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The best story is yet to be written by a philosopher

Manco for a long time on the blog ... I apologize to all my readers (hahaha, I think almost anyone to tell the truth: D), in each case, from now on I will try again to be present ... I leave you this little story written in rhetoric about an hour, to me, in fact.
soon! (Hopefully closer to what the topic ...)

I awoke in the middle of the night.
My mind was awake and my body locked, motionless, as trapped in a horrible spell, I felt like a soul reincarnated in the middle, suspended between life and another, and below me felt the abyss of ' oblivion.
I tried once more to move clear my mind and I felt desperate scream "Get your arm!", But that branch of ancient redwood stood stiff and expressionless.
Then I was crying, tremors coming from the bowels or even somewhere in my deep, I wanted to shake, scream, throw out what was inside, but my body could not, or perhaps did not want.
I was sure to be dead.
Suddenly, though, I realized that despite the darkness, I was able to see and that the darkness in which I was immersed in reality could be painted in shimmering colors, and so the invisible walls of my room is first dyed blue , then rose ... reflected my state of mind ... I relaxed as they changed color, and so I knew that there was no need to talk, to feel, to move to pull out what was inside. It was enough to 'talk' to my world.
Then I saw her.
The light suddenly broke into the room, the walls before its light and dark yet adopted any corner of the damn hotel room came to life, coming up to me and wrapped in a prodigious grasp of light.
you, his face relaxed and smiling, looking at me, then raised his hand in salute e. .. wait ... I had never smile ... I even avoided, he did not want to be with me ... I did not want to ruin his day sun with my dark ideas, he did not want me .... The room
resumed gray.
clear I was suddenly without a reason, with the clarity of some nightmares, that I followed, studied, learned his times, his manner of do his ideas, his favorite kind of music and I tried to readjust her like a second-hand clothes a bit 'off the sides, but she did not want me, did not want a carbon copy of her being ugly.
His light was going to light up other rooms, other faces, reached out to other dreams, other souls ... would go to someone who could complete it, certainly not by someone who could appiccicarlesi him.
I woke up.

I had never seen the girl I had just appeared, and I had already forgotten the details of his face, as with the most beautiful dreams, but I was sure that I found, it did not matter if in reality had the same cutting face, the same sweet face, the same eyes that made you feel naked ... the important thing was to find that person and night in broad daylight as he was able to make me feel like in that room dell'alberghetto outskirts of Bologna, was able to permeate my world with its light, was able to understand and be understand without words, only the color adopted, with only her be herself.
Only you will, hopefully, one day to complete this story, because the best stories, my beloved, is yet to be written.

Nenas Follando Vidios

Suicide



"I do not want, according to the formula of Georges Bataille, 'the existence postpone until later'.
are careful to your presence as our beginning and I'd let you sentire.Mi have given everything in your life and everything about you: I wish I could give everything to me during the time we have left.
You have just turned 82 years old.
're always beautiful, elegant and desirable. We live together for 58 years and I love you more than mai.Recentemente I fell in love again and you carry within me a devouring emptiness that fills only your body pressed against the mio.La night I sometimes see the profile of a man on and an empty road in a deserted landscape, walking behind a hearse. This man is me. You take away the coffin. I do not want to attend your cremation: I do not want to receive a vase with your ashes ... I watch your breath, my hands touch you. Each one of us would like not having to survive the death of the other. We have often said that if, ironically, had a second life, we would like to pass it along "
(excerpt from" Letter to a D. Histoire d'amour by André Gorz)

André and Dorine (to which the D. the letter is addressed) died a few days. The story, letter, from which he was taken to the song above was written about a year ago. He, 84, existentialist philosopher Sartre school her 83 years , his companion for three quarters of his life, crossed with the thin threshold that acts as a shield to our weak reality.
A friend, not having heard from a little ', went to their house to talk with the ancient philosopher and test the conditions of his wife, who suffers from a severe illness evolving to where it was superimposed with cancer.
"At the door they had left a sign: 'Feel the police'.'s Friend saw him and sounded the alarm: the bodies of the philosopher André Gorz and his wife Dorine rested side by side. They put in place what they wanted: to die together after nearly sixty years of common life. "

(The quotation marks are taken from "the Republic" today, Giampiero Martinotti article, the rest is freely diadattato from the same source)

's useless, I think, to write as a good film at the end of the phrase "taken from a true story, "because this story is not too romantic to be true. A writer would never dream of inventing a story like this, because it would be too implausible. And that's why upsets, in all its unnatural naturalness. Farewell