Will a trade union seriously work on the reorganization of the annual day, a dozen weeks of work and the rest of the holiday? As I walked into the house, when I was sitting in the shadow of my ally on the terrace, when the stroboscope of thousands of leaves, rocked by the wind, drove the rays into a silver stream, I shook my first leg: I connected again. Everything: e-mail, social network, publication... The cruel reality was there, ready to jump to the neck on the first occasion. Because, indeed, we were seriously blackened, others were still impetuously and could not refrain from making a nonsense, as the same summer or winter frenzy affected them. We had not left, the summer brought back the pearl: the burkini.

Among other things, thanks to this story I can get to know the very notion of the burquinia and give the name to the clothes her husband wears to fly her: like all white skin, she's going to make paddle with the helmet to her knees, and the rest is full of fat creams. It's a blanket, as a rule. However, no one has ever complained to our man, because he is a man, he can do whatever he wants. Whatever you want and two, each year above the beaches like every year, including what would not be passed on your head at other times: you can walk with a small representation in the air with the head of iron or the buttocks, you can play on the plate without being tagged #ments, you can browse on the pokémon without being considered an inutil, the bravest men can read a book, play a movie with sociology, or play. Interestingly, none of us have asked whether it's headed for freedom, for catharsis, or has responded to the rules of the social order in particular, no, no. Well, nobody has asked him anything: European men have a jet to walk as they want, even on the beach, which is a place of concentration of all battles and laughter, like wives. Basically, they would find a disappointing answer: it is not religion that commands, nor politics, nor ethics, nor aesthetics, but the dermatologist.

Seriously, the impossibility of satiating polemics has managed to divert everyone’s attention, swimming in sterile battles of opinion, in their readings. What French, incidentally, has been concerned about the work that has been done in a Meuse jungle under the CIGEO project to bury nuclear waste in the near future? Obviously, no one, too busy in making demonstrations, handed over to post-modern racism, disguised as pseudo-feminism, concerned about the freedom of women in excess and concerned about freedom, dismissing the rebel wives who suddenly burn themselves in vitriol across the world. The problem is the Burkini problem, never reaching the core of the problem, the problem of integration, disintegration in Syria, the destruction of the years, the people lost their mouths looking up at the sky, a real condiment for the toughest Islamism, in barbarism.

Once again demagogy, blessed bread for Daesh, who could not put real problems on the table. There will be days, pathetic and meeting in minutes of silence to express resentment. Minutes of silence. He had his arms extended. Shaking triangular flags without knowing who the flag is. In the age of full consciousness fashion, I did not want that absence betean.Mundu.

Oh, if I were dreaming of suffocating the alisos, I beg you that for a while, in the short euphoria of my loneliness, deaf songs of the sirens that, before time reached me, dragged me into the winter!