Come già minacciato in un post precedente, ecco un testo tratto dalle "impressioni" di qualche anno fa, intitolate Corridoi - 17 . Il primo. Sono parole usate per il solo gusto dell'intervallo e del ritmo che si crea dal loro accostamento, delle porte verso mondi fatti di immagini e impressioni, odori, suoni, tutti costretti in uno spazio sempre uguale ma diverso. Non è al tro che un vecchio divertissement, ma spero che nel suo apparente Mannerism possible to communicate to the reader a vision of another world, made up of words and imagination, or even just a fleeting sensation. What I wanted was to explain them to see what came out ...
In the corridor of the surgery from the frame the large windows were wide open red. What you saw out could hardly be called a picturesque landscape, and perhaps even a landscape: a vast space earthy half cemented, made narrow split from storage of machinery and accumulated piles of bricks scattered haphazardly, including seeking tick improbable tufts of grass, they crash against the huge pylon which supported
the Upper Town. After all, next to a low building of the walls chipped , lay the shape of the burner, whose chimneys stood out as the arrow of a modern cathedral against the darkness that surrounded the building. iron chairs in the classroom waiting were rather uncomfortable, but at least it creaked like old wooden benches of some churches in the suburbs. most certainly have not seen many around, those benches. And not even asked for the truth: the people had lost takes is not to sit in those places to feel less weak. The new sanctuaries were others, and gave to those who entered the consciousness and the illusion of a vitamin to say that the certainty of its being, a shared existence with the rest of their fellows through the ritual act of consumption constant and repeated use of common goods. Everything was for sale. There was nothing that could not be bought. The spiritual serenity was accomplished naturally through the satisfaction of material needs, the need to respond to the call of the new Messiah. Again, to exorcise their ghosts men had become the messiah's own needs. And the whole city was their new sanctuary.
« Comme le figuier desséché au bord de la route, le Christ lui-meme semble déja mort.
Quant à nous, il nous faut reposer, fut-ce devant un décor de théatre »
(Akutagawa, Kappa )
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