Finance Pasquale, green from its nest , surrounded by oxen and vestal nude, idyllic and timeless, he realized that it was not just a war. We had thought. Unbelievable.
He thought the last time you gave a sneak peek at the TV. And it was enough. Yes, of course, the boobs of Miss Italy and Roberta Capua-finally resurfaced, he did not mind really, but had decided to declare thinker. And to do everything possible to be convinced. An immortal, the only Highlander Plains, it wanted to be. The first of Foggia and then easily around the world would understand his choice. So in the autumn of 2012 had begun to peek in the butt of his kids and sometimes even pigeons. Haruspicy, future and "I know" had become his daily bread. Paradise minutes from his service rendered to humanity. Peeling knowledge. If he had someone really interested in which to transmit, its predictions were translated into such terrible news to lose his smile even in the crazy race of dog Muttley Hannah-Barbera, they were so dark and hopeless. If realized, every day. That morning, sunny but humid, a few months after the beginning of his work as a clairvoyant, good old Pasquale had found at hand and had only a talpetta got to keep his small intestines. To see if anything changed for the better. Among other things, Pasquale was only able to "see" through a fucking mole orba poor unfortunate. But he had the gift. And here's what he saw. By becoming space, lightly and gently, in the large intestine and the small intestine of the dead began to notice something. The vacuum interintestinale gradually became a mountain gorge. The lower gut, soft and sinuous, under the pressure of the thumb and middle fade giving way to sand dunes. With a few tracks but thousands and thousands of years. The wind, rising, whipped what was left of the pyloric valve (the mole), trasmutatasi now in a kind of spaceship that vanished bright ocher and silent, like a mirage within a dream. The Mind of Pasquale followed dipping his fingers in the soft and fleeting vision. At times faded, as it should be.
was a distant land. Inaccessible ancestral impossible. Following the dance of the air current is passed through deserts and mountains of ice from the shadows hot stones. The snow fell to the shells but the water was so sources that seemed little ass with hemorrhoids.
was hell? But no! This place was inhabited!
swallowed, the observer, an atheist and more sullen. Under the earth, in fact, recent rodent burrows with tunnels that miles traveled as a spirit. Warriors met with turban and beard, old men with beards, babies with a turban, turban or beard but no girls with a robe covering her from the fountain toe, naked women, but only in the darkest recesses. Here his sizzling projection slowed a bit 'more. He heard their organization in Arabic, their religion and violence in the Arabic language. Interference was of the view ...
and a city before it opened. It was the other way but in the same region, in the same anticipatory vision. Light and flocks of rubble. Case-debris and rubble-case. Smell of roast annealed, bruises and ground cartilage. Sounds of sandals lift, interspersed with clank of shippers and traps. Hill and down a muffled roar. Arena. Fighting between dogs. Fifteen thousand spectators smoothed by the heat. 
The mullah was going to the winner. He raised his finger, up, up high, for the blessing. Pasquale
Only then noticed the other world, in the air. The sky above the mess created by the earth and clouds, was bright gray. And populated. Dozens, perhaps hundreds-of-training aircraft rocketed as darts fired from a Gatling. It bombed almost in unison. The mullah was going to the winner. He raised his finger, up, up high, for the blessing. Pasquale Huge sculptures of dust seemed to rise from the ground, dancing to the impact of the missiles. Mingled with the souls of the Western women abducted and slain there in the neighborhood. In the name of God cries.
The cloud disappeared. Half improvised amphitheater wiped out. Dogs and umanidi stiff. The other, the living to sit, impassive, as if nothing had happened. They seemed indestructible because empty zomboidi, or at least survive any longer you live. The mullah then shooting down the arm and taken a new battle begins. A cart mechanic who imitated a monkey tracked faced with anger. A clumsy, the other hysterical. Battle of the genera or sui generis. Differences duelists, while a common laughter made the grave desolate and frightening.
other hand, in the meantime:
-Lord, sir, yuppiiieeee! We have caught, hia-hahha! We have made a mountain roast last attack. He had to see their beards, sir: and yet seemed to roll like a cigar sbruciacchianti that other broke-ass-communism that gave us trouble, in the past century, from its bay near our coasts! - The Major rose
eyes from the transparent table, approached the soldier and brushed his shoulder, dropping debris miniparticelle of paper from his suit polyester, while looking at him as one looks to be the most idiotic and despicable on face of the earth. After the Taliban, of course.
-Good work soldier-he said.
He thought all his men knew how to use the new computer or were trained to glide, even cut and disintegrate rapidly if the carotid artery are affected, understood to fall into enemy hands. But few of them knew that the underground hiding places churn out more children than they managed to kill, weapons and laser plasma generation. The
wanted to go into battle bare-chested and screaming, to prove his courage and his manhood to those anti-technological monstrosity submissive to Allah.
He thought for a moment. Then he ran to vent pawing her latex costume of her shapely attendant, equipped with the Stars and Stripes over the groin and military targets to study printed in the erogenous points. He was ready for a new attack.
The battles continued with their turbans and supersonic engines, banners and mutilation, pornodive dogs and uniformed public games, speed and indifference.
and beards grew repeatedly fertilized by the word of God and the spacecraft continued to strafe proud of their stealth.
-No, certainly not the usual war-the ethereal projection of Pasquale said, now lift the edges of that world to come.
Deep down he was right: there were not even capable of being able to cope with deployments.
The enemies were not such. They were something more, something much much worse. Rails were cold without proper sleepers. Strangeness. Mali incurable because empty. They were the Zenith and Nadir. They were two irreconcilable future: Robotics and the Post-Apocalyptic. Were possible as long as science fiction properly kept at a distance.
So that world, looking far and wide, now looked like a marble brown and blue. Neatly cut from the classic white stripe, the posting of mediocrity, apathy, hypocrisy and everyday life. It was a microcosm rolling but still the same, indelibly, a piece of sad babies.
Pasquale looked up, lost and helpless, like every time he looked there.
He started to read because he wanted to anticipate the future, in a way to help change it, or at least isolate it to live in this quiet area.
Well, there was not successful. So
thought it well to fall back on Vestal, naked and beautiful, even before his little Eden is spread like a mole's belly and tender young to pass the scalpel.
knew that the future does not forgive: let alone when they want you to have two neighbors, divergent, unforgiving. Fortunately
hedonism is a unique and natural drugs.
He went then to women, decided to abandon his role as wise and give them a half a minute to remember. Copyright ©
2010 Gianmarco Galuppo
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