It seems that a similar gesture, and for reasons very similar, marked the beginning of the revolt of Tunisia, a guy with his cart of stuff for sale, fruit, vegetables or whatever. The zealous guardians of order, rules, harassment, fines. The boy has done it more, took a bottle of gasoline and set himself on fire. And so he died, horribly. The revolt broke out.
A sea in the middle. A boy Moroccan Light of Faith, Nur ad-Din, Noureddine or how to transliterate the French. Palermo, بلرم , Italian city. One way whatsoever, any life. The same cart, the same stuff, the same law enforcement, the same regulations, the same oppression, the same fines. Just that there's one more thing, and one less thing. What's more is that Nur ad-Din is not to his house, his house is far away, near Dar el-Beida, or Casablanca. City that, for a famous film and the legend of a sex-change operations has entered a sort of collective imagination, call it so. To be in a different social and collective reality, however, Nur ad-Din had to cross the Mediterranean. He had probably remain underground for some time and was given a thing called residence permit. Why the Earth is not for everyone, as we know, have made thousands of films with landings of aliens, and bad War of the Worlds to the good of ET , but I'm sure the first thing we would do in the case of landing of extraterrestrials is real thrust into a CIE, possibly expel (ributtiamoli in space! ") and then let them do the process for being allowed to stay. Other than lethal weapons, we have invented one, on this planet that delivers tutte. Si chiama burocrazia.
La cosa in meno, è che qui di là dal Mediterraneo non scoppierà nessuna rivolta. Anche se le cose sono andate uguali. Nur ad-Din ha preso una bottiglia di benzina, si è dato fuoco e è morto. A ventitré anni. Forse sapeva di quel che aveva fatto il ragazzo in Tunisia, o forse no; ma non ha molta importanza. Sono arrivati gli sbirri del sindaco, i vigili urbani, coi regolamenti municipali e coi blocchetti delle multe. Il suolo pubblico , quello che ogni giorno viene occupato da intrallazzi e speculazioni, sconciato, distrutto e sfruttato senza pagare un soldo, lo devono pagare invece i ragazzi coi carretti per vendere due arance o un mazzo di sedano. I Comuni hanno bisogno di soldi because companies are now , the government closes the valves, and then the money must collect it from somewhere, even to Nur ad-Din. No money, no services, apart from the fact that many municipal services are far more disgusting than before, when there were farms and reasoned a minimum in terms of public good.
Auditors-Sheriffs, chiefs of the town bullies. The traffic policeman before, do not say it was a beloved figure, but at least had something familiar; the cast, er pizzardone, every town had a nickname. Not now. Now agents are Municipal Police (or local). Rambeggiano now, too. Now they have to apply the Ordinances The Sheriff. Ordinances, of course, affect Nur ad-Din of all nationalities, including Italian, although it must be said, be of certain nationalities is not, as it were, an advantage. But the carts are the same. The vegetables, too. The little money made from it, as well. Because it goes like this: your life, our life, is now in the hands of all this. I am not speaking philosophically, but the normal life daily as citizens. Administered shots of demagoguery and leader. The mayor "most loved" and "less loved". Visibility and publicity. The mayor is no longer an expression of citizenship and a meeting, but will retain the right to be citizenship, and to establish himself the forum. But of all this, I am sure, Nur ad-Din did not matter much. For his life, his dreams and his poor dear had to sell oranges and celery as a Ernesto Basile, Palermo. Have prevented him, so without even knowing who he was. here you can stay there. controls. Violations. His wife and child in Morocco, and wanted to get them in this wonderful country of Bengodi. Where, it seems, he found himself well. Even with people who had taken to calling Franco. It's a beautiful name, Franco, and it means something, although it may be a reduction of Francis, as the name itself autonomous in the root of Liberty. In Breton, "Freedom" is said frankiz . Even when you say "free port" means that we must pay something. Franco, or Nur ad-Din, however, had to pay everything, and the light of faith has turned into another, and the left light.
No, no revolt. Here, when a riot broke out because you get to keep tomatoes in slavery, the village will seize guns and bloodshed, it does not matter that the cops arrive, municipal or national agencies and bodies. I came by train from Piacenza, one of the nights of riots Rosarno; before me in the compartment, just so happened that there was a family of rosarnesi. The oldest son phoned home for two reasons: First, find out the outcome of Milan, the second to see if his house were also their to shoot those negraccio of shit. "I recommend that you make out of someone!" And laughed, and asked if he had scored Pato and Inzaghi.
I wish I did not misunderstand. A revolt in this as in dozens of other cases, should not have anything to do with either or with vengeance and justice. It should only have to do with logic. I find it logical that fully in Tunis, Cairo and Tripoli the people complained, though there are many points that I have not fully clear and I hear a little 'too much of cyclamen, jasmine and other flowers that remind me of the "colors" of the other parties as well come ci sono un po' troppi obami e mogli di spompinati dalle stagiste che intervengono. Ma le situazioni imponevano una rivolta, e una rivolta c'è stata. In questo paese pure s'imporrebbe; stop. Anche senza andare a scomodare il defunto Monicelli (che, peraltro, non credo abbia mai venduto sedani su un carretto, e che s'è dato la morte a 95 anni e non a 23).
Siamo proprio bravi, qui. Si dedicano le strade a Jan Palach, ragazzo praghese che si diede fuoco per far sì che, proprio nelle stessa piazza, sorgesse un giorno il sol dell'avvenire dei McDonald's; lo si ricorda come eroe contro il barbaro comunismo , e intanto si danno fuoco gli ambulanti marocchini perché sono vessati da due o tre vigili urbani shit, regulations in hand. I could have a time machine of Dr. Zapotec, the first thing I would do would be back in Vaclavske Namesti January 16, 1969, take him on one side and suggest some language in the cabbage to make a different use of that tank of gas, any use, but not about himself. And so the boy would do to Tunisia and Nur ad-Din: maybe in a more comfortable French, suggest that they do not set fire to themselves, but under the command of the traffic police. Someone will have to even think, at one time or another. Someone should make a nice bonfire of orders, regulations, permits, fines and any other blocks. Someone will have to set fire to these cities militarized camera, safety, sheriff, patrol, killed. For this s'ha a great fear of what happens beyond the sea. Fear and
enough. Mica do not care a saw, to us, if you knock down dictatorships, democracy and freedom if you ask, if you simply want to live a little 'more worthy or if you simply want to sell more vegetables and no junk that no one dare to break my balls, that matters for us, with all this, do not reach thousands and thousands of Nur ad-Din. Everybody with his own cart, with their families, with their lives. We care about this and nothing else. As well as praising the great Romanian revolution that had overthrown the Vampire in Transylvania, the Romanians until have started to arrive en masse. O the return of democracy in Albania , so we could finally go to pray to Jesus, Mary and Allah, until one fine day have not been sighted off the coast of Otranto overflowing carts. And so there's Nur ad-Din, after some years are arranged in a way Basile, and selling vegetables. Maybe picked up by other desperate in Rosario, who knows, or some plane Sicily. And there's Brigade, and for half an hour per square meter or time you saddled with a dreadful penalty. And then there's fire. And who fire hurts.
A sea in the middle. A boy Moroccan Light of Faith, Nur ad-Din, Noureddine or how to transliterate the French. Palermo, بلرم , Italian city. One way whatsoever, any life. The same cart, the same stuff, the same law enforcement, the same regulations, the same oppression, the same fines. Just that there's one more thing, and one less thing. What's more is that Nur ad-Din is not to his house, his house is far away, near Dar el-Beida, or Casablanca. City that, for a famous film and the legend of a sex-change operations has entered a sort of collective imagination, call it so. To be in a different social and collective reality, however, Nur ad-Din had to cross the Mediterranean. He had probably remain underground for some time and was given a thing called residence permit. Why the Earth is not for everyone, as we know, have made thousands of films with landings of aliens, and bad War of the Worlds to the good of ET , but I'm sure the first thing we would do in the case of landing of extraterrestrials is real thrust into a CIE, possibly expel (ributtiamoli in space! ") and then let them do the process for being allowed to stay. Other than lethal weapons, we have invented one, on this planet that delivers tutte. Si chiama burocrazia.
La cosa in meno, è che qui di là dal Mediterraneo non scoppierà nessuna rivolta. Anche se le cose sono andate uguali. Nur ad-Din ha preso una bottiglia di benzina, si è dato fuoco e è morto. A ventitré anni. Forse sapeva di quel che aveva fatto il ragazzo in Tunisia, o forse no; ma non ha molta importanza. Sono arrivati gli sbirri del sindaco, i vigili urbani, coi regolamenti municipali e coi blocchetti delle multe. Il suolo pubblico , quello che ogni giorno viene occupato da intrallazzi e speculazioni, sconciato, distrutto e sfruttato senza pagare un soldo, lo devono pagare invece i ragazzi coi carretti per vendere due arance o un mazzo di sedano. I Comuni hanno bisogno di soldi because companies are now , the government closes the valves, and then the money must collect it from somewhere, even to Nur ad-Din. No money, no services, apart from the fact that many municipal services are far more disgusting than before, when there were farms and reasoned a minimum in terms of public good.
Auditors-Sheriffs, chiefs of the town bullies. The traffic policeman before, do not say it was a beloved figure, but at least had something familiar; the cast, er pizzardone, every town had a nickname. Not now. Now agents are Municipal Police (or local). Rambeggiano now, too. Now they have to apply the Ordinances The Sheriff. Ordinances, of course, affect Nur ad-Din of all nationalities, including Italian, although it must be said, be of certain nationalities is not, as it were, an advantage. But the carts are the same. The vegetables, too. The little money made from it, as well. Because it goes like this: your life, our life, is now in the hands of all this. I am not speaking philosophically, but the normal life daily as citizens. Administered shots of demagoguery and leader. The mayor "most loved" and "less loved". Visibility and publicity. The mayor is no longer an expression of citizenship and a meeting, but will retain the right to be citizenship, and to establish himself the forum. But of all this, I am sure, Nur ad-Din did not matter much. For his life, his dreams and his poor dear had to sell oranges and celery as a Ernesto Basile, Palermo. Have prevented him, so without even knowing who he was. here you can stay there. controls. Violations. His wife and child in Morocco, and wanted to get them in this wonderful country of Bengodi. Where, it seems, he found himself well. Even with people who had taken to calling Franco. It's a beautiful name, Franco, and it means something, although it may be a reduction of Francis, as the name itself autonomous in the root of Liberty. In Breton, "Freedom" is said frankiz . Even when you say "free port" means that we must pay something. Franco, or Nur ad-Din, however, had to pay everything, and the light of faith has turned into another, and the left light.
No, no revolt. Here, when a riot broke out because you get to keep tomatoes in slavery, the village will seize guns and bloodshed, it does not matter that the cops arrive, municipal or national agencies and bodies. I came by train from Piacenza, one of the nights of riots Rosarno; before me in the compartment, just so happened that there was a family of rosarnesi. The oldest son phoned home for two reasons: First, find out the outcome of Milan, the second to see if his house were also their to shoot those negraccio of shit. "I recommend that you make out of someone!" And laughed, and asked if he had scored Pato and Inzaghi.
I wish I did not misunderstand. A revolt in this as in dozens of other cases, should not have anything to do with either or with vengeance and justice. It should only have to do with logic. I find it logical that fully in Tunis, Cairo and Tripoli the people complained, though there are many points that I have not fully clear and I hear a little 'too much of cyclamen, jasmine and other flowers that remind me of the "colors" of the other parties as well come ci sono un po' troppi obami e mogli di spompinati dalle stagiste che intervengono. Ma le situazioni imponevano una rivolta, e una rivolta c'è stata. In questo paese pure s'imporrebbe; stop. Anche senza andare a scomodare il defunto Monicelli (che, peraltro, non credo abbia mai venduto sedani su un carretto, e che s'è dato la morte a 95 anni e non a 23).
Siamo proprio bravi, qui. Si dedicano le strade a Jan Palach, ragazzo praghese che si diede fuoco per far sì che, proprio nelle stessa piazza, sorgesse un giorno il sol dell'avvenire dei McDonald's; lo si ricorda come eroe contro il barbaro comunismo , e intanto si danno fuoco gli ambulanti marocchini perché sono vessati da due o tre vigili urbani shit, regulations in hand. I could have a time machine of Dr. Zapotec, the first thing I would do would be back in Vaclavske Namesti January 16, 1969, take him on one side and suggest some language in the cabbage to make a different use of that tank of gas, any use, but not about himself. And so the boy would do to Tunisia and Nur ad-Din: maybe in a more comfortable French, suggest that they do not set fire to themselves, but under the command of the traffic police. Someone will have to even think, at one time or another. Someone should make a nice bonfire of orders, regulations, permits, fines and any other blocks. Someone will have to set fire to these cities militarized camera, safety, sheriff, patrol, killed. For this s'ha a great fear of what happens beyond the sea. Fear and
enough. Mica do not care a saw, to us, if you knock down dictatorships, democracy and freedom if you ask, if you simply want to live a little 'more worthy or if you simply want to sell more vegetables and no junk that no one dare to break my balls, that matters for us, with all this, do not reach thousands and thousands of Nur ad-Din. Everybody with his own cart, with their families, with their lives. We care about this and nothing else. As well as praising the great Romanian revolution that had overthrown the Vampire in Transylvania, the Romanians until have started to arrive en masse. O the return of democracy in Albania , so we could finally go to pray to Jesus, Mary and Allah, until one fine day have not been sighted off the coast of Otranto overflowing carts. And so there's Nur ad-Din, after some years are arranged in a way Basile, and selling vegetables. Maybe picked up by other desperate in Rosario, who knows, or some plane Sicily. And there's Brigade, and for half an hour per square meter or time you saddled with a dreadful penalty. And then there's fire. And who fire hurts.
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