Introduction
Dear readers, please forgive
the frivolity of this argument: it is only a thinking game, almost a mental exercise, little more than a syllogism above is only an introduction.
E 'for an excuse to write some story.
The reason you can not see or touch.
Not directly. I can see or touch their consequences, but not reason itself. Yet I know of reasoning
star.
So the reason it exists.
But there is something that, while not being able to touch or see, you can confine the immaterial? Not only can
to be another level of existence?
a level that is not recognizable with the five senses?
And then there is the reason why confine it piecemeal immaterial?
Why then lock her up in the brain?
"Well look with your head" they say.
So why, out of sight without a trace and travels in various organs.
does not make sense because otherwise you have to specify to use your head.
This would also explain the meaning of "you have lost your reason."
Apparently in one of its migration, the reason is lost.
But the question is at this point: why will reasoning with a body rather than another? It is said that
and the need to sharpen our wits.
It may be inferred that the reason lies in the organ most in need.
hungry is conceived with the belly and who thinks he is in love with the heart.
But when you think with your head?
Perhaps when other organs are all satisfied? I think not.
So rather than not reasoning. Maybe
is when you sleep?
The need for sleep is headed?
effect and before going to sleep that you make the best comments.
But reason with the head is not a matter of laziness, but a prize for the fatigue.
But if the argument with the head is dictated by the need to sleep because it says "light" of reason? Who is that fool who sleeps with the lights on?
Chapter 1 was an ordinary day, a year sometime.
Nobody had more years and counting peciò you can not say for how long.
The calendar no longer existed since the war was over.
The Fourth World War had devastated the way of life.
No one, in a world decimated, he believed in anything.
Nobody had more time because there was nothing more to expect.
There were no more governments, or police.
Yet no one was stealing or killing.
A nihilistic pessimism was extended to the whole world.
was morning, this is true.
The light rain fell persistently, stubborn like a spoiled child.
before him an expanse of black asphalt that was lost along the skyline.
Wrapped in a light mist felt the damp cold penetrated my clothes.
All this made him think of when you first knew what it was that inspired the stories and poems he wrote.
Then he was still in Himalia.
was evening and was walking while aiming the wet asphalt after the rain that reflected the artificial lights, she felt at ease and with a great desire to write.
If ever he could write a book is a way of Pradello, who presented him with emotion, that he would dedicate. And
now that was in Scanzio, thousands of miles away, felt a longing for places and emotions from which he voluntarily wanted to escape.
Scanzio The city was a nation made up of gray scattered, dispersed among the mountains and valleys.
city populated by people who did not like him.
But there was far away, was safe.
Far and safe from the eyes of Irina.
Solitaire in this desert city realized that we are thinking of her. Women
names Soviets, it had always been convinced, have the power given them by an innate charm.
As the music played by a gypsy accordion.
's like living in a space-time in the shape of a sheet of crumpled paper. He thinks he
going straight but you are zigzagging wildly.
And if something is wrong is like when the card goes in the trash.
So he went from there.
Far from Irina and any accordion. There
up to hear them play the bagpipes.
hated that instrument: it reminded him of the funeral lament of the animal with which they were made.
While proceeding on the path and thought he saw a porch and sat down below, away.
He still had a lot 'to roll a barrel while erbablù and agreed that the war had improved things.
There was more legal and illegal, for example.
and do not measure the more time was like never gets old.
There was nothing and it was freedom.
freedom to stand by their own choice in a place that you do not like.
Just because you do not like.
Timeless in a place without emotion.
Then he closed his eyes and thought of her. He wanted to talk
dedicating a poem.
You're like a cloud for me.
Stop, property, admired even from the sky,
viewed with hope by the leaves.
You're like a cloud for me,
viewed with suspicion by the people.
lettin you caressing rays of the sun under a tree
I gain your presence.
me warm while I admire you with your shadow and I
delights carved from light to play with.
And suddenly opened his eyes and he felt lost, as the reason.
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