October 4, 2024 Forbidden holograms of real life
Who weeps for a whore ?
An anonymous tombstone. Silence, always deafening
An anonymous tombstone moved to the area of the mass graves.
No one ever goes there to leave a flower or a lamp.
Nor of course to visit it.
An anonymous name, two dates, and a small, cold gray stone.
I never met Kristina.
She fell asleep more than thirty years ago, in the absolute indifference of everyone, in a cold hospital ward.
Life…not life.
That was the first time I saw death.
The indifference.
The injustices.
The diseases.
Before the soul more than the body.
The real marginalization.
The real racism.
A slice of real life that in every way is meant to be told in a certain way.
The fate of life, seen as something you cannot escape.
A white rose, a little prayer.
In the end, just a drop in the ocean.
Because the racism of exclusion comes from everyone.
The sacrosanct indignation of a “normal” girl torn apart by the “monster” she had next to her is a necessary reflex, accompanied by a majority chorus.
On the other hand, when a prostitute dies for the same reason, the mournful counter-song is a feeble breath of a few, the mourning of an inner circle.
A silence that is always deafening.
The media focus exclusively on the identity of the alleged killer, never thinking of her.
The rest is just a dark and morbid sky.
As if a tragic end or a stunted obstacle course were simply the condemnation one owes to a mistake.
Who weeps for a whore ?
