REBUS

You have defined yourself as a coward, a liar, a waste not of society but of your own will; consenting prisoner of a transcendent, liquid, euphoric sleep that you have sarcastically called Ophelia.

Me: Why Ofelia?

You: For the innocence! because it originally comes from a flower! The flowers are innocent, then the man with the processes of manipulation makes them hallucinatory, crazy death! .. (laughs) ... and I with him calling him insane!

In the silence I look at him, his fragile body a withered petal so dry that I can see the pulse of his blood in his veins.

He looks at me, asks me to hug him and always smiling he says: You know, my lame Alice I'm still here because inside me there is a sadistic tyrant, schizophrenic omnipotent over him I have no fucking control, tenacious as an ivy in his cling to life! And that's what I feel in you now! for how many bites I have given him, often desired in each of his beats, I feel a unique creed that only now, lucidly, I understand.

I hold him tight to me! because I want to feel that heart that brought him back to life.

Returning to a lame Alice her Mad Hatter.

A RABBIT IN THE MUG

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.