The Book of oblivion
24 October 2005
This is for those who freed themselves from the chains of academic philosophy.
This is for those who think their own thoughts – and don’t TRY to follow them through to “necessary” conclusions. This is a wild, unnecessary book – for free and necessary people.
There was a man sitting next to me on the train, as I was coming back from work today; white, large trousers, black beard, and Muslim hat. Red, little book in his hands – he was reading his prayers: indeed, uttering them in a semi-loud voice (whispering). I was reading Borges’ piece “Three Versions of Judas”, while he was deep in his prayers. The train was overcrowded with lonely, tired people. He seemed the only one at peace with himself and wig everyone else. I felt closer to that man (tranquil and happy with his prayer book) than to all others – lonely, just like me.
He wasn’t self-absorbed, or in any way withdrawn. He made friendly gestures towards those who were accidentally touching him (because of the train’s sudden movements), he smiled – while still saying his prayers.
Monsters grow up inside you – fears, loneliness, rage; all – uncried tears. And, worst of all – corpses of dreams. Of all those dreams that slowly die, or those that are becoming shallower as days go by. You agonise with each and every one of them – until you start to write, in order to forget… And crawl back to life again.
Anch’io sono pittore!
Me, too, I live and work and strive in the same place as you do.
But, unlike you, I must earn recognition for my identity and belonging.