quarta-feira, 23 de junho de 2010

All I Know is Stardom by Sara Vannelli

What am I supposed to do with a blog if I don’t even know who I’m writing to. I mean, writing what. Where do you even start?

What to write, and why, or how, or when, to whom, in short: how many things can there be to say that concern everybody? Things that have to do with everybody: water the environment disabilities pollution waste hunger beauty pageants corruption pageants politics the name of an Arabic dessert exotic fruit.

Things you don’t know squat about.

We’re dumb as rocks, this is the truth. And the real problem is that between super quiz shows and crime news whatever we should know is usually hidden from us.

By whom…yeah, I should write this too. Let’s see…well, by everybody who gets every advantage out of doing it.


The biggest!

Of course, when they start to bite each others’ heads off one after the other it makes it so that you don’t understand anything anymore. For example sometimes it happens that McDonald’s eats Nestle who kills babies who dream Coca-Cola which suppresses Colombian syndicalis
ts. Or maybe Nestle meets up with McDonald’s and the others while they’re waiting argue with the syndicalists. Or maybe everybody gets together excluding the Colombian syndicalists and workers and does something else.

But the history of man has always been dominated by the biggest.
By the strongest. Since forever we’ve understood what slavery is! When the weakest were found out exploitation immediately sprung into action (those kids from elementary school come to mind, the ones who stuck gum under the desks or on the notebooks of the real front-row-seat types. Yeah, but the ones today seem more adult and much more cynical. Definitely richer.)

And the weak never win wars. Let’s just say it. Everybody knows what the point of wars is (I should write this too):

Oh superiority!
Oh oh, look at WELLBEING! (To be taken two times a day on a full stomach, don’t
mix with holy water or seltzer.)

Speaking of which: it appears that every home-shopping purchase totals about 500 euro. Mattresses, saucepans, Savoy leather couches. A little hour of work and you’ve got it. I might I might give it a thought.

Money. Money. So much money.

Money and the rights of others. Perfect couple, yes, you can buy them together. I read that you get two for the price of one. With a little money, in fact, today you can get…let’s see: minors yes, women who live and work in factories and work sixty two hours a week yes, with no vacation days low low wages no strike no going to the bathroom for + than two times a day yes, no unions no safety no hygiene no coffee break no give me back that passport no talking, yes.

Or they give you a Salvadorian in costume. There they pay them something like a dollar a day that way they save quite a bit.



“It’s me.”

“Oh, hey Francesco talk to me.”

“Alessio I was thinking something…what do they do with a cell phone, people on the savannah or on the Strait of Messina Bridge?”

“What would I know, Francesco, ask someone on Voyager.”

There are incredibly serious things that no one has yet understood.

I, for one, still can’t understand the difference between multinational companies and crowds with homicidal instincts.
I didn’t understand. Nike, for example, if we ever meet I’m gonna kick its ass.

“Alessio I actually called you to find out what you want for Christmas.”

“Wanna Kakà, Francesco.”

“Then buy yourself some laxatives! Come on, what?”

“Francesco, Kakà, the AC Milan player. You know ? »

“Ah, Kakà with a K!”

“Listen Francesco, if you really have to buy me something, buy me a scratch-off but don’t spend more than two euros…”

“Alessio it’s Christmas…Jesus is born!”

“Yeah, I know, in fact if I win I’ll thank him.”

“Francesco, don’t you know that there are millions of euros that rise like genetically modified loaves of bread if you wear a certain shirt with a certain slogan with a certain logo for a certain amount of time with a certain someone and feel a certain certainty?”

Because even time has a price.
A kilo of yesterday is probably worth much more than a half kilo of tomorrow
. And for sure 100 grams of today, if put inside a liter of the day before yesterday and mixed with a little of the day after tomorrow with two teaspoons of maybe, will get you an always pill. Just put it in your mouth and let it dissolve. You can bet it will have the same effect as Pepto Bismol, you’ll digest everything and live better.

A blog…yeah.
Knock down another 3 towers and create an infinite dust-up. Then wipe everything clean.

As dumb as rocks, us, superexpert…foosball players.

And I, who wouldathunk, that in 2000 we would have gotten much further.

You’ve got mail.

I, who thought to myself that the state would have found a social and economical + stable +
balanced + democratic + innovative system.

Miss Italia.

I, who studied, worked, read books, wrote stories, traveled in between emotions and progress, I told myself, fuck, in ten years we would all speak five languages, we would know much more about each other, and the interculture, the exchange, the mutual awareness, the active citizenship and 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, bang.

The towers explode. They fall like sand castles.

I need oil I need oil I need oil.
I need oil I need oil I need oil.

So the bombs fall and the Iraqis are on the move the Afghanistanis are on the move the Palestinians are on the move the Israelis are on the move the Turks smoke other Turks are on the move the Africans die other Africans are on the move (it’s hard but they’re doing it) the Americans are
getting rich other Americans are on the move the Finns are killing themselves other Finns are on the move the English don’t qualify for the EURO 2008 the Taiwanese produce the Koreans have money make movies and win. In Indonesia they work like Indonesians to give money to those who launch bombs and don’t move.

The zebras are becoming extinct and because of massive sushi exports to the rest of the world even the red tuna is at risk for extinction.

Me, in 2008.

I, too, would sometimes like to go extinct. Other times I would like to become a patented pharmaceutical and escape into the hands of scientists to end up in the hands of superstars and convince everyone. To be in everyone.

I would like to change habits, underwear, food, and if I wanted, even the way hallucinogens are used, and the healthcare system.

To build rehab centers for addiction to episodes of Murder, She Wrote and Big Brother.

I, who thought that the third millennium would be more beautiful. Or maybe more fair.

From farmers to consumers. From consumers to the blind. From the blind to the mute. From the mute to the gourmands. From the gourmands to the diabetics, from the diabetics to the stoned, from the stoned to the surgically altered from the surgically altered to the youngest from the younge
st to the most immature from the most immature to Paris Hilton.

I, who thought the third millennium would be more beautiful.

Fair, less fair. Seven billion people who live on the same planet and someone always kept out. Open a window on the other side of the street and look out. Spring out of the jacket pocket that’s sprung a leak, the jacket we once wore for an important evening and think about something important. Here it is, I’d like to think about something important.

Tonight I want a cup of tea,
you with me,

I feel like taking a train.
Going far away
and disappearing among the absent-minded curves of the sky.
Making strange waves and surrounding myself with seagulls, crazed lovers of the sky.
I want a rainbow,
an I was there,
something true to be seized just once.
Just one thing.
I would like a mouth full of kisses and a poison.
I would like a hidden place, and to find someone in the crowd.

Every time I feel like this I would like to count from 1 to 10. I would like to take a really deep breath and throw away everything then deflate myself like a balloon and return to earth. But before coming back down I wouls like to make one last strange trip, a quick and unexpected one like all balloons do when they’re deflating and in that last instant I want to deafen myself with the slowest sound, infinite, not understanding anything anymore.

To make strange trips and not understand anything anymore.

Who knows what love is. All I know is that when it’s there you see it right away. It’s when it’s not there that everything goes dark.

A blog, yeah.
Knock down another 3 towers and create an infinite dust-up.
Then, wipe everything clean.