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To the readers of this collection

The more I advance, the more I proceed, the more the completion of those things for which I long for gets further and further away, while, in reality I don’t even know what these things are.

There is, indeed, a hurry and a worry to manage to have time to live, which however means less and less.
No. It is now official for me: I will not manage to find the time to live.
Having said this, it doesn’t change a thing.

The visible world is always so undaunted.
I, on the other side, am not undaunted, quite the contrary, I am always more split in two parts, one scurrilous and one dramatic.

I have two Greek masks within me, inside my bag (beside my natural face, which is to me somewhat unclear).

And what about these continuous highs and lows, what a torment! Happy, disconsolate, motivated, buffonesque, funereal. How can I resist with someone like me?
What a mess.