Like Odysseus to Polyphemus is careful to say, we too, sons of a country that has generated, abundance, and then pushed beyond its borders, as we dubbed the No name. Our country is Polyphemus, the giant one-eyed, unable to see reality. What still has not established the link between cause and effect. As tadpoles in the water, slip under his legs, and still stuck, as columns to a land inhospitable. And he slow, clumsy advances panting in the mud, proposing actions inevitably late. We are the water that flows and moves, adjusting to the river path. We are None, because we live in a dimension that is not recognized, and required, the mobility of the nomadic work required by a transhumance. No because we no longer know what we belong. We know where we come from, where we grew up but we also know that childhood dreams and expectations that accompanied us over the years, at some point have flown away, evaporated with the desire to try again. None anagrafe, None to INPS. None when someone asks us "but then you do?". None How many we move from one continent to another, from one city to another, from one house to another. A proud but uncertain steps, the time horizons of fertile lead to a rebirth that somewhere deep inside, hoping to find at least one place in the world. As travelers in the nineteenth century they faced the unknown, we embark on the ships docked at port destination is uncertain but increasingly confident that left long ago. A species from the third millennium, Mutoid by definition, born out of necessity and that the balance jump the fence every time I must. What will become of us then when someone will ask Polyphemus: Who killed you? A skeleton filled of emptiness, that void that has swallowed everything, he can only answer: "Nobody killed me." And we are that
None.
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