A dull week for a surprising Saturday.

4 05 2013

Last week was indeed surprisingly simple. I visited my parents and stayed there, tipical holiday for someone pretty unable to save money like me.
The thoughts of my childhood are long gone, the motherly house is changed so many times that now I can’t see anything I relate to, so any flashback is highly unlikely. We have now a nice balcony from when I see an abandoned building and a lovely view of the mountains. I found myself thinking how it would be to cross that fence and delve deep into that building to be wonderfully abused while there is silence in the valley.
I found myself reading Wittgenstein a lot, his strict and demanding prose pushes my mind toward a semantic dissonance which mirrors in negative the confusion I have in my mind.
Because again is a matter of choices and decisions, two things I never was really happy to find on my way. Let’s take a step back and fly over my neural synapses, those thin contacts between neurosis and libido, where pleasure lies like an abandoned whore… it’s there that I intimately feel that taking decisions it’s not something I should be entitled to do. I see choices like a burden of many kinds, like a rock I must lift but I am unable to. Why it is so? Why to decide it’s such a tremendous task? I suspect it’s because somehow fix things in place, while I prefer motion and chaos. It’s also the fact that with decisions comes inevitably the necessity to leave a path for another and somehow this sounds weird.
I am paralized by choices, they represent something I am deeply unfamiliar with and they always trouble me behind measure.
When someone takes a decision for me, I feel the burden leaving. I feel someone must choose something for me because they know me better, they know what is best for me while I might not be so adamantly good with myself.
It’s like when you’re a child and you simply obey and you have a wonderful spinning inner life because all the burdens are taken away from you.
As a slave you are free to be free, whilst you are actually following a series of strict protocols it is clear to you that that miraculous childish joy has its roots in your giving up everything for you owner.

Now I must go. Work is calling. I suppose I must finish my thoughts but I needed to write these feeling before they could evaporate in the evening.

I must be captive of someone else desires to feel real?
I must abide to orders for I have no order for myself.
Or I must open up and simply play.




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