scorrere in basso per l'italiano
I live in Budapest, Hungary, where someone still dares to drink Corona, since, as far as we know, there are no cases here, at the moment.
In my native country Italy, in stead, cases have been found and the number of infected people is higher every time I check the news. My con-nationals are answering to the “don’t panic” advice with pure panic, stocking the house with canned food and avoiding public spaces. I found myself thinking that if the end of the world is close, as they are making it look like, Italians are choosing to spend their last days eating beans and mais. Curious. Everybody thinks about death, sometimes. I hope that, if mine had to be sudden, in that moment I will look decent, wear lipstick as grandma thought me and nice clothes. It appears that for several people the rule is: don’t die with an empty stomach. Stock your cupboards, creeps.
Even if in Budapest the phobia is at least for now not a thing, the virus still finds its way and our lives and through our pens. Can writing increase the diffusion of a virus? On Monday night in the shady district of Budapest we had our weekly Creative Writing Night and, together with a bunch of us writers, King Corona showed up too, without knocking at the door. After all, the event is public. We ended up writing about the end of the world.
If this story goes viral, will it be a bad thing for the humanity?
While the rest of the world is asking to the experts whether or not we should use the word Pandemia, Italy has decided.
No, it’s not a Pandemia, it’s Apocalypse.
Apocalypse Soon
Cough in your elbow, stop wearing yellow wash your hands after washing your hands rub your hands with your hands and wash them again until the day is over Calm, stay calm Doctor Panic won’t help, but he’ll be there for you to make all your life problems disappear and leave you alone with fear In the morning at the Post Office I had to cough an almond swallowed too fast, but as soon as I started they all turned around and looked at me in such a way I thought I’d choke, rather than cough. So guys, the story is, I have ten minutes to tell you what you had to do, in case the world was coming to an end. I am not sure I conjugated these verbs properly, but, f(bip!)* you, reader, the world is ending and I have to care about the Hypothetic Period of Reality? (*I will write just “fbip” from now on. I am gonna swear a bit here, since it might be the last piece I write, but I don’t want to be banned by Facebook, as I think it will survive the end of the world and I want to be present, at least on social media!). Fbip you and doomed grammar, I am a female and rules are meant to bend for me, not the opposite. Hallucinogenic are sold on Ebay, 3000 bucks a trip. Wine reserves plunging all across the 4 continents, Oceania still got a lot and so does Germany, which declared Dryness Status for the lack of beer. A square of chocolate can cost up to 10000 US Dollars, but don’t worry if you are not that rich, it’s nearly impossible to find any: since there's no time to die of diabete, there was a big rush to eat all the processed sweets. Nobody is wearing condoms since the Great Alarm was given: who the fbip cares? Ice cream parlours had become the new restaurants, in this final version of Planet Earth. Almost nobody takes vitamins, probiotics, nor medicines of sorts. An alarming number of former smokers are relapsing, ‘cause, creeps, who the fbip cares? Getting out of the house makes you face a brand new environment. In my flowery street close to Budapest’s city park, people are like rats, running or crawling, they climb on each other, licking their ice creams while exchanging body fluids almost nonstop, in one way or in another. It’s a lot of kissing and hugging too, don’t be too trivial. We are all contaminated, we can blend. Yesterday I heard a lady asking when is the end coming, as she cannot have any more of it. If she was talking about the ice cream or about the intercourses, I am not sure. Giant projectors in parking lots are showing the most beautiful movies, those that everybody should have seen, but that many of us haven’t and lie about it in conversations. It’s a gift Gwyneth Paltrow, Bruce Willis, Denzel Washington and Ben Affleck decided to give to the humanity. At Budapest’s Heroes Square, there’s a demonstration organised by the crazy ones. Those who believe we can stop the end of the world, by burning all the cars, destroying all the factories, stop drinking sodas, planting new trees and coughing in our elbows. In stead of celebrating the end of the world by enjoying it they deny its ineluctability. "Josephine - says my best friend - can finally tell me in details how deeply I ruined her life. She spent all of her money to fly from Baltimora to Budapest and give me a shower of insults. Her final life proposition was to make me feel like a shit and I respect that. I tried to persuade her that at least we could make the best of these last moments in the way a man and a woman are supposed to, getting drunk and bping. We did so, still she keep insulting me, but I liked it". "I like everything, - he concludes - because it’s the last time of everything! It started as a virus, only the most pessimistic and hypochondriac would compare it to the Black Death, but now Mr Corona speaks to us and we know why it came. It’s our destiny, our time. It’s a scale, that weighted our specimen. Have we done more good or more bad things, to the universe? You know the answer. I really hope, you were washing your hands before, when hygiene and well being actually mattered to build a good future. Now it’s time to touch, smell, grab, act, like there was no tomorrow. Because there might be a tomorrow, but definitely not a “next”. “You gotta die well fed and with clean hands” King Corona says from the shadow. “Oh, I, sorry King Corona, now I get it. I am going to use all those disgusting gels they are putting everywhere and die with immaculate hands, Her Majesty as you like it.” I see water-phobic people finally jumping in and taking their very unique dip. Criminals freed from now pointless prisons, testing what it feels like to be kind and help others. Every skin is free, to have the color it has, at last. Nobody wants to hurt. Everybody feels good, free from fears. It’s peace, at the end.
Apocalypse Soon
Cough in your elbow, stop wearing yellow wash your hands after washing your hands rub your hands with your hands and wash them again until the day is over Calm, stay calm Doctor Panic won’t help, but he’ll be there for you to make all your life problems disappear and leave you alone with fear In the morning at the Post Office I had to cough an almond swallowed too fast, but as soon as I started they all turned around and looked at me in such a way I thought I’d choke, rather than cough. So guys, the story is, I have ten minutes to tell you what you had to do, in case the world was coming to an end. I am not sure I conjugated these verbs properly, but, f(bip!)* you, reader, the world is ending and I have to care about the Hypothetic Period of Reality? (*I will write just “fbip” from now on. I am gonna swear a bit here, since it might be the last piece I write, but I don’t want to be banned by Facebook, as I think it will survive the end of the world and I want to be present, at least on social media!). Fbip you and doomed grammar, I am a female and rules are meant to bend for me, not the opposite. Hallucinogenic are sold on Ebay, 3000 bucks a trip. Wine reserves plunging all across the 4 continents, Oceania still got a lot and so does Germany, which declared Dryness Status for the lack of beer. A square of chocolate can cost up to 10000 US Dollars, but don’t worry if you are not that rich, it’s nearly impossible to find any: since there's no time to die of diabete, there was a big rush to eat all the processed sweets. Nobody is wearing condoms since the Great Alarm was given: who the fbip cares? Ice cream parlours had become the new restaurants, in this final version of Planet Earth. Almost nobody takes vitamins, probiotics, nor medicines of sorts. An alarming number of former smokers are relapsing, ‘cause, creeps, who the fbip cares? Getting out of the house makes you face a brand new environment. In my flowery street close to Budapest’s city park, people are like rats, running or crawling, they climb on each other, licking their ice creams while exchanging body fluids almost nonstop, in one way or in another. It’s a lot of kissing and hugging too, don’t be too trivial. We are all contaminated, we can blend. Yesterday I heard a lady asking when is the end coming, as she cannot have any more of it. If she was talking about the ice cream or about the intercourses, I am not sure. Giant projectors in parking lots are showing the most beautiful movies, those that everybody should have seen, but that many of us haven’t and lie about it in conversations. It’s a gift Gwyneth Paltrow, Bruce Willis, Denzel Washington and Ben Affleck decided to give to the humanity. At Budapest’s Heroes Square, there’s a demonstration organised by the crazy ones. Those who believe we can stop the end of the world, by burning all the cars, destroying all the factories, stop drinking sodas, planting new trees and coughing in our elbows. In stead of celebrating the end of the world by enjoying it they deny its ineluctability. "Josephine - says my best friend - can finally tell me in details how deeply I ruined her life. She spent all of her money to fly from Baltimora to Budapest and give me a shower of insults. Her final life proposition was to make me feel like a shit and I respect that. I tried to persuade her that at least we could make the best of these last moments in the way a man and a woman are supposed to, getting drunk and bping. We did so, still she keep insulting me, but I liked it". "I like everything, - he concludes - because it’s the last time of everything! It started as a virus, only the most pessimistic and hypochondriac would compare it to the Black Death, but now Mr Corona speaks to us and we know why it came. It’s our destiny, our time. It’s a scale, that weighted our specimen. Have we done more good or more bad things, to the universe? You know the answer. I really hope, you were washing your hands before, when hygiene and well being actually mattered to build a good future. Now it’s time to touch, smell, grab, act, like there was no tomorrow. Because there might be a tomorrow, but definitely not a “next”. “You gotta die well fed and with clean hands” King Corona says from the shadow. “Oh, I, sorry King Corona, now I get it. I am going to use all those disgusting gels they are putting everywhere and die with immaculate hands, Her Majesty as you like it.” I see water-phobic people finally jumping in and taking their very unique dip. Criminals freed from now pointless prisons, testing what it feels like to be kind and help others. Every skin is free, to have the color it has, at last. Nobody wants to hurt. Everybody feels good, free from fears. It’s peace, at the end.
Post Scriptum:
I don’t know about yours, but the sleeves of my sweaters and of my coats are the most disgusting place I can think about. Can’t wait for the that magic second, when all of a sudden, the emergency will disappear, everybody not involved, will just forget, maybe ask themselves why the heck they got so much canned food at home.
***
Vivo a Budapest, in Ungheria, dove ancora qualcuno osa bere la Corona, dal momento che, per quanto ne sappiamo, al momento non ci sono casi del virus nel Paese.
Curioso. Tutti pensiamo alla morte, qualche volta. Ad esempio a volte ho riflettuto che se dovessi tirare l’aghetto all’improvviso, spero non succeda mentre indosso gli abiti da casa, che avrò su il rossetto come la nonna mi ha insegnato, della bella biancheria e vestiti abbinati con gusto.
In questi giorni sembra che per molti invece la regola sia: non voglio morire a stomaco vuoto. Riempitevi le credenze, belli.
Anche se Budapest al più si vede qualche mascherina che copre volti che sembrano non aver mai sorriso, il virus trova comunque la sua strada nelle nostre vite e anche attraverso le nostre penne. Può la scrittura può aumentare la diffusione di un virus?
Lunedì, nel quartiere malfamato di Budapest, ci siamo riuniti per la nostra abituale serata di scrittura creativa e, oltre a tutti noi scribacchini, si è presentato anche Corona, senza bussare alla porta. Dopotutto, l'evento è pubblico. Ci siamo ritrovati così a scrivere della fine del mondo.
Pubblicare contenuti virali è pericoloso, in questi giorni, ma per fortuna mi rivolgo a una nicchia.
Mentre il resto del mondo chiede agli esperti se usare o meno la parola Pandemia, l'Italia ha deciso.
No, non è una pandemia, è un'apocalisse.
Apocalisse Presto
Tossisci nel gomito,
se hai il raffreddore
stai in casa,
ma evita la reclusione.
Lavati le mani
dopo esserti lavato le mani.
Strofina le mani
con le tue mani
e lavale di nuovo,
fino alla fine della giornata
Calma, mantieni la calma.
Dottor Panico non ti aiuterà,
ma sarà lì per te
farà sparire
ogni tuo problema
per lasciarti solo con
La Paura.
Di mattina
all'ufficio postale
Ho dovuto tossire
una mandorla deglutita troppo in fretta,
ma non appena ho iniziato a tossire
tutti, mi hanno guardato tutti,
in un modo tale che
soffocare
mi è parso più saggio che tossire.
Dunque signori e signore, la storia è che ho dieci minuti per raccontarvi cosa dovete fare, nel caso in cui il mondo stia per finire.
Non sono sicuro di aver coniugato correttamente questi verbi, ma, fo(bip!)* lettore, il mondo sta finendo e devo preoccuparmi del periodo ipotetico della realtà? (* Scriverò solo "fobip" d'ora in poi. Userò qualche parolaccia qui, dal momento che potrebbe essere l'ultimo pezzo che scrivo, ma non voglio essere bandita da Facebook, poiché penso che sopravviverà al fine del mondo e voglio restare presente, almeno sui social media).
Fobip tu e la grammatica, sono una donna e le regole devono inchinarsi per me, non il contrario.
Gli allucinogeni sono in venduta su Ebay, 3000 dollari al trip.
Le riserve di vino precipitano in tutti i 4 continenti, l'Oceania ne ha ancora molto e pure la Germania, che ha dichiarato lo stato di siccità: è finita la birra.
Un quadretto di cioccolato può costare fino a 10000 dollari americani, ma non preoccuparti, se non sei così ricco, è quasi impossibile trovarne. Non essendoci più tempo di morire di diabete, si sono gettati tutti sui dolci.
Nessuno indossa più i preservativi, da quando è stato diramato il Grande Allarme.
Le gelaterie erano diventate i nuovi ristoranti, in questa versione finale del Pianeta Terra. Quasi nessuno prende vitamine, probiotici o medicine di sorta.
Un numero allarmante di ex-fumatori è ricaduto nel vizio, perché, tesori miei, che importa ormai?
Uscire di casa mette di fronte a un ambiente tutto nuovo.
Nella mia strada fiorita vicino al parco cittadino di Budapest, le persone sono come topi, corrono o strisciano, si arrampicano l'una sull'altra, leccano coni gelato e si scambiano fluidi corporei quasi senza sosta, in un modo o nell'altro. Si vedono anche un sacco di baci e abbracci, non siate troppo triviali.
Siamo tutti contaminati, possiamo fonderci l'uno all'altro. Ieri ho sentito una signora chiedere quando arriverà questa benedetta fine, dato che non ne può più. Se stava parlando del gelato o dei rapporti sessuali, non ne sono sicuro.
I proiettori giganti nei parcheggi stanno mostrando i film più belli, quelli che tutti avrebbero dovuto vedere e sui mentiamo spesso nelle conversazioni, per non fare brutta figura. Una campagna umanitaria finanziata e promossa da Gwyneth Paltrow, Bruce Willis, Denzel Washington e Ben Affleck.
A Budapest, Piazza degli Eroi, c'è una manifestazione organizzata dai matti. Coloro che credono che possiamo fermare la fine del mondo, bruciando tutte le macchine, distruggendo tutte le fabbriche, smettendo di bere bibite gassate, piantando nuovi alberi e tossendo solo nei nostri gomiti.
Invece di celebrare la fine del mondo godendosela a pieno, negano la sua ineluttabilità.
"Josephine - mi racconta il mio migliore amico - può finalmente dirmi in dettaglio quanto profondamente ho rovinato la sua vita. Ha speso tutti i suoi soldi per volare da Baltimora a Budapest e farmi una pioggia di insulti. La sua ultima proposta di vita era di farmi sentire una merda e lo rispetto.
Ho cercato di convincerla che almeno avremmo potuto trarre il meglio da questi ultimi momenti nel modo in cui un uomo e una donna dovrebbero, ubriacandosi e bippando a più non posso.
Lo abbiamo fatto, nel mentre ha continuato a insultarmi, ma mi è piaciuto".
"Mi piace tutto, perché è l'ultima volta di tutto!" ha concluso.
È iniziato come un virus, solo i più pessimisti lo paragonavano alla Peste, ma ora il Signor Corona ci parla e sappiamo perché è arrivato. È il nostro destino, il nostro tempo. È una bilancia che ha pesato la nostra specie. Abbiamo fatto più cose buone o più cattive per l'universo? La risposta, cercala dentro di te e anche sotto il tuo acquaio, dove tieni la spazzatura.
Spero davvero che tu ti lavassi le mani già prima, quando l'igiene e il benessere contavano davvero per costruire un buon futuro.
Ora è il momento di toccare, annusare, afferrare, agire, come se non ci fosse un domani. Perché potrebbe esserci un domani, ma sicuramente non un "prossimo".
"Devi morire ben nutrito e con le mani pulite", dice Re Corona dall'ombra.
“Oh, mi dispiace, Sua Maestà, ora capisco. Userò tutti quei gel disgustosi che mettono ovunque e morirò con le mani immacolate, Sire, come piace a Lei. ”
Vedo fobici dell'acqua tuffarsi per la prima e forse l'ultima volta, liberi, finalmente, di nuotare. I criminali sono stati liberati dalle ormai inutili prigioni e provano cosa si prova ad essere onesti e aiutare gli altri. Ogni pelle è libera di avere il colore che ha.
Nessuno vuole fare del male.
Tutti si sentono bene, liberi dalle paure.
È la pace, alla fine.
Post scriptum:
Non so tu, ma le maniche dei miei maglioni e dei miei cappotti sono il posto più disgustoso a cui posso pensare. Aspetto quel magico istante, quando all'improvviso, l'emergenza scomparirà e tutti i non coinvolti dimenticheranno. Forse si chiederanno perché diamine abbiano così tanto cibo in scatola a casa.
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