How did Mick Jagger lost his Satisfaction one evening in a hotel room! And how exactly did he knocked out my own satisfaction by stripping out of my conscientious, quite unexpectedly, the approved model of thinking I was holding so dearly. Back then, in the middle of the rioting era as rebel artists flourished unashamed in large numbers, rock’n’roll grew apparently untroubled all the way up to the most dangerous forms of protests against the political machine, a clear resistance against the man or company in power. The way of that world made unrealistic use of a woman’s body, justifying the lack of morality as a good sell, just business. The seeds of absurdity bloomed in everything we don’t need but have to have. Every little trivial object become important in humongous proportions by making use of conviction. Dogma was up for a big update in the 70s. Why the fuck do we need pearly white shirts? He sings. Jagger, I mean. Some schmuck selling detergent thinks that all our white shirts fancy his product, desperately as the air in our lungs. Many ridiculous standards were dressed in arguments for money disregarding the common sense. Years latter, as predicted, a lady signer is telling us that she cries herself into a profound state of being repeating exclusively the word “umbrella”. Life got itself a low-priced tag for bargain feelings, a kind of sensation missing the hell out of intelligence. Dare you me to call my ideas irrelevant, out of spite, or you might just be onto something, I have seen it before but I enjoy a healthy debate. I am convinced that ten others would like to join in against my rebellious nature and be proud to be part of  big numbers, like sheep. Sheep of men will overrun my perimeter with all the clichés in their arsenal. This world is simplifying everything into stupidity. I mean, I like simple, but I don’t like exaggerations. Simpler it’s not a bad thing but our brains are hungry for challenges, for deep expressions explained with bountiful words, for love, for crying out loud. Insults, not even insults are not sophisticated anymore and that’s because Simplification keeps writing shorter slogans as if someone would insist to prepare us for an apathetic life.

There must by a hundred schmucks lined up at my door at any time, eager to wash my white shirt, in a precise technological order, I tell ya. My life is ridiculous simpler now, not! Thousand of products are made just for me to use 24 h a day, sleep included. “My friend, you must have a fork on batteries who can automatically roll your spaghetti.” Why the fuck that? As mentioned on every TV station, as written on every billboard, as explained in countless radio commercials, we must accept The Shit in the name of progress until nothing to do will be the only thing to be. Would it matter in this case if my shirt is clean or impeccably clean if I am going to let them bypassing my brain? I observe my own conflicting terms but I am still continuing my idea for one reason only, my stupid shirt will never be fantastically clean, will be just clean and away from the necessities of profit margins.

The heart is a desert, the skull is a fountain, the spirit has a tie, logic has a side for every project, old men must die, the shirt is pearly white, the hair… don’t get me there. The beast that happiness was once inside was killed by marketing. Of course it’s not all lost, it will never go to the end because the human spirit will always filter the bullshit if it is ineffective. Go ahead world and fill up your life’s achievement with two guitar tabs and call it deep, cry and understand the meaning of your wonderless life but don’t look at me for compassion when complaisance will be a better fit.

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FIN

Roberto Palu