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Fog as disgusting as ever. All my prayers were directed to the "Individual", my personal, unconsciously spiritual guide, in not omitting the quantity of what proved to be essential for the insertion of the mind into an extra-body-porn-sensory context that would soon materialize before our auditory eyes. To my right, in the front passenger seat, the "Individual" grins exuberantly, awaiting the imminent arrival to Mezzago, a social no man's land, a spiritual mecca of the European underground, if not even worldwide.
The Arrival. My waxy hands slid over a squalid steering wheel obliging me to park where the "Ladies" of the back seats deemed most remarkable to stay for those two/four hours that were fatal in the timeframe of our stay. The grass before us, stagnant with cold, reconnected the green color to our frozen limbs and lit the face of the "Individual" with a brutal fucked-up joy. I knew something would go wrong, inevitably, wrong. Oh yes, fuck, yes. The "Individual", acting prosaically, took leave of our presences, waiting to plot his plan of perdition, far from the light, awaiting the event to commence definitively. The sharpening of the latter was immediate, as was my immediate search for the "Individual" who got lost, arousing great misfortune in us all immediately turned into condescending muteness. From His grave hands, distributed to us in turns, the individual dispensed our meal of perdition finally consumed, unaware of being hyperstatic as such.
Now. From now things would get worse. I sensed it from the gaze of the people, in-euphoric to the touch, becoming obsolete in their dragging from square meter to square meter: a circle of torments. Blurred in sight, a stage seemed to materialize in the middle of a Luciferian fog that rendered the atmosphere full of qualms and resentment. Suddenly the darkness, the much-unhoped-for compromise, and a circle of ecto-plasma full of perversion sank its claws into our poor skulls of poorly grown Provincials, in the hope that what seems like the voice of a drug-addicted God, ceases to expand its one-way lament. Eyes, lips, teeth worn like remains, endless eyelid tunnels lead me, firmly clinging to the "Individual", beyond what was supposed to be a pleasure trip turned prematurely into flesh and blood dread. Those inhuman screams ignited blind rage in each of the comrades betrayed by time, suffocating the emotion until total apathy. A binary code of prevention mixed with anti-prevention. Until the end, until death.
The End. The aftertaste of the phrases carelessly granted by me to the triad of my accompaniment, shocked only hours later what became the condition of lost and irreversible ascent. United, hand in hand, the vehicle now turned to ice, would lead us back along the way home, different: changed. Indecisive directional arrows, between turns to the right or left, will condition for a little while longer what turned out to be an exceptionally bleak evening for three-quarters of the expedition. But meanwhile, in his passenger seat, with his face bent over his chest, the "Individual" smiled sinisterly, guilty of having fulfilled his prophecy in the most hidden way possible, plotting new failures of ordinariness. Plotting new paths of no return...
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