We have a baby,my husband. Let’s go to church, my wife. This is how I had become a Catholic In a very, very, very young age, when I didn’t even had any sense of imagination concerning the toilets and I was shitting straight in the place where I was lying and moving only my hands to the blue sky to catch the full color blinks of the sun.

But later, I had to become a regular visitor of the real huge church. Every Sunday I was cleaning the shoes of my paternals, after which I was washing paternal car. And broom to the big white gray something church. I was sitting there for a long time. Every FUCKING Sunday. My mind escaped. I transformed, supervising from the level of God, this catholic church in a big party house. With the pool in the middle of the huge hall, and one toboggan falling in a smooth spirale from the preacher balcony to the edge of a giant pool where the water would sparkle the milliards of the colorful balls. I was projecting my visions more and more hallucinating till I had begun to design the image of the party house in my mind floating under the cupola of the pseudo neo got-hic-al shelter of the God. High easily around ten meters over the altar! Yes, my mind had escaped far there closer to the eye of God. I needed a few long years of everyday mental training to get able to accept the images I saw from the level of God. After that, I have begun to decode those images. The ultra long saga of the horror family tv serial. A kind of story to cook a huge bestseller out of it. This process didn't kill me, by miracle I did survive.

I was born on the ground stolen from the rich people. They did come there many, many, many years before, they weren’t poor, because why should they be, but they were experienced from more than four thousand years of the existence of their nation. They knew how to do a lot from a little. They did it there, in this place where I did come to the world.

They did it everywhere in the world and have got hated for this skill, the skill of doing a lot from very not many. Of course some of them became spéculatives and never happy with what they managed. So…They invented one irresistible, and extremely simple business based on wealth of the monetary systems, coins, of different empires and countries and raised the banks of the incredible powers. They had begun to rule all over the World. Everyone who is becoming a leader exposes himself automatically to the iron balls of the rifle of the masses. It is human. And there are only a few leaders who got honestly beloved by the masses, but most of them died from the hands of the traitors. The power of the little round pieces of the metal and of the different sizes of rectangular pieces of the paper called the money is just spectacular. Those people who have built the international fame of my hometown have been robbed, imprisoned, gasified and burned. From many stories I did hear about them, one light motive appeared suddenly.Many of these people instead of running away like the others did, decided to stay on their ground , and hidden under the floors of apartments they were the owners, they dreamed in hunger a day of liberation. But the only liberation they have experienced was death. Yes, the story about the place where I had come to see this world is very sad. But, maybe it is only a point of view? May it be possible it is the only thing that differs the human kind to the other beings on the earth... A capacity of choosing between killing to survive, or creating the state of goodness without hurting any being. The curiosity about this fondamental humanity alternative is that mostly the humans create the allegria state in a very natural way, but very often these allegria natural states become destroyed by the humans able to kill to survive. I was raised in the survival school, where between the courses I was forced to stand under the Catholic preacher balcony to get my soul shaped by indoctrination opposite to the system indoctrination.

As we can observe here, it really didn’t work on me, extremely stubborn,  bad student. With the years of my own vagabond life I did discover the alternative of allegria state and I made a human choice to incorporate this. I was born in the city built on the mud, where many of the water natural torrents were used to give the necessary power to create the huge factories. The huge factories did produce the milliards of the kilometers of the textiles. The textiles simples and cheap, like the textiles very fine and very expensive. The biggest textile factory was running in my hometown for more than a hundred years. And finally it got ruined by the newLords. The textiles industry has been replaced from the city center to the suburbs, and it became a ring of the small producers who did continue the traditional business. The old factories, huge, made out of the red clay bricks and iron , had got emptied from their mechanisms, destroyed or transformed to the use of the modern business. They did become the fancy lofts and the Internet production workshops. I was born in the City which I called one day THE MONEY DOING SMOOTH MACHINE. The rivers of this town transformed into thin stinky torrents leaking in a moody tempo across the bottom of the ancient and giant lake. Thousands years previously the lake has leaked under the ground. The post glacial lake had hidden deep under the layers of the earth. It stayed forever there. Clean, calm and source of stinky human life which attached itself to the strong leaves of the moody grass growing on the surface of the lake's secret place. Human bacteria had begun to operate the human expansion plan around two hundred years before I came to see this place. I was crying there very often. Too often. I left there my own lake of tears. The gray walls of the city were the everyday more gray scenery of my own catastrophe. There was no knowledge about allegria. The human bacterias had occupied the city just after the previous occupants had been chased with no mercy. But the previous occupants had done a total death treatment to the original occupants.

Finally, I was born there. But when I discovered that I am able to challenge all of the World, not only a kind of a town where all life was dying under the cascades of the national vodka, I just did it. I challenged the world to get far away from this place where one strange woman gave birth to one gypsy looking kid. My appearance was the first condition of my difference. I didn’t look like the kids around were looking. My hairs were very black, like this blue black of the crowns. My skin wasn’t pale white, but olive brownish and my eyes had a trouble color that some people used to call the color of the devils. From the youngest age I was considered as a gypsy, or just someone from a very different genetic space. Personally I did not mind, I had too many fantastic stories in my head, I was much more interested in them than any opinions concerning my person. Besides, my parents had become the only ultra dramatical actors who managed to fulfill my life screen with their soap trash ultra violent, catholic married couple story. Married forever.

Yes, married forever. In wellness and in sickness, in richness and in poverty, in happiness and in sadness. Always together, married forever, no matter what comes. Terrible bourdon, holy tradition and not very well understood meaning of love. After I did get the picture of my family affair I asked myself so many times, how does it actually happen that the kids appear. This question did stay printed like a voting slogan on the giant billboard which took a place on the extremity of my horizon. Ithas become one of my obsessional problems to solve. Why did I appear? Where from, what for, why to get such a life. The answer to this question had to be carved in a matter of my own flesh during the long years, long kilometers and the most terribles solitudes which any philosopher or romantic rioter could ever Imagine, desire, expect and experience. But I did find it and I discovered what comes with it. I reached the allegria and I had done a beautiful tattoo on the purple skin of my soul.

All kinds of billboards which rose up on the horizon of my world had been dissolved in the full technicolor dream of the lights blown from a newborn star. I was washing myself in this light for the long days lying on the hot stones that the sea had thrown out of its mouths to create one hidden and full of the peace beach. I had the avocados and the chirimoyas to eat and the mountain magic fountain of the fresh water coming out from under a giant rock to drink. I was born from the people who are the foundation of any society. I was born in the city built by the capitalists, occupied by the war pirates, liberated by the communists , occupied by the workers, who rebelled against the communism systeme to break it down and to restore the natural to this town capitalisme. My mother was communiste and my father was handworker. I was their kid brought by them to the catholic church to make me baptized and unified with a huge worldwide catholic nation in the spirit of God and his son crucified for our sins. My father was one hard worker, full autodidacte and lonely wolf, alcoholic and violent pater of the family. Howeversomehow he was dreaming the romantic way of life, but his huge home shaped by himself, literally destroyed to the ashes all his original dreams. My mother had become a young communiste because of the purity and natural intelligence of the communism concept. She wasn’t naive. Nobody is naive in the experience of the communism. A difference between the communism and the capitalism is like this one between the humans and the strangers. The gypsies are used to call everyone non original to their Roma DNA the Gadje and Gadje means “ non human “, when Roma means Human. Mother was beloved by Father. I suppose that Father as a young and handsome man, sensitive and smart, was able to pronounce the words about Love.I suppose that Mother was much more shy, but not hermetically closed to these words. But she was a fanatic of social life, when he was a lonely wolf strictly connected with nature. This was only one of the major experiences I had an uncertain pleasure to encounter while familial drama was bouncing with a hard core tempo arround of my person. Little person.

After many, many, many analysis driven by myself in my own laboratory of myself, I’ve came to the conclusional question....am I a fruit of love, of rape or of blind traditional need to procreate the SON. For a huge luck for my mother, somehow in all her personal tragedy, the fact that I appeared in a family as a strong and healthy boy made her social position fixed on the level of the Mother of the Nation. Anonym, strong and devoted. May it be it was an argument to make her survive the hell she decided to cross, and I had tofollow her. I escaped from her stories for the first time when I was eleven. It was my first fantastic travel.