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The planet you live on is hanging from a thread.
Somebody has stopped the Evolution
and you're suffering the consequences of it.

The future is not written
but it takes to take the trouble of reading the present.

If you're nothing but an intelligent animal,
then a dog is just a vegetable with legs.

..and still, when pushed off the cliff,
even those who don't believe in the Law of Gravity
FALL DOWN anyway.

  This Book won't change your life.
  All you're gonna do after having read it, will.

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(THE SUMMARIES OF EACH VOLUME and the FIRST CHAPTER)

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Nothing is more labile than the boundary between being able to have Faith, and the propensity for letting shysters swindle you. This is true with sects and religions, as much with TV-news; with horoscopes, but also with weather forecasts. Nothing is real without our consent. But we've been accustomed to let our consent be extorted passively by those who consider us mere "consumers", "believers", "voters".. Nothing but numbers, that is: a docile flock of sheeps to be lead wherever they please.. oftentimes, straight to the slaughterhouse. Maybe the time has come for each individual to start thinking with his own brain. Maybe the time has come for you to raise your head up high and ask yourself: "Am I a human being, OR an intelligent animal?". CHAPTER ONE I guess I promised him to keep the secret. I made no oath, but did promise – like everybody else, after all. Or maybe it was a tacit consent. In any case, it was patent to all of us four that some things are best kept for yourself: to blurt them out would make you be considered insane, so it's always a good idea not to hoe your own foot. Even when you're digging your own grave. Hey! Could it be? A whole paragraph and the computer didn't self-reset. Cool. It's a good sign. And by the way the cursor is blinking now, it's obvious to deduce that our secret is no longer classified. I am free to talk, or so it seems. Or at least write about it. I still cannot believe I could keep this outpour for so many years. This chatterbox that I am. Correction: that I was. I am no longer the old me, not after October 12th 1993. Angelo is sitting on my bed with his legs crossed. Gazes carefreely at random points in the wood-coated ceiling. And I'm there, sitting by my desk, just like an ornament or a piece of furniture. Let's make things clear from the start: Angelo is not my boyfriend. He's gonna come only when all of this matter will be over. “Over” just so to speak. Angelo is my best friend, and I could never nourish for him anything else than the stubborn form of Friendship which characterizes our relationship. «An ordinary night..», I wonder. «A pizza with a friend, a rented movie, a possesion by a spirit that mangles my hand in an attempt to communicate, and now here I am without a clue about what to do or think.» In such circumstances, one at the very least expects a miracle to happen. Like.. visions, levitations, disembodied voices.. at least the cheapest of poltergeists, you wouldn't waste a single dime on! (But eight dimes, why not.) «Nothing. Nothing happens, really. And he keeps staring at the ceiling. As if some joke was on me.» A worrying question arises spontaneous: who is he? Cheap answer: my best friend since the last three years. Full-price answer: the body is no doubt Angelo's, as for the content now.. beats me. I have a glance at the ceiling myself, too, and for the millionth time. But then I give up: ain't no doubt about it, it does look to be the ceiling of my bedroom. I don't think Angelo has ever observed it so scrupulously, but I guess that a ten minutes' silence for a stupid ceiling is a bit excessive. One sentence begins to shape on the tip of my lips, kinda like the seepages of water dripping down from the upper floor when it's completely flooded: what the heck are you staring at? Yeah, sure. D'you think that the priest from “The exorcist” would've dared such a familiarity with the woman possessed by the devil? Oh well, looks like that priest had more control over his own words than I have – for in all spontaneity, I uttered them out almost in the very istant I had thought them. «I'm gazing at the stars.» Excellent reply. Had we been in the garden. But not even with Superman's X-ray view, you could see stars from my bed! Not from that angle of view, at least. Maybe if he was looking out of the window, although with just one eye.. But he replied without even blinking. And furthermore remaining so still that he made me wonder wether he actually moved his lips or not. Could I have imagined that later, as a rationalization? Oh, come on! One mr.Spock like me, with his unyieldable logic.. me, to believe in telepathy? In the past few minutes I had already taken up believing in possession, though. But that could be a sudden but “perfectly explainable” schizophrenic attack. Or a terrificly well-recited joke. Or also.. Oh well: you just name it, it might be it – after all, everybody knows that for each unexplainable fact do exist infinite scientific demonstrations. I was ruminating over these thoughts, when I was tempted by the oafish curiosity of trying to tease a bit this “being” with impudent and naif cases: «That's the ceiling. The stars, just in case, are two floors upstair and beyond the roof.» Now: would you have kicked a sleeping rhino in the ass? I was only then realizing I had just did it. The longest half second of my life passes by, while in my mind the most catastrophic images wait in line for their turn to scare me. He could've thunderstruck me with a finger like super-robot Mazinger. Or roar like an ork and make me die on the spot of a heart attack. Or tear me apart even worse than an angry man-eater tiger.. And plenty of very-little-scientific hypothes more. None of that happened. Angelo, or whoever was deputized for being him, enjoyes a short pause only meant to increase the suspance, then turns his head and gazes at me – looking as if he knew-better about Earthly things of which I was completely unaware. He makes fun of me without uttering a word or bending an eyebrow: just the pitiful smile of a know-it-all annoyed by a silly question, soon replaced by a quite humiliating strained laughter. After that, he goes back to stare at his own “sky inside a room” as if he meant to tell: if such are the questions you're going to ask, then I'm more interested in the ceiling than in you. Minutes pass, and the more I think of meaningful questions to ask, the less smart they end up seeming to me. For it's clear that I'm not dealing with an ordinary errant sprite, one of those who make grannies go break-dancing. And it's not a yecchy and repulsing Alien with froth in his mouth, come out of hell with the praiseworthy intent of livening up humans by putting their towns to the torch. (Always for sticking to logic and scientific hypothes, of course.) This entity is patently different from the one of the previous possesion, who could only lay down motionless and unable to speak or move. This one looks to be a tourist, or better said a clandestine, or an infiltrator at a party he was never invited to. Some kind of passer-by ghost: that was just wandering around as pure spirit, when he stumbled by chance across a body that had been emptied by a previous possession but not yet re-filled with its legitimate owner – my friend Angelo, that is. It's all the fault of Benigni's “Il piccolo diavolo” if my early fear soon turned into a reckless amusement, like pulling the cat's tail taking for granted that if he didn't react then, he won't do that now. I'm afraid I didn't get to make a good impression on my unknown visitor. As a matter of fact, once ran out of serious questions (that he wouldn't answer anyway), I gradually slipped into asking him trifles – the most disparate, and dimwitted.. And to which avail? None. Just as if I didn't exist: I spend more attention on a pebble than that being was doing with me. Therefore I resolved that I've had enough: dragging a joke for so long was not funny at all, and I intended to demand my friend Angelo back. (Not that he's more talkative, but what's fair is fair: everyone should inhabit his own body, right?) I finally made up my mind to ask the most obvious question I should've asked from the start: «Where is Angelo?» «He's not there.» One instant and I was brought back to my sense from silliness, and there came back that uneasy feeling. “Dammit. This time he DID answer.”, I pondered. And suddenly realized that pulling his leg hadn't helped me at all, to put my mind at rest as I had been hoping. In a desperate attempt to reassure myself, I made believe it was only Angelo although in a temporary confusional state. «What do you mean, “He's not there”? YOU are Angelo. Take a look at yourself in the mirror!» Hey, I realize that it's quite an ingenuous thing to say, to a spirit who seized your best friend's body.. But nevertheless, this remark seemed to strike him as a valid counterattack. As if it helped corroborating a doubt he was already nourishing. As if he had realized that I, although primitive and ridiculous to his eyes, might have said something true after all, or at least something making some sense to him. With the rare majesty of he who's used to always be right, but if necessary does not hesitate to question himself and recap his conclusions, the being turns and watches himself in the mirror. Just a light jump, barely noticeable, and he's looking at me again. But this time with a different expression, and a flat-toned: «Hi.» Goddamn! I'm sick and tired, of ghost-hikers relieving each other using Angelo as their involuntary medium! And I have no sympathy for puzzles, especially those that can't be solved and boring like this one. Therefore I deduce it must be just the prank of some gutless sprite (hey, where did all of my scientific rationality go?) and I accept to play, for the mere sake of checking out how it's gonna end. «Hola, compañero! Let's shake hands! Who are you, this time?» Unmistakable comes Angelo's answer: «Have you gone nuts?» Exactly. [to be continued]