To Silvio: who is the problem of Italy

As soon as I got home to spend Easter time with my family I found a letter waiting for me.
"Let's have a look! Who's writing? Fancy That! Silvio Berlusconi! He wants to tell me why I should vote for his party".
I answer throughout my blog Mr Berlusconi: I am not "Egregio Signor Giorgio Paoletti", I am Doctor Giorgio Paoletti, graduated in Political Science in 2003 with a final mark of 110/110 cum laude, the best possible mark, which I got busting my ass, studying hard and never asking for a favour or counting on anything else to help me but my skills as a student.
I don't live in Italy, I haven't done it over the last 9 years and I don't intend to return to the country where you are a sort of king.
Spare your paper, because even if I had the somewhat catastrophic idea to come back to the Country where you can do whatever you want I would never ever vote for you. I have enough toilet paper, I don't need your letters.
I know you don’t speak English, I heard you speak once with Bush and you were pathetic. I don’t demand you to speak 4 languages like me, I know everyone has their limits, and you have many; but if one day there will be some friends of yours able to speak something more than their own dialect maybe you’ll be able to understand what I am trying to communicate to you.
I realized who is the ruin of Italy.
It's not you, it's not your ally Lega Nord, it's not even your friends so-called journalists, good only at licking your arse (they are paid to do it so)..
It's those who vote for you, they are the ruin of our Country.
Those who claim not to watch "Big Brother" or that they dislike your TV shitty programs, or the values they propose.
Because they are the lowest of the low, the scum of the earth: they don't dislike your TV programs, they couldn't, otherwise they wouldn't vote for you. They are just envious, envious of those who are in those TV shows, envious that it's not them, dreaming about becoming a new Silvio, with all that implies: powerful acquaintances, favours, free whores.
I’m not interested in what you could possibly offer me. Escorts: no thanks, I am not pay boy; I like those girls who like me because I am unique to them. A political role, no way; I like to create, to write, to produce, to see if I can communicate something to the rest of the world, but my targets are people who are smarter than your electors. Your money, no thanks, I haven’t got the “poor attitude”, typical of those not poor people who envy the money (or the girls) of the others and think “If I had the money I could get a cool car, a cool house, so I could impress some people, especially the girls that are naturally not attracted to me”.
They secretly hope that one day they will get some crumbs of the kind from their biggest friend Silvio.
Those people are your target, not me.
I am not them, I am not for sale, I am better than you, your friends and your electors because I don't envy any of you.
You people just make me sick.
I have my good friends: journalists (not corrupted), writers, directors, and simple people who believe in healthy values.
They are priceless Mr president.
I know you don't know what that means but we don't like to cheat, to steal, to lie. We like to be what we are, REAL PEOPLE.
Not ass licking jokers, not pimps, not slobs, not clowns who always deny to have said what we said.
We stick to our creeds. We are real men.
What you and your million supporters will never be because you are just buffoons.
So keep the Country to you for what is worth it these days, and keep all your subjects of the kingdom, little men that would follow you even though you endorsed a law that would allow you to piss over all of them every single day.
I bet they would be ready to accept even that. But not me, I am not a buffoon who repeats what your party teaches them.
I am a man

Goodbye Diego, you will be missed

Also Diego is gone.

After all the others.

After Francesco, Lorenzo, Nicola, Valentina, Chiara, Torben, Vera, Giampaolo, Ettore, Alessandro, Adam, Paolo. Now Diego, and soon Giulia, Sarah and somebody else.

Always the same film, the same scenes. I remember when it was my turn, some years ago, same protocol, same feelings. I was at the airport and I turned towards Francesco and then towards the gate, “Fuck man, here we go, for real!”; I was about to cry but I’m not used to crying in front of the people, I prefer to do it when I am alone. Why? I don’t know, maybe because when I was a kid everyone said “Men don’t cry, girls do”; these days I think that’s just bollocks, people should react the way they feel, I do it now, but not always.

The protocol I was saying; the same: you meet the person one more time, while she or he is overwhelmed by the fucking baggage, around 40 kilos “But maybe they won’t extra charge me, maybe if I tell them I am a poor student with no money left...”. Me too, I said the same shit and it was the first time I caught a Ryanair flight, the end of June some years ago, Brazil had just won the 5th World Cup and it seemed impossible Italy could do anything good within the next 3 decades; “they are so cheap and you know when you are leaving, but you never know if you arrive” somebody told me when I was on my way to Skavsta; I corrupted the assistant with 5 free movie tickets, she let me board 36 kilos, it worked. I told her she was cute and she was happy to hear that, “You come from a very different culture, boys here don’t pay compliments”.

She was happy with a compliment and with 5 tickets for the movie, in Italy I should have promised her probably an audition for a national tv program; different culture, different needs.

When you are young you get thrilled for irrelevant things, but you feel alive. Experience makes you used to certain scenes and they start meaning less and less to you but it’s important not to reach that point where they mean nothing.

People are not the same; when you live abroad you meet loads of boys and girls but you don’t remember them all. Why? Because some touch you inside and some don’t. But when a person who touches you leaves it’s important to feel a little bit emptier.

It means you are still alive. 

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