Return to normal.
…….Going forward slowly in this oppressive mechanism with which you will harden the heart with the sole purpose of annihilating the child in you, convincing you that childhood is stupid stuff and that adulthood is your only and unavoidable goal, you will wake up one day of your youth, in a life suffered and never really lived, where the only anchor of salvation is the fantasy, that magical third eye that allowed you to see everything under a different light: childhood would make the ugliest place on the face of the Earth, magical and full of wonders. In the immediate adolescence grow involves an awareness and the acquisition of the consciousness of the sad reality that surrounds us, that with brushstrokes, more and more dipped of a dense ash gray, ash cover up to make it disappear completely the beauty of any place, bringing to light , as in an archaeological excavation, the bones of the raw and ruthless essence of life.
Return to normal.
…..With the beginning of the school I started to lie and pretended that everything I did I liked, even if it was not: I did not care about being with others, I loved my company. Unlike many other children of that age who want to know other similar ones, my attention was totally kidnapped by the nature in which I was growing, by the mechanism of things, by the love of my family and by discovering that machine called body that allowed to hear, see, touch, smell and communicate. I was fine with myself, as if I had a kind of twin inside me; the stability of my family unit had never posed the problem of seeking support from the outside, so my focus was exclusively on looking for my place in my little world. Life was a continual discovery for me, a sort of exploration that never ended: I wandered around in everyday life, often with my head stolen by my imagination, wandering at night in my extraordinary dream world where fantasies became reality and everything seemed wonderful to me.
If writing books makes me earn zero money, it is useless to waste time on this activity.
I’m not a millionaire, so I can not afford the luxury of not earning a living with my daily work and being able to spend the day writing stories.
I love literature and studying literature at the University is for me a privilege and a gift from the unexpected sky; but if staying in the publishing field means working for free, then this environment is not for me.
It does not work for free, never: work is such when it is remunerated.
It works for money, be clear: continue to allow that in some sectors there are no gains, it only means to favor, as usual, the rich in the arts, and to encourage crime in the poor.
The excuse is the internship, the training at work: with this characteristic in Italy, especially in publishing, people must work for free, there is no salary for this type of work, not even a flat-rate reimbursement.
What do they believe? That people do not need to eat, get dressed, pay for accommodation?
Unpaid internships are insulting: working means earning, therefore those who claim an unpaid worker should only be ashamed to put on the market free and unpaid job offers.
Free labor is a social fold that must be annihilated.
The most striking demonstration?
The losers in the field of fashion, publishing, music that buy packages of millions of followers on social networks, to make believe to be famous, followed, admired: freaks, failures that are worth nothing as artists, rich in family who have only boredom daily with which to pass the time.
The famous fakes are just an insult to those who, in this world, work seriously.