Valley of Giants

23rd September 2057

Sometimes I feel like I'm the last man on Earth.
It's mostly due to the fact that I'm getting old and the planet is getting emptier by the day (not in the demographic sense, in the other sense, you know…) but I think it has to do also with the places and the situations I found myself in: all my life I put my dirty bones in the weirdest sites known to men, starting with the Gulf of Mexico back in my younger days, finishing here, in Austria.

Where giants are watching my every move.

If I was a less experienced fellow I would have lost my shit days ago, when I first started walking down this road.
I’m not saying I’m cool with it, to be honest the sight of those Things staring constantly down at me and my senses clashing against my memories of what I experienced when I came here the very first time, when I still had a family, they are piling up and sooner or later they will take a toll on my nerves.

I have the memory of the smell of a wooden fence on the side of a private road, leading to a farm where my dad bought some cheese and I saw a cow pee: one of my fondest memories is my sister blushing for it and the sound of my mother laughing at her for her silliness.
Damn, that bovine had to go something fierce!

I don’t think this is the same road, or even the same corner of Austria, what I know is that the smell I remembered so fondly, the colors I tried to reproduce with so many crayons for my “show and tell” at school, are now all blurred into a way-too-real parody of what Earth used to be.
It’s like a t-shirt that’s been used so much and washed so many times that you might still use it but has lost all the original qualities that made you like it in the first place and now it’s good only as a tool, so worn out that it barely serves her purpose anymore.

All there is to smell today is dust and rot.
But this is the Road I decided to walk, the Land I was destined to roam by birthright, the World I contributed to kill with my mere existence.

Actually, I was warned by a local “do not go down that road, great misfortune!” and the sucker was so damn serious about it, with his gummy mouth and funny hat that I almost felt sorry for him, but then thunder roared in the sky, like a big fucking exclamation mark made of light and my subconscious said to me “where are you draggin' me, you douche-bag? Didn't you see the freaking lightening?! You blind motherfucker!”

Truth to be told I'm loosing eyesight and I actually have become sort of a douche-bag…
So I guess that's why I entered the Valley of Giants (don't ask me how they call it in German, I wasn't listening...).
Well, the real reason is that it's the fastest way to go from where I was to where I want to be without crossing path with any Purist Militia: last year an old buddy of mine was caught travelling from Paris to Reims and after they found out he didn't speak French (not well enough that is...) they cut of his tongue and left him naked in the middle of the road.
I guess we have to thank old good Euro Nationalism for that...once again...

Anyway...where was I?
Yes.
Giants watching my every move.
They are quite something: all rusty and with bolts here and there.
Stiff.

I was so curious about them that I climbed what looked like an old skiing track covered in high grass, just to get close to one.
Its feet were stuck deep in the soil, like it sprouted from the very earth, or was on the foreshore of a sea of grass and, I must admit it, made me regret I lost my faith in god - or gods - a long time ago: I would have gladly prayed to that colossus of metal for some “last minute miracle” to save…well, me!...and a couple of others…so we could repopulate, you know…
Instead I sat next to it, drinking in the amazing view I had from up there: the snowy peaks and blue skies almost made me forget I wasn't welcome in virtually every corner of the continent I was born in just because I would not bow my head to bigotry and racism.

But strangely, unlike all the other times I had that thought, I didn't feel the weight on my stomach: I looked at Ol' Rusty and I saw him standing straight, proud, tall and brown and it filled me with heroic fury so, after I smoked my last joint (I was saving it for an important occasion and I figured that was as good as any), I set off to get back on track...unfortunately, I stumbled and fell so I sat there another hour or so, until I could walk on a straight line again.

So here I am, with my backpack, hiking in an awe-inspiring valley where nobody walks anymore mainly just for ignorance and superstition and where the thought of being the last man on earth isn't so depressing, if faced with reality.
Truth is, to think like that is just intellectual cowardice…and I know it.
Nonetheless, if after so many years of ugliness and chaos you find yourself in a quiet and beautiful place like this, you get selfish, and you just wish that everything that's wrong in the world would just disappear, without thinking about the consequences.

An old man told me, a long time ago, during my violent past: “your worst enemy's daughter could easily be your son's only true love. Karma's a bitch”.
He was an old romantic pig who harassed every woman who crossed his path, but you catch the drift, right?
Kill a bug and a vegetarian gets food poisoning from some rotten eggplant…that sort of things…I thought they were nonsense once. All my scars prove me wrong.

There was this singer once, a bit of a nut-job, if you ask me, but with loads of charisma and what seemed to be a Vision who said that if you try to think of a World with no religion or social differences or racial hatred your job is done: we are in this mess because we didn’t even make the effort of thinking that we are all the same.
I’m not so naïve to think that’s actually true, I’m not a sodding Care Bear, all I’m saying is that I miss the time when people still had dreams of peace, equality, human rights.

Nowadays all we dream is that the river of violence doesn’t cross our path.
And right there, that’s the difference between being human and being born: to think about the greater picture or just take care of your own skin, head stuck in the ground, rifle in your hand and firing at every noise you hear because you are afraid that somebody is going to butt-fuck you without your consent.

I had a small amount of hope injected in my life-stream today and it was thanks to some long-forgotten piece of art that made me feel like a human again, made me want to raise my head one last time, look around for others like me, my peers...someone I could actually have a conversation with, not just somebody to talk to.

Now I have to leave you though, I need to concentrate on my Austrian accent, there’s people coming…and they have guns.
Farewell, for now.
I don’t think they are too much into art…