Preface to the Book "Human Inhuman Vol.2" by Luca Motolese
At first glance it was a rocky globe like many others, classified as a planet, but too elusive to fall into the orbit of any ordinary star. It drifted aimlessly, solitary and neglected even by the most tenacious explorers of the galactic empire. Not even in the eyes of the space monkeys did L74M hold the slightest economic appeal, since on it grew nothing but colossal brambles of grey matter, stretching from the arid surface beyond the boundaries of the ionosphere, as if to protect it from the abuses of the democratic dictatorship.
Had there only been some ocean to make life on it more prosperous, thousands of colonists would have landed like ants to extract nourishment, manipulate its coasts and found commercial ports from which to draw vast sources of profit until they drained it, as had already happened to planet Earth. Yet L74M was so bare and hostile to civilised life that it was left in peace, free of any form of law or government.
In short, no one would have suspected that, well hidden in the planet's depths, a complex labyrinth of luxuriant tunnels and caves lay secretly concealed. Down there grew flowers of never-before-seen colours, entire green valleys to be ridden through on horseback, cotton clouds and linen castles, held up by wooden structures but powered by the flow of electric currents, tending toward indigo like the sky of those underground lands that the Akira called home.
It was a matter of isolationism. The desire to remain undisturbed characterised those lands; the dream of quiet ran in the veins of the people of L74M as the lust for power instead infected the space monkeys from the dawn of time. Yet even so, given the creative nature of the Akira, it proved impossible to turn their backs on the injustices of the galactic empire.
Here and there across the vastness of the infinite, worlds waged war on one another while bureaucratic cobwebs made life impossible for the hungry but easier for the sated nazis. So L74M unanimously decreed a compromise with itself: the Akira would send indigo and flowers, cotton, wood and linen into outer space, mixing them into the already overloaded postal system of the thousand civilised worlds; they truly could not let the empire win — the space monkeys who toasted after every massacre, every mockery, every appliance worn out by planned obsolescence, and on the highest note of every curse of the repressed working class.
Certainly the message would be delivered some centuries late; the galactic empire would attempt to erase those traces of divergent thought from its computer system; but somewhere, at least someone, would find a treasure on the doormat, in the letterbox or resting on the windscreen of a car run dry.
So, to be somehow satisfied with their contribution, the inhabitants of L74M needed only to think of the smile of the lucky ones who, quietly expecting to collect a fine or a tax notice, would instead think:
Perhaps a better world exists.
Had there only been some ocean to make life on it more prosperous, thousands of colonists would have landed like ants to extract nourishment, manipulate its coasts and found commercial ports from which to draw vast sources of profit until they drained it, as had already happened to planet Earth. Yet L74M was so bare and hostile to civilised life that it was left in peace, free of any form of law or government.
In short, no one would have suspected that, well hidden in the planet's depths, a complex labyrinth of luxuriant tunnels and caves lay secretly concealed. Down there grew flowers of never-before-seen colours, entire green valleys to be ridden through on horseback, cotton clouds and linen castles, held up by wooden structures but powered by the flow of electric currents, tending toward indigo like the sky of those underground lands that the Akira called home.
It was a matter of isolationism. The desire to remain undisturbed characterised those lands; the dream of quiet ran in the veins of the people of L74M as the lust for power instead infected the space monkeys from the dawn of time. Yet even so, given the creative nature of the Akira, it proved impossible to turn their backs on the injustices of the galactic empire.
Here and there across the vastness of the infinite, worlds waged war on one another while bureaucratic cobwebs made life impossible for the hungry but easier for the sated nazis. So L74M unanimously decreed a compromise with itself: the Akira would send indigo and flowers, cotton, wood and linen into outer space, mixing them into the already overloaded postal system of the thousand civilised worlds; they truly could not let the empire win — the space monkeys who toasted after every massacre, every mockery, every appliance worn out by planned obsolescence, and on the highest note of every curse of the repressed working class.
Certainly the message would be delivered some centuries late; the galactic empire would attempt to erase those traces of divergent thought from its computer system; but somewhere, at least someone, would find a treasure on the doormat, in the letterbox or resting on the windscreen of a car run dry.
So, to be somehow satisfied with their contribution, the inhabitants of L74M needed only to think of the smile of the lucky ones who, quietly expecting to collect a fine or a tax notice, would instead think:
Perhaps a better world exists.
Si trattava all’apparenza di un globo roccioso come molti altri, classificato come pianeta, ma troppo sfuggente per rientrare nell’orbita di una stella qualunque. Vagava alla deriva senza meta, solitario e trascurato persino dagli esploratori più tenaci dell’impero galattico. Nemmeno agli occhi delle scimmie spaziali, L74M aveva la minima attrattiva economica, dato che su di esso crescevano nient’altro che colossali rovi di materia grigia, allungati dall’arida superficie fin oltre i confini della ionosfera, come a proteggerlo dagli abusi della dittatura democratica.
Se solo vi fosse stato un qualche oceano a rendere più prospera la vita su di esso, migliaia di coloni sarebbero approdati come formiche per estrarne nutrimento, manipolarne le coste e fondare porti commerciali dal quale ricavare ingenti fonti di guadagno fino a prosciugarlo come giàera successo al pianeta Terra. Eppure L74M risultava talmente spoglio e ostile alla vita civilizzata da essere lasciato in pace, libero da ogni forma di legge o governo.
Insomma nessuno avrebbe sospettato che, ben nascosto nelle profonditàdel pianeta, vi fosse celato in gran segreto un complesso labirinto di gallerie e grotte rigogliose. Làsotto crescevano fiori dai colori mai visti, intere vallate verdeggianti da percorrere a cavallo, nuvole di cotone e castelli di lino, sorretti da strutture in legno, ma alimentate dal correre di correnti elettriche, tendenti all’indaco come il cielo di quelle terre sotterranee, che gli Akira chiamavano casa.
Era una questione di isolazionismo. Il desiderio di restare indisturbati caratterizzava quelle terre, il sogno della quiete scorreva nelle vene del popolo di L74M come la brama di potere che invece infettava le scimmie spaziali dall’alba dei tempi. Anche in questo modo però, data la natura creativa degli Akira, risultava impossibile voltare le spalle alle ingiustizie dell’impero galattico.
Quàe làper le vastitàdell’infinito, i mondi si facevano la guerra mentre ragnatele burocratiche rendevano impossibile la vita degli affamati, ma più semplice quella dei sazi nazi. Così L74M aveva decretato all'unanimitàun compromesso con se stesso: gli Akira avrebbero spedito indaco e fiori, cotone, legno e lino nello spazio esterno, mescolandoli al giàsovraccarico sistema postale dei mille mondi civilizzati; davvero non riuscivano a darla vinta all’impero, alle scimmie spaziali che brindavano dopo ogni strage, ad ogni presa per il culo, per ogni elettrodomestico consumato dall'obsolescenza programmata e sulla nota più alta di ogni bestemmia della repressa classe operaia.
Di certo il messaggio sarebbe stato recapitato con qualche secolo di ritardo, l’impero galattico avrebbe tentato di far sparire quelle tracce di pensiero divergente dal proprio sistema informatico, ma da qualche parte, almeno qualcuno, si sarebbe ritrovato un tesoro sullo zerbino, nella buca delle lettere o poggiato sul parabrezza dell’auto a secco.
Così agli abitanti di L74M, per essere in qualche modo soddisfatti del proprio contributo, bastava pensare al sorriso che avrebbero fatto i fortunati che, aspettandosi sommessamente di raccogliere una multa o la notifica delle tasse da pagare, avrebbero pensato invece
Forse esiste un mondo migliore
Se solo vi fosse stato un qualche oceano a rendere più prospera la vita su di esso, migliaia di coloni sarebbero approdati come formiche per estrarne nutrimento, manipolarne le coste e fondare porti commerciali dal quale ricavare ingenti fonti di guadagno fino a prosciugarlo come giàera successo al pianeta Terra. Eppure L74M risultava talmente spoglio e ostile alla vita civilizzata da essere lasciato in pace, libero da ogni forma di legge o governo.
Insomma nessuno avrebbe sospettato che, ben nascosto nelle profonditàdel pianeta, vi fosse celato in gran segreto un complesso labirinto di gallerie e grotte rigogliose. Làsotto crescevano fiori dai colori mai visti, intere vallate verdeggianti da percorrere a cavallo, nuvole di cotone e castelli di lino, sorretti da strutture in legno, ma alimentate dal correre di correnti elettriche, tendenti all’indaco come il cielo di quelle terre sotterranee, che gli Akira chiamavano casa.
Era una questione di isolazionismo. Il desiderio di restare indisturbati caratterizzava quelle terre, il sogno della quiete scorreva nelle vene del popolo di L74M come la brama di potere che invece infettava le scimmie spaziali dall’alba dei tempi. Anche in questo modo però, data la natura creativa degli Akira, risultava impossibile voltare le spalle alle ingiustizie dell’impero galattico.
Quàe làper le vastitàdell’infinito, i mondi si facevano la guerra mentre ragnatele burocratiche rendevano impossibile la vita degli affamati, ma più semplice quella dei sazi nazi. Così L74M aveva decretato all'unanimitàun compromesso con se stesso: gli Akira avrebbero spedito indaco e fiori, cotone, legno e lino nello spazio esterno, mescolandoli al giàsovraccarico sistema postale dei mille mondi civilizzati; davvero non riuscivano a darla vinta all’impero, alle scimmie spaziali che brindavano dopo ogni strage, ad ogni presa per il culo, per ogni elettrodomestico consumato dall'obsolescenza programmata e sulla nota più alta di ogni bestemmia della repressa classe operaia.
Di certo il messaggio sarebbe stato recapitato con qualche secolo di ritardo, l’impero galattico avrebbe tentato di far sparire quelle tracce di pensiero divergente dal proprio sistema informatico, ma da qualche parte, almeno qualcuno, si sarebbe ritrovato un tesoro sullo zerbino, nella buca delle lettere o poggiato sul parabrezza dell’auto a secco.
Così agli abitanti di L74M, per essere in qualche modo soddisfatti del proprio contributo, bastava pensare al sorriso che avrebbero fatto i fortunati che, aspettandosi sommessamente di raccogliere una multa o la notifica delle tasse da pagare, avrebbero pensato invece
Forse esiste un mondo migliore
At first glance it was a rocky globe like many others, classified as a planet, but too elusive to fall into the orbit of any ordinary star. It drifted aimlessly, solitary and neglected even by the most tenacious explorers of the galactic empire. Not even in the eyes of the space monkeys did L74M hold the slightest economic appeal, since on it grew nothing but colossal brambles of grey matter, stretching from the arid surface beyond the boundaries of the ionosphere, as if to protect it from the abuses of the democratic dictatorship.
Had there only been some ocean to make life on it more prosperous, thousands of colonists would have landed like ants to extract nourishment, manipulate its coasts and found commercial ports from which to draw vast sources of profit until they drained it, as had already happened to planet Earth. Yet L74M was so bare and hostile to civilised life that it was left in peace, free of any form of law or government.
In short, no one would have suspected that, well hidden in the planet's depths, a complex labyrinth of luxuriant tunnels and caves lay secretly concealed. Down there grew flowers of never-before-seen colours, entire green valleys to be ridden through on horseback, cotton clouds and linen castles, held up by wooden structures but powered by the flow of electric currents, tending toward indigo like the sky of those underground lands that the Akira called home.
It was a matter of isolationism. The desire to remain undisturbed characterised those lands; the dream of quiet ran in the veins of the people of L74M as the lust for power instead infected the space monkeys from the dawn of time. Yet even so, given the creative nature of the Akira, it proved impossible to turn their backs on the injustices of the galactic empire.
Here and there across the vastness of the infinite, worlds waged war on one another while bureaucratic cobwebs made life impossible for the hungry but easier for the sated nazis. So L74M unanimously decreed a compromise with itself: the Akira would send indigo and flowers, cotton, wood and linen into outer space, mixing them into the already overloaded postal system of the thousand civilised worlds; they truly could not let the empire win — the space monkeys who toasted after every massacre, every mockery, every appliance worn out by planned obsolescence, and on the highest note of every curse of the repressed working class.
Certainly the message would be delivered some centuries late; the galactic empire would attempt to erase those traces of divergent thought from its computer system; but somewhere, at least someone, would find a treasure on the doormat, in the letterbox or resting on the windscreen of a car run dry.
So, to be somehow satisfied with their contribution, the inhabitants of L74M needed only to think of the smile of the lucky ones who, quietly expecting to collect a fine or a tax notice, would instead think:
Perhaps a better world exists.
Had there only been some ocean to make life on it more prosperous, thousands of colonists would have landed like ants to extract nourishment, manipulate its coasts and found commercial ports from which to draw vast sources of profit until they drained it, as had already happened to planet Earth. Yet L74M was so bare and hostile to civilised life that it was left in peace, free of any form of law or government.
In short, no one would have suspected that, well hidden in the planet's depths, a complex labyrinth of luxuriant tunnels and caves lay secretly concealed. Down there grew flowers of never-before-seen colours, entire green valleys to be ridden through on horseback, cotton clouds and linen castles, held up by wooden structures but powered by the flow of electric currents, tending toward indigo like the sky of those underground lands that the Akira called home.
It was a matter of isolationism. The desire to remain undisturbed characterised those lands; the dream of quiet ran in the veins of the people of L74M as the lust for power instead infected the space monkeys from the dawn of time. Yet even so, given the creative nature of the Akira, it proved impossible to turn their backs on the injustices of the galactic empire.
Here and there across the vastness of the infinite, worlds waged war on one another while bureaucratic cobwebs made life impossible for the hungry but easier for the sated nazis. So L74M unanimously decreed a compromise with itself: the Akira would send indigo and flowers, cotton, wood and linen into outer space, mixing them into the already overloaded postal system of the thousand civilised worlds; they truly could not let the empire win — the space monkeys who toasted after every massacre, every mockery, every appliance worn out by planned obsolescence, and on the highest note of every curse of the repressed working class.
Certainly the message would be delivered some centuries late; the galactic empire would attempt to erase those traces of divergent thought from its computer system; but somewhere, at least someone, would find a treasure on the doormat, in the letterbox or resting on the windscreen of a car run dry.
So, to be somehow satisfied with their contribution, the inhabitants of L74M needed only to think of the smile of the lucky ones who, quietly expecting to collect a fine or a tax notice, would instead think:
Perhaps a better world exists.