Smoke comes out of the tea next to me. I follow its evolutions in the air, completely random and at the same causal, dictated only by the micro-movements of the atmosphere around the cup. Most of the things that happen to us behave exactly the same way: they seem to be dictated exclusively by chance while in reality they follow very specific rules, they are conditioned by events, choices and reasonings to which we do not pay attention, because most of the time we are not even aware that we are breathing, let alone what we do. Rational thinking is the greatest deception of the human being because it makes us believe that we are masters of ourselves but it is not so and in fact this same reasoning is not primarily the result of my thought, and it is not even rational but, on the contrary, dictated by emotions that lie beneath layers and layers of logical constructs aimed at making sense of the fact that I am writing yet another post sentimental here. Here you see, the last sentence is the world beyond the veil, the deceit discovered, the emotion that crushes and annihilates reasoning.

And so I was not aware of anything, or more precisely, I was aware of little, because I have always done a bit of self-analysis but as always I underestimated the control I have over myself, little, especially when it comes to feelings . And it makes me angry to know that the reason was never mine, that I missed something right once, that I didn't know anything about how it would go, rather that I said to myself that it would go wrong to fool myself into being in control while imagining something that wasn't going to happen. existed. I was aware that I was deluding myself and I was deluding myself all the same, because in fact, I lack control.

And even right now I'm missing it. This post did like smoke from my cup, deceptively random evolutions. Now the tea has cooled down, no more smoke, that's it.


I’m going crazy again, I think. I can’t tell the difference between who I am and who I decided to be, between what I like and what I should like. Oh no, being told that I am apathetic or that I pretend disinterest certainly does not help. I have tried, really, I have considered this hypothesis several times, often I have also hoped for it, but no, this is not the case. And not being taken seriously even by those three people I was able to talk about it brings me down even more. I am not an exhibitionist. I don’t think I’m someone who likes to be pitied. Also because of what I consider “my real problems” this is the only one I have mentioned. But nothing, I invent everything for them. I don’t want people to talk about me. If I confessed this it is because I wanted to avoid at least the people closest to me judging me like everyone else, but apparently I only made the situation worse. Besides being weird now I’m also a liar. Fortunately, their gazes don’t reach the house, so I can be the one who is perhaps myself even in the sunlight. This morning I spent several hours working with the grinder to restore a chest and I felt incredibly relaxed. At that moment it didn’t matter what the other billions of human beings on Earth were doing or thinking, even I was living, I was also doing something. But then the evening arrives and I wonder if this is really me. It has been established that I feel bad around some people and that I don’t like things that everyone likes, but is this really my way?
Because if in thirty years it will still be loneliness and artificial intelligence then I will have a big problem. Because I can’t do anything about it but I prefer to leave the house, I prefer to talk live, I prefer to play on real grass, that is all those things that many others no longer do and I am the only one who does not play video games, the only one who does not watch movies from the 80s, the only one who doesn’t follow influencers, the only one who isn’t on social media … At that point what would I do with an adolescence spent between Turing’s books and projects that I wonder if I will be able to complete? And then a movie from last night made me really consider for the first time the possibility that a disease like Alzhaimer could take my mind away, which is what I live on. I thought that pushing everyone away would save me from future goodbyes but in reality there is always the possibility that I myself will abandon myself. This lack of certainty torments me, last night I felt again with no way out, even if for a few moments .. now I know how to calm down. However, I begin to have other types of doubts as well.
It probably all started in the childhood years, when my mother did not consider me and the classmates were already talking about their wedding dress. It was probably all the work of an internal immune system. Instead of becoming a chronic depressed person or a rebel without rules, something inside me has gradually developed an ideal world in which to take refuge. It’s all pink and perfect, it’s fair and innocent. In the years of puberty it sometimes became melancholy because I relived the memories, but also a place full of hope where to invent the endings of my stories. At first it can be seen as a state of infantile superficiality, instead it is an infinite universe yet to be explored, which is why I sometimes get lost. It scares me so much when it happens, but I’m sure I was lucky to be so different, the result of such a complicated situation, because when I get lost it’s just the beginning of a new acquaintance. You know Alice in Wonderland? There. Sometimes I would like to be like her, discover new places, follow the white rabbit. All the work of my genius. Even if every now and then I doubt that it is a condemnation, more and more often I realize that everything returns, everything follows destiny and this new knowledge allows me to go deeper, to get in touch with new dimensions. And I don’t feel that free.


Life has always taught us ever since we met, that even the most unlikely person would leave us alone, that even the one who has always wanted to face all the battles with you can decide to fight his alone. Who knows, maybe one day we will part too, with the knowledge that we will meet again. All this repetition of abandonment on our journey has made us so detached from people, that they often wonder if we are the evil in this world. If you say that you do so much for someone, in truth you are not doing anything, sincerity is silent, therefore a sincere affection is never a “I have done everything for you and you nothing for me.” It’s sad to know that people think they have to be reciprocated and if you don’t, they make you look guilty and take on the role of the bad guy. So my friend, we are the villains of this generation, so superficial that we blame ourselves for the absence we give them when they start demanding what is not theirs. Perhaps this is the price to pay to prevent this evil from being spread. Nothing is due, everything must be deserved, if someone demands, it makes us repress all kinds of feelings. You and I got in tune to escape this monotony, but maybe in the end, it’s not people’s fault. Maybe it’s just us who are wrong, but brother, when we leave too, remember me, someone who cares about you and who you really love, we who have stained our own wings with black as a sign of our friendship.
Maybe music doesn’t change us up to that point and neither does great art. Rather, it reminds us of who we have always known we are and who we are destined to remain, despite our claims and denials. It reminds us of the milestones that we have buried and hidden and then lost, it reminds us of the people and things that mattered despite our lies, despite the years. Music is nothing more than the sound of our regrets translated into a cadence that stimulates the illusion of pleasure and hope. It is the thing that reminds us most clearly that we are here for a very short period of time and that we have neglected or deceived our lives, or worse still, we have not lived them.
The night is made for memories. It is made of memories. It is made for dreams, for dreams. Of people who are missing, whom you would like to embrace, but you cannot. The night is made to fill with thoughts everything you want, but don’t have. It is made for hidden tears. Of songs. The night is made for romantics. The night is made of shapes that threshold you.
The baby arrived home in tears. Grandpa ran up to him and took him in his arms. The baby continues to sob. Grandpa stroked him, trying to calm him down. “What have you done?” said the grandfather, worried. The child sniffed, then said: «We were playing hide and seek, and I was hiding really well. I was there waiting, but time was passing … At a certain point I went out and … I got upset that they had finished playing and had all gone home and no one had come looking for me ». The singlets shook his small chest. “Do you understand? Nobody came looking for me.”

%d bloggers like this: