BASTIANO THE WORKER

NARRATOR: Once upon a time there was, in the fifth millennium, a fatty worker, full of dreams, bowels and botty,
like each of us but our worker, Bastiano, don't dream, has not ever dreamed, won't ever dream: until to today.
1Premonitory dream and wince.
In a Game Room crowded as colored, Bastiano the worker dream a Jesus Child that dangles like a blown light bulb,
tied up to the ceiling from a thread of twisted iron: a troop of white sheep pastures under him nibbling his filthy
footsies.
2The Docks of Melozzo Plaza.
What a hard awakening from yours first dream, Bastiano worker! Its half night and you go out and walk down the road
like a nut (a piece of dick), with the sweaty armpits, by feet (two left feet). Your house on the harbor of Melozzo Plaza
disappears beyond your shoulders, away the sea, away the house, away the harbour, away all: you are no more where
you know, you have lost yourself!
3Bastiano visits the Marciglianas Library.
The dawn arrives and you are lying prone on the grass, Bastiano, you goggle, and you don't know where you are (go to
work rather, worker!). A ruined hamlet almost buried in a thicket is all that there is (go to work rather, worker!). Sheep
disbands you about, the whitest of all, spread out on a side (go to work rather, worker!), lies satisfied to your side: you
have just made love.
BASTIANO: (to the sheep) Little sheep of mine, my love, who I am? And this place, where is this place? And whats
that hamlet ? My first dream, Tonight, has shaken me and doesn't know how to give me peace.
SHEEP: (to Bastiano) I like your dick and you know how to do with it, therefore I thank you. The hamlet in disuse that
you see is a library in rubble but for the rest that you ask, who you are or about your dreams, I dont mind a fuck.
BASTIANO: A library?
SHEEP: I dont know
BASTIANO: Whats a library?
SHEEP: No idea.
You remove the thicket and you are inside to the hamlet, worker, and you walk it all down with wide open lips.
Shelves, shelves, shelves. Books on books and still books about: yellow, rotted, ready for the rubbish, they are books
but you could not know it, its two thousand years that nobody makes them.
4Bread and coke.
An uproar of unusual objects surround everywhere your curious look. Under a bunch of porno magazines (you skim
through one of it and you are aroused, then you think about those dead bodies from millennia, you jerk yourself off and
you cry) here a coke strains and a stub of sandwich, both fossils from the 1980. Come on, eat and drink, Bastiano
worker, tear, crumb, devours with big bits spilling down you.
BASTIANO My God! My God! (barfing and throwing up)
5Your belly, Bastiano, hurts a lot, you are all a cry and you arent, certainly, not enjoying it. But look here, there is an old
guitar with all the strings and you heavy strum it, you play it so much that four strings broke up. Are you sad, Bastiano?
No, don't cry, look, on the guitar there is an carved address: Odoardo Tobaccos Lane 8, Corviale, Rome. An address of
two thousand years ago, who knows who lives there now. Ah, you will solve it, Bastiano! Take the instrument under
your arm and run where the carved address leads you.
BASTIANO where are we, where are we, where are we, dear friend, where? I have an address and I was looking for it,
is this Corviale?
PASSER-BY Exactly.
BASTIANO The neighbourhood of the dream!
PASSER-BY It should be! Actually each dream has a snake. The man put his hand here and there is a little to say: the
building speculation has come also here. Dont you see those big modern buildings down there?

7Here we are in Corviale, Bastiano; youve never been here but you heard a lot about it. Declared a monument since
February 2 3750 in occasion of the jubilee of the architects, Corviale is the neighbourhood of the dreams in only one
building: a long long, grey and red palace, a dream of cement with a lot of green and silence around. The people that
you meet there are the most beautiful in the world, and you are admired: smiling, elegant, polite, angels of God,
compared to them you are a beggar. A quartet of very handsome musicians plays ancient casual melodies of the 23rd
century in a Christmas moving atmosphere.
Dlin Dlon
DENTIST Good morning, do you have an appointment?
BASTIANO No but I have an upsetting history, a true surprise: I have discovered the past!
DENTIST Be careful of the past, worker: the death walks upside-down and in the end she throws you on the floor,
turning you into a ant heap and sowing dead hands on it.
8E while I/you/he/she/it speak, Bastiano, and stories yours strange day, the dentist, Bastiano, he likes so much to the
point that (you stay still speaking) he/she/it/you does you a sudden injection that goes to the total paralysis. While you
are there that you keep silent to wide open [labbri], he/she/it/you with infuriating slowness shaves you the hair,
you/he/she/it wash the beard, you/he/she/it take off the fingernails, you/he/she/it burn you the eyes, you/he/she/it suck
you the language, you/he/she/it compete the ears, you/he/she/it get torn by to tooth to tooth each single tooth (inclusive
gums). If only I/you could howl, Bastiano: that relief! Don't you believe?
9once upon a time there was a child that collected [goccioline] of rain. He liked to the point that each day, returned from
school, he/she/it/you sat down in garden with a bucket and he/she/it/you looked at the sky up to evening waiting a
storm. There were not [nuvolone] or [nuvolina] that they are lacking in [emozionarlo] to the tears, and you don't can not
even imagine his sadness each time that arrived there with his bucket in hand and he/she/it/you found to attend it only
the [ennesima giornataccia] of sun. When it rained, however, the happy to baby was the world and if he/she/it/you
stayed any there all day long under the big umbrella of dad to gloat while the his beautiful bucket one [riempiva] to the
edge. This uproarious child, that collected water [piovana] and he/she/it/you dreamed of be a dentist, Bastiano, is the
same dentist that now, worker, you/he/she/it get torn by all and what doesn't tear destroys.
BASTIANO ([riavendosi]) Help!
DENTIST Stinks still of milk, worker, but not the milk of mama, an other type of milk: you are not you evolved, you
have stayed the sperm that you were. Should I kill you do you know?
10Finisce the effect of the injection and he/she/it/you is better if I/you/he/she/it escape. You/he/she/it escape, Bastiano,
more in hurry that you can! You/he/she/it escape, Bastiano, he/she/it/you goes any of the life! But That do you do?
Where do you go as in hurry, [scemotto]? No, no, attentive to where you put the feet! You fall in road spitting blood
and you beat the chin truncates you the language that you immediately pick up and you put on in the small pocket
(you/he/she/it are not ever thrown no Bastiano worker!). The [orchestrina] of very handsome musicians, a stonesthrow
from you, not if she feels up to help you, however you/he/she/it play a happy tune for encourage you.
BASTIANO (without language) Help!
11Tramonta the sun that still homeward [arranchi] your (nobody helps), it then is deep night and you are still far,
you/he/she/it burst to rain and you are desperate. Where are you? I/you/he/she/it lift the look and I/you/he/she/it am
before yours beloved factory (only you then give you an account of have not gone to work!). I/you/he/she/it crouch in
an angle close to the entrance, Bastiano; lost shreds of yours strange day returns you in mind and falls asleep there.
12Here your friends operated, worker, the hour is the same precise usual: the factory reopens the leaves.
CHOIR Of I OPERATED Look at, you look at, the Bastiano worker!
BASTIANO (without language) Help!
CHOIR Of did We OPERATE here to work and you where?
BASTIANO (without language) Friends, comrades and friends: I have discovered the past!
CHOIR Of I OPERATED But he/she/it/you goes to work rather, Bastiano worker!

MASTER That is happening?

BASTIANO (without language) Help!
MASTER has dismissed.
CHOIR Of I OPERATED am not correct, he/she/it/you is not correct, you don't can!
MASTER But goings to work rather, I operated!
13Povero Bastiano, don't take you it: you are not more a worker but in factory the continuous job like yesterday.
14Runs on the roof for the fireproof staircase and throws you of under. In the brief flight between jump and landing
returns you the [pecorelle] of the Marcigliana and that encouraging tune played for you from a quartet of very
handsome musicians in mind, then the breaking: the right arm you one plant in the liver and I/you/he/she/it smash the
legs. After 15 minutes of atrocious sufferings and black blood understands that you won't die and I/you/he/she/it drag
along on the stumps, with the arm inserted in the cost, from nearest chemist.
NARRATOR The devastated body of Bastiano recovered as in hurry from [stupirsene]. Strange to tell legs, arms and
liver they returned like and first, the [rispuntarono] the teeth, the language cut in two days had already increased. The
news did the turn of the world and was his fortune: hour that is not more a worker does the human [cavia] and if they
contend the governments. Currently you/he/she/it experiment the new nuclear conraceptives for account of the Biafra
and he/she/it/you is happy and he/she/it/you is contented, our Bastiano ex worker, more and more fat, rich, esteemed
but ours ex worker, Bastiano, doesn't dream, he/she/it/you won't ever dream, he/she/it/you won't dream more.