I forgot again that you die all the time. Every day a little at a time. Day and on nights and gradually falling off every last hair.
I forgot to say my prayers every day and put the soul in peace, thinking that a future with me I would be guaranteed a pension fund.
was 2001 and I was in Rome, May 1 concert. Many young people in the Square and there was talk of a civil war is unknown, one that takes away one thousand workers each year and not Italian, in Italy. At least those are the ones that are declared.
Those that are called.
I did not think then, did not think of my mother. There would never have thought up to the time when I would see, so immediate and decisive. Like all
and no less than anyone else, I always spent between low grades in school, friends, il piacere per le donne e le bevute. Chi potrà mai togliermi i miei momenti, i miei successi e gli insuccessi. Le vacanze, i tanti primi baci e l'abbraccio di chi ti accetta soprattutto per i mille difetti.
Le chiamano morti bianche, come i teli nei quali si è avvolti dentro una bara che non serve a niente, per quelli che riescono a finirci dentro. Le lacrime dei parenti, qualche articolo di giornale, il politico che parla e per me, niente.
Finirono le scuole e come previsto, nessuna voglia di Università o studi privati, volevo i soldi subito, volevo il lavoro quello vero, che nobilita. Come mio padre e mio nonno. Un posto da operaio oggi, carriera sicura nell'azienda del paese domani. Operaio specializzato ora e capo fabbrica domani. So I would have paid the installments for the new car, bought what I wanted, brought in my beautiful pizzeria without making them pay.
Every year, deaths at work is a hymn to the social change that does not happen. Temporary workers, bricklayers, farmers, soldiers, piece workers, port, assholes, blacks, Italians ... all inside an invisible bubble that escapes even the most precarious form of legal proceedings. The perpetual indignation that has never produced anything except words of comfort for families. The other victims of this. In
factory are well received by the group, there are other young people like me but I'm the "new" to teach the secrets, I recommend the old, joke, tease me for my stories women, the drunkenness ... I like the new game, the price of the last arrived.
They know who I am son who was my grandfather, I know that you can trust.
leaders will see little, historians founders have had to sell to a foreign company, they say we are part of a multinational. I do not know, the salary comes, I just need my little things, 8 hours, overtime in black. The effort is borne at the end of the month.
Sometimes unions are saying that we do not normally want control, but I was advised to leave them alone, not to listen. In the end I did not realize what they're saying.
Italy is a country located in central Europe. The right to work is part of the Constitution and the work must (should) be sure. Must (should) be well paid but the rate of wage growth is inversely proportional to the growth of cost of living. Our leaders encourage us to go abroad. Perhaps it is a normal request is too much.
shifts are challenging and heavy, and eight hours strordinari. They are, I tell myself. For your holidays in Greece for the wheels of the machine. It takes just fucking.
Then that night lightning. I saw the worried face of the oldest in the room where there were two gentlemen, one blast, flames. The instinct to run away, go away, her legs trembling. Then I saw fathers to help them jump in without thinking, to get them out. I have not thought about it, I am thrown in and then nothing.
I am dead you're alive, do you not have noticed.
So at my funeral I do not want to participate. I'll let you all neighbors to each other.
comforted that I'm not here, your tears, of my many gaps left.
If you want to know heaven there is only a few idiotic asshole.
let to the words of the usual self-righteous, and my memory for you. Dead
nearly 879 thousand, calendar year 2010. AD, of course, yours.
shit from head to 
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