The return of Golconda
May this ilk that I took away the pleasure of anger, taste of indignation, leaving me in the company of a total, absolute indifference mortis, an eternal torment in hell. The smile is a memory, the tears dried up, only apathy in the face of blank faces, words repeated obsessively, of men that women do worse than men and women to emulate. A population of hermaphrodites that unites, a prostitute and pimp. I deny this people prey to the contagion of infamy without pulses of dignity, that I am a father and son in this story Italian feel to me to be one of the many who die without its existence, the shame of indifference, ideal nourishment of cowardice. We men born useless servants, businessmen, selfish pimps and false. You wretched women, prostitutes, indifferent and ambitious, willing victims of a perennial rape, we set a stinking mud and lazy, usurper and a thief with dignity bestowed by young past, and I hope we observed regretting their unnecessary sacrifices. Actors in the circus of humanity, always and only have a role to clowns.
believe it's not true? Then look carefully, freeing you from any truly volitional tendency of any color it is, the faces of those beings that represent them and tell me all over honestly if you do not remember the old ventriloquist puppets speakers of our own, sky-blue faces, expressionless, staring, eyes wide and mouth move mechanically to the words of another.
But now I am old, crazy and delirious tale so falsità , voi no, voi non fate come me, sognate e maleditemi e la vostra anima sarà salvata.
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