new column for Kazin

It rains.
Heavily rains, tonight.
I walk this rain with my head down –soft like a ball of butter which risks to melt when water touches it.
The hood of my sweater does not cover me enough; tears of the sky are running down my eyes while I smile in the darkness of this electronic City constellated of shining dot.
I raise my head; I decide not to care about water.
Don’t you ever think about how stupid we are about rains?
We are always so worried of walking under the rain, because we can get wet.
Because our hair will be in disorder, we will feel cold, we will stink like dogs.

If you listen rain, there is something absolutely magic about it - when it crashes on asphalt with that sound, something that shines of uniqueness.
The sound of rain is a wet sound, when it rains like this if you keep the eyes closed and you just focus on the sound it seems like a lot of spot of whipped cream is crashing on the street, on the walls, all around, on your head, on your shoulders. Sciac pluf sciac pluf sciac pluf sciac pluf.
The most amazing thing though, if you stop being scared of the drops of this heavy rain and you watch them, is the colors reflected in of them.
The electronic soul of the City is all there, in the red, blue, green, yellow stars that shine in the drops of rain.
With head-down you can catch only the amazing fractals on the movement in which the drop touches the street and melts in the anonymity of a wallow. Like tears of a minor god they disappear in the acidity of our indifference.
But look, if you are courageous enough you can raise your head; your face will be under the direct falling of the rain and you will see a different world.
The falling of the rain in the City….. it is electronic: a minimal symphony.
Every drop seems dancing following a dj, a techno dj, the best techno dj, a creator, the creator.
I feel like drink it all, this minimal water.
Suddenly awareness rises in me: this water, so magic, in drops that break down on the street in fourteenth reflections like crystal balls, so sweet in its poetry, it is acid.
Cars are running on my way, smog enters my lungs. I feel pain. Above no starts, and not because it rains. Above only a smiling glass moon, and then all around advertisings, huge panels of advertisings.
I am in the middle of Old Street, I am suffocated by acid rain and capitalism.
There is no corner of this street, so poetic and old, left with no corruption. They try to kidnap my mind along every step.
I feel trapped between beer Stella Artoise, Micra car, McDonald’s cheese burgers and the last model of Intimissimi.
Are we free?
A watch people passing by, they are all scared on the rain. None is watching here, none wants to drink her. They don’t care if she is acidic, they don’t care if they cannot breath on the road, they don’t care if McDonald’s face covers up the façade of beautiful palaces.
For a moment a dream crosses me: all of those people being different. All those people throwing away their hats, their hoods, their umbrella and get drunk of sweet rain.
This is a vision in which people are not afraid of getting wet, are not afraid of walking, of running, of dancing under the tears of our minor god, the tears of our planet.
It is a weird dream; from my eyes it shines on the grey windows of Old Street. It seems to me that the road answers me, she holds and pick me up. I feel embraced be the old features of her architecture, it seems that all those broken glasses and those red-grey bricks of the street want to rebel to those advertising that try to cover their ancient beauty.
I would like to see all people on this road now with me start drinking the rain.
Start drinking the rain and stop using Shell, stop buying Nike, Tesco, stop producing waste.
A dream from which I don’t want to wake up.
All this I saw, in the rain of London tonight.

@cecilia anesi