There are reports that you can not interpret.
The U.S. secretary of state went into a press conference to say that the State of the Union speech 2010 (a bit 'as Napolitano's speech at the end of year, but with a world-class hundred times as much), Obama will decide after the first episode of the sixth season of Lost, so as not to prevent anyone from seeing (and using the tow television, as if speaking after Striscia la notizia).
I love Lost, I think it is literature in its own way to contemporary images. I have often thought that might be used as a teaching tool to explain how to construct a narrative just for the sake of telling it. It 's a perfect Bignami for figures of speech, for the syntax of the plot and narrative uses for the first time on a screen with consistency e freschezza la figura della prolessi o flashforward (il ricordo del futuro).
Però.
Però ci sono cose più serie. E, persino nei miei ricordi di bambino, il discorso sullo stato dell’Unione lo era. Ancor più dovrebbe esserlo oggi, dal momento che, volenti o nolenti, della periferia di quella Unione ne facciamo parte anche noi.
Perdo colpi.
No, non è lagnanza. Però li perdo.
Ogni tanto mi capita di vedere il mio anziano padre cercare di destreggiarsi su una tastiera di computer. He, like me, and unlike my son, not a digital native.
dies on as if there were to be a climb or abseil.
Yet at the time was a radio operator for the army, in a brilliant young telegraph Morse code, well able to keep up the courses of NATO.
not know about you, I bite I learned as a Boy Scout, but he is a language with which we still speak today at breakfast.
Do write a Word document and will hate you for a morning. A database and you risk of nest una carabinata sulle chiappe. Ad aria compressa.
Dove, o meglio quando, la sua linea di intelligenza tecnologica ha divorziato dalla memoria di lavoro?
Non lo so. E non oso chiederglielo.
So quando verosimilmente è accaduto per me.
E fu il T9.
Quella tortura per dita telefoniniche non l’ho mai sofferta. Fu odio a prima vista. E il chiudersi di una linea evolutiva per sempre.
Posso metterci minuti a digitare un sms. Conosco gente che nello stesso tempo comporrebbe l’Iliade per tastiera a 9 toni.
Mi sono procurato un libro.
Che è all’origine di questi sproloqui.
Per i tipi di Einaudi, alla indecente somma di euro sessantacinque, è stato edito “Nebbia”, una sorta di antologia a cura di di Remo Ceserani e Umberto Eco.
Solo un malato di nebbia come me lo avrebbe acquistato, uno che nella terra della nebbia ci è nato, e ancora ci vive, sebbene un centinaio di metri più su, dove già alcune prospettive cambiano.
Fog is a disease. A disease of the soul. What makes it better.
them a body understandable, but elusive. Allows you to understand without being able to understand, that is collected.
"The fog is cancer. It protects you. Legions of human beings would want to return to the womb (of anyone, in the words of Woody Allen). The fog you realize this impossible dream. Amniotic grants you happiness. You have the feeling that maybe one day you will leave from the vagina and you'll face the world, but for now you are safe. And since the birth is the beginning of the trail that takes you inexorably to death, the fog is assurance (alas virtual) that death may not perverrai. Just stop there. But just because you do not know where you are, the fog tends to move out of it (which is foolish and crazy madness stupidity). Those who venture to stay there, he wants to get out. This is why all men are mortal. "
This brilliant in the preface of Eco.
And I agree. It must be the closest thing to the amniotic fluid that exists. Happiness and unconsciousness. Even if you dive with heavy black heart and mind. There everything is floating.
And limbo. Everything in the mist may be dead, living or even born yet.
It 's the physical situation experiential ever closer to the mythical Schrödinger's cat.
The door on the many worlds and many parallel universes.
And in the fog, the door is always ajar. Only a fool wide open for the dying in a world of light.
Because the mist is nothing.
Nothing fills the void.
0 comments:
Post a Comment