After Food. Poisoning. Gas

Legambiente rewards the leaders of no coal-Manual

Corriere del Veneto from the December 31, 2010

ROVIGO - Go Giorgio Crepaldi Pula to the second place prize of 'Environmentalist of the Year "awarded by Legambiente to people who play an important role in protecting the territory. Reclamation of the Consortium for Worker Po Delta and activist since 2002, the Committee "free citizens" of Porto Tolle, Crepaldi is perhaps the most representative figure of the front of the anti-coal conversion of Enel's Polesine Camerini. In recent years, a spokesman for the committee was involved in numerous actions against the project, including the use of the TAR, rejected by the judges of the court amministrativo.In these days the 'no coke' Polesine are preparing to bring a new appeal to the Council state, while the authorization process again seems blocked after the go-ahead by the conference staff was just last estate.È Crepaldi, two years ago, to discover among the documents of the commission of the Ministry of Environment Via the appraisals of the public prosecutor of Rovigo theorized that irregularities in the conversion project.
survey for which the Court Rovigo is still under the lens of the Ministry of Justice. With 372 popular votes, collected by many supporters in this autumn Polesine, low Pula activist won the second place on the podium, preceded by Antonio Diana, Caserta entrepreneur engaged in the recovery and recycling of waste.

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The Nude male full photo was used for the first time in advertising in 1967, in France

Obviously there were naked men in advertising since the days of the posters Liberty, but it was mainly of drawings, more or less pictorial. E photographed in the buff beefcake had been used since World War II to promote exercise equipment or the like. But the first man totally naked appears only in the late sixties , made in an ad agency Publicis to advertise a company of underwear, the Selimaille. The ad showed a young model greek Frank Protopapa portrait in profile, with the head turned toward the viewer, and with hands folded to cover the pubis. The snapshot was taken by French photographer Jean-François Bauret .

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Merry Christmas and a nuclear crisis

December 25, 2015

I'm still alive.

... and so, almost without my noticing, it's Christmas. Oh-oh-oh! Happy birthday to us.

Yes, the reindeer is yellow, ah-ah-ah.

Yesterday, while those rascals gathered in a hotel - that's my gift to go through - I have used electricity to heat something in the microwave, giving me a miserable meal. The chocolate, they said, comforting mood, so I have eaten into stocks of snacks in search of some mild relief. It is the first Christmas that step alone, and although it should not weigh myself more than any other day spent in these conditions - because after all those times and parties belong to a world dissolved - I can not do without a bit of growing melancholy ' . If I think of those who were in the air of contrived happiness and good feelings I have to laugh. What a discovery, such as cold water. Christmas is a fake, you win a glass of water! And you t'immusonisci? Those occurrences
captain, period. A little 'as the common cold. And if one gets angry with a cold, then it is also free to pigliarsela with Christmas ... sure, I'll never say it's smart to do this, but their dicks are sacrosanct. I do not waste energy and I never wasted or nell'immalinconirmi in caring for it.

Today ... But today is another story, one that makes the situation worse is to be only between the Yellow and the raiders. Nothing new, you say ... well, maybe! So, let's move on to more serious.

Remember how long ago I spoke of the nuclear Caorso? In an attempt to maintain disparate energy autonomy, the government reinstated the beginning of 2012 - so with a certain alacrity, given the national pace - but when it all crashed, we learned of the plant not anymore.
Well, looking for a radio station on, I found a message that the occupation of the Central to the work of a "militia cell independent (does not give specific figures on this) with the stated aim to hold the nation hostage, or at least the area of \u200b\u200benergy supply dependent Caorso (but do not ask its effective coverage, you may just as the northern half of Italy, as far as I know or be able to discover in what remains of the network). In Central America, this militia would overcome the technical staff and security guards to leave the plant, the first by submitting to the logic of weapons after taking off the second (which is why my computer works - and maybe even your own - take the electricity and can not connect without too much trouble), we now move forward requests for contributions in the form of supplies, in addition to the submission of all the militias and groups who believe or adverse to their competitors.

Now, I do not know if this group is to be regarded like the army, of Belphegor, or the Marquis Who else, but I fear the inevitable, namely a war for control of energy. That the land is also nearby, and most importantly a nuclear target of deranged, desperate and unscrupulous people, is producing those two fingers in the form of anxiety goose bumps on my arms. You have you heard? Have been noticed suspicious movements in the direction of Piacenza, and I mean from any other region? Everything I have is the message that I have reportedly received around 20:00 last night while looking for a comforting voice in the ether. Bella consolation, I shit in my hand. With all due respect, eh! And if the British are really here - I thought - could be interested in the personnel of the Central and join the battle.
Yes, these days, with butts of news raining down from all sides, fantasy and paranoia gallops shake the whip, so I can whip increasingly gloomy castles in the air. Seeking

and look for a confirmation.

stay alive.

EDIT: 25/12/2015, 18:30

the radio right now: "New Autarchia Army Nuclear Power Caorso claimed as the property of the people it represents. We are an enclave of well-fed members of these former soldiers and militia who have chosen to leave the bandits to follow an ideology and deal not only the threat of yellow, but also those who have left this festering wound spreads to infect the nation, namely the pusillanimous government in exile. From now declare Italy under the protection of NAA, refusing to recognize any other authority. We will provide energy and protection, guaranteed by the exchange of charges that they give to our men on patrol. Anyone who refuses, choosing anarchy and betraying Italy that we represent, will be exposed to from the beginning embargo. If this were not enough, the deserter and the people of Italy will be spent for weapons. End of statement. "

looks like a fucking serious. I was able to transcribe the message because repeat with insistence, he would understand something you say on radio, how often I receive it. In any case, from the province of Parma receives the signal clean and clear.

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The stock of the situation, the last resort of the siege

December 22, 2015

I'm alive.

Things could get very sick from time to time, so I think it is good to leave in black and white - or font on the blog - all that has happened from the beginning to the present. Many of you have pointed out the misinformation and the initial way in which, once again, hung on the Internet to know the truth, what was really happening and why our media him be quiet. Some, however, did not want to believe it, a scenario too futuristic to be accepted as a screenplay rather than a global emergency. My father thought that way in his eyes and those of many other yellows were nothing but desperate infected - it was then called - by no more than a particularly resistant strain of Anger (just think, 'does not make you laugh now?). Then, when nothing could be more hidden, more serious news reports told us the truth, that face belonged to Cristina Riccione, from that moment became synonymous with the pandemic. The prion-Chang Lee, expansion, infection and all the rest. All too late, as usual. While supporting the economy until the last on his feet of clay, the government had failed again. We were unprepared, so when the camps were opened and launched the quarantine procedures, many cities were already falling.

Only yesterday there was the impossible, an entry from Parma joined me. When he fell, every program transfer and rescue of lost meaning. We'll manage in the province as we could, holed up in districts and villages, already partially emptied by those who wanted to leave after all. Where were these camps, no one knows, yet many went on trucks and buses. Today, those people and those fields there is no trace, and as I observe the uniforms of the militia who plunder the region - with the number of yellow on the rise - I can draw my own conclusions to love. Others wanted to join relatives in the countryside - mindful of how, in times of war, this strategy saved their grandparents - or undertook desperate journeys to other regions. Of them, I know even less. What I know is what happened to us.
While the city fell, confidence in the army and in the fields met the same end. In many stayed put, filling the house of food and other supplies useful, blocked, or perched in our dens. The families found it hard to separate, knowing that could have been difficult to bring together so many wrong choices were made to keep united what was destined to be lost. The summer and not a little complicated things, the advance of the Yellow and the voices of the first acts of brigandage. Little by little, our center was eaten, day by day, inch by inch, until only a few districts could be said to be safe or protected. Going out on patrol carries the risk of lightning attacks, with those infected in good shape in the summer heat and humidity we pativamo the heat constant. A season that I have always suffered badly, but I learned to hate with all my might. Then the case of the crow that I just mentioned, poisoned by the chemicals with which it was first attempted a futile defense or infected by the flesh of the bodies remained in the street and they had fed, I do not know. They say it is impossible that the prion has made the species jump from birds to mammals. I do not know, I do not know to what or whom to believe. What I saw were violent attacks, but no infection. Who has been attacked, including myself, did not contract the infection. It's been well over two months since July, and I'm still here. So perhaps Cripto right, was not the pandemic. Maybe I'm just mad, intoxicated, rushed into a feeding frenzy. Who knows. Then, like every year I can remember, have migrated elsewhere. We, however, we stayed. Isolated to resist infection, paranoid need to change into madness, we separated from each other in humanity adrift. The contacts between the groups decreased or ceased, many lost forever.

Then, even my group was lost.
The last, in the massacre of the church. Remember? Perhaps including some who were praying that God, mercifully were torn apart from top to bottom, so no turning back. Do not get me wrong, I still believe in that god little, but I appreciate the irony of the case. When the yellow came down upon them, attracted by that building warm in winter while all around them was Bracciano - better than we could ever do ourselves, I must add - the feeding frenzy that seized the infected left no survivors. I made sure the next day, looking for the remains of what is too painful to remember. Then I found out was not alone at least in the network, where others wrote their stories and share information. In that brief silence was followed by the militia of robbers who seems to have taken place in the country, quartered - as far as I could see - in one of our largest hotel, where I can imagine them as they fight the best rooms I've infected transporting the supplies provided to find him. Instead, among the acolytes of the infection shows signs Santone increasingly apparent, leading them to attack one another or be shot at by militants. What seemed like the beginning of a fanatic cult is already succumbing to the logic of the pandemic: no evolution, only infection. I found that the holy man was part of the brigade, was therefore one of our crazy but a poor man like the others who had followed the path of weapons, and once infected - maybe not crazy, or do it on his terms - he decided that Pandemic was the Way. Gathered around him a couple of idiots trying infected and meaning in their despair, he created the cult idiot with no future. Well, while around him the yellow die of cold and hunger, I hope it's light a bulb, or perhaps I should wish him to go out with his lie. After all, we all lie to ourselves to give us comfort at least once since it started. I do not just have to observe, prepare, learn the movements to avoid unpleasant surprises, and - above all - get used to the waiting arms of the battle. I have no illusions, this calm before the storm makes me seasick already.

So here we now stand it alone in a house that is a den, a storehouse, a fort. If nothing can really stop the Yellow, our survival will not remain that these stories to tell, and when the network will fall once for all, these voices will join us in ashes.

stay alive, at least for
tell.

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December 19, 2015

I'm still alive.

All that action could be seen once the 28 days after films like is a pile of crap as even the litter of an elephant may have seen the equal. The time never passes, slow and monotonous as the walk of an earthworm. Maybe being alone flattens the day, no call to mark the day and then the blossoming of a reassuring routine that develops itself, growing from the ground like wild flowers in season. Thus is established a autonomous system, the Republic of Judah, that name if the crib with new and unexpected meanings. Here, away from it all, you act as if to embrace this solitude betrayed my species and its social nature. The limits of my little kingdom are tracked by Yellow, year after year, inch by inch, I have devoured the space, defining the possible moves, locking in a safety cage and paranoia. They are my captors and my guardians, the sentinels who experience dell'appropinquarsi (I always liked that word) of a worst enemy. The militia, who, after the bait of fake stock, rather than be satisfied with search resumes, search and still looking, searching the country like a child's hand lingers on the bottom of the jar to collect the last cookie, armed with more certainty of faith, and collecting only crumbs to its passage. And I, I'm here, waiting for the last cookie. Clinging to my stocks, armed to the teeth with weapons and incompetent. Just a bell'eroe clay. Maybe I was not crazy when I was looking my way out of a handful of pills. Instead, however something is fired, and now I watch my little kingdom furiously like a hamster in the den. You must have had one to understand or imagine that little, helpless ball of fur, be as fierce as a panther. My name was Matilda, was the dragon guarding the treasure, and my fingers just stupid or greedy knights of robbers break down. Like a dragon, he defended his treasure to the end, dying a peaceful old age on that pile of seeds, untouched. As a sort of considered the gremlin, respect its indomitable defense, so when I removed the cage to clean up (wearing leather gloves to protect riders and robbers), where he had left his treasure there. So today, when the strange thoughts rose to the surface in solitude, she also comes to mind. Out there, bandits and knights are in the shape of a hand (albeit unintended) takes care of, but thieves and monsters. So, I'm the dragon, the guardian of I lair. At first, taking advantage of increasingly stringent temperatures, I went to remove the yellow statues made from frost, often recognizing a familiar face or acquaintance, but when the host of fake Belfagor not satisfied of my "generous contribution" I gave up. That the rise of the Yellow their groans at the real enemy, my guards will be in addition to the bars of this cage.

stay alive.

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good democratic

Click to enlarge

Premise: If there is a day that beautifully sums up the state of health of Italian democracy, this is Monday, December 14, 2010. Two key facts. First, after traccheggiato for a week, and center Finian vote no confidence in the Berlusconi government. Berlusconi finally has the confidence to three votes. Maybe if you bought them, perhaps the turncoats have simply been afraid of losing wages and pensions. The arrogance and the excessive power of the Prime Minister, the baseness of many MPs and the inconsistency of the opposition are still image of politics in Italy.
Meanwhile, in the real world, is the second episode. The procession of students, Aquila earthquake, residents and workers Terzigno anger explodes, hundreds of protesters assaulted the police line (which has isolated the area of \u200b\u200bthe buildings to prevent damage to the beggars of the security of honest people within are discussing the good of the country). They are on fire trucks, police beatings, built barricades, smashing ATMs and a home for Civil Protection (yes, those who have militarized the Eagle and managed along with many talented entrepreneurs executive's reconstruction, while the entire old town is still cordoned off after a year and a half).
Now the self-righteous right hand, the litany of mob law and order and to which the kidneys are broken, and left the equally inconsistent litany of no to violence, a distinction that those in the square were not of us, were "black bloc" and in some cases infiltrated the police. Then a look at the pictures and asks: where are the hundreds of black bloc? The Black Bloc in Genoa remember them as the guys dressed all in black, almost in uniform. Here they came in plain clothes? Then there were black bloc, they say, but infiltrators. Hundreds of infiltrators who have put the city on fire. For goodness sake, there are always the infiltrators, but at some point you start to see everywhere, even where - obviously - no. Boh. Then comes the inevitable
Saviano, who writes a letter not to say indignation against the behavior of our so-called representatives in Parliament, but to tell the kids that were in place: "Do not do that! Show your calmly and patiently! Every act of violence favors the government. " And other sbrodolerie Teletubbies love to hear you say that since I had shorts (Saviano and I have the same age, but he is older). So the heroic writer lashes out against the violent, gradually defined as a bunch of "idiots" and "idiots" who have pulled back a bit 'of naive boys. I dream of the day on which it will use as much verbal violence against Saviano his publisher.
However you think the images of the uprising on Monday that showed hundreds of people kicking ass, not a handful of troublemakers. And many students do not take at all distances from the violence. Maybe the anger should be listened to, rather than belittled or condemned by politicians and overpaid writers full of money purporting to pontificate on the right fit of anger of those who live in precarious, starvation wages and less rights.
even more angry that the distinctions are left and even the representatives that UDS, carefully chosen by TG3, in the aftermath of the violence of state that place is not among their goals smashing ATMs and other symbols of capitalism. Yet more angry to think that there are people who praised the late Mario Monicelli shouting for revolution and who loves De Andrè ("Power too often delegated to other hands, and dropped from your restituitoci airplanes, I come to give back a bit 'of your terror your mess your noise ") and then angered by a Mercedes on fire. I think they're the same radical chic of shit at the concert pro Emergency Patti Smith protesting because he stood with those who covered his view from the front row (I paid € 130 for this place "). The same people who think the revolution to make it on the couch, watching a television program produced by Endemol.
Now, the real problem is that Italy is ruled by people corrupted, by Masons, friends of the mafia and blatant racism. With the consent of much of the opposition are destroying the welfare state and the rights of the vulnerable, devastating the environment, harassing immigrants. They stripped the Parliament of any decision-making capacity, then turned it into a cattle market. This is slightly more serious than a few cars on fire. You hear screaming continuously to the coup, democracy in danger, all'impresentabilità of these people. But then we claim that people with posters quiet, away from buildings, kindly provided by the government in the spaces above and preferably without causing too much discomfort. And maybe you also resigned to be systematically ignored.
I would last the lesson number one sull'ipocrita rhetoric of the No to violence no ifs, ands or buts. Since 2002 Italy has been engaged in a war in Afghanistan, supported and financed from the right and left. We note that then destroy Rome with cobblestones is unacceptable, wreak havoc with the Kabul bombing is acceptable.

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What I will miss all of Facebook

I took a break from Facebook , for reasons which I wrote some time ago and because I want to disconnect from the rhythms imposed by this social network (which in fact lately I seemed to socialize very little), to spend more time and attention to things that take time. Since moody and erratic, certainly in a few days I have changed my mind.
course, so I lose some contacts, I hope to recover in other ways. I certainly do not fail to know that two of my friends are fans of Pope John Paul II and twenty-two of Nutella. Also, do not learn more than Pingu Like many people who like Paolo Bitta, while fans are often passionate about Raimondo Vianello Superenalotto.
Over time I enjoyed collecting some screenshots of their work on Facebook, pilfered here and there. Thanks to this valuable material can begin to draw up a short list of the things I miss on Facebook.

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page. Scilipoti after the vote of confidence of 14 December 2010

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Monday, December 14, 2015

I'm still alive.

It's stupid to write it every time, but - as you'll see - so you do not need to ascertain that the available evidence, as for me to remember to have done another day. One at a time.


Well, we talk about yellow.

I read too often the word "zombie", which ran to me on several occasions. Well, think of yellow as such an error is glaring. I'm not dead, they move like walking corpses - unless you make very cool - and have unpredictable reactions. They are people? They have a soul? Not us, we can not afford to think about these things. Moreover, the soul is a religious concept that makes sense only for those who believe. I do not, but what I noticed is this: stereotyped behaviors, and memories of the past. Girls collect dolls from the rubble of toy stores. Couples wandering hand in hand. Mothers with infants fed regurgitating blood in their throats. I'm not saying they are still in itself, is not possible. What I think is showing traces of the past, but that the decline began with violent behavior, leading to a feral state irreversible. I'd love to hear of doctors, their brain activity in the Yellow observations. My suspicion is that it limits the amygdala, or slightly more. However I can not say anything for sure or give something for granted, everything went to hell before I knew more, thanks also deliberate disinformation by the government to limit the panic.

In any case, these are arguments that have no immediate utility.
So step to what you can serve. The Yellow

run, make ambushes and ignore the pain. Yes, the cold keeps them at bay by making them look like zombies, but this is the first mistake. In the summer, is another story. Often move in herds, while unconsciously ties had in life. When two groups meet tend to ignore them, unless there is a predator - namely us - to contend. Do not deceive yourselves, draw a bunch to another hoping to get rid of it is stupid as to invite them to dinner, not as bad as each other but on your carcass, fighting while tearing pieces of your body. Always point the prey, and when the battle ended and the food back to ignoring as before. Or worse. Sometimes, the groups come together in a stronger. They do it because they have a strategy? No, it's just instinct. If a group submits another, form a new troop. Otherwise, they are separated. When you shoot, do it to kill, hurt ignores the pain, but screams like a pig slaughtered with rage, attracting others. They are more like animals than rabid zombies, which have nothing, apart from the question epidemic. If you can, move mountains, we were cut off we are and we spent a summer of hell. The Po valley is foggy and cold in winter but hot and muggy summer. In this heat, the parties inverted. Yellow nell'afa escape from the plain flap that is the proportion of forces in the winter, it makes YOU feel a zombie. Wherever you are, get ready for the summer, it's never too soon.

animals.
Be careful, the interspecies infection is common. Infected dogs, stray and dangerous now. I'm not sure of the rats, sometimes it seems they are but we have never ascertained. Maybe I'm immune, maybe not. One thing is certain, they may become healthy carriers. I saw with my own eyes. Cats. I cats, says Piscu , are immune. I do not know, I've never seen an infected, but that does not mean anything. On second thought, has for some time that I can not see. Maybe they are smarter and have gone elsewhere. The crows, however, are a danger. Escape in the summer sun is already a pain, but it covered from top to bottom to protect against them is even worse, heat stroke can often fuck in the middle of the flight. And then the scene, well ... this Hitchcock's Birds? There. Fortunately, migrating to the warm winter - today, even more so - so watch the summer sky. The cold has the same effect on infected animals. Not being able to see the skin yellow, you have other ways to understand it. First of all, aggression. The fur, or feathers then seem dull and neglected, sometimes stained with blood. The crows are held rather than clean, the dirty remiganti not allow him to take off in flight. In any case, the plumage is black and off "sick", while the eyes are like those of the Yellow.

I always hated the summer heat el'afa, stuff that, although there are born in the middle, I never learned to tolerate, but now ... I hate fucking summer with all my might. Well, I hope there was at least somewhat 'useful, the rest of my refuge in the shelter until things take a turn. The trap is ready and should take at any moment, the army is still searching the country and should find the infected stock and then leave, at least I hope so. One on which I continue to question me is the Holy Man and his cult nonsense, as we did not notice them during the summer? Where is he hiding? I have read similar things in the space of , so I guess that could come from outside and not be patients of the nursing home. Well, when and if the militias will rise up to come back, I will have to investigate.

stay alive.

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Saturday, December 12, 2015

I'm still alive.

When last month I discovered a connection active, a quick search of my contacts has borne fruit. The Blog of Alex McNab is still standing, and through him - as if to respond to the call of the species - many voices were raised. I am not alone at all. Survivors. In war, hiding or fleeing, however, in life. The choir, perhaps for the sake of the news or simply a desire to feel alive, I add my voice. I owe you information that proved vital, as the dates for the conservation of canned food to avoid, more names and movements of criminals who, in many ways, are worse than Yellow. Thanks. I hope - indeed, I know - you can return the favor sooner or later. One step from a very bad end, information are essential to avoid those inches that separate us from the pit.

The irony, now that I think is that this post - what I consider a little reminder that 'the survivors of Radio London - Alex wrote it for her birthday, an occasion that celebrates life at the bottom. Among other things, giving us all much more than you can pack with a nice bow.
This was my first response signal to the network:

(Anonymous) wrote:
Nov. 26th, 2010 05:00 pm (UTC)
The cold and humidity of the plains Po slow down the advance, but the shelters attract small groups of yellow for warmth, ending the encounter with the survivors holed up in buildings. It is the game of cat and mouse, we lose every day. Yesterday, desperate prayer were surprised and asked for salvation. Who? God, if it exists, does not protect the stupid. They knew the danger but they went to die. In church, in the heat, all those people. Maybe not praying for salvation but to die quickly. Get it over with. I do not know, time passes. If it snows, when they are numb, I will try to reach the pharmacy. A handful of pills and goodbye.

Happy Birthday,
giudappeso.

Today, things - so to speak - are better.
I no longer think in the end as before. I observe, indeed, for there is much to observe. To wander the streets not only yellow, but in order paramilitary groups. Or should I say hunters on Sunday, thieves who steal unnecessarily obtuse that I have already done to rob me. If you saw the magazine, I would die. After the massacre in church, I was the only one to guard the supplies. Before the others were going to die we have collected everything: food, clothing, weapons, anything useful. A long Summer Yellow past broken the back to supply what was to be our great defense, under the attacks of infected crows and the usual Yellow. I barricaded here for some time, I will not say where. In the late summer we were very few, then when the last went to die in church or in a desperate attempt to save those who had done it, I was alone. The "trouble" is that I do not mind at all. Day after day I talk to myself and I cherish my solitude with that - who knows - it may germinate in a comfortable madness. I came to hope that would alleviate all the rest, too many things I'm trying all together. Above all, the things I've seen.

Those people out there.
While I go mad waiting for good, those are a bit forward.

are two groups. At first I thought they were together, spying and eavesdropping, but I learned a few things. On second thought, I have to laugh. I've always been cautious, I would say wimp, but now ... I do not know, maybe the feeling of having nothing to lose, it made me more courageous. Sometimes, I confess, I'm a fucking unconscious. And who knows, maybe a part of me is still looking for a way out of death.
I said, the two groups.

The first are the robbers on Sunday I mentioned before, and their leader. Belphegor, he says. The truth is that the legend has spread, so more beggars among the robbers use that name because in a world where superstition and fear becomes real information out of the network (but it was not before?) no longer exists, the name of the Big Bad Wolf scares the sheep more than a stranger. So be careful, very few are those who say they are. If you get the news that the Marquis or Belphegor (on which I have to better document, having read only two lines) are dead, do not believe. This is probably one of these beggars. Who knows, maybe punished by those who were "emulating". In any case, the group that I have seen is a bunch of ten people. They're sticking their dirty hands everywhere, looking for what they can not find.
Well, before it reaches the warehouse, I decided to give him a good joke. 'm Setting up a fake, with all the canned suspicion. Take advantage of moments when patrolling the campaign, firing the Yellow and the few remaining farmers to rob them. I hope you are, go away and do a very bad end. It seems to be in Mad Max, only instead of the desert is the Po valley. While unloading infected food in the warehouse fake laugh to myself, laughing like a fool or a madman.

Here, the second group.
Matti, mad to the core. Like me, I hope, I'll never be.
Their leader - I call it Santone - Yellow delusions of supremacy, inviting her to be deliberately infected. The world, he says, he no longer belongs to man. The only choice, he insists, is embracing the trend. On him, on all of them, signs of infection are evident, especially aggression. Yellow hunt for food, or worse. I spilled the stomach in the snow, the risk of being discovered, when three of them take turns raping a Yellow numb from the cold. I believe to be the institution for the mentally ill here in town. Perhaps abandoned or forgotten in a hurry. So, without medication, the delusions have taken a hand to everyone, creating their own mythology around the obsessive infected, which would be the humanity of tomorrow. Always wear something yellow. A hat, a scarf, an armband. The other group, the looters, they seem fun to watch - as a freak-show - But if the lunatics get too close, shoot well with them. Well, I hope they kill each other.

thrillers. The first Yellow opposed little resistance, but now the temperature has risen and I step out of the shelter unless it is indispensable. I have to finish the trap, put enough because the take stuff and go away satisfied. I keep an eye on their research teams and I know I still have a day or two of time before we arrive. In any case, tomorrow is the last day of loading and unloading. I do not want to risk more, the yellow are shaking from the torpor.

To be honest, is when I saw what I saw that I will not quit.
My plan - to now - is to remain hidden, to rely on my resources until I'll have. Then, well, I live hand to mouth. All for now.

PS There are two thoughts that never leaves me, one about my glasses. You know that episode of Twilight Zone (or was it The Outer Limits?) Where, at the end of the world, is an old one and they say 'Well, finally I can read everything "and then break his glasses? Well, if I run out of my fucking, SODDING, plurifottuto. And I do not mean it can not read, but rather because I can not see without a cock. Especially from a distance. The other thought is for Caorso, the nuclear in Piacenza. I have no idea what it was. He had been reactivated to supply Italy in case of block energy from abroad, remember? Well, around here he's talked a lot, since it is a stone's throw away. To this day I do not know if it is turned off, in operation, or staffed at the mercy of yellow and militias. Needless to say, this sword of Damocles over the situation worse.

stay alive.

One law
Judah.