FLASH NEWS
St. Kadare
2024-07-01 14:20:01 / IDE
He fell to Hell in the middle, right, front, back, up, down, diagonally, crosswise, around. I didn't leave it without seeing it. I didn't leave a corner without feeling it. He didn't leave a trick without taking it out. I didn't leave a secret without revealing it. He did not leave torture without suffering.
He did not remain a fool without slandering him.
He did not remain illiterate without pointing out mistakes in style and content.
He did not remain mediocre without learning how the perfectionist of the text should write.
He did not remain a party bureaucrat without threatening him for ideological mistakes, without showing him the bars, the handcuffs, the prison.
He did not remain ignorant without criticizing him. Then for vigilance, ideologies, absent. Today for the hills along the coast.
It does not belong to you at all, neither to them, nor to these, nor to anyone else.
They took him, clothed him, muddied him, tore him, bit him, like dogs and hounds.
He did not move from the trench.
Illiterates who had not read anything rushed at him with the most absurd and hallucinatory criticisms and advice. He was not swayed by our insistence
From cooperators, tractor drivers, proletarians, stakanovists, race winners, star bearers, flag wavers, mat spreaders, kissers, shoe lickers, soldiers, sailors, sailors, toxors, airmen, the living, the dead, to the toasted academics , they reprimanded him endlessly for lack of vigilance, non-implementation of the Class War, water in the enemy's mill, etc. etc. etc. He didn't bat an eye.
The roots and intrigues woven by the envious could not be compared to those of the Middle Ages. He farted neither. It reduced everything to dust and ashes.
He pitied and condemned the foulest alliance between the cunning Sigurimistas and the stupid sufferers, as it deserved, with silence.
They hit him with clay balls in a collective meeting. They soiled it on the clothes. He cleared them with a shake.
They rushed through the plenums with bullets and bombs. Their ridiculous artillery, on the colossal work, produced no effect. He mocked and scorned the gunners of scum and plenums.
There is absolutely nothing self-referential in the oceanic work. Wrote millions and millions of words. And he never wrote the one that the slang has as its third word - I -. Never alone.
To insult him was the merit of having the temerity to do it.
To praise him was a risk you had to take.
Even the most foul, even the most disgusting, even the most dangerous, could never find something credible, something factual, something objective, something convincing, however small, however minute, however remote, to hit.
We cannot build a church or a temple as big and high as it deserves, because we steal it without starting.
We cannot raise a gold statue to him, because we need gold for rings on our fingers and chains around our necks.
From all this noise without a point of meaning, without a relaxing pause, without a question mark of fear, only with endless surprises, he went to relax a little.
Happening now...
83 mandates are not immunity for Rama's friends
Nga Gentian Gaba
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