Il giovane dottore mi illustra tutti i rischi della procedura e mi dice cosa mi succederà a breve. Ha l'aria umile e preoccupata, se fossi una donna bramosa di cose dure direi che è tenero. I suoi occhi pieni di ideali, sono come vetrate di chiesa con un'autobomba davanti, sorrido. Mi fa capire che se mi agito troppo mi faranno del valium. Nel mio cervello scattano silenziosi meccanismi, schizza la chimica tra i miei bottoncini sinaptici, velocissima e micrometrica mi fornisce risultato del rapporto tra rischio e piacere. Decido che se fingessi una crisi di ansia, le mie scarse doti di attore potrebbero farmi sembrare più gay che spaventato, considerando un tubo in bocca. Ciao al valium gratis. L'infermiera bionda è calda, caldissima, mi dice stendermi e chiacchiera amabilmente, poi la sua amica sull'altro lato del lettino mi buca una vena del braccio e mentre il mio pugno le sfiora il pube mi dice "si giri" ma io sento "girati pure sul lato sinistro tesoro". L'altra la guarda e le fa "hai visto come ha coagulato?" La prima le risponde "e si ma magari..." e io penso di dire loro "anche il mio sangue è duro baby". Poi il mio finto film erotico svolta in un horror in tre secondi netti, il giovane dottore mi arriva da dietro e pieno di misericordia mi infila un tubo giù per la gola. Mentre succede, guardo il soffitto e penso a mille cose, che dovrei soffrire prima di tutto, un po' di sofferenza se la aspettano tutti qui, ma non soffro, sento solo spingere, un pugno di bambino piccolo che mi scende giù lungo la gola e dopo poco arriva a riempirmi la pancia, spingere, o almeno è quella la sensazione.
Uscendo perdo il mio anello, mi danno quasi subito un foglio con la bocca che mi guarda e dice "più o meno va tutto bene", scappo a rallentatore e senza pagare la visita. Passo da casa dei Miei per colazione e racconto della fuga a mia madre, lei dice "ah come i marocchini". Magari mia madre coprirà le mie malefatte, magari recupererà il mio anello, magari mi presenterà l'infermiera bionda, magari stasera faccio mille addominali.
Alle undici di mattina ritorno a lavoro percorrendo la strada piena di uno strano sole caldo e invernale, poi un riflesso di luce su una finestra mi sbatte violento come un lampo negli occhi, dentro di me penso "io non sono felice e la parte più grossa di responsabilità in tutto questo è mia". Comincio a sperare che un enorme uccello preistorico mi prenda e porti via prima di rientrare a lavoro, così, con i suoi artigli, sollevandomi nel vento e lasciandomi in faccia un sorriso soddisfatto, ciao Taser, mentre dalle mie spalle, due macchie di sangue marrone colano giù sulla mia giacca blu. Spero di volare via con lui, verso l'infinito, come alla fine di quel vecchio videogioco. O che mi lasci cadere per sbattere la faccia come solo io so fare, per attraversare di slancio questa barriera dimensionale, io, primo innesco di una catena di eventi casualmente super-accidentali che comprendano il tutto. Qualcosa di fortissimo che scuota questa tristezza infinita che è l'esistenza, di nuovo e sempre più uguale a se stessa. Una pietra di cocaina grande come la luna che si spacchi producendo un onda d'urto cosmica che faccia svegliare questo creatore bastardo, pigro e addormentato, solo per fargli spuntare un sorrisetto e dire "si, cazzo, sono tornato, ricomincia la festa, l'orgia infradimensionale della creazione, si riparte e io sono sugargod! Passami le cuffie!".
E invece no, sono di nuovo qui, davanti al portone dell'azienda, con il mio badge elettronico in mano. Devo vedersi aprire anche oggi la porta che mi schiaccerà dentro, il metallo delle fabbriche di ferro che pigia, stritola, occlude qualsiasi talento.
Sono una pila
dentro una radio spenta in un garage abbandonato
dietro la discarica piena di pezzi delle vite altrui
e ancora si
di nuovo
e si
alla fine punto
Punto.
Nota: Ricordarmi di chiedere a mia madre il nome dell'infermiera bionda.
My gastroscopy
The young doctor lays out all the risks of the procedure to me and tells me what is going to happen. He looks humble and anxious, if I were a woman hungry for hard things I would say he is tender. His eyes are full of ideals, like stained-glass windows of the church with a bombcar parked in front, I smile. He makes me realize that if I start to become anxious he had to makes me a shot of valium. In my brain some mechanisms begin to start silently, the chemistry between my synaptic boutons is splashing, fast and fine my brain gives me the result of the relationship between risk and pleasure. I decided that if I pretended an attack of anxiety, my poor acting skills could make me look more gay than alarmed considering the pipe in my mouth. I say bye to a free valium shot. The blonde nurse is hot, very hot, and she tell me to lie down while she chat sweet, then her friend on the other side of the bed inserts the needle into my vein, my fist is very close to her pussy and she says "turn around" but I hear "slide on the left side baby." The other nurse looks down and says "did you saw how it coagulate?" And the other replied "yes, maybe, but ..." and I think to tell them "even my blood is hard for you baby." Then my fake erotic movie turn into an horror one in three seconds, the young doctor approach to me full of mercy from behind, and he sticks a tube down in my throat. As it happens, I look at the ceiling and think of a thousand things, I should suffer first of all, a little suffering is what everyone is waiting for here, but I do not suffer, I just feel push inside a fist of small child that descend down in my throat and get to fill my belly, push, or at least that's seems to be the feeling.
When I'm leaving I can't find my ring, they give me almost immediately a sheet with mouth, it looks at me and says, "more or less you're okay," I run out from the hospital in slow motion and without paying for the visit. Then I pitch of my folks for breakfast, and I tell about my escape to my mother, she says "ah you're like the Moroccans." Maybe my mother will cover my misdeeds, maybe she get back my ring, maybe she will introduce me the blonde nurse, maybe tonight do one thousand abs.
At eleven o'clock in the morning I came back to my office, walking along the sunny street, I feel a strange winter sun, then a reflection of light on a window hit me and twinkle in my eye, suddenly I'm thinking "I'm not happy here and the thickest part responsibility in all of this is mine. " I begin to hope that a huge prehistoric bird could take me and bring me away from here, just like that, with his claws, levitate me with in the wind, leaving me with a huge satisfied smile, bye Taser. From my shoulders, two spots of brown blood dripping down on my blue jacket. I really hope to fly away with him, to infinity, as at the end of that old videogame. Or he may just let me fall down, and hit the ground with my face as only I can do, to cross the diensional barrier of the moment, me, the first trigger in a chain of accidental events, the super-incidental thing that generate the new everything. I hope something very powerful happens, to shake the infinite sadness of existence, that it is always so identical to itself. A stone of cocaine as large as the moon that breaks, producing a shock wave that makes happen the awake of the cosmic Creator, that bastard, lazy, I only imagine him to fetch a smile and say "yes, fuck, I'm back, let's the party starts again, let's continue the 'infradimensional orgy of creation, yeah I am sugargod! Pass me my headphones. "
But no I am still here, outside the office, with the electronic badge in my hand. I have to see this door, even today, it will crush me, inside this metal factories, between the iron that press and smash every talent.
I'm a battery in a radio
left off in an abandoned garage
in the back yard dump
full of pieces of other people's lives
and still
again
the full stop
full stop.
Note: I must remember to ask my mother the name of the blonde nurse.
My gastroscopy
The young doctor lays out all the risks of the procedure to me and tells me what is going to happen. He looks humble and anxious, if I were a woman hungry for hard things I would say he is tender. His eyes are full of ideals, like stained-glass windows of the church with a bombcar parked in front, I smile. He makes me realize that if I start to become anxious he had to makes me a shot of valium. In my brain some mechanisms begin to start silently, the chemistry between my synaptic boutons is splashing, fast and fine my brain gives me the result of the relationship between risk and pleasure. I decided that if I pretended an attack of anxiety, my poor acting skills could make me look more gay than alarmed considering the pipe in my mouth. I say bye to a free valium shot. The blonde nurse is hot, very hot, and she tell me to lie down while she chat sweet, then her friend on the other side of the bed inserts the needle into my vein, my fist is very close to her pussy and she says "turn around" but I hear "slide on the left side baby." The other nurse looks down and says "did you saw how it coagulate?" And the other replied "yes, maybe, but ..." and I think to tell them "even my blood is hard for you baby." Then my fake erotic movie turn into an horror one in three seconds, the young doctor approach to me full of mercy from behind, and he sticks a tube down in my throat. As it happens, I look at the ceiling and think of a thousand things, I should suffer first of all, a little suffering is what everyone is waiting for here, but I do not suffer, I just feel push inside a fist of small child that descend down in my throat and get to fill my belly, push, or at least that's seems to be the feeling.
When I'm leaving I can't find my ring, they give me almost immediately a sheet with mouth, it looks at me and says, "more or less you're okay," I run out from the hospital in slow motion and without paying for the visit. Then I pitch of my folks for breakfast, and I tell about my escape to my mother, she says "ah you're like the Moroccans." Maybe my mother will cover my misdeeds, maybe she get back my ring, maybe she will introduce me the blonde nurse, maybe tonight do one thousand abs.
At eleven o'clock in the morning I came back to my office, walking along the sunny street, I feel a strange winter sun, then a reflection of light on a window hit me and twinkle in my eye, suddenly I'm thinking "I'm not happy here and the thickest part responsibility in all of this is mine. " I begin to hope that a huge prehistoric bird could take me and bring me away from here, just like that, with his claws, levitate me with in the wind, leaving me with a huge satisfied smile, bye Taser. From my shoulders, two spots of brown blood dripping down on my blue jacket. I really hope to fly away with him, to infinity, as at the end of that old videogame. Or he may just let me fall down, and hit the ground with my face as only I can do, to cross the diensional barrier of the moment, me, the first trigger in a chain of accidental events, the super-incidental thing that generate the new everything. I hope something very powerful happens, to shake the infinite sadness of existence, that it is always so identical to itself. A stone of cocaine as large as the moon that breaks, producing a shock wave that makes happen the awake of the cosmic Creator, that bastard, lazy, I only imagine him to fetch a smile and say "yes, fuck, I'm back, let's the party starts again, let's continue the 'infradimensional orgy of creation, yeah I am sugargod! Pass me my headphones. "
But no I am still here, outside the office, with the electronic badge in my hand. I have to see this door, even today, it will crush me, inside this metal factories, between the iron that press and smash every talent.
I'm a battery in a radio
left off in an abandoned garage
in the back yard dump
full of pieces of other people's lives
and still
again
the full stop
full stop.
Note: I must remember to ask my mother the name of the blonde nurse.
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