It is 2005, when I read somewhere that the real name of my favorite rapper is Luigi Martelli. I know he's from Tortoreto, so I'm looking for his number online.

I don't remember how, but I find the right Hammers almost immediately.  A lady with a strong Abruzzo accent tells me to wait and calls him on the phone. I'm terrified. I don't even remember why the fuck I called anymore.

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He responds in a very low tone of voice.

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Completely supine, I tell him that my name is like him, that I am half from Abruzzo and that I have been listening to him since I was fifteen. Glisso on the fact that I play and all, I don't want to make him think I'm calling him to make some money.

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He doesn't say anything.

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The fact that I haven't already hung up gives me the strength to insist. I inform him that I have opened a MySpace profile in his name. I had to choose  "corrupter" because "loux" and "lou-x" were already taken. I tell him that many, really many, have written to me, asking me for news and showing deep respect for him and for his art. There's a lot of anticipation for your new record, Lou.

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He doesn't seem to give a damn: he doesn't even know what I'm talking about, as if the meaning of the call escaped him completely. Which actually begins to escape me a little too.

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But by now I am too compromised to give in, I have already passed the point of no return and if I do not give the gas I end up in the ravine. I continue undeterred with MySpace, I describe it to him as Eden, the philosopher's stone, the Holy Grail of underground music. The Mecca of hardcore. A sea of bullshit.

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He makes a sarcastic snort, I catch a hint of amusement, he calls me "Giggi u'ococurati". But - a little awkwardly - he asks me how this weird stuff works. He seems vaguely interested.

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Then I swell like a pigeon --  if Luigi's family nickname is appicciafuntane , mine's is really pigeon - and I give him a brief but celebratory overview, like "there's this section, this and this other one, you can find a lot of dates, now they're all there "and so on. If I look back on it, I froth with shame.

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But he gives me positive feedback. He asks me how to read the messages .  So I slowly release the access keys. The idea of Lou X logging in with my email excites me. Think a little.

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He says that he will have a friend manage it, because "nun ce sacc 'commatt' co 'ss' cos". He can't deal with these things.

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I tell him that everyone would like to have his concert in Veneto.

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He gives a weird chuckle. He tells me we will resend. He greets me.

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I greet him.

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Hangs up.

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I don't believe it: I talked to Lou X. I start fantasizing about live shows where, since his cousin Andrea is not there, he calls me and says: "Yeah, what do you want to come?". And I, with the supreme CUBA lyrics that I still remember by heart, split the stage in two in the delirious crowd, but always respectful and ready to take a step back to make the real artist applaud.

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I've never actually heard from him again, Luigi. But when I read this article I thought that, well, if there were people in the world who might be interested in this shit, they were here.

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Update: the friend who managed the page wrote to me. It was Lele Prox.