It's right there on the left, either for or against, I copy here
a story written by someone who I think is one of the best talents of the moment, Luca Moretti written on TerraNullius , free writing workshop at source, as they like to be called.
IN DEATH OF GAETANO Alimonda - Luca Moretti
July 20 I was not there. I was elsewhere. I had decided not to be there. I still had not thought about that on July 20 that the already stretched Gustav three blows. We
July 20 made us smile, we were too busy trying to feed our monkeys. At Gustav then, on 20 July did not matter just too many guards, too many people, too many limitations.
We took the train that his eyes were already set for some time, smart covered small teddy bears unarmed man in the heat of Rome, the Gustav made a pair before you get to the train station, just a couple to enjoy.
the station everything was silent, I had two plates that pressed for an indefinite point on my temples, strong and pain-free, caustic soda, a silence of cotton wool. The Gustav lurched on their legs, tap the name of love, he tripped on the second step, we were in and Alexia had not utter a word. The train departed with the usual line up to go pee, Gustav closed in giving the big pull, I looked at Alex, she did not speak, he was asleep.
July 20 I was not there too many containers, too many screams and posters, little freedom of expression, a colorful crowd of idiots. On July 20 I went through other paths, other protests, July 20 shouted to the world my foreignness masturbating the brain with plastic carousels. Alexia asleep Gustav while occupying the bathroom for the third time, was a sedentary, people had understood it, there was more chance. Tiravamo it was a pleasure, the night passed, I swore to myself that it was the last and the stars accompanied an indescribable peace.
July 20 I was not there, I closed the bathroom with Gustav in Ventimiglia. I waited for the first minute of this new day and I thought of Alex, its tomorrow, what would have been. I pulled and I did some good promises, building skyscrapers of sand, looked at the Gustav and I thought the tap dancing, her legs jointed at its July 20. The Gustav was a teacher, had falsified the train tickets, the Milan-Rome-Berlin had become Lugano, unrolled the bag with his hands long and sharp, it places the content on the shelf in the bathroom, lay with dovizia.Il Gustav was not error.
July 20 I was not there, I had spent the night to pull and did not exchange words with Alexia, my trip had been silent, silent with her, silent with the controller, mute with Gustav, but with him it was expressed with gestures. On July 20th I thought Shelly, imagine lying in the balcony, suffocated by the heat of summer, I asked her not to die ever. The night had grown cold, small droplets of sweat on his neck and got stuck, undecided on the path to follow, pushing the bones cracking nerves. The night had grown cold, Gustav Alexia had stopped dancing and had opened his eyes.
July 20 I was not there, many friends had taken a different path from mine, but I do not, I had refused the pile, I would have never cheated, I had a pit bull on the balcony, a long tattoo on his arm still Alexia and to finish that sooner or later she would wake. I did not believe in those carousels, to those people who always tells a story written by another hand, I wrote my poem and let the crumbs of their slogan. My July 20 was full of dust and chemicals, was looking for the disorder, not to rebuild destroyed, just destroyed, it was a revolution masturbated with it did not want to create a better world and a bright future, with it you just wanted to forget, disorganize, disorient. On the morning hit the glass hard and we did not sleep a wink, travel safely to our July 20, nobody could stop. Alexia sighed.
July 20 I was not there, I had achieved the biggest rave in Europe with a forged ticket of the FS, I was immersed in the foam and the German beer in the smog of the wagons. July 20 I cried my protest with a whistle in his mouth. Still had not arrived by lunchtime I had already swallowed enough, the music rose in intensity and boundaries of the place they left, I lost orientation, Alexia had disappeared.
July 20 I was not there.
impaled under a poplar tree, trying to get back to reality, I turned away without a city map guide. I July 20 I had lost, the Gustav was going to tap dance with his friends, Alex was gone and the music gone mad. I vomited a long time, trying to spit out all the disorder, the revolution began to feel sick, my head spinning hard. I thought of Alex, its silences and the tap of Gustav, all that I had failed to tell him, pondered the great disorder, the disorder that had also brought in his life, I began to understand the reason for his disappearance. I was alone.
July 20 I was not there, probably even the next day, but who cares. The sun was high and I always under that poplar. A newspaper under my feet. The party was over, there was no one, the traffic had started to flow a thousand garbage. The silence bothered me. Leafing through the paper to relax the nerves, I looked at the first page, a thin boy on the ground, his face covered with a hood, immersed in a pool of blood.
The party was over.
July 20 I was not there, you are, but this makes little difference, the party is over everywhere.
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