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The beginning always wants to play its part

Our country, Italy was the cradle of the literary arts for centuries.
Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, Foscolo, Leopardi, D'Annunzio, Pascoli, Pasolini. And not only . An amazing number of stories, poems. A number of names to shiver in the minds of most, perhaps only evoke numbers: 2, 5, 4.0. In short, the votes of school, those who took more than once a year and helped to make the school report, one of the pools coupon.

Today, in Italy, there is no place for these names.
Why?
this because in Italian it is inconceivable that a literature free from any interest (economic , ...), with the political right, tales of reality.

In Italy there are stories that you can not write. And why always bring a name and a surname. Or maybe more than one.

Maybe this diary will participate in a lot of this silence Italian. Why? I do not say, for shame. The shame of un'italiota true.

However, the reality that you will find on these electronic items, will be true. Hard and real. Real reality, as a first step to reclaim a country that seems no longer to belong.

"I do that everyday lot and survive. Bus Breakdown, taxes payable, a debit card that does not work, a job search. A job where he died, without dignity, because my father was not nobody, nothing. Neither am I, to this state without a name, for politicians Cazzaro, for public opinion.
Out. Out of the foreclosed home. Outside the gates of the company. Out of life. Without the market, as a commodity expired, an inanimate object. But I'm a hero. I do that everyday lot and survive.
When you sing the national anthem, remember those who build the pride of which you boast. "