I would say that fireworks policy is completely linked to the ambition, so widespread in Euskal Herria, maybe also testosterone. Even those who were far from this vast freeway of vanity join the courtship because they feel that without pyrotechnics they have nothing to contribute, to whom to reach and that they are alone.

Success is measured on the online sale of tickets: how many tickets in so many minutes. The capacity of the room is great or much better: the largest. If they do, we too, because we are no less, of course! We can say that when viewers and listeners see the faces of those on the futuristic stage only on giant screens: yes, we have value. Those who dedicate themselves to contemporary scenarios without giant screens are the creators of an artistic panorama as abstract as broad.

The shade is based not only on the price of the menu and the waiting list, but also on the presence of dishes as exotic as cool, with the touch of the essence of naturalness with label. This cocktail puts us on the map. Those who do not want to go up to this high-speed train of gastronomy are condemned to the anonymity of local trains.

In the time we spend under the fascination of Hologram, here and there, on earth, life continues in its march and in its phase.

The days and weeks that have passed in the rain have left unripened meadows, a summer of few tomatoes and peppers, the harvest of the dubious fruit trees and the boom in the sale of Bordelese broth. Let me take note of what was heard yesterday: the shortage of food caused by the disruption of time on the shores, 100 years ago, was starving terrible.

It can be a superficial consequence: "No wonder we live in a globalized world and we can bring the food out! ". It would be profound. "What a disaster we have made in 100 years for many peoples and communities to have no food sovereignty! ".

I would like to know how to end the fascination of fireworks. How to convey that the return to the small fires makes real life possible, that a small stake can be a gift and that exists.

May the persistence of rain shake the blinding fire of the artifice. That the rust of the capital machinery is eaten. Let the moss cover the rubbish generated by development.

May the tense rain envelop us in a small barn, in the sound and rhythm of some voices and hands, so that the germ of life will sprout in us, in the warm of a small fig tree. Let us wrap ourselves back in another block to listen to the messages that bring us the voices, attentive, that will tell us about the earth, life and the uninhabitability in the mouth of those who feed us.

Let's get together, small bodies and mortals, to ignite the fire in such an exhilarating pyrology.