NyLon! - chapter 22

Five hundred miles to the east, beyond the North sea, in any city of your choice, the unique radical faggot Nicolino Tosoni - who as my Publisher I must deal with care in describing his epic deeds -, was nervously smoking a cigarette thinking how his ephemeral encounter with Andrea the Turka hastily plummeted in the passion of a permanent relation. Bülêntelifyildiz Åtatunçiller-Demireleçževitÿ, his perfect body shining in small openings of suffused light that penetrated through the lowered rolling shutter's chinks creating an exciting eroticism of sophisticated chiaroscuri, was laying beside him, the left arm outstretched beyond the nape to evidence the compact and mature breast, the right leg folded on the left, and the velvetly skin slightly beaded by the golden rain drops that from the noble Organ of the August Publisher insinuated tenuous and sly.

- Did you like the golden rain, my adored Analduckling?

- It is not exactly my concept of sexual fantasy

- I understand, Analduckling, you prefer the fist-focking. Turn yourself this side, put yourself like this…

Six miles over them, in the first class of the Svirgin gigabus, Raffa was nervously smoking a cigarette rightly thinking that it was forbidden to smoke in aeroplanes and also the zohomosexusal relationships in radical novels should be censored as well. Laying beside her, the exhausted Maria Cristina, her perfect body shining in small openings of suffused light that penetrated through the window lowered on the horizon creating an exciting eroticism of sophisticated chiaroscuri, the left arm outstretched beyond the nape to evidence the compact and mature breast, the right leg folded on the left, and the velvetly skin slightly beaded by Raffa’s vaginal juices.

Newyorker columnist Mauro Suttora-Bordini, who in his leisure time was also a cryptic literary critic, was nervously smoking a cigarette thinking of the existential content Bob Granzotto’s books. His old mistress by default - better known with the nickname of Metro Goldwin Mayer -, her shapeless mass in a brave disgusted light penetrating from the fissures of the lowered rolling shutter's chinks creating abominable masochist chiaroscuri, was laying beside him, the left sausage outstretched beyond the head to evidence the flabby breast, the folded leg on the left, and the wrinkled hairy skin soaked in sweat that abundantly secreting while the morning first smog insinuated tenuous and sly in Roosevelt Island.

- MGM, what do you think of sentence such as "insinuated tenuous and sly", in a context determined by a picture altogether rather repetitive and observed in a wider optical of an entire point of view, I’d dare to say inserted as a dowel of a gigantic jigsaw, I’d dare to say the intrinsic carnality and the sometimes free sexiness of these texts that I personally find mysterious, enigmatic, I would dare to say cryptic?

- Mah, I wouldn’t know

- Here you see, it, eh? You see that I’m right that when talking about serious measures to adopt I refer to these authors by dubious morality? I already the opportunity to confirm it during the presentation of the anthology of the works by Piero Welby, when I wished that at last he put an end with this insolent disrespectful use of the instrument of the pleasure in the narration, an instrument otherwise interesting to the aims of a revaluation on the level…

- For God’s sake, Mauro, stop it! Have you become catho-communist?

- Let me demonstrate to you how I can love in a gentle way, without being bombed from those subliminal messages…

- Sublime and anal?

- No! You see that you are conditioned too? I said subliminal, but your subconscious wanted to understand sublime and anal! And by the way I am not catho-communist, I am luteran

- Yeees, splash my uterus and then in my anus!

With a lancinating scream overcoming the disgust, Suttora-Bordini took the MGM and threw her from the fifteenth floor of the building. The lancinating scream passed unnoticed because of deafening burp of the same MGM and the neglet of the readers in following the ups and downs of journalists plagued by the depressing daily routine of painfully dragging ourselves in this tragic valley of tears and blood. Blood and shit. Tears, blood and shit. It followed on Classic FM the Ave Maria by Schubert burying his master Beethoven with Paganini, and all three declared: Enough with the requiem on Radio radicale!