Bad Invisible Teachers
Quelli di ZEd
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Alessandro Nardin
Bad Invisible Teachers
Bad Invisible Teachers
Copyright © 2012 Zerounoundici Edizioni
ISBN: 978-88-6307-465-9
Cover: Image Shutterstock.com
Just call me Lucifer
Causes I'm in need of burdens restraint.
PROLOGUE
I don't have name.
And of certain none of those belongs me with which persist you to call me. Trash of ungrateful and deceptive epithets: that with which am more known means" he who separate" and have buckled him/it to me, that have tried to gather Creator and Creature through the pure bite of an apple instead in the Garden of the Eden!
Of however it is not guilt of you, you give birth some man if so much confusion has been outcast to strength in your pumpkins from the Creator.
Because He is the Father of everything. You/he/she has created me and you/he/she has created you. You/he/she has created the truth and you/he/she has created the lie. It is the origin of the world and, so you/he/she had said once, his same end. An end more times announced and as many denial, first threatened and then retreat, believable by now as the resignations of a political.
You/he/she has taken us taste, the Old one, to his/her beautiful toy.
And while He makes a fool of him I pay.
I pay the guilt of the rebellion, her before, the most heroic. I pay the guilt of the sincerity, the only one, true deadly sin.
Don't you believe me? For strength, for you the devil lies for definition. It lies even more when it says to be sincere.
You listen then to what I have to tell you and then you will judge from you.
I don't have intention to bore you with complaints and wailings, neither to stun you with bizarre philosophy or hermetic literature. Also in that sense I have already given.
Forced to the anonymity, more times I have tried to make to hear my voice, without nobody knew how to recognize her/it. I hid me in the shade in which I was thrown to strength and so I made capolino without never revealing me.
But I rarely had fortune, I was almost ever understood and however recognized never.
Once I was successful only, when I assumed the identity of a drunkard English that he/she frequented theaters to tag after equivocal actors, a poor thing that was not able of to write twice his/her name in line in the same way.
For the rest, if you go to see nine on ten of the books less beds to the world, here: they are mine.
This time however it will be different.
Dummy is enough: I will write me in first person. And I won't speak to you of maximum systems in incomprehensible languages.
The time is slow, the time of symbols and enigmas you/he/she is ended.
It will be a simple history a history that speaks of you and to you, that are my brothers.
Since also I have sent between you my dear Child, in which I/you/they have been delighted. Rather, since I didn't want to be from less than the Old one, I have sent two of them: two brothers, two twins, hidden inside the world, hidden also to themselves.
They doesn't know anything of their mission and not even you. But at the end my sketch will triumph and the first light will return to shine where today they reign the darkness.
Since, if so it was not, you can believe me: of you, last epigones of the old Sapiens, trace some won't stay.
It aches me to announce you that your end has already been definite.
The world, precious toy too much for the Creator, it will continue without you.
The first time is not certain: similar fate was already touched to the dinosaurs. It had a good time as a crazy person, with that lucertolonis decerebrati, in perennial struggle among them; you/he/she had done he/she waits for the biggest fools and sleepy, while the smallest snarling and cruel, to pretend of the fates of the meetings make balanced.
Then, as understands to every child, he stewed, and from the today to the tomorrow definite to make plaza of it cleaning up: a beautiful stone from the space, a big bonfire and street! The ready world for new kinds.
With you, unfortunately you/he/she has still had, less patience: you have disappointed him/it after few million of years. It is not boredom: simply it finds you too much independent. You have walked too much in hurry with your legs. And you/he/she has decided to punish you.
But this time no cataclysms.
It will do a clean job: it will place you in hand the gun fumante and it will point out in you, only in you, the persons responsible of your same extermination.
The dripping has already departed and well soon nothing can arrest him/it.
I know him/it that you don't believe me, I know him/it that you still think of me the same essence of the lie.
If not to me, then you will believe in them, to my Children, that are as you.
Sceptic, ambitious, rebellious. But, if you/they can act unmolested, they will open the street of the salvation to the humanity.
Their history speaks the language of all you and it unties him in a well known world.
Their history starts now, in an office, to the seventh floor of a modern building in the doors in Milan.
