This text was written during the feverish days of my trial for aggravated theft.
I’ve never wanted to know anything about such trial nor did I ask anybody about its result.
In my experience, my way of doing is an attempt to deny the law and live in incertitude. This makes my words even stronger.
I dedicate these words to my affinity comrade Maurizio and to all those who will choose an anti-judicial way in dealing with the investigation set up by nun Manuela Comodi.
The Nihilist Attack
I move in the shadow. I feel the perception of something that may happen as a non-trajectory. Vague memories. The insecure gait grazes the upright road in front of me.
I hear my step in a frenzied convulsion of not knowing.
I trace my essential space and put a concentric circle between me and the temporal permanence.
I become the unique and the ego in solitude.
Inseparable in a continuous assumption in the becoming, which annihilates the submissiveness of the sedentary redemption of the event.
Is the event inside me or is it in front of me?
Immediacy moves around me, an individual.
My shadow is arming its misanthropic desire, and exposing and projecting itself in a continuously reflecting light.
The light of passivity loves my shadow. I arm myself against it.
I’m getting out of an interstice. I’m hearing voices: I feel they want my desire and want to grab me. Far from everything I’m also in a hidden corner in the stinking arteries of the necropolis of human society.
I’ve made my choice. I keep memories at a distance. Passivity wants to expand its light and chew my essence.
I’m being driven against it. I decided not to give in to the ‘certitude’ that completes the alternation of the rules of human society.
Each day is a different moment, and the space that encases my will of affirming myself tends to destroy the past of an instant earlier.
The denied instant destroys normality…
My shadow and volitional essence are in every hidden corner.
I place myself in the middle while breaking hope with insignificant memories.
The Temple of prophecy – a catalyst of events and experiences – is calling me back and the demiurge is waiting.
A hint of desperation.
I don’t give in, as I’ve been doing since the beginning.
The Egoist strength attacks morality and tears it into pieces; and it doesn’t want the corpse, still warm, to burn it and reduce it into ashes…
Today I’m going out of the closet – jealous of my shadow – and dedicate these few words to my affinity brothers investigated by nun Manuela Comodi.
The nihilist attack doesn’t abdicate; it asserts itself in a continuous gait of its vital impulses!
From my personal inferno,