It burns life, it burns
You/he/she had been the insistence of Cristina to save me the life.
You/he/she had tried to call me about fifty times while cocaine was taking possession of my body. This way you/he/she had decided to come to my house and you/he/she had found me at the end of the last ramp of staircases, extended on the threshold of the door of my loft, supine, with the foam to the mouth. It told me to have howled while my jail cell waved and still played to its phone calls. It told me to have called the centodiciotto and not to even have succeeded in touching me, while it was waiting for the paramedics. Told me to have assisted while they were practising me the cardiac massage and to have me loaded in stretcher while they were howling: «The heart has restarted to beat! Let's bring him/it street!»
It told me to never have stopped sobbing, when you/he/she had removed the keys from the lock of the door and then you/he/she had closed her while the siren of the ambulance crossed the avenue, getting further himself/herself/itself and disappearing in the city.
I awakened me, I believe, later around forty-eight times, with a coos that it went out me of the left arm. Alone, in a white room, where from the window a tree moved solitary the leafy branches in the wind. I remember to be me frightened when I had felt, with the ears still, the nurse to say: «Good morning, finally wakes up there.»
Giovanni, Cristina and the Boss came to do it visits me. I remember to have measured my answers on the simple ones" thanks, there is not badly well, we hope, I am tired, I am sleepy, I am hungry." I remember to have remained in silence, lost, also when Cristina had made me go out, sat on the wheelchair and you/he/she had loaded me in car up to the clinic of disintoxication.
I remind me the doctors to say that my heart was stopped for almost ten minutes, that feared damages to the brain because of the oxygenation, that was in my blood so so much cocaine that rarely a person" normal" you/he/she would have survived. I remember well me and it still booms me in head when they said that I had been a lot, very fortunate.
I remained almost two months to Villa Bianca Luna, the clinic of disintoxication. I divided the room with Henry, a young boy that spent the days to vomit and to come him in the underpantses. In the breaks among these two activities of his he/she succeeded in telling to have inherited me a conspicuous sum of money from his/her father, famous shipowner of You Spezia dispersed during an oceanic crossing, and to be given him to the heroin because" it found her/it an activity of interesting relaxation", his/her words. You/he/she was thrown by the window of his/her apartment to the third floor of a luxurious building of the center in style liberty an evening that had ended the doses and his/her girl you/he/she had left him/it ending of belly on the roof of a Sweater parked under house. That dive had given him the breakup of five ribs, a femur, tibia, fibula, dislocated a shoulder and disarranged the way of speaking. It had been being for six months there and you/he/she would have had to do at least the same of it. It was so nice, it passed me some photos porno a lot of stimulants and it did me the favor to close him ten minutes in bath so that I could comfortably masturbate on the bed.
«And was it ferché fei here?» he/she asked me one day that is sat on a bench in the park of the clinic.
«I have sunk the nose in five grams cocaine and I have thrown.»
«Ferché?»
«Ehchilosà.»
«Forcafroia» Henry cursed with the eyes toward the sky after having suddenly come in the underpantses.
I remember me my endless walks along the corridors in the ugly pluvius days. I remember me the long sleepless nights to cry. I remember me the therapies of group sat in circle, when we passed us the ball and each it had to say his/her name. I remember Berto, the most elderly of the group, with his/her rambling speeches swearwords mixtures in front of the mirror.
«The merda in the latrine changes color and him he/she knows him/it!»
I remember me my pantalonis of the overall and not to be me them ever removed up to when, because of the cramps to the stomach owed to the abstinence, one afternoon I dirtied the bed of diarrhea. I remember me the chemical taste of the cafeteria of the clinic and of when Michael, the nurse, a BigMac brought me. I also remember that night when a friend of Henry succeeded in making to enter from a hole the net of enclosure a Rumanian puttana and to bring him her thin in room. I remember me her to pant while it was being above of him and then to offer me a pumps. I remember me her that the condom inserted me, that began to suck and me that after a quarter of I now told her: «If I/you/they have not already come in the first five minutes he/she knows me that I won't come anymore.»
I remember the individual meetings with the grizzled psychoanalyst and of my silences to his/her questions.
«Thing thinks here about doing once gone out of?»
«What relationship you had with your father?»
«You cared for your mother?»
«Thing gives you joy?»
«You have ever been in love?»
I remember to have answered him, once to that question: «I am an old homosexual whoremonger to which it likes to make him put him/it in the culo and to smell the own scoregges.»
I remember me that he never looked me in the eyes but intent at to write on a white sheet he/she nodded, completely disinterested, lost in his/her thoughts.
«Well, well. Very well» it said raising himself/herself/itself the glasses that went down him on the point of the nose.
I also remember me Henry to steal from the room of musicoterapia a guitar and to play Hallelujah of Leonard Cohen in the room completely desert cafeteria, in the heart of the night. I remind me that it perfectly tuned up that song with a thread of voice, sat to the clear one of the light of a refrigerator, with the long hair that the eyes covered him. So intensely, so simply, as if that pits the only thing that he/she knew how to do. I also remember me that day when Henry suddenly got up from the bench on which we always sat, it started racing toward the automatic gate that he was closing, him fiondò in the street and you/he/she was crushed by a tir.
I remind me that his/her bed that night remained fact.
I remember me that day when Cristina and Giovanni came me to take, they loaded my purse in car and they made me sit on the back seat. You/they had put on together, they were kissed on the lips. They opened me the door of the loft and me I remained some firm instant on the eyelash of the door, the proper parquet in that point it seemed marked.
«These are yours» it said Cristina lengthening me the keys. «You want that we remain, tonight?»
«No, thanks, indeed. I am well.»
Cristina gave me a kiss on the cheek, Giovanni a pacca on the shoulders. A bottle of Red of Montepulciano gave me.
«You hold, this is for you, he/she is never known that desire comes you to call a woman. Then thing you offer her to drink?» and it made me a smile accomplice.
«Then all to place, eh? We go, if you have need our number you have him.»
«Thanks Cristina, thanks indeed. You don't worry you, I am well.»
You stamped me another kiss on the cheek, leaving me a light sign of lipstick, Giovanni it was already on the door that was toying with the keys of the auto. I accompanied them and I greeted them while the staircases went down.
There was silence in the house, the closed curtains veiled of orange tree the whole air that surrounded me. It was clean, not even a thread of dust. I knew him/it, Cristina was dealt with everything. My bed still done perfumed of softener. Me there extended above. I Stop immovable I fixed the clouds to flow in the skylight above of me. Slowly I fell asleep me to my house.
I passed the rest of the week on the couch: I spent the time making a frantic zapping among the hundred channels of the satellite, without never interesting me in nothing. I slept when I was sleepy, I ate when I was hungry and I never went out. Every two days Cristina and Giovanni brought me the expense, some dvds, a cd, a bunch of flowers, a bottle of wine, a stick of cigarettes. Their visits, after sometime, they were made more
and more roadsteads justly replacing the care that you/they had for me with the care for their new relationship. They called me to the telephone, always repeating me the same questions, that always had the same answers.
«I am well.»
The jail cell, once stormed of calls and sms, it sadly appeared in that silent period. I looked at him/it, sometimes, in the hope that someone had looked for me and I had not felt. One day, unexpectedly it rang.
«Ready?»
«Hey champion, as do we go?»
«Hi Boss, everything well. I am well.»
«Well, well. You feel Francis, I have called you because I wanted to ask you a thing. Does it suit you to come to make a jump in agency domattina? This way, to speak some.»
«It is really necessary, Boss?»
«Yes, I believe of yes. Then they ask me a lot of questions on you, they want to know how you are and they feel like seeing you.»
The following morning is sat in the ample and modern office of the Boss, wound in my trench, with the long beard and the black glasses that covered the deep occhiaies. His/her secretary made me enter telling me that you/he/she would immediately have arrived, that was hocked still in an important meeting in the room reunions.
After few minutes it entered, making a big confusion and giving me a vigorous handshake.
«Finally Francis, as does it go?»
«I am well. I am well.»
«Eh caspita, is seen that you are well. Well I am happy,» fixing me with a smile to trentadue teeth for then to immediately return serious.
«You feel Francis, we have to speak. I am happy that you are better, we hoped him/it for everybody. But unfortunately my role of businessman is had to separate from that of human being. You are missed for so much time and before this ugly period your behavior you/he/she had already been noticed. You have given so much and we are all very thankful ones of it. But what has happened you has been an ugly scar for our agency unfortunately. Yes, you have understood well. You/he/she has also spoken of you on some daily» and it lengthened me a pair of articles that it secretly held closed in the drawer of the desk. «You/they have revealed our name. I have been afraid, we have also lost some client. It looks, I don't have secret for you, less five percent in the billing of the last six months. It looks. You are for one hundred. The thing has influenced our image unfortunately. At the end, you also know him/it you, your name often turned in the jet-set, you were present to the parades, to the presentations of the new products, then all those your photos with the models, your advertising countries. Do you understand Francis?»
I remained in silence, passing me among the hands that two articles. One included who knows also one photo of mine of repertoire done to what party a few years visibly overdone before. "Advertising in overdose it risks the death" it brought the title.
«Francis, I believe that for the time being you cannot belong to this agency anymore. We already have a nominative that could replace rather you in brief times, in reality, if I have to be sincere, you/he/she is already doing him/it. You know well that cannot lose of the time and our image you/he/she cannot subsequently be ruined. I am sorry it, I am sorry so much indeed it. Even in expectancy, when waters will be him some do you calm, are we able riparlarne eh, that you say? We have already put your things in a scatolone, you can withdraw down it from Maria.»
I got up me, I swallowed a big gizzard of saliva that went to scratch the throat that was dried in the meantime. I shook his hand.
«Thanks» it was what I succeeded in saying.
I opened the door of my loft, it already appeared completely different from that day when Cristina and Giovanni had brought me home. I didn't succeed in putting in order, every object had autonomously appropriated of the house almost giving an aspect to that apartment of luxury from camp.
I divided my quite a lot leisure time between couch and bed. I had lost everything.
The defeat has a bitter taste. That moment was the key of my thoughts. What for how much limit there is not to the sky, the fall often and gladly it makes evil. For how much I/you had succeeded in hovering in the air, the portanza of my wings was suddenly missed, giving so life to a slow agony downward.
I remember well the silence that dominated in the house. It was the only feeling to make me company. Cristina and Giovanni lustfully consumed their love. Blessed them. I came to discover subsequently that my colleague had cheerfully supported the idea of the Boss to torpedo me. My head had offered him a special place: art director of the branch in London. But only if you/he/she had allowed to lose all the what is suitable to hold me inside. Giovanni had held the sewn mouth. Fottuto social climber.
Does her of cazzo you/he/she had also come to my house, you/he/she had knocked to the door and excuse had asked me through the spioncino. It had a bottle of wine in hand and Cristina as soon as behind of he exhorted him/it to insist to make himself/herself/themselves open.
«You are a social climber of the cazzo that has stabbed me to the shoulders!» I had howled him through the door.
«And you are a drugged stupid that he is fottuto that merda of brain! It is what deserves yourself, spoiled child of puttana!» he/she answered me.
From the spioncino I saw Cristina that tried to close his mouth with a hand and him that he wriggled. It launched the bottle of wine against the door breaking her/it in a million pieces.
«Pure Fottiti alone in your merda of house. Goodbye!» it was his/her regard.
I supported the back to the door while wine began to meet from under; I let me slip, entering of culo the red puddle.
«Excuse I, am sorry Francis that is ended this way. It tries to be well» it whispered Cristina to the door; evidently you/he/she was not gone out of the villa yet. They were words full of tears.
I and I remained in silence.
The following day I woke up myself and I went out. The raincoat covered my rubbed shirt and a heavy wool bonnet it hid my disarranged hair. To the supermarket the cashiers they looked badly me. In that case the suit, more than to make the monk, did of me the portrait of the devastation. They shelled the eyes when I made to flow on the ribbon of the box winds bottles of juice of orange, different pouches of pasta, a mountain of whatever type of frozen food, some boxes of water, juices in box, milk, twelve bottles of rum, three of gin, five of bourbon, ten bottles of wine and a packet of condoms for a total of three carts. I stayed me in hardware to buy some nails, a hammer, a chain, a meter, a torch and hundred candles. From the tobacconist three lighters and three sticks of Camel.
I returned home pushing the three carts of the supermarket while the people that crossed me looked me hiding malicious smiles.
I supported everything in the house and I gone down a last time in the wine cellar where I gave me two wood aces, that I assured with nails and hammer to the door of house, avoiding so any type of disagreeable visit.
I would have followed the sincere suggestion of Giovanni: I would be alone me fottuto in my loft of merda. If the world were able to love me, vaffanculo, the world can live without me.
I turned my way of living into to survive.
The camp did more and more day by day him dramatic. Heaps of refusals leavened in the angles of the house: I had forgotten completely the use of the pattumiera. I lived separated among two rooms, the living room and the bath. I slept and I decayed on the couch covering only me with a pair of jeans by now indecent. On the wood tavolino, the MacBook was always connected to internet: I looked for every now and then some porno site, on the tv I alternated any type of film and each it made me cry up to the marrow. I was often drunk, dirty, I extinguished the cigarettes in the glasses in which a drips of bourbon you/he/she had been remaining for the evening before. I had forgotten the light of the sun out of the closed blinds, getting used my eyes to the faint light of the candles. The beard was long on my face: it gave me a wise aspect and overdone. The skin, once set on fire in summer by the daily lamps suntan lotions, was assuming a color lattiginos
o.
I was slowly decaying in my castle, so that my existence made more and more him every useless day.
One day I extinguished the tv.
Internet furnished me every type of ideas of which I/you had need and, still finding in the fund of my brain a crumb of wish, I also succeeded in giving outlet to my uneasiness.
I was feeding me of misanthropy and uselessness. Jumping from a porno site to the webcam of Central Park, I drowned in a sea of memoirs. I cried and I unconditionally laughed, moved by discharges of not-life that were emitted in my not-body. A ghost that a man, frightened almost anymore by mine similar that you/they slept in my mind.
Someone knocked to the door. Perhaps Cristina. Perhaps the mail carrier. Who knows him/it. Always too much or too much few drunk to understand who pits.
Endless times I passed attached to the MacBook pressing on that white keys giving to every instant that had marked my life a sense and an end. Internet is the substitute of a world that we would like to find hiding our tired and sick faces behind pleasant and nice masks. Reaching in the time of a click every angle hidden of the planet and also over the terrestrial atmosphere, after the moon and the solar system.
I created in this way a new life, a motive to go on. New stimuli and new ideas. I dreamt places in which I had never been, I entered hotel where I had slept, I saw people that were gone out of my life quite a lot years before again. I squeezed every memory of mine, I invented fictitious histories but real fottutamente on who held similar to me. Reinterpretando their last sense, their last breath, driving him/it through my body, doing him/it my. I lowered me in their cloths and I let me go. I was reborn in another world. Because the whole life is a passage. Simply from a way to the other, from a state of the being to that following.
A few months passed, I believe. Lost completely the knowledge of the time, before, in the heart of a cold night, I/you was illuminated. I had found the key of time. There was only a thing to do, the only one that really you/he/she had remained.
I gathered all of my things going to turn every drawer of house, everything in the three carts of the supermarket forgotten to plain earth anchor, since then. I left only in the house the narrow necessary to live. Few things. The whole rest I brought him/it to the park where the evening of mine almost death I had decided to thrust the nostrils inside the dust of Snowwhite.
I prepared the three full carts of my things to triangle, really in the middle of one of the so many grassy spiazzis. I gave a kick to the different lamp-posts that that area surrounded, making to fall her/it in the blackest dark.
I threw out a tank of gasoline from one of the carts and I began to pour her/it above to everybody and three. I extracted from the pocket of my impermeable believer a cigarette and the lighter of Batman that Chiara, the photographer, you/he/she had left on the bench before disappearing.
Entered the cigarette. The tobacco in point crackled while I was inhaling a deep mouthful, that I held in the bellows up to hurt me. I lifted the look to the sky: the stars appeared pale, out, darkened by the light of the full moon that gave a mysterious aura to the things, mysticism.
That was the night.
I threw upward out the smoke creating a small cloud that stirred toward the sky.
I launched the cigarette in one of the carts, that immediately takings fire also englobing the others two.
While a dense black smoke he was lifting from the fire of my things, I got further me sinking the hands in the pockets of the trench.
It burns life, it burns.
The war is over Page 4
