Publish date 03-09-2020

by Marco Grossetti

Soon it is the out-of-control desire of a lover who waits to know his fate after declaring himself. After nothing will be the same again. Soon it is a firm will to cancel an inopportunely long wait and to be able to kiss the earth that smells of salvation, finally firm under our feet after an exaggerated adventure. Soon it is the hope that we will make ourselves under a storm running at the mercy of the sky to seek protection. In the shelter, we can play to blow away the dark and evil clouds that had gathered above our head and inside our heart, do a reverse rain dance, scream against the sky invoking calm instead of storm.

Soon it is survival instinct, it is a word that even children understand, the grown-ups' excuse for the whims and whining of every puppy of man who breaks and demands, no longer enduring the time in which he is imprisoned. Just like us now, as we try to wake up without the kiss of a princess from the time of suspension and confinement in which we were confined for the good of all, respecting the sacred principle that has regulated and reversed the meaning of our lives: no one meets nobody.

Soon. We say it with words or without, with every glance we can still exchange, over the mask, behind a screen or showing an outlaw smile pretending that nothing is happening, regardless that the time for healing has not yet come to completion. Soon it disturbs every video call, slows down the appointments on houseparty, interrupts the communication of every app that allows us to feel close even if we are far away.

We sighed when the siren of an ambulance filled the street where we live with silence and terror, we swear at everything broken in the house by our children. When their look of reproach and sadness at the state they are in is much stronger than all possible scoldings, the time we are denying them is far more precious than anything that can shatter.

The school continues at a distance because it is not possible to postpone the second grade or the eighth grade exam to a date to be defined as if they were any Olympics. Just pretend that everyone has an office with a dad and a printer inside, a new classmate who looks a lot like mom with built-in wi-fi, the smart enough teacher, a random parent at home, filling in the gaps with a child who has to go it alone and naively seeks a hand in the void to hold, without finding it.

What are children without teachers in a time of sick people without doctors and deaths without funerals? We never worried that we are not all born free and equal, do we really have to do it now? To say that everything will be fine without any time reference is more reassuring if it is in no way possible to predict when the rainbow will take the place of the black clouds. Don't you hear how good it sounds? And if everything really can't go back to normal, at least something.

We plead for hours of air for children as well as for prisoners, to give everyone the same deserved consolation in turn. We show spontaneous and voluntary adherence to the only game we can participate in to avoid our own game-over. There are no monsters to fight, but distances to keep, because the monster could be us. Nobody will notice the change of expression on our face, hidden by a very expensive mask, the latest model of the new spring-summer collection. The eyes speak, the face is covered like that of bandits because without knowing it and unwittingly, each of us could be the executioner and murderer of the person in front of him, sad to come true of the saying of a distant time, "homo homini lupus", which does not it gives no hope to our self-certified self-belief that we have become better than we were before.

Hoping it's time to go home soon. Just says that thing that flies in the sky and is not a bird even if it speaks better than a parrot. It is the drone, the guardian angel of our health, the loving supervisor of our movements. Data that has been intercepted for years to make us fill our sweet houses with things that we do not need, without there being any privacy problems, but which cannot be used to slow down the infection and give us back our life, out of respect for our own privacy .

It only takes a few seconds, the time to make a tiktok to the gardens. We met for that, not because we missed each other. Maybe we miss them too, but we can't tell each other too much, because if they separate us again, it really would be like dying. How well we have learned to pretend to be fine and to numb our fears and feelings. We just have to be good and soon everything will return to its place, have you already forgotten that everything will be fine?

Just a simple click that magically projects us into another space-time dimension. You can go much farther and you can speak much more closely from behind that screen. Even without the mask, without any meter and no chair away. Through those glasses that are also touch. The pleasure of the only thing we can touch. Of the one thing that we must necessarily touch for it to work. Comfortably without gloves.

Marco Grossetti
NP june / july 2020

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