SUNSET IN CANARY WHARF
That summer after work, he used to go to the 21st floor, just when the editorial office of the newspaper ended the daily rush against time, he used to go in the canteen and sit at the table close to the window. It was already one year that he arrived in the city looking for something that he couldn’t remember anymore. Fragments of memory were filling irregularly his mind together with stories of newspaper of which he could find neither the beginning nor the end.
The editorial office was in the Tower that Margaret Tatcher wanted to built in the eighty as a celebration of new economic era of the city, for the commercial development of the new area.
A tower-skyscraper with a penetrating shape, considered by the most sensitive minds the missing penis.
At that time of the day the canteen used to be empty, silent, he felt like to disturb the void after the noise of the day.
He sat down as usual on the same table in the left corner of the big room, he observeed without passion the two new towers rising in front of the desolate landscape of the London’s suburbs. The glorification of the missing penis. The achievements of the eighty of the past century. He would like to remove himself from it, he would like to be part of a different landscape, he would like to contribute to a new millennium. Yes… He would like to act in a new way.
THE HOUSE IN FRONT OF THE PARK
It is sometime that he doesn’t feel well, he thinks he doesn’t sleep. At work is absent.
He believes to get up. He is not interested in any news anymore.
He wants to act in a new way. He believes to go out. It is night. The city is empty.
22.00 p.m. He felt asleep very early this night.
He is scared of the darkness.
The child runs.
Do not open the door.
The crises start to break through.
He runs, Crosses the park, it is dark.
He is attracted to go further even further, down in depth.
He turns on his right and on his left and here it is the green window.
The door is open.
He decides to enter. Neither smells nor sounds just vision.
A woman is alone in the middle of the room. A room without purposes, without clients.
The room has no corners.
The woman is cleaning glasses that nobody drunk from and from which nobody will drink.
The woman has not legs.
The woman can not see him, because she sees just what she already knows.
The woman doesn’t do any new action.
He lies on the floor,
He sees the Victorian lamps, the red ceiling, and the woman without legs.
He decided to touch himself, up and down, up and down…
He wants to play.
He would like to play with the woman.
Everything tuns around.
The child runs.
He feels tired.
He is dirty of his fluids…
Where is the woman?…
…Come here…
…Please…
8.00 a.m.- ddddrrrriiiinnnnnn
Everything seems going around……………….. he can sleep more
8.15 a.m – dddrrriiiiiinnnnnnn
Where is the woman?………………. He can sleep a little bit more
8.30 a.m- dddrrriiinnnnnn
Shit it is late…………….He must get up.
He goes into the kitchen and put the kettle on.
PARTY
The party is for him. One week ago he resigned, he decided to jump in the void. At the paper he told that he had got a better job, that is why he resigned.
Instead that is not true. He hasn’t got any other proposal, any other alternative. He hadn’t any alternative from the beginning. He couldn’t find any new action. The only one was to abandon the present, with its daily happenings, its conteporainety, its daily news. He decided to act in a new way.
He didn’t want neither the past nor the future, but he was looking for the small folds, those intermediate spaces, where he thought he could be happy.
He wanted to be happy.
A lot of thoughts were fluttering in his mind, while from the terrace was watching at his party. He was watching at those people relaxing meeting each other. He realised that suddenly he loved them all, all their stories that never interested him. Now that nothing belonged to him anymore, that everything was lost, finally he could see them in their misery and glory. He wondered were has been all this time, what did he watch at, of what did he speak about. It felt like if for years he concentrated just on mental constructions. He started to cry, it was like to be in his first birthday, his first steps into the world. His name is Peter, one year old.
Happy birthday Peter! Happy birthday!!! Eat the cake that we have made with all our love. Look at the gramma, she is greeting at you and Dad look at Dad he is rolling on the grass just for you, he is so funny!!! And me your mama, why do not you kiss me?
AFRAID OF THE DARKNESS
It is strange how it is impossibly unreal to think in a chronological way. When every sense are alerted, the traditions get lost in the labyrinth of no-linear stories.
I imagine a man walking alone in the night, stopping without been noticed to observe a lighted window.
That man is Peter.
It is all the imaginary connected to that space of light, to that container of existences that attracts him.
But after, suddenly a terrible sense of emptiness appears, the darkness, the fear.
It is exactly for this reason that every night he goes out alone walking without any aim, if not to get in use to the black of the darkness, to the idea to be surrounded by nothing.
Which is the reason that makes this world so complicated? It is this question that doesn’t aloud Peter to lead a distract existence anymore, to enjoy a wellbeing, a comfort stolen to others. At any corner he sees a detail, a happening that confirm this awareness. The awareness to be a criminal without knowing it or without wanted to be. A mass of slaves to the service of an obscure force of which we do not know the face. He wants to see that face he wants to speak with the darkest bit of his own being.
Are you afraid of the darkness?
Come here my little one that I protect you from it, you do not need to think about it any more.
THE WALKING PRAYER
All the people living in me are running out from my mouth. I am vomiting them all, without fear until the last is gone.
My mouth open, for an endless time, leaving hundreds of small beings running away, finally free from my memory.
I am alone now, with just one voice to lead the life of a mysterious body.
I lay down on my bed and all my usual thoughts are silent.
In silence I start to walk, my pace is insecure, scared for the future, but somehow I keep walking feeling the contact of my feet on the ground.
Around me is dark and the only real sense of the present is given by the pressure of my weight on the soil.
I am still silent walking concentrated on the rhythm of my steps, until I arrive in front of a tree…
…There…
…I stop…
…I lay down on the ground and while smiling I am asking you:
” Can you feel sometime in the night the whispers of your soul calling from the darkness of the forest?”
I am happy.
MEMORIES OF WAR
Joshua: “How long has passed since they drag you away? I have never forgotten your face, every night you appear in my dreams to remind me of my anger.
Sarah: “How can they deny the future of people?”
Joshua: “Me and you represented what our nations fear most. We were happy.”
Sarah: “I am scared…I am scared of the hate of people. They do not smell anymore the stink of violence that is penetrating the roots of our entire being. Then nothing is safe not even our memory, not even the memory of me in you.
Joshua: “I will not forget you, your memory is the last thing left to me. I want to recover from this mud of infected wounds, I want to be able…one day … Sarah…one day… I want to be able to forgive”
Sarah: “That day I fell on the ground, bleeding I lost senses. In the deliriums of my coma I saw a man beating himself, because scared of his own shadow. I got closer and closer until I could touch him and in that moment I realised that he was you.”
Joshua: “They drag you away as a dead body. I was screaming, kicking, until everything became black.”
Sarah: “I woke up in a cell still dirty of my own blood. I didn’t answer to any questions, I didn’t confess, they killed me.”
Joshua: “In overcoming my own fear I will find the strength to free my anger. Their madness has given you eternal life, eternal is your courage to fight against indifference and eternal will be my desperate howl to the sky. “
Sarah: “I will be always here in this bar, at this table, where we used to met, waiting for you.”
THE CIRCUS OF THE PRAYER
Floating in the dirty water of my nightmares
You fill my empty space
Shiny threads holds my breath
The fear is shouting at me
“stop stop”
it is too beautiful to be stopped
like a snake I start to crawl
around the circle of the tend
faster and faster and faster
the sand and the dust the dirty air
the sweat of dirty angels fallen from the fake fault
the naked public stand up without shame
shaking their bodies, turning around, tossing
sweating jumping on me without weight
touching each other in a magnificent orgy
I stop exhausted rolling on the dust…happy like in a prayer
I watched… the ceiling… and… you… were there
floating in the air as a treasure tower
hold by the shiny threads of my breath
flying away…