the shongololos supreme legacy

if i had a hc band i would call it like this. I am kind of proud of travelling through countries where my dear friends LaQuiete never toured. listening to scremo music in my crappy guest house in Francistown suburbs, ruled by spooky Zimbawean guys who say that Bob Mugabe is a hero. (check the net for more stories about the Zimbawe president and his madness)

I see the levels of being nothing, from people who do not know the name of their language. for us is a kind of problem, cause i don't know what to write in the questionnaire book (that we confidentially call "the holy book" or " the book of life"). i feel the sense of nothing when the chief of the village comes drunk at 9 o' clock in the morning, and after we explain the project and ask for authorization he asks us for money for drinking. The same village, the sense of nothing in a couple in their compound. she has a finger in bad conditions, swallen and black, with an infected scar: the reason is that quarrelling with her husband he decided to bite her finger, to show her that he was the man.

I feel the sense of nothing in the solitude of white people who own a lodge in the middle of nothing. the idea of starting a business in the wild, in the nature, when they where young and full of revolutionary feelings. the boredom now in the colonial style of the building, in the huge television always transmitting from BBC, and in getting drunk quietly at night while the white child plays alone near the swimming pool talking to himself with a lost expression and a bit of autistic behaviour.

for the girl who watches me, i am visiting her sister in Nata. she might be 13 years old. she watches me, i guess, the way i look like, my attempts to help her doing the dishes. i am showing the pictures of my last halloween, for some reason they are in the external hd connected to Bless' PC. white people in Europe, putting fancy make up and going to the pub. now i feel the gap between Forli and Nata.

i feel this nothing in the interstellar lonelyness of this flat land under a flat infinite sky, and out of the bush, just nothing.