The bottom of the air ...
Somewhere in the province. Thursday.
I made a small turn. As each quarter of the people had been left go to the streets to protest ammunition, balloons, placards, flags and confetti. Everyone seemed rather happy to participate in the winter carnival. Dogs, children were out, even the grandmother and cousin disabled. It took the air, it was fine . The marginal felt less alone, we saw a few standing around here and there, village full neck, glad to see the world and become part of the house. People entertained themselves in deciphering the most successful slogans. Many were shabby, but obviously some kind of provocation took the time to make each a nice symbolic middle finger. Clamor in the crowd, the convoy finally could start. At every chapel, large banner and his delegation, the forces of progress were all met, unions and parties were proudly fly their colors in the sky perfectly blue. High grievances: relocation, public service, purchasing power ... the eternal complaint. But sad tune. The time sped bad, very bad. Everyone seemed to agree on the diagnosis - how not to be - but it blowing like a wind of helplessness, like a cyclone
inevitable ...
inevitable ...
essentials as songs and music from the sizzling sound systems: the ears we kept coming back to the eternal Three steps forward, three steps back ... amid motivated and Manu Chao include traditional melodies. The voice a little more blunted the parade progressed. They fell in with acquaintances, friends who speculated on the number of demonstrators were seen in the world, we smiled, we started to seriously consider an aperitif. In short, to be honest, you smelled the perfume coarsely déjà vu: joviality and claims tinged with a pessimism evident ... A nth movement probably unnecessary, but will certainly have the merit to do some shit, to counteract the apologists of productivity, critics of the hostage , haters of all kinds of little people worried, if he did not laugh ...
But it was not all. The kings of the procession, Doucette, changed cap ... but inevitable disastrous landslide.
Although still many and ever cheerful, old workers, employees, gules marked with the seal of the vile industry, all these people there, basically, no longer seemed to believe it too. They had come to meet, not to feel too lonely. They came to do as usual. Weigh what , influencing whom? The routine was taking air combat lost to former trade union for workers in struggle lucid. Ten, twenty, thirty years some shouting their concerns, their anger, raised the sign to indicate their presence. And nothing but dirt, figures and abstract still rising overall and everywhere. Person so do not be surprised Despite the exponential. Most understood that no member of Guignol's Band they had elected, could not affect anything, nor newspapers nor decency. Representatives trade, "that they were, these animals powers. It felt their old songs, red roses and had but a few, workers, employees, young and old, men and women were struck by the hot iron for the reduction syndrome of the new century, but so terrible human.
Thus, little able to shake the company of a boundless optimism, loud mouthed and rebellious French people, struggling people of the day, had bequeathed aggressiveness, vigor, and microphones and uneducated youth brawlers ... They did not understand it but wished, fervently, Recapture the torch, especially for form for the aesthetics of revolt, so highly rated by the panels of self-righteousness. And each agency had recruited his youth, is to ignite , haranguing crowds, releasing balloons. The bottom of the air is red ladies and gentlemen! as red nose these new clowns: the young rebels who sing off the speakers, false and wrong in their brains in their hearts. Schoolchildren, students, wealth, too pleased with their recent circus, were invited to the party, talking about revolution, Che Guevara ... and especially in purchasing power. Of course, they too had the right to be worried, but felt their concerns over the teuf , illiteracy and transcendence in the portfolio they seem honest and fair. It will be the majestic big night with such people! Depressing to see them flapping these new control experts plastic, really.
Maybe I'm a bit stiff and part? may finally be once I looked like them? Perhaps also reinvent it? Maybe they learn to look around, watching something other than the navel of a single youth. I do not know. The clairvoyant would say no, too intoxicated these buggers. The optimist would say that it is an adjustment phase, they would read later. The revolutionary guillotine them all, one after the other. But enough of comments, the fact is that yesterday, then those then gently inflated sacrament me desperate.
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