In one`s life, a certain moment arrives when things are not what they seem. But it is not useful to know: at the end they have never been of one, either of nobody. It is inevitable the nostalgia for such lost innocence, even when we thought that things meant us, and when blinded by our own certainty of what is real, we give ourselves to the world: taking for granted the good conventional and arbitrary sense that allow us the perception of things. Mean things that do not exist, things with which we can not speak; in its absence, meaning existing subjects, speculators, chatters, unconscious and idiots. That old habit of meaning is behind the custom, which blinds and deceives: which distracts. Mean the excess on the use of the power of meaning things: the threat of common sense. Pale mirage of deceit from reality. Sublime ode of a major labeled artifice that cannot be seen or touched: the absurdity of the real, and the liar reign of things. Many are still handed to them, bandaged by the common sense, wilded to the real, and anchored without remedy. They deliver themselves to anything: to a television set or to a smiling blond doll. Their life is meant by a spoon or by a vacuum cleaner. An accurate and precise mathematical calculation or a neat and clean house means much more than their existence. Individuals delivered to what others might say and to the shielded prejudice of their own-little-morals. Continue reading →