SAY NO

To rebel means to disobey the laws and perform a series of acts against an existing power. In this case we refer to the Italian state, a geopolitical entity in which subjects are oppressed in a legal way, in which legality is an instrument of oppression, where institutions are used to oppress the population and humiliate it. Rebelling is a duty when the law becomes an instrument of persecution, when the law becomes the alibi behind which evil against the population is justified. The ministers and presidents who follow one another in the Italian state are legalized criminals, modern executioners who use the law and their faithful dogs, to maintain a network of privileges extended to millions of people who have annuities, pensions and salaries guaranteed by their position in institutions. Two entire generations have been enslaved by a generation of gerontocrats who have everything: economic, political, information control. And as if that were not enough, they begin to cheat even rejecting electoral clashes, referendums etc….
In a situation of this kind where it is oppressed through taxation and obsessive control of life, the economy, information, it is necessary to rebel, it is necessary to fight with every means against this enslaving system.
When the abuse of legality against elementary rights is evident, such as the right to have a home, the right to eat with dignity, to have the opportunity to warm up and cover up, to be able to work while doing business, to have decent and efficient services .... When the system denies all this, when one is the victim of an apparatus which no longer guarantees this but which even demolishes it, then it is necessary to rebel and destroy this system and its protagonists.

I would like to be alone with my loneliness now. walking by the sea, at dawn, with the sound of wind and waves, and the salt that ruffles my hair, and the salt that touches my skin. I would like to stay in the evening sitting on the floor of my terrace, contemplating the moon and getting lost among the stars, and feel small, insignificant and yet finally part of something, in the harmony of the firmament. Listening to the sound of crickets and cicadas as a balm for my heart. Or, still sitting on the ground, contemplate my reflection in the mirror of my room at the house, the sea, the one that overlooks the railway, and while I look at the sky, think of a future that will never be there. I have been wandering blindly for years in a skin that does not belong to me. I would like to change it. Above all, I would love to know how to do it. And then I would like to go to Los Angeles with my usual dreams in mind, meet other artists, paint and run out of all the money, and then write, write, write, and then with music in my ears, go to Alaska and merge with the green of the earth . I’m a wild spirit, you see. In captivity for too, too long. I suffer so much, I need to breathe again, to savor the rain, to make my skin burn from the sun.

The dreamers. The crazy means. The drunks. The lost. The poets. The musicians. Draftsmen. Artists. The only ones. Those who have made peace with the darkness of the night. And thoughts. Those who keep defeats to themselves without ever begging for forgiveness. The funny ones. Clumsy. That every now and then they cry and say it. A little sociopathic and therefore fascinating. Those who have discovered what fear and even a little love is made of and have lived better since that day. And since that day they have been afraid of hurting. Those who in an ordinary morning after drinking a good coffee have decided to disappear. To live. To meet beauty. To go. Because this happens. Those who have left the handrail for some time and do not remember the way they went. Let alone that of the return. Masters and slaves of the truth. They. Who will certainly smile at you after a: hello how are you? They. Kiss them carefully. They. Hug them harder.

But was it worth it in the end? Holy God, how irremediably my life has changed, it is always the last day of summer and I was left out in the cold without a door to get back in, I admit I had a good deal of intense moments, many have great plans but their life slips out of my hands, in the course of my life I have left shreds of heart here and there, and now I have not enough left to keep myself alive, but I try to smile, knowing that my ambition has far exceeded my talent, now I no longer find white horses or beautiful women at my door. It is the people that no one imagines that they can do certain things those who do things that no one can imagine.
They always talk about democracy, progress, civilization, legality, justice etc., holy and just big words for the hierarchs, for the dominants, for the respectable, I just suck, both the first and the second, what I think is to be focused it is the condition of the “last”, of the People, the real ones, who are considered by the dominants only numbers useful for slave labor, who find themselves in unacceptable conditions of survival, who in the majority remain calm and submissive, in other cases they succumb to suicide , in others they do not accept this condition and rebel and for this reason they are “treated” with the means of democratic repression, this crap of a capitalist society should not be given signs of submission and fear, but of active rebellion