Gianni Celeste
Storie di vita e di mala

When we were young and beautiful, the meadow bloomed all around, it was always spring and blah blah blah, I lived in a rather strange place but this Christmas they put up the tree in the square, so I went back. The town where I was born never stands still, every time I return it has evolved: where I used to find my dog peeing, now I find the directions for the future. "It's to the right!" Fini tells me, and probably if he could, he would hit me with a baton, also because on his right there's the poster of the "Organized Unemployed," a lobby that may even be unemployed but is very powerful: they've already reserved the seats in the town hall for 2010 - now even the stairs are occupied and they don't want to stand.

In the place where I was young and beautiful, we have a communist mayor (with all these unemployed), and when I think about it, I always get emotional. He won thanks to the first case of universal conjunction of human interests - everyone voted for him: communists, fascists, traffickers, snake oil salesmen, beasts, punk beasts, thieves, rogues. He took advantage like a boomerang of the power of the media: at the protest against the incinerator, they caught him on camera while a policeman was hitting him with a baton on the head, and since no one wants to die incinerated, they all voted for him, and I came back (anyway, if you enter the city and go right, you find the garbage dump).

In the town where I was born, during the Christmas holidays Gianni Celeste always comes to play, and when I think about it, I always get emotional. It reminds me of when I was a child: we walked the streets and spat in each other's faces, we all sang together "A fugitive has no hope!" and in the video, there was this fugitive crying while hugging his wife, he would say "I wish I could come back for Christmas but I can't" and then the wife would also start crying while embracing the children (and how many children: they never ended), then the video faded with an unemployed man crying while a policeman beat him, probably because he was poorly organized.

Meanwhile, the incinerator in the city is almost ready, someone on the stairs kicked the bucket at 89, and now the organized unemployed are getting agitated. When the organized ones get agitated, I start to worry: the last time someone died in the municipality, they celebrated by incinerating the Christmas tree; it was December 2002, but it was fake and so spring continued to blossom.