They warn me that on the table in some office rests “my case.” A file full of evidence of infractions committed, a bulky dossier of illegalities I have accumulated on these years. The neighbors hint to me to disguise myself with sunglasses and disconnect the phone when I would like to talk about something private.
Soon, very soon – they warn me – I could hear a knock at my door very early one morning.
In anticipation of this, I would like to point out that I do not keep weapons under the bed. However, I have committed an unfailing and heinous offence: I have believed myself to be free. Nor do I have a firm plan to change things, but for me the complaint has replaced triumphalism and this – definitely – is punishable.
I never slapped anyone, nevertheless, I refused to accept the systematic swatting at my “rights as a citizen.” This last is reprehensible in the highest degree. On top of that, and in spite of having stolen nothing that belongs to others, they have wanted “to rob” – again and again – that which I believed belonged to me: an island, her dreams, her legacy.
But don’t fool yourself; I’m not entirely innocent. I carry with me a mountain of misdeeds; I have routinely bought on the black market, I have commented in a low voice – and in critical terms – about those who govern us, I have nicknamed politicians and agreed with pessimism. To top it off, I have committed the abominable office of believing in a future without “them” and in a version of history different from that which they have taught me. I repeated the slogans without conviction, washed the dirty laundry in full view and – the greatest transgression – I have joined words and phrases together without permission.
I confess – and accept the punishment for it – that I have not been able to survive and comply with all the laws at the same time.
Words on painting: I am hunting you