Bad Invisible Teachers Page 7
Chapter 6
A night without sleep is a child that he wakes up for going to school.
A night without sleep is a Greek god that whispers its destiny to the ear of the hero.
A night without sleep is a rebellious chaos: restless brains, senses allertati, reborn desires.
The order creazionista of the things is to work in the daytime and to sleep at night. And if he sins at night, it repents in the daytime. And the sanctuaries fatten up, since confession, penitence and offer are a circle that proliferates under the benedicentis you radiate some sun.
A moderate night and without sleep: now covered too much warm, now too much cold they removed the breath and they sent away every rest.
Under those covers, sweet Laura, dreams aware your destiny.
An I exult of lights it illuminates yourself the face and bottom that artificial heat you offer yourself in meal to thousand and thousand eyes adoranti. And you, attractive flower, opens the petals of your heart for a new being and they it emerges to live of you of it, parasitic of your soul, simbionte without proper forms.
To him you spontaneously offer yourself his/her victim and his/her owner.
It is behind of you, it is he who everything this you/he/she has disclosed you. Friend, brother, father: protein hero of your life, knows his/her roles but don't dare face them everybody. Not yet, small dear, you are not strong enough not to succumb.
"Thanks, Angel, if everything this was possible." You would like to tell him him, you would like to steal him from him in the ears, with tender thankfulness, to graze him/it with the lips. Follow him/it, then. You know that it is there, hidden among the scenes, proud of you.
You run away the applauses, you neglect the vanity. It is to him, in the dark, you approach yourself.
And if it were there?
His/her footsteps, evanescent, they drive you. You follow that footsteps, in the dark, in a night without sleep and without light. You don't know where they will conduct you.
The footsteps of Angel.
The footsteps that resounded on an empty sidewalk.
It was an angle in dowdy Milan that served as antechamber to that frantic, that that at night alive endless times of sollazzo.
Angel walked without dealing himself/herself/themselves of where you/he/she was, of where you/he/she went. It was the habit to push him/it, almost unwillingly, toward the meeting of happy-go-lucky playboys, riccastri annoyed in the daytime and beautiful at night, concubines from living room and from I walk.
The desires of a man are often useless distractions of which nobody can do to less.
But a man's thoughts, those, at least, they graze the authenticity.
The thoughts of Angel were confined in a bedroom, tenderly furnished, sees before distractedly so many years. In the bed, he felt, it got excited the ragazzina, uneasy and adorable.
The dreams of Laura lived in him.
He/she knew that his/her cameretta that night shone some lights of the footlight; he/she knew that in a forbidden angle of that vision, he was in trap, inconfessabile silent presence.
It attended her proud behind the scenes, exalting himself/herself/itself of the gratitude that Laura would ever have denied him: it was his/her enchantment, it was the beauty same that he offered him in gift. Eros and Agape.
In the dark of the hold road, the noises, the odors, the dirt of the life they drew near more always.
Now people went and came, you/he/she passed nearby him shouting distracted, mozzichi of recycled sentences rimpallati between men and women.
A smile of Laura was worth all the perverted laughters that that night would have borne.
Here, at the end, the light: one day pretended by the men, cut out to strength in the obscurity from the power of the money. On all of them an enormous tower impended, a gigantic index aimed threatening toward the sky. All around also adorned it of changing illuminations, a yard vertical suit to party.
To the feet, the road in permanent party: local, restaurants, discos, the consecrate temples to the cult egotist they welcomed the believers and their lavish donations. And where the opulent liturgy of the beauty is celebrated, there there was room for hordes of marvelous females, able with the art to go over what the nature had them granted, generous or parca that had been.
They were bodies patiently forged in gyms and saunas. They were young bodies and less and less suits. The hair of all the colors was a lot more than an ornament: they were a cimiero a call of war. Because to a war he was preparing all and Angel you/he/she would have gone out in the open to make to be massacred. A rape of the sabines of sun women, in which the sensual scandal of the abducted ones united him to the murderous vigor of the kidnappers, victims and executioners of them same.
It is Laura it fell asleep.
Angel reached a capannello that was assembled in front of one of the discos.
It was not a casual choice: it was there habitually that it spent his after theater, when idea to still get back home didn't graze him/it. You/he/she was convinced that there the women were more attractive, more available and freeeer. The first time was not certain that happened him to quarrel with some jealous fiancé, ringhiante capobranco to defense of the troiaggine of his/her own woman. And if the brawl has never escaped, you/he/she has always been worth of the dowries simulatorie of Angel.
You made to see from the buttafuori, that well it knew him/it, and that it did him/it pass without not even saying a word.
Inside, he/she succeeded in finding again those darkness that you/they did him/it feel to the sure one. Sure to be able to fall through his/her face in the middle of the so many that crowded the place. Sure that, in the dark artificial blush, none of his/her characters could prevail on the other dissipating the power seduttiva of his/her multiform person.
Angel advanced in the bedlam, caressing and caressed by curious and desirous looks.
The female, artificial or natural perfumes, overlapped the one to the others, not as soon as it approached to the groups of young people waiting for to decide whether to make of their time, whether to get drunk himself/herself/themselves to that table or to waddle on that cube. It did on purpose to pass nearby, because it enjoyed in to cross his/her look with that of the girls. Girls that, in to repay, they turned on their faces of a blush that nothing had to whether to do with the shame: it was the blood that began to get warm himself/herself/themselves, it was the flame of the desire that the hearts turned on and pushed them to beat to the rhythm percussivo of the music.
On the footstep the convulsive motions of the presents confused him, an inextricable torment of mass followed deep and unstoppable pulsations. Purple lights fluttered on the swaying bodies. Sounds given birth by elaborate electronic artifices seemed to originate from other dimensions to go to stimulate hidden ropes to free forgotten instincts.
Angel was ready to let him go: you/he/she was not a fun, you/he/she was a rite. The only rite of the modern world that perpetuates a primordial sacredness. In the heart of the cram, its presence didn't pass unnoticed: many eyes were sharpened on him, a lot of females, some male. He studied them all, it passed them in review gratified.
A more fidgety look of others convinced him/it. That female was practically undressed, on the skirt you/he/she opened a cleft that grazed the groin, a white top without shoulder strap left well more than to realize the nipples. The eyes were bright the left half open lips. Black loosened hair was the first ones to be caressed.
They danced so for different time, approached the one to the other, grazing himself/herself/itself as soon as and immediately withdrawing himself/herself/itself without never stopping settling.
But never a sound ever, escaped from their lips. Every word would have been vain: the words are a precious good, it is too effortless to squander her. And of certain that covering female would not have profited of it, because you/he/she didn't desire her, neither she knew whether to do him of it.
Any word for Angel, i
n that night.
The night without sleep.
The night when words race fast long nonexistent lines, in the air, in the electricity, in the magnetic fields. The words that night they held the correct distances away from the Milan of the pleasure.
It was a conversation to break in two the night without sleep, to cut her/it as the slash of a blade. A conversation that well few granted to the frills. Essential and cold, as an exact science. From a head of the telephone, Emilio Ricciuti. From the other, Charles Pezzali.
«I have seen Helen Sastri, this evening.»
«You won't have told her nothing, I hope.»
«No. You/he/she has not wanted to speak to me.»
«Better. You have failed, now it touches to us. It is only matter of time.»
Helen, my beloved creature. How long will your name still be pronounced in vain? How many times does he/she anchor I will have to blame the desires frustrated some people that want you imprisoned? Freed by your slavery and given to the world, given to the future, again given to me, that so much has loved you, as solo who creates can love. You are mine, and you are of the world. To the world not to escape you, since to the world I have given you for his/her undeserved salvation.
Pale copies of the Old tyrant, two biechi orchestrates of my sketch they evoke you, without nothing to know about you, if what I have them permission.
«You know, Emilio. At times I wonder me if your obsession for Helen both a good for our sketch. You have already tried to involve her and her you/he/she has called out immediately: you/he/she has made you clearly understand that our world doesn't interest her. Because to insist?»
«You/he/she has been afraid. But when it will understand it will be a good for all to have her/it with us.»
«When it will understand? And will he/she ever want to understand? You/he/she has been enough for her that you spoke to her of the embryos chimera because schifata escaped.»
«It is a clandestine traffic: you/he/she has feared only the legal consequences.»
«No. You know very well it. You/he/she has been afraid of the experiment in how much such. You/he/she has looked in the abyss and you/he/she is withdrawn aghast.»
«Also you would tremble to think about growing the Minotauro.»
«Not to be stupid. You know him/it you as he/she knew him/it her that it is not possible yet.»
«But we am working because one day is him/it. I admit: I have been wrong. I have approached her without criterion, convinced that whatever man of science you/he/she would also be torn the dresses to embrace our cause. Now you will try you, on one side, and from the other he/she will think of us his/her brother: open wide her to you the eyes, it will have to stun dinnanzi to the greatness of our work.»
«Your brother. One of the so many that it doesn't understand anything of science. He/she anchors I don't understand because we persist there to involve that whole gang of unbalanced.»
«The humanists are necessary. Us scientists we are too much rational, too tied to the detail. If we see drawn a beetle, for us it is only a coleopter to individualize and to classify. But for the Egyptian that thousand of years ago have traced him/it on a wall it is a whole world of knowledge: there are intuitions that escape our opinion and that instead the artists understand. They serve all the sublime minds of the planet to complete our work. And your skepticism confirms even more how much we need it.»
«You are perhaps right Brother. You are right on Helen, you are right on Angel.»
«Tomorrow you will know him/it. You two, together but for different streets, you will bring Helen home.»
«Tomorrow it will be a great session. A pure root has arrived from the Amazzonia. A great they swarm it will accompany us in our trip.»
«They serve all the sublime minds of the planet to complete our Work.»
«Helen is among these?»
«No. Helen is above these.»
The night without sleep again dragged in the shade the sounds. Any word illuminated the darkness, any light defeated the silence.
Helen didn't sleep, the bed caged her/it.
Helen feared the dreams, his/her same dreams, and it refused to embrace them.
The serene world that had grown her had been swept away, a slow but irreversible transformation. He/she wanted growth and possession the strength to face everything this. It had to grow or the world would have chained her/it to itself and forced to live.
You/he/she had seen his/her brother recite. As from small, to the performances of end year. As from young, with the first companies. And as then you/he/she was raced by him, serene and fair, to embrace him/it.
It loved the shiver to see to fade away every evening the beloved brother, to now change him in this, now in that. To lose him/it for an instant to feel then the joy to find again him/it.
But that evening no. That evening, it didn't see his/her brother again, the twin to her complementary. He/she didn't know who was seeing. Unexpected distractions around him upset him/it or they perhaps upset her.
A man, a chameleon, a slippery intersection that that folly called science one day could make possible. A folly from which she was already run away and that instead it kept on pursuing her/it.
The man-chameleon, eyes strabuzzati, mobile and quivering language.
The language of Angel, that at that time same he/she insinuated him among the rotten lips of an unknown vagina, that it of savory to like, that pulsated as a gone crazy heart, with the blood vases full of plasma, the nervous terminations in fibrillation.
And Helen all this knew him/it.
It was as if he/she saw, on a body without arched face and bidder, the male vigor of Angel to operate as an exorcist on a possessed. The muscles, the skin, the fleece, the member they were the hangings of the celebrant the sacred relics of a lustful religion.
In the dreamy loneliness of Helen there was the whole awareness of a grandiose destiny. It was the refusal of the unworthy one, of what could hardly approach to the height of his/her lineage.
To dream a mysticism union, to dream to fill his/her own void with the only one, other halves his/her own person. To dream the solo, possible embrace: what unites pleasure and knowledge, enjoyment and serenity.
Not an ephemeral sollazzo pursued by million of beings to the search of a friction espurgante.
Angel rode without standstill. And the filly enjoyed, you/he/she howled, without pronouncing an only word.
In the silence of his/her room, Helen turned him on the side. The thighs, the extremities of their inside skin, that more hidden and delicate, rubbed now him the one against the other; the fingers could already feel the velvety consistence of it, and to insinuate himself/herself/themselves along the street of the silk.
He/she didn't succeed in falling asleep yet, its mind and its hand prevented him from it.
It was the night without sleep. It was a child that he wakes up for going to school.