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When the conflict between imposed imaginary and not yet atrofized senses takes place, in precence of the last reactive forces, still able to find a tension snap towards valutation, for a sudden spasm of non-consens. When in front of the apparent false molteplicity of choises, it does no more exist the hope of the dream that, addicted, sounds as frustation in us all, in the same way, in an atrophic way, the purest feelings lie, in the dark of incontaminated mnemonic lofts.
From a gnoseologic point of view we are not in a different moment of the rest the human history, it remains “everyting new” for the one who makes of the senses an inviolate instrument, so everything is “again” facing the earth, the cicle of a time that decides its senses and its multiple icons that have been transformed by everybody in common fetishes. Well, for an imposed life, it could be sufficient a moment to find oneself. One single moment to find again oneself’s geocentric axe, that authentic relation towards things, that relation that is free of every will imposed everyday, that deceives the senses.
For this pale impulse, for this single range in a lost or submerged thought, that man follows as a funambolist in our time.
Today, the immobile stall of the daily ideas is in a perfect balance as the impossibility of project a dream without any interference, killed on the boring, expecially because the dreams are contaminated. It is in a stable balance the corrupted dream between what we call boredome and what make our soul sleeping, if the boredome represents the pause and not the emptyness. It is the pause of the impossibility of reflect oneself in an authentic way on reality.
I am against every kind of a pre-done quotidianity, against every submission of the dream, against a quotidianity full of the common mass media visive and psycological terrorism.
So, there is a balance to defend, a new balance, to be able to have a new code for all the things that have been adulterated from man: his dreams, his freedom to project them in a genuine way.

Giovanni Ricciardi
“Everything in the new/Everything a new” Napoli, 2003

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