And if we were all the characters in a book whose pages have not yet been written, maybe just imagine?
When I hold them in my hands and browse the pages, it seems to me that the past is looking into my eyes.
The fonts, printed on paper, changing their thickness, the crumbling paper, the pages that are secede remind the ancient craftsmanship, the ink designs inside are manual photographs of a civilization that is moving away from us, which we run every day, without memory, behind the technology.
I do not think e-books can one day replace the books in paper, for the paper with the written stories has a magic that we can never do without.
Their pages, with the touch, convey the weight and importance of the years, the smells they have absorbed from the hands that have flipped them: they are witness to history in all its material and three-dimensional shakes. It’s not just written words, but lived-in events, time captured in their lives.
They are messengers of time and it is as if all the signs that people with their actions have left over, become testament to their lives and make them alive and non-inanimate objects.
Paper books are goblets of past existence and I like to think of them as a sort of Holy Grail of Time.
Can we surely know the origin of everything?
Unfortunately no: I am afraid even Silvio Berlusconi’s empire will remain a mystery.
I’m not interested in knowing where to get the money, but I would like to see the money distributed with more intelligently: why to cover the executives with gold only when they never have enough money? I find it smarter to help those who have difficulty entering a Social System that improves people based on their money.
If I think that every human action is tied to a piece of paper called money, I’m sad because, in this, I do not see at all an evolved and intelligent civilization.
The private citizen who makes use of the State to make money, the State that exaggerates to have money with taxs from the private citizen.
At the end no one comes out winner: this attitude is stupid, just like trying to fight against our shadow.
This is the tragedy of the Italian State.
The life of a man narrated with simplicity from childhood to old age: youth and passion for literature, the journey of years like fleeing from himself and from his life forever, the return, daily life.
A life partner escaping with another man, the woman that remaining like companion of life, the fascination, war, the quiet after the storm and the return home, a lifetime lived to the full, intense.
Everyone wants to tell their story, but in a castle of people who can not speak, tarot cards take the place of the words and their little antique paintings tell the stories of the diners with an original and refined narrative.
If we find out that when we are alive we are actually dead and when we are dead we are alive?
If evil and good are the same thing, but viewed from two different horizons?
What comes first: death and then life or vice versa, or is it just an uncontrollable succession?
The protagonist fights these questions in trying to defeat evil, even though evil grows constantly, confusing his mind in both cities: the city of the living and the city of the dead.
A wise guide useful to avoid unhealthy relationships; an illumination to awaken conscience and give space to own intelligence, in order to improve themselves and improve own existential life and a possible life together, moving towards a healthy relationship.
Thanks Robin Norwood: your words are been a light in my life.