Farewell, old shadow!

2025-05-05 18:21:00, Opinione Balil Gjini

You have been a great disappointment to everyone. Intoxicated by the perfumes of power, you have been in this poor land a kind of Nero who mocked and made fun of everything. You have tried everything. Convinced that virtue is achieved through vice, you are now a ripe and rotten fig that has no other fate than to fall to the ground and be gleefully torn apart by the pussies. The last role you wanted to play in life was that of an actor. But alas, because the stage you ascended was that of the circus. With your face smeared with paint (how much paint you have spilled in life, oh congratulations!), you took on the role of the palaço who pulls factories, airports, islands out of his shirt sleeves...

You are a wicked snail. A wicked snail who tries to put a shell over reality to hide it. From time to time you have tried to present this shell as your own slap that you put on things to protect them. Medet! That only God can do this. And you, with your Memistophelian laughter; you say: God is me for them. But where are the works?, people asked. And, like a magician just out of the bottle, you call the smoke of TV propaganda, and among them their ghostly images appear. People applaud. But we know well: as soon as the curtain closes, you stick out your tongue for that crowd to applaud.

Farewell, old shadow!

You are now just a sterile nut drowning in the syrup of your own enthusiasm, perhaps the only sweet thing in the general poison. Annoyed by the smart people of this country - intellectuals, artists, journalists - you have established direct relations with the masses, even though you probably know how dangerous they are. In our country there are people who spend their days on eighty euros a month, you have confronted them with that singer's Lamborghini that costs one hundred and eighty million (of course the first car in this case, because the singer is worth a penny in the race).

You are a total disaster! You are the prime minister of a country of poor people; therefore you should have something of the humility of Tolstoy, Gogol, or many others, who knelt to wash the feet of the poor. Or of our own saint, Mother Teresa. No! You despise the poor, because you are the pasha who washes the feet of others.

Farewell, old shadow!

Everything you touched was stained and desecrated. The very word rilindja. Also the names of Konica and Noli, who you claimed to have been your teachers. Medet! The only thing that will enter the pantheon of shame is your arrogance as if you were a mountain. You have no way of knowing that a mountain is an abyss with its head held high, just as an abyss is nothing but a mountain upside down. But we also know the other thing: your arrogance has been paid dearly and tomorrow we may see it as a hump on the back of the homeland. Like a camel's hump. Because the words you use are like camels: they have more humps on their backs than they do, in order to knock you down faster. If they are not so, your words are like molars covered in a golden sheath. But the time comes when this sheath falls and they appear as they are: rotten, exposed.

At the beginning of your mandate, you said that the government's word is work, just as the opposition's work is the word. Cathedral words. And now? On the floor of the giant warehouses of your speeches, there will remain a few empty walnut shells, a few pea shells that shake in the wind, because their kernels have fallen. They have no core, no content. That's it. And those who will come later, when they see all that mold of nonsense, will say they are surprised. Was the one who made such a fuss about words a prime minister, or a squirrel in a bearskin?

Farewell, old shadow!

In the electoral campaign, you took on the role of a phony Atlas. You were carrying the globe on your back and all it took was a slight movement of your shoulder for it to fall into the abyss. But, let's say, your globe was a geographical globe, made of expired flour, flour with which you cooked all the propaganda quarters: with Edin and the socialist party. Even Enver didn't say that! No! With the Party and Enver, that was the slogan of communism. Eh! These are the quarters of a quarter! How so?! How were the words of the whole propaganda bag forgotten: "team", "group", "squad", words borrowed from the sports lexicon, with sports underwear and sneakers on their feet? These words became so fashionable that a shepherd who took the milk to the dairy no longer greeted with the words "good morning!", but "come on, team, talk to the mule!".

Anyway, what happened to the team, the squad, the socialist brotherhood group? It's there, all around you. We've seen you waving your hands in the air during election campaigns, as if you were shooing away flies? It's them! The team, the ministers and the deputies thrown into prison, who are buzzing around like those green flies on feces. Save us, they say, save us! But you don't want anyone but yourself. Maybe you're the very shark that swallowed them in its belly and you've come out to vomit them up on the shore. You watch them squirm, wagging their tails in pleasure, covered in drool and admiration for you. And you feel like you're in an orgasm.

Farewell, old shadow!

The map of Albania has been a kind of canvas for you. You stretched it, stretched it, gathered it up, to throw it into your crazy fantasies. To judge a politician, says Barthez, we must look at the distance that separates saying from doing. And this, for the sake of truth, is abysmal for you. You have been brought before the crowds like an angel, when within your soul the forces of evil, of the genie, are boiling. Your surrogate shows have lost their freshness, because what keeps them like that, lies, is a commodity with a short expiration date. The very thing you imitate, the society of spectacle, is an expired commodity in the showcases of politics of European society. It is simply a simulacrum and this word takes on a lot of meaning in Albanian, if you divide it into its component parts: simulacrum = like a piece of cabbage.

In these vaudeville shows in front of the crowds, you always carry a bottle of water. As a genie, you have done a lot of damage, but even genies have a secret: to know the magic formula and to lock them in a bottle. We said that in those shows in front of the crowds, you always carry a bottle of water with you. The time has come to open the lid yourself, to tempt you to get in and never come out again. Never! Your date has been set: May 11.

Farewell, old shadow!