“And they come up. Yes, they are coming up. They come up. More and more”. The quote applies Eugenio Finardi, certainly a companion but also an outstanding artist, on his 1981 song “F 104”: It is more useful than ever, more relevant and urgent today, in times of truly abject opportunism on the part of the garrulous, histrionic political left. Enough, enough: Gigi Mascheroni noted it in the Giornale: Elodieour Creole girl with the brown hair extensions, if she doesn’t miss it, from Quartaccio, on the front lines against the craving for melons, against the toxic white man (she regularly dates toxic white men full of success and wealth), against the patriarchy ( which no one says but never hurts), prefers to sing along Sfera Ebbasta, for those who do not remember the rapper who did not show up at an illegal nightclub in Corinaldo, where riots broke out that turned into a panic that resulted in 6 deaths, 5 children and a mother being killed by the herd of people fled afterwards, was trampled. An attack by thugs armed with spray was irritating: he painted six stars on his face and asked people to buy his record. To say the level. A white man who is not so toxic for our Beyoncè alla vaccinara, who sings with the Sfera melodies undoubtedly inspired by the fight against the… criminal patriarchy: “You are only mine, never more than anyone else/ I hate who else had you or made you feel safe” (…)/ And I walk around the city just looking for you/ And I freak out when you don’t respond to my messages (…) If it ends tomorrow, it’s a problem for you, I’m going to jail.”
In short, it is precisely the tragedy of Giulia and her monstrous servant Filippo Turetta, and here the crime is threefold: artistic, hypocrisy and cynicism. To understand the gap between a true artist capable of outrage and a pathetic and paranoid businessman, let’s go back to Finardi, the great: “I hate the mainsail with the Ferrari and the gun / The owners of ballerinas / Everyone .”Sons of p* **/ They only have one face/ And I feel them in my throat”. Today the mainsail would be the rapper, the trapper of those ringed, chained designers of Mediterranean origin, the so-called Italians of the new generation, who happily slaughter each other in the shadow of San Siro or in the stinking belt that suffocates the metropolis.
Nothing to say, ah Elodie? Enough, enough: But do you want to end it? But can’t you see that in a cartoon, a Zerocalcare strip, everything ends very badly? The roll calls, the torchlight processions (with people laughing), the cousin Giovanni speaking, the uncle speaking, the professional nurse talking too much and inviting us to “burn everything and everyone,” what a waste to be nominated by the Democratic Party , and the father who lays the flowers in the cemetery, and the families of both, “but who would have thought, our son is not a monster, we are not patriarchal (sic!)”, the and Chiara Valerio who go crazy, the Grubers who blame Meloni and even have the face to protest when they get an answer (because there is nothing more distant from democracy than the Grubers of the whole world, unite), the Francesco Piccolos, who I have in mind, are suing for libel along with the various Pelù, Marchisio, Ermal Meta and others, since they give me this by osmosis More criminal than man, I don’t know anything about her, but I certainly have no precedent at all and if anything I only receive affection from the women I live with. And the shameful students standing in stereo screaming against the patriarchy and for Hamas. And the same government, a villain no less, rushes to pass an anti-feminicide law, with a parliamentarian from the Brothers of Italy reciting a frightening formula: “The government has proven itself to be proactive…”. No Proactivity: Succubus, with the long straw tail.
But can’t you see that it’s all a farce, tragic, dirty? That the society of spectacle in Baudrillard’s memory had already anesthetized drama, made it consumable, even tempting? That the left, with the story of Giulia, who was turned into a vampire by someone who slept with the teddy bear at the age of 22, in the inertia of the family who pretended not to understand that they had a monster, was really the worst of it Worst of yourself in the house? Anything but patriarchy! Pier Paolo Pasolini had decisive words on the death of the patriarchy about 60 years ago (replaced by consumerism, by metropolitan alienation, and there were still no social networks and the very wild left…), but the left is the Valerios and the Piccolos culturally stunted, he doesn’t know Pasolini, he doesn’t go beyond the neorealist caricature of Paola Cortellesi (Rai had the disgust of using Giulia’s death as a sponsor for the film, enough to bomb the headquarters of the so-called public service). A devastation that the hegemonic party He’s rudely trying to solve the problem by influencing the young, weak little brains and feeding them an overdose of this really toxic, deadly populism.
Enough, enough: But don’t you see how reduced you are? Brutified and brutalized. All, not just the hegemonic Gramscism: After a dirty murder, one of those that is never missing in the twisted forest of humanity (just read any Simenon novel), this pusillanimous government hastens to release a package with 19 other completely useless items to produce: The laws are already there, and the judiciary weakens them at will. First of all with North Africans. Then in a broader sense with friends and mates, with the children of the rich, with almost everyone. The same thing will happen with this other smokescreen that will be introduced. And the media is already starting to confidentially call the ogre “Filippo”, like one of the family, and we all know that “Filippo” will only stay in prison for so long: psychiatric assessment, mental illness, because the right-thinking society does not accept that there is evil and deficiency, it believes that it can cure everything with words and regulations, house arrest and subsequent hospitalization by a social priest to make paper boats. And then also for him: lots of television.
Before Giulia’s trauma, remember, there was talk that the obese murderer had slaughtered his ex with 57 stab wounds and freed him, sending him home because he “didn’t fit in the cell”: and he even took responsibility for protesting, he surrendered to the television: “I am the victim”. He, his father, his family and the almost awestruck reporters who have welcomed a small audience bring the day home like this.
Well, it’s these short circuits that repel you and make you angry. Enough, enough: you can’t be everything, you can’t roll on the floor against the patriarchy (sic!) and then sing together an unworthy children’s song about someone who threatens catastrophe if the girl doesn’t submit, “if she …” In the end it’s a problem, I’ll go to jail for you. Uh, no, it’s not acceptable, it’s not bearable. Shame on you! “I’d like to buy an F104 jet/ And a machine gun with precision/ The concert and the football brawls/ The TV pundits/ The moral nuisance/ The idiot journalist/ The guitarist in an armed band/ It would be nice to have my finger on the button now / We have these people on us. (Eugenio Finardi, “F 104)”
Max Del Papa, November 22, 2023
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