-x-
I salute you cordially
We bought a'fabricos in primavera to satisfy our needs. It was very
dusty corridored big fabricos and windows were shut with wooden planks;
Jose were beating them out three weeks. Actually. Not bad business
here. I mean, no bad plan for business here. Not bad segment. Dust is
the first thing, that my press is associated with. I remember that
moment when we first came here to speak with bamboleros, who wanted to
sell this big mechanical slave-powered thingy as soon as possible and
they all looked really civilized. Actually, they all were brothers. It
was quite unusual, a bunch of same looking brothers. No father, no
mother. No children. No lovers. And no lawyer. I asked, if some of them
were twins and they laughed me no, no twins, just brotherhood of
darkside alignment. Kind of serenity house.
I couldn't iron in my grotesque mind their names; all of jihad-brigada
weared sport sweaters, labelless, shiny like early morning pond. People
here around are talking about basketball, even if there's no negros in
the park, no numbers on their back, no ads on the posts. A timeless
basketball team. I asked, where is their coach, and they said, that
coach is in the coach, and the coach, where the coach is, goes to Lie
Paja, that sounded like sophistical murmurados of crazy turkey when
Nietsczzsche is grabbing his balls. Type of it. They started to look
different as i told them about ayahuasca, but let's get back to the
dust. One of the bros told me an anecdote, old one, about passenger in
bus who asked other passenger to help him out to get tikketto. And this
other passenger said something like "грузин передаст" (i wrote it down
in my notebook for further purposes).
In this moment in the cabinet, where we had all this monkey business,
came a maintanence woman, the old woman that scares me (i also wrote
down her name in my notepad, she's called "Cbeta", you don't find
it's quite hard to pronounce). And she started to do some joke
explanation stuff for me, she asked if i ever heard about the term
"peregar"?! No - i was confused, (used by confucianism?), i know
"perestroika". "That's a chain, you brainy brother", she giggled,
"look, it goes like peregar - perestroika - peredust". I coughed dust.
Brothers coughed gar. It was like a big perelom in my head as i
understood the historical evolution process. And i wanted to take my
part in it.
Jose wanted to call our little firm something like "La Sentimental
Resistance & Partners", he's master of compost-crap. Fuck partners!
We called our business in some real, evoulutionic name. With all these
walls, dust, half-gone dog at the gates, dust, doors, xylophone,
xylofax and xylovision, and with all these geometrically wrong scorpio
red skies above our heads: we call fabricos "Peregarrotta". For God's
sake. For adequate history. And for national mumbo-jumbo.
Two weeks later we broke the first wooden plank off the window and we
could see the dust better like miniaturlich copies of little globes
and small universes. Yeah, fuck, and the majesty of second! Then Jose
gave the plank to Cbeta and i looked outside thru the ambrazzuro.
Roofed houses. Railway station. As well as railway, where coach in the
coach goes to some strange place called Lie Paja, keeping case full of
nachos chained to his hairy wrist and saying good buy to company of
all-star brothers of basketball. Serenity. Street. Shop. Dog that now
is ours. And something else. I swear, i saw The Gipsy King there
over the street standing unstraight at the shop door, whispering some
murmurados in his moustache. I told it Jose and he ran out in the
street, he knows gipsy language. Exactly, don't know what he wanted to
ask him, i still am dazed about his actions. So i came back into the
cabinet to change water in the vase, then started to think about
"Peregarrotta" logo and other supercreative stuff, when Jose flyed in
like obscure penguine.
"He was gone", Jose was sweaty as stormy cloud, "I asked Cbeta if she
knows him, but i can't understand the answer. She told me to ask
someone like 'souchasniegos', so i went again in the street and asked
policeman if he's 'souchasniegos', could maybe he help me out, i got to
find this Gipsy King. He didn't talk. I asked other people. Where are
we, Hulio Alberto? What the hell is this place? I can't understand
anyone around. I spoke to three more people and they all are answering
'hello, vertigo!'. I can't understand what they're talking about, it
seems to me they're all talking fascism.