First World War Centenary Italy: of madness and time

Stories and News No. 755

Once upon a time, a hundred years ago, there was a magician.
A wry and clever magician.
“He is the time,” somebody said, “look, he is the time.”
For some time passing is magic.
Good or bad it is, it depends on each occasion by the public.
Because magic stands inside the intent, nothing new, but the deception’s light will always shine in the watching eyes.
On 24 May 1915 the wry and clever magician, which some claimed to be the time, took his wand in one hand and with the other grabbed the first transited word there.
Madness, that was his random choice.
Really, it was a mere accident that such a word was invited on stage.
Because you should be completely crazy to choose it with clear awareness.
Madness.
The man waved his magic weapon of mass distraction and gave a clean blow to the word.
Hitting the letters, of course.
Phonetics and semantics of the term; also synonyms were brought in, from the most common craziness to the least used senselessness, as well as verbs built around it, from maddening to madding, then coming back to the initial word.
Madness.
That is the miracle of the magician and illusionist of this world, professional or not.
Above all, not.
The word was intact.
But from that moment the capacious audience’s eyes and their weak imagination began to read something different.
Pride and heroism, homeland and honor, duty and valor, victory and yes, death.
Because in most cases the best illusions are so cynical to display real crumbs inside the fake cauldron.
Finding the perfect farce in the misleading alliance.
Die as heroes, die for your homeland, die with honor and so on praising.
Until the end of the show.
Again for a single decease.
The death of the magician.
Some say he was the time, surely, some even say that the magician was a masked time.
But if he was the time, well… time really never dies.
A second later, a day after, a month, even a year… look, go ahead and take one hundred years, time back from nowhere and everything starts again.
Like magic.
Of a magician.
There are some convinced that time is a magician, particularly skilled and mocking one.
So cheeky to grasp a repeatedly exposed word over a century for what it is and always will be.
Madness.
And then going on stage, taking the wand and hitting the word with a bang.
In letters and sounds, of course, but also all the horrific stories that follows it like a slave shadow.
So the magic is back.
With a convinced public to see again the same old illusion.
Heroism and pride, honor and homeland, valor and duty, victory even if it was a defeat, and already death, of course.
Provided that the sadistic coupled yet worked.
Winning or not, die with honor, die as heroes, die for your homeland and so on raving.
“That is the real nature of time,” some murmur.
A capable magician making madness not only acceptable.
But even something to celebrate...

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