The most transcendental news of the day is not the terror that overwhelms the staff at the certainty that the heat is going to be eternal and will melt their bodies, souls, nerves, and brains, or their desperate hallucination when verifying the wild price of food. For the drought, I hope that no political group guarantees that it will rain a lot if the citizens vote for them. And in view of the second, I imagine that no candidate will dare to tell her potential clientele what that guillotined queen suggested to her hungry people: “Well, if they don’t have bread, let them eat croissants.” No, the most exciting topic, according to the irreplaceable televisions, is the coronation of the King of England, materialized with a solemn motto: “Ungen. It is God’s will.” And to throw the roll until they palm it. There are multiple queues of fans out of nowhere, from days before, so as not to miss the party. Luckily there are also images of people probably drunk or punk, or just sensible, who shout: “Let them put the coronation up their ass.”
It seems that the essential thing to feel alive is to have faith. In royalty, in institutions, in religions, in ideologies, in ethereal gods, in churches and mosques, in the exemplarity of their own and in the wickedness of others.
How lonely the agnostics and libertarians must feel, those who do not vote or vote blank, those who do not aspire to divine or earthly rewards, those convinced that the only daily war since the beginning of time is that of the rich and the poor. And that, if the revolutions of the seconds ever triumphed, the most astute of them quickly transformed into a caste as cruel and despotic as the one they were fighting against.
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