I find myself wondering if really the society that man has built and is building, the technology he has developed, the answers of science, the law that protects us ... I wonder if really the wild life in the jungle is more cruel . Perhaps it is inherent in some men, that thought that creeps in and constantly suggests the echo of the so-called "golden age", but reading the newspapers, listening to the news, trying to understand why politics is so complicated since be made "on a human scale" - and certainly the average man (but I doubt that even politicians talk like that, in the absence of their lawyers ...) says so - it's hard to believe that an existence should in which it is clear in mind who to escape and who to trust (run away from the lion, caress the rabbit) is so terribly aberrant, compared to a society where you have everything you want, but a huge restlessness and the rotten blood.
Yes of course, if I woke up tomorrow in the midst of brambles and brushwood and had to run away from the hungry lion, I would be dead in less than half a minute, and surely having to pick berries to feed myself I would regret any supermarket.
But, here, I am not trying to say that man is demonic in nature or that progress is negative. I am only expressing my personal personal in realizing that this jungle we are in now is terrifying: an incomprehensible politics in which we, poor game, cannot understand the mechanisms or even glimpse them, a society that makes us stressed even on vacation , a collective anxiety, information that becomes a collective forum of opinions, subjectivity that becomes law, if you have enough power to buy a few journalists and have the right connections. Values become the object of ridicule and bullying, of the psychological one, of the slightly bad one. The believer becomes a bigot, "health-conscious" is almost a negative term, women are whores or puritans, drugs are a common good, the mafia is our neighbor, we eat antibiotics directly in the meat of the supermarket.
I'm allowed to doubt progress, but I'm not shocking enough to consider only one side of the coin.
What scares me is the human mind, the culture. it has always managed to survive: the inquisition, the censorship, the world wars. Even in Nazi prisons and concentration camps, the culture survived.
Will it survive the internet? Will he survive a world so hectic, so fast, so cruel, so ambiguous? to a jungle with rules expressed in decrees? If wikipedia tomorrow said that Napoleon never existed, that man is actually a bird, that gravity allows us to change color.
culture can really survive all of this, as the holders of classical music go to war with each other and are beaten by any pianist, writers scramble their strenuous writings to the most, beaten by teenage novels that will appear as best seller next to anna karenina and the leopard, painters and sculptors are ignored because the guy who ties a dog in a museum or who places himself as a sculpture is more "audience" and art critics talk about it more.
I am concerned about the voice of humanity: is it strong enough to withstand even this silent war? Or is this not a war, and this oppression, this anguish, this evil of living will remain a worldwide constant, and only a few will come out of it, like crazy astronauts?
Once upon a time there was a little girl. She had a bob of golden hair and deep dark eyes. He always smiled, he appreciated life. She was an intelligent child, she invented stories, she loved to read, she wanted to be a writer, she thought a lot. Often she was alone: she was too shy to communicate with others, she was satisfied with herself, she kept everything inside. But he was happy like that. Because inside she had so many beautiful things, a magical world made of dreams, glitter, love. She loved herself, she cared about her ideals. I remember that he played with pencils, he had all the colors, he made them talk. He had a lot of dolls, but he preferred pencils. She was a sensitive, sweet, nice child. He did not want to give anything to anyone, his things were only his property. But the heart, that heart would have given it to anyone. She was a good girl, always sunny and cheerful. I often wonder what that little girl would have thought of who I am now. Certainly she would not recognize me: she would have called me crazy, she would not have understood my scars, she would have grumbled at me from the smoke, she would have been sick with my suicidal thoughts. He would cry looking at me. He would see my smile, the same as before, but sadder. She would tell me to give a damn about others and eat as much as I want, like she did. She who had been vomiting for whole nights with sweets. That little eater with the big belly. Of course, she would also have been proud of my progress, she would have complimented me because she didn't know how to do somersaults, splits, bridges; because she didn't have the courage to experiment. I've learned a lot over the years, but I miss that little girl's sweet innocence. His way of dealing with problems. Holidays, birthdays, Christmas, when she stayed up all night to hear the footsteps of a fat old man dressed in red. When the golden lights on the trees enchanted her, when her little town seemed bigger than New York. That little girl who cried a lot and for everything, a bit like now. That little girl pretending to be a model or a dancer while trying on mom's big dresses. The one who loved the world and herself. That little girl I would love to see again because I miss her. Because I wish I was still as happy as she is.The child was asleep when the door opened and someone entered. Was it the fairy tale wolf? She was asleep but suddenly she felt something. A nuisance down there. A strange and bad feeling. The little girl did not want to open her eyes. He forced himself to leave them closed. And he died under the weight of the big bad wolf.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 