•
Rating:
Fortune is blind, but bad luck has excellent vision.
Instinctively, I've never liked Texas cowboys, I've never liked San Diego surfers, I've never liked San Francisco freaks, I've never liked Masonic symbols on the banknotes, nor the pilgrim fathers and hotel bedside Bibles, nor the stuffed turkey, let alone Kentucky fried chicken. Of the central North of the American continent, the peoples by whom I've always been fascinated are the natives and the black people who were deported. The first, bad luck targeted a long time ago, exterminating them at the hands of Custer & Co, and locking them in natural parks as if they were the mouflons of the Gennargentu and the wolves of the Apennines. The second, after an idyllic period spent in the cotton fields, managed to gain merit and recognition by inventing modern music: Jazz, Blues, Rock N Roll, Soul, Rap, and hundreds of different mixes... all theirs: all Black Music, we created classical and electronic, they did everything else.
The Colonizers, on the other hand, limited themselves to using these styles, sometimes becoming even more famous than the founding fathers; today many kids don't even know that Rock N Roll was created by black people. The Colonizers, the passion for colonization, doesn't fade away easily, it seems to be their favorite sport. They still have the bad habit of believing they are in the right because "in god we trust" is like a license to kill.
And bad luck, as usual, sees perfectly. The amiable Katrina, had she hit a certain ranch in Texas, I would have cursed her all the same because a ranch couldn't have been the only thing she hit and she would still have caused many innocent victims, but better that ranch (and unfortunately also the others) than many other places. The amiable Katrina, even though I would have preferred she hadn't passed anywhere, hit right there. Among all the places she could visit, the amiable Katrina managed to hit the only city in the U.S.A. that maintained its historical buildings, the only city steeped in culture, the only city where the American dream was seen as nonsense, the only city I would have wanted to visit with cultural interest, the only city that kept the name of the Confederation high, the city where modern music was born: New Orleans.
And then there's him, a man with guts whom I take as an example of the many great people of N.O.L.A: Fats Domino, who the day before the hurricane refuses to leave the place he loves, saying, "I'm not leaving here, I'm not running from my city: I'll wait at home for the end of the storm". The storm passed, and Fats was no longer found. The storm passed, and the jerk declares "zero tolerance for looters", when there's a big difference between someone looting a jewelry store and someone looting a supermarket to feed their children, but the jerk loves such macho catchphrases: "Zero tolerance" sounds so macho, so Cow-Boy, which translated into Italian sounds better: vaccaro. What does the jerk do to lend a hand? He calls dad and the old colleague to find funds, while in Louisiana and surrounding states, more than three thousand soldiers who could have given a really useful hand are missing, because the jerk sent them to colonize, but the jerk doesn't call home people who have their loved ones lost in the water, the jerk calls dad and the old colleague to find funds, eh. And since he has to maintain his reputation as an ass head, he hires three hundred soldiers from special forces for the cause under orders of "shoot on sight", eh, the jerk is always the same.
And I, when I see these things, even if I'd be sorry if Katrina had passed through Texas, my temper flares up; amidst the misfortune of a Texas on its knees, there would have been at least the possibility that the jerk would be in his ranch, and although I don't wish death on anyone, if someone had to die: I would have preferred the jerk two thousand times over any resident of New Orleans. But bad luck has excellent vision, maybe she also trusts in God, I haven't trusted in a long time, and the more I go on, the less I trust, in 'this God because when he does these things (and he has done many) I think: "are you stupid or are you doing it on purpose?".
If one day bad luck or God takes the jerk away from us, I will review Carl Cox: because that day I'll go dancing to celebrate one of the few times when bad luck (if you can call it that in that case) has seen really well. Let's just hope that the thousands talked about are fewer than expected, for now we can console ourselves knowing that Fats has been found safe and sound, and we can hope that at least in these days of rescues and discoveries, bad luck minds her own business a little, or maybe blinds an eye for once.
Loading comments slowly
