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“This is living” was the masterful advertising of the latest video-games console.
Was that the real life? Was that the perception of living for millions of people, and not only kids or teenagers, happy to rush home, and close themselves in, just to play and join a virtual life?
Was it living to give up the real life, the real world, and spend instead time in front of a screen to fight, kill, drive, fuck?

If one wanted to do all those things, why didn’t do them for real?
Do you want to feel alive? So go out, go and get a punch straight on your face or a bottle smashed onto your head! Go and drive fast, push the throttle all the way down and don’t stop at the red light, or don’t think you it’s a gorge beyond that curve! Go and find someone to fuck until tomorrow morning! Go out and live for real, for fuck sake!
No, it seemed like one should let the others live just to admire them, envy them, judge them while sitting home, watching another reality show, getting angry for the latest elimination, or celebrating any victory. Of someone else, of course…

Nothing seemed to be real anymore. It was the era of the lies and falsehood, the time when one has to appear as someone else, must show something, hiding the truth even to oneself: pretend to be a lion to do not admit to be a sheep instead…
Lady Gaga more famous than Brian Eno, Britney Spears as icone to millions of teenagers; and then: to become a showgirl the dream of young girls (less and less young), and the boys who want to be tuff and bad gangsters…but with a gang behind them to help in case things go wrong…
Were those the patterns someone decided for us? Was that the new and only way to follow?

Once there were the ideals, or at least something young people believed in: the hippies and the Peace&Love movement of the 60’s and 70’s; the politic commitment in the 70’s and 80’s, the fights in the street, the will and hope for a revolution…and then?
Then everything began to decline: the techno and the synthetic drugs of the 90’s, now it was the time of internet and the television. To keep the young people away from the streets, to make them less dangerous as possible...
As those who decided to forget everything about real dreams to follow new ones in “second life” instead…

Or those who, from behind the keyboard, wanted to paint themselves as winners, glorious and magnificent, to make up the lack of excitement in their real life: hours and hours on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and all the other social networks, living someone else's life because unable to live their own…
Millions of dating site which promised real love to people unable to speak, those who need sms and smileys better than words to express their feelings.

This was the society, the world he had to live in…
He looks around him self: dozens of people waiting for the metro, more than half of them with their own headphones, isolating themselves from the others, and creating their own feelings and state of mind: feel good, feel down, cheer up, fall down.
Maybe it was just loneliness, building defences, using the music to avoid to speak or interact with someone else: to avoid any possible personal contact, now more and more rare and fleeting…

On the bus, on the metro or on the train, everybody look to sit alone, by themselves. Everybody with sunglasses to hide the eyes and the soul, the headphones to have the illusion of feelings and places far away.
How many time we can see someone else smiling?
How many times do we smile to someone?
And one can even die in the street and nobody will care or help, because everybody would think about them selves first…
And closed as we are in our own world of hypocrisy, how many of us would believe in someone who wants to do good to us or give something to us? How many of us would think about a trick instead?
However nothing in this world is for free, nothing is given…
Everything has a price…

He smiles bitterly, looks at his reflection int the glass door and sees himself changing, his shape moving and overlapping, creating the vision, shaping the outsider, faraway from the others…that evening more than ever…
He takes his notebook and starts writing…

The world goes on and on
The progress estranges us
Are we really moving forward?

When I don’t have the time
To run after it
To get used
Without asking too much.
Who cares?
The meaning of life
Always changes
Traditions disappear
Old beliefs
And new compromises
Not to go crazy
In the vanishing dreams

In the eyes
An endless land
In the tired legs
Still the will to go
Get away
But stay still
In the fleeting freedom
Tied up and caged
Bound by limitations
Those of my age
And the imposed laws
Of this crazy society…
What is left?
The will to go
And the memory of what’s gone
A cheated instinct
and chatters at the pub…

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