metal, but that's another story).
greet me, they are happy to see me, because last time we had Difficulties in a bit and then 'we missed.
Claudio is my best friend, known him for far as it goes my memory. If I think of memories of my past, he was there, was there with me.
is an architect who divides his time between studying and classes at the Polytechnic, where he teaches a course on "not-so-3D thing." It must also be good at his job, so that it is overloaded to the point of having difficulty in finding time to eat, I always tell him, I one day will die of hunger and find it leaning on its projects and has already took the form of a huge prune.
work at hand, Claudio is my companion of raids, of drunkenness, and harassment of restless nights, but at the same time, it is also-with-Giulia my confidant.
Sometimes I think nights like this, where we are at dinner the three of us as if we were a family and have become a ritual in which I confess opening me completely in the hope of being enlightened by a board of two, which, in my eyes, are more or less the perfect couple and then they're always right.
Giulia is the opposite of Claudio, if my friend is always busy, rushed and messed up in every way, his better half is a living example that the doctrine of Zen works without a doubt.
The calm person, really, is always in control. With his nose in the air, his little body lean, his brown hair and his friendly smile. With her is always so good, the problems are resolved, decisions are taken without pain and defeats are the only reason for a new laugh. I love it, I do not know I'd do without her, is like a sister.
To be honest it has two big balls, since to live with Claudio takes considerable courage, my friend, in addition to live with the pace that humans Chinese are unsustainable, it is far from a person complies with the social fabric. I'd call the sui generis right to say that is a fucking madman. Eccentric, hyperactive, loud, shameless some, brash, gruff and materialistic. On the face may seem like the asshole of the earth as a human being, but knowing him, you find that it is only a shell, a shield, and that in fact is a person with a huge heart.
course, hates priests, communists, fascists, clubbers, those who go to community centers, those who vote for Berlusconi, left those who vote, those who think that the left still exists, those who run the city, those who on bicycles, those who do not pass on the strips (I said it was a pirate of the road, no?), those that cross the stripes, the upper ones, low ones, fat ones, and those bastards.
Here, we understand in part where it comes from my infinite esteem for Giulia.
What a woman! the only one who can keep it at bay. The a smile, a phrase, a hand shake and he calms down. I had one myself, a Giulia ...
However, when they see me coming greet me with a smile, let me weigh without delay. Indeed, Giulia me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek I pop, while Claudio, ok, he maybe a little 'blasphemy and say hello to me.
entering the room I see the pseudo-Aztec masks that I'm going to eat bad Mexican food not just the cost negligible.
The real drama, however, concerns the beverage: Miller. Porco Christ. There
we adapt, because the warmth of the company is likely to make me forget the soapy foam that one of the worst beers in the world can be when it mixes with spicy foods. While
anesthetize our mouth with all kinds of chili existing, start talking about all of this and that, as they say. After a few urban adventure
Claudio (lite with the sisters at the traffic lights included) and some anecdote of Julia, that's part of the third degree about my life.
ask me how I was doing, if by chance I found the girl, because I am worried that I'm always alone.
I tell them-as if he did not know-that alone I'm fine, I do not feel not need another person to live better and that is why I do not have a companion for years.
Of course, some friends every now and keeps me company, it helps me to not drown myself in, but are too cowardly or too impatient to create something lasting. Giulia
always accuses me of not having enough sensitivity to figure out what I want.
Perhaps he's right, Julia is rarely wrong.
Then comes the question that makes me tremble
"And that girl you met at the Lips?"
Me: "What girl?" I exclaim as I try to watch nothing but the bottom of my glass amber.
Giulia: "Come on, do not the shit, what did you bring home and that she's gone in the morning ... one of the card and everything else. "
"What else?" I say, pretending to be angry.
"Claudio told me, you've got a crush on that you have used."
"I was not used ."
"ok, though you must admit the crush."
"Damn, that sucks, Christ, Julia."
After these five words I begin to tell the story (always assuming that it is then, a story) meeting with Cristina. Claudio
laughs while describing my feelings to thirteen and is keen to stress the fact that they are probably in love with this girl because I can not really have. According to him, I lose interest in girls when they know they can have.
do not know if he is right or not, but the fact that this story is elusive smoky and certainly makes it more charming and, while not giving weight to stories about Romeo, what is inside me is a feeling of anxiety and restlessness almost unreasonable. Giulia
instead is a more simple and materialistic, says that Cristina is just crazy, so a normal person does not flee, and most importantly, do not pull me in the midst of her second-story fantasy-up writers and murders: "Especially because you work for a publisher ... this has eaten its leaves, you'll see that occur again, fuck you and then you confess that wrote the whole story of Romeo Please post. And that you try the Big Boss will tell you that rather than publish the stuff you fucked a nutria. "
Women always have a clear idea, I have always supported me.
And my boss often uses colorful metaphors.
However, between a plate and the other, I can almost convince them that this Cristina is out of my life and what I have already spent it all. Or so I do believe, as Claudio did not listen to me more because it is busy arguing with the waiter about cooking Steak and Julia smiled while nodding to the fact, saying "if, if, if ...."
After dinner we go out to smoke and then we start slowly going up the canal towards the door. I think sometimes it's nice to spend time with them, I feel good, I feel at home.
while blowing the smoke out of my hot body, I realize that it is very cold and dry climate, which is rare in a city that lives surrounded by absolute humidity. The wind knows the mountain air is electric, the long hair of women have big hair and shiny, while the canal water reflecting the moon that shines so fierce that it is rarely seen in this area world.
A slight headache accompanied me along the course, but it scares me, is not a strong attack, I know, I feel it is a slight headache, almost pleasant, comforting. It is a circle in the head that seems to say "quiet, there I am here, now there is no evil devastating, are peaceful and pass a good evening."
makes me smile and I do, hidden by the collar of his jacket.
Julia sees me and laughs: "Oh mate, you do, you laugh by yourself?".
"I thought ..." I reply. The evening ends
then home of the couple, including a cigarette and a glass of whiskey. I open a little 'and told them my problems with headache and saying that Cristina was the woman's life but, if only I could have and had not dissolved into thin air like a puff of smoke.
few hours later I look like a drunken old bar that tells without any filter their torments and their paranoia, I understand that it is time to go home, they are undercooked.
hugging me leave, I passed the 3 for a while and my mouth smells like burnt wood.
But I'm happy, I had missed.
And then every time you should also let off steam, tell their stories, their adventures. Even those within.
we would live for nothing else. That's why there are books, movies, friends. To tell.
way home I feel Don Abbondio, walking pensively with his head down on the sidewalk trying to kick away from my things away that I find on the asphalt as if they had negative thoughts and problems that crowd my mind.
To my left two bums fight contending for a carton of wine.
I feel a dot, a small, dominated by a million voices, the city, stories, endless universes. Maybe I drank too
Lagavulin.
got home I realized that the head starts to hurt seriously, so I decide to take two bombs Almotriptan, pretending not to remember everything that I drank during the evening.
I sit on a stool and, while the muscles throat compress to help the descent of the pads along the esophagus, I see again the flashing red light.
The voicemail message.
A strong first instinct tells me to delete without even asking a question, but then give in, and my finger moves from the "delete" key to the triangle that indicates play.
then I decide to listen, because I'm half drunk, because I just took a drug kills the liver and, more importantly, because they are shit.
Silence.
background noise.
Then that voice.
The stomach is closed, I shake my legs and the sweaty hands
" Hello, I'm ... I'm Cristina ... I need you. We must see, I do not ... I can not do this alone. Excuse me, please ... I should not drag you into it ... sorry, really. But I need you. They are in Belgium, please, let's meet ... I know it's crazy, crazy ... but I do not know how. See you in three days in Bruges, Hostel Lybeer ... look for it ... I'll be there at noon. If you do not want to know ... I understand you said so, out of nowhere, it's crazy that you ask ... but you're the only one who can help me. Thursday at noon. Lybeer Hostel. Bruges. I will be there ... "The
Almotriptan me back in my throat, bitter, while the heart beats crazy to the point that must seem torn the chest and explode in my ribs.
'm confused, I do not understand, I have to listen to other 3 or 4 times.
His voice is anxious, frightened, but the tone is calm and almost gentle, feels more like a polite request that a desperate SOS.
The tone is at odds with the content, I know if mica is a good sign.
Fuck.
I told myself that this is crazy, he told me even Julia, she is never wrong.
Now, you think I should go to a foreign city to go and help-how then? - An almost unheard of that is entangled with a likely murderess. We are
total folly to completely break down.
not even think about it.
The day after Mara, the secretary, can hear the screams of Big Boss from the floor below:
"... but this is the last long weekend, I hear!?! I do not fuck my dearest globetrotter! Oh no! When I fall all the archive system of the cellar! And I'll give you an exotic weekend, including spiders and mildew! You and your requests to fucking dog! Bring me beer at least as it should, otherwise it is the right time I will get up from coglionacci "
" Yes, boss, thanks "
'thank you' ... and I would recommend is Ciolli, dark, by God!"
"Eh? "
" The beer, you idiot, bring it dark, I do not like cat piss, you know "
" I love you boss "
" fuck you ".
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