Rabid dog

“Usually when people are sad, they don't do anything. They just cry over their condition. 

But when they get angry, they bring about a change.” 
― Malcolm X

When I started this blog up, I meant to use it as a recipient of thoughts, feelings, tails and everything which caught my interest. It had to be an interior journey, a discovering of myself. I went farther since. But then, slowly, I stop to write about some experiences: there are wounds which will not stop bleeding if you keep on touching them. And sooner or later a man has to go ahead, leaving the past at his back. I tried to concentrate on building my new world, but there are really little materials around which I can use for it, and the construction work slowed down, sometimes even stopped. Then, struck by delusion, for this city, for this country and its people, I began to speak about their defects, bugs and weaknesses. How is it possible that this so unfair country is the same country where the lowest kitchen porter has the same rights of the Queen? How is it possible that a tenfold richer country gave tenfold less to its citizens than Italy did? How is it possible that those people so ready, in the past and even now, to blame Italians for ruining the treasures hold in Italy are so ignorant? Finding out that there's a lot less corruption just because many things are not considered corruption made me smile bitterly. Noticing that most parts of Italians who spoke and wrote about London were people who spoke too early and hastily or even who had better don't speak at all, I tried to tackle this foolish Italian xenophilia. I couldn't last reading and be listening how much morality is higher here, how better schools are here, how much cleaner people are here. Someone even wrote that the British shit doesn't stick to the British arses! I can't last to hear these things because they are not true. I understand that for an Italian migrant is important to have a dream. He or she needs to believe that somewhere is better than in Italy, or every hope will be lost as future in Italy is lost. Dreaming is a wonderful thing, but the awakening can be bitter. The next step came in its own: trying to wake Italians up. The few who read me, at least. My thought was: if I can change the mind of just two of them, perhaps they may change other two people's mind each and so on. The change will go on in a slow but unstoppable wave and we'll be able to do something for our land.

I'm just a crazy Don Quixote broken by the windmill's blades. Defeated but always standing. I'm full of rage, like a rabid dog. People tell me this since many years ago. Staying close to me is often uneasy. I'm sorry, but I don't mean to put my rage aside. I will not change it. Wash the rage away and I'll have to pretend that nothing happens all around me. Wash the rage away and sadness will fill the void up. And a sad man does nothing, just when he's angry he brings about a change.