I saw men with their pipes and boys with the keffiyeh. I saw women and female students in the fur parka. I saw mothers with children dressed as Italy. And grandmothers who, with thick glasses and skin off, but with your brain turned on. Brothers of Italy. I saw a flag, our long, long, full of us, we do not want us to kill the thought. There was the school, there were women, were the workers and the unemployed, there were business people and retirees, was Italy. Italy has awoken. Italy defending itself, defending its security and wants the facts and not jerking off. Italy who wants to return and walk with their legs, which wants to change direction, tired of being pushed strongly toward the abyss deeper disguised as just change.
I was in the square and then it was gone.
I was in the dark in a small room, small, with a small black bench. A voice, a woman, has a beautiful voice. I take off my shoes and little support on the bench. The floor is not a real floor. It is smooth, is black, it's cold. There are two doors, narrow and long, all black. It 's all black. The voice tells me to enter the right door. I am alone. There is silence.
But how beautiful daughters madame doré, but how many beautiful daughters. I want to marry madame doré, I want to marry ... are no longer alone, there are two children playing. They are the children of the woodcutter. I follow them and are on the edge of the woods. I sit under a tree and fall asleep. When I wake up, it's almost dark. There's just me. It smells of wood, wet wood, there is no smell at night, waiting for someone, but no one came. It's like a little house in the park, small ones for children, those in which I was hiding by the door is too small to go that low I have to bend. My feet make no noise, crush the dried leaves and are rolling stones. My feet hurt when I crush the stones. There are so many trees, the wind gets up and begins to sway and make noise. There are the sounds of the night and I can not go back. Walk between the trees and among the noises of the night. Then a distant light. A house.
It smells good, sweet. The house is made of biscuit, I get to taste it is sweet. I feel like a fairy tale of the Brothers Grimm . I look a bit 'and then later. The smell is good. I start to get astride and walk on all fours. There are lots of bones piled up here and there. It smells of burning flesh. There is a dark, narrow and long. There is a cage. Is anybody. He has bad feet, ankles swollen and deformed fingers. The skin is yellow es'intravedono lumpy blue veins. I called, looking for me but I do not see, I hid well. It makes a bad laugh, mouth open and then open all to see if the oven is ready. They feel the wood logs that crackle.
There is nothing left. A pile of ashes. A shoe crush. Dentures. Nails. The rolling pin that had burned in half apron. A memory.
I wake up. I must be dreaming.
am, where I fell asleep. I'm at the theater expecting to see a show called HG. They are without shoes.
Where are my shoes?
I find them on a small black bench. I put them. One hurts. There is a stone inside.
I have a rock in your shoe!
... I have left Hansel and Gretel .... He says a woman's voice. A beautiful voice.
The show is over, the show was me.
Theatres settlements. Nine rooms to cross, a voice that guides you, revisited a story, a mystical path between reality and fiction, between childhood and adulthood, between fear and dream and you're the protagonist.
Last night he was theater HG Trickster. ( what HG )
I saw many beautiful things yesterday. Things never seen before.
0 comments:
Post a Comment