Tornione A sea of \u200b\u200bDiamond Route: an experience that I will never forget Taken from the dialogues of "Stories drugged," published by Furore Sanguigni . Stanna Barge (MA)
(3 minutes reading time and 50)
"the diamond sea Tornione treats over the years has always maintained a certain rigor that distinguishes it from other similar countries of the national territory. In fact, the street furniture is very nice and overall the air we breathe is calm, quiet and calm. A peace that does not communicate anxiety waiting something that can break suddenly. Here, nothing ever happens. None. No remarkable fact .. Never any surprises. In short, a peaceful country ever Qantar.
- "And his people?"
I Tornionesi, are "lying", clean and fresh faces, whose eyes communicate peace and serenity. Polite, friendly, polite and good manners, Tornionesi welcome tourists with big smiles and cordiality. Without being intrusive ask, are curious, but with the greatest kindness. Looking around you realize that no one runs, and never in a hurry. The people in this country work slowly and their cars do not make noise, make noise and even scooters shall disturb the peace that imposes itself here without even your knowledge. The windows of their houses are always open and the door ajar. The source that feeds the energy is only the sun. Everything around seems to conform and adapt to this community of people calm, relaxed, serene. Nature is in perfect harmony. Pigeons, for example, does not relieve themselves from the rooftops, filling the edges of the platform of their guano, but as light as butterflies fly away, immersed in the surrounding woods. The trees shed their leaves when the wind does not contribute to scatter in the streets, on the contrary, they slide down your trunk to store it and then push them gently toward the river and as cars on the tracks of a train, leaving in a row without getting lost. There is little rain, just to water the fields and invigorate the flowers. Most of the time of clear skies and clouds are white as the robe of the Madonna. However, the diamond sea Tornione Trafficking has a story to tell.
I'm sorry to disappoint you, because no news is ever leaked here. Here, the newspapers do not exist. In this village everyone is equal and have the same importance. You never know what happens. But probably nothing, but things more normal and more common. A country "so" if you will, but whose citizens do not favor the legal proceedings. But coming to the point, I have lived here a 'hands forget that experience. I visited this country fifteen years ago. There was a big red sun that dazzled. While sitting on the bench contemplating the end of an alley filled with the red of the sunset, surrounded by a country is depopulated at the hour of dinner, a child approached me and asked: "Why Tornione is not music?". I was shocked, I had not noticed, and did not know how to respond. Then I looked towards the closed shops and cobbled streets clear. So she ran towards the square, was poor but shimmering, the sun's rays reflected deeply on the ancient floor of the square. I repeated all the time, as ever in that country there was actually music. But above all I realized I had not all day .. Then got a sense distress, stopped with force and in a bad way, the only country that went from there, wondering. The Lord looked straight into my eyes, I said, "My dear, rock is dead, rock is dead" and fell silent. But then a tear digging a wrinkle on his face fell on the asphalt pavement, perhaps, the only "stain" the existing, throughout the village as ever immaculate. At that point I felt the pull on the jacket, and I saw that boy stretching his arm, he pointed his finger with a stereo dall'alone showed the tear: there, before us, the ground is a stereo erse quite large. The boy suggested that I turn up the volume. As I turned slowly the volume knob, I felt like a warm sound that was becoming increasingly strong, very strong, though I am I could not define it. Until it culminated in an agreement that guitar like a blast, let me throw back, and so began a roaring guitar solo. It was scratchy, ferruginous, distorted, dirty, a fast-paced, brilliant accent, many tied notes without a pause for reflection, sounds impulsive, unruly., A roar of notes that are banging against each other, rushing and then went up swallowing air and then released in a deep breath. Those notes were cries of joy, laughter, enjoyment of pain. Harmony was the balance. The solo was life. Oh My God! ecstasy. catharsis, liberation. I was screaming and squirming and I did not want to stop
It's been 15 years since that event and only now I'm back. I made a great figure of shit. It was the ambulance and nurses who quietly made me lie down in bed. I was surrounded by incredulous faces of people who had bothered to get out of their homes and in their lives that perhaps they had never expressed astonishment. Those facial expressions were like those of a child to whom you say that Santa Claus does not exist, although it was not even aware of its existence, in short, when that expression is not clear, but something inside you tears. The ambulance took me slowly
al Pronto Soccorso. Con prognosi di 5 giorni a causa di esaurimento emotivo, mi misero sul primo treno per Camporognone
Girò voce che un tossicomane in preda ad un attacco isterico spaccò uno stereo uccidendo un bambino e anziano signore dandogli fuoco. Fu l’unica notizia che trapelò in quel paese e forse l’ultima. Tra i tavoli della briscola, tra la gente negli uffici, tra i bambini a scuola, tutti parlarono di quel evento in maniera pacata, quasi sussurrata , ma mai senza giudicare e senza scomporsi, solo poche lacrime. Ogni tanto.
-“Ma eri stato te?”
-“Io non seppi mai la verità, perché a Tornione del Rombo Spagga Tratta se chiedi,ti rispondono che tutto è tranquillo e che non nothing ever happens "
-" What a flash! What a fucking cool, but it is a true story? What a crazy story intriguing lot. The rock ... .. Wow. Look, but I throw the barrel of the acorn that you almost done? .
- "Yeah I'm sorry" I stood up and walked towards the fading glow of the night.
for the next new stories taken from drug addicts. Your Globe trotter Manggiossi Cash
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