Yesterday evening, about three in the morning, returning home I heard a dog yelp, always the same. Not a metaphorical black dog, maybe they feel that whine when these holidays are over, but that dog meat - little - and bones - worn - which continues to stripping every day expressing vigorously what may be hard to imagine when he gets the death to devour a living body. And I feel pity for the dog, I feel pity for his innocence and the way, almost discreet, using the follow while returning home, keeping a few steps away from me. It recognizes the domesticity, yet would have all the reasons for this all the world to bite humans and pass to shoot but does not bite anyone. However, the reasons, I will repeat it a million times, for dogs do not exist nor is there a common language between us and them. But something there, something like a triangular resonance in which the dog is the subject of silent men and we talk about it "recipients" receptors that have recently turned thirty and waiting for a car next to a fountain without 'water or that have more than sixty years and in the eyes of the Registry and also my doubt is now old. Take a seat on the bench at the moment which has replaced the public transportation system in the function of my vantage point to observe il mondo e un signore che da quando lo ricordo ha sempre avuto i capelli bianchi mi accenna un saluto. “A mare?” dice e al mio “si” mi sconsiglia di andare sulla Ionica, perché proprio quella mattina lui ha impiegato 20 minuti per fare cinquecento metri di strada e perché ci sono i soliti lavori che non finiscono mai. Tra me e me penso che dall’altra parte, sulla Tirrenica e quindi sulla Salerno-Reggio Calabria, le cose non vanno certo meglio e poi io a quel mare antico e profondo ci sono così affezionato che sopporto anche la fila, ma rispondo con frasi di circostanza, il tempo sufficiente per vedere la sua testa chinarsi oltre il mio busto, per allargare il raggio visivo e lo stuzzicadenti che porta in bocca muoversi quasi imperceptibly. Before him the dog that yelps now but wait on the roadside and takes his eyes from side to side, showing that it had long been a master until it's needed - is a hunting dog - must have pampered and educated. Frankly I am not surprised this utilitarian logic, I saw it applied to me so many times by people who said that we do not love me anymore. And, therefore, surprising my fellow bench, whispering simply "not done". Do not you do, do not let the dogs die, you should accompany them to death, but it is a "not done" more universal that seems to speak of a world in which no longer recognizes, a world looks through the eyes of those who generalize. I can not afford the luxury to generalize or to draw from my own experiences of general hypotheses, but I can not even afford the luxury or the whim of blame him starting some discussion on what is wrong when all we try to reconstruct the world according to his fees. I will just agree with him, the changing times for the worse and all the things that go wrong, people who suck on the carcasses of dogs and the fact that many are worth less than a carcass. Why should I blame him? When I needed help, I always found someone willing to listen, but when his children needed help because no one helped them is heavily drugged and relatives could justify some spinel, and maybe even fumarselo, but no heroin. When her son was ill, his son, remember that I play football with me in a small dirt road and then suddenly there's great but heroin consumed in the flesh, not only was no one around but her girlfriend left him. Why did not, because it was not because "the eyes of the people" and why she went to get a policy maintained cynical bastard enough to show that the illusion of love can also be purchased. To prove that sometimes end up if you do not love have the money to satisfy the desires of the consumer who would be willing to love even in the direst poverty. This man has suffered more violence of that dog and my pain by comparison are very small thing now is to pull the boy to live and complains that the machines have been around for thousands. "Nearly twice as many inhabitants of these countries," he says and adds that he does not even use the buses and the few times in the City prefers to go on foot. It will have the illusion that all this might do him good not up to me to deny it, I'm there to listen to very few words he spoke in long moments of silence. He also passed on the bench wet water to prevent disease cane finisca con il contagiare l’uomo, ma forse è vero che la malattia del cane non si fa bloccare da un po’ di acqua fresca perché è già passata ed è la malattia con cui noi tutti, quel “noi” parziale che si riferisce alle persone degne, dobbiamo fare i conti e combattere. La malattia dell’indifferenza e della violenza usata gratuitamente, la malattia dell’egoismo e di quell’amor proprio che impedisce una forma di amore più grande la cui vigenza sulla terra renderebbe più felice la nostra esistenza. Ma io guardo quel cane e guardando quel cane guardo anche quell’uomo e mi chiedo come fare, mi chiedo come si possano combattere le miserie e le cattiverie del vivere comune che ci lasciano the bitter in the stomach and the feeling, wrong I know, everything goes to hell. That all sucks. I can not abandon this idea, because that would mean abandoning the idea that only force can withstand the power of the human community, yet I know that the force can rectify certain situations. Faced with that dog and man I wonder if there is justice in the violence, the absence of compassion for those who have not ever had none, and while this may seem like a rhetorical question with forced negative response now I no longer have this certainty because it is precisely what we need to have a fight and you can not win turning the other cheek. It is not to è vinta, infatti, porgendo l’altra guancia e il cristianesimo è il fallimento secolare più resistente che la storia dell’umanità abbia mai conosciuto. Ma quanto pesa pensare che oggi è nemico qualcuno a cui si era detto “ti amo”, quanto fa male sentirsi il cuore scisso da un sentimento doppio e vivere dentro di sé quella lotta di estremi che mi consuma ma a cui non posso rinunciare. Il cane malato io me lo porto dentro il cuore e quando abbaia la notte non c’è nessuno a sentirlo e a compatirlo. Quando abbaia la notte resta solo l’impressione di bellezza di un mare che spunta a stento tra case costruite male e gli alberi abbarbicati ai bordi di quel cancro di cemento. Quando la notte il cane nero mi stringe the only heart I feel a great sense of emptiness because that was how things would have had to go. But this is a blog about current affairs, he said, and certain intimate reflections that may appear out of place and out of place if at all, because if we do not start changing the way we feel about ourselves to another non- generic, the other existing material before us, then it makes no sense to think of changing things in this world and we might as well wait inactive. But I can never do this and I will never let me eat that dog's heart.
Gregory Sorgon
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