Eros Ramazzotti
Più bella cosa

All those priests who babble about the devil and rock, in my opinion, have understood absolutely nothing.

Jimmy Page? An amateur... The Beatles on the roller coaster? Same.

Stuff that Satan, at most, just has a laugh.

Because he cleverly resides elsewhere. That is, where no one expects him. So there are other records you need to play backward. And different is the music that is heard in the infernal circles.

And Eros comes to mind...

His records, way down there, yes, indeed way down there, are like Sisyphus' stone; every time (every damn time) you have to start the needle over again.

And don't think that for the average damned being, having been a fan of his would lessen the punishment. Oh no, no no. Among fire, flames, retributions, and infinite spasms, he too will become aware of the horror. And he will suffer, suffer eternally.

Eros, however, knows nothing of this. He hosts evil without knowing it and is the eternal fool, that is, the one who believes he is doing the opposite of what he actually does.

Strange how no one has ever noticed, how his faux carefree and adenoidal voice, a clear trace of the passage of dark forces, has never aroused the slightest suspicion.

Is it only me who shudders, only me who is provoked by the manifesting of unequivocal symptoms?

And that time with Tania then...

Ah Tania, Tania... how many times I had watched her in secret, to the point where I could draw her body with my eyes before sleeping.

Draw it and traverse it very slowly in every nook, curve, mechanism, shadow, crevice. A machine of love imprinted on my retina,

Soft, sinuous, slow, and with an entirely opposite face, that is severe, withdrawn, almost mean. The classic contrast that would excite even a saint.

Well, that splendor one day was mine. We were in her country house. And reaching the end of the contest, or battles of Venus, whatever you want to call it, she disentangled herself from my arms...

“Darling, I'll put on a nice record, something romantic”

Started the horrid “Più bella cosa non c'è”, the first shiver was given by my snobbery, then the fact that she was humming it while looking at me languidly in the eyes did not improve the situation.

The worst, however, was yet to come...

That face, which had turned almost sweet from severe, underwent a new transformation, becoming a horrendous gray vortex where the eyes whirled. It was just a moment.

“Take off that damn record!!!!!”

And she took it off and didn’t even get angry, at the time I had charm to spare.

Trallallà...