The Credit Card in the cut

The commodification of the body is the oldest profession in the world. This statement is grounded in the scriptures, which speak of Adam and Eve whom, free from commitments of supply, sold their body and their soul to the tempter serpent, at the price of a buggy apple. Soul and body because the apple is something juicy that the body appreciates in advance to the soul, which suffers the sin of gluttony.

So is the body that sells the soul and never the contrary? Is the body, with its need for daily sustenance, that forcing scantily dressed young ladies to suffer the rigors of winter on the sidewalks? Is the body, with its lack of affection, that bring myriads of girls on the streets of porn?

I frequently joke on prostitution among male friends. We play about payment method, assuming we can swipe credit card into the cut that is so attractive for us. Too often we ignore the suffering and exploitation, misery and despair. Too many problems, we can not take care of everything, will support someone. Sometimes, it’s nice to laugh and play down, someone else adds. All very agreeable, but we can not completely wash our hands about this issue. Sometimes, we must also know how to choose. For example, do not fuck up everything going to hell, like some “only on sunday” respectable and catholic father, do you know?

Some people think they can buy everything with money. Even when the body seems to offer the soul as a reward. But the soul, not the catholic one, hypocritically declared immortal, survives to the commodification of the body. Because the soul is awareness of the weaknesses of the body. And this is priceless. Do not buy it and do not sell. Because it doesn’t exist.

[italian version]

The system will implode

As in the best milleniaristic traditions, defeatism seems to be for some a dark evil that infects all the structures and superstructures of complex configured systems, like our modern society. Is there something that should make it wiser in spite of a fat and juicy optimism, so dear to some clockwised and old fascioned [1] politic?

Now it’s clear that neither side can be neither fully wrong, nor fully right, but there must be an indisputable way to determine if the fucking glass is empty or is filling up. It is important to find the method, before you decide how to act.

It seems to be the hot water discovery after it was invented solar thermal and solar photovoltaics, as if the arduous climb to the mountain of knowledge could suddenly revert to the slopes of obscurantism and superstition, to tumble into a den of lions or into the moist, blackened dungeons of the witch hunt.

That’s why I like defeatists. They are motivated by fear that those times could come back, because they have the perception that they existed, while who flaunts optimism and would impose it at all costs, make me distrustful. Because I suspect that they have not learned anything from history and the confirmation comes through numerous reproaches from an optimist person to a pessimist one, and rarely on the contrary.

Gramsci, an italian politician, said: “The pessimism of the intellect and optimism of the will.”

This is epistemological guarantism, because nature is fundamentally evil and life a magic and highly unstable equilibrium. It is the transience of life to force us to keep our feet on the ground, while the hope is that makes us fly.

Pessimism of the will and the optimism of the reason, however, lead to fascism, as an example of precognitive blindness. Because a pessimist will is a desire that tends to the death and an optimist reason is a reason that thinks enough of itself, a disease that leads to solipsism.

However, the system will surely implode. You just need to determine how, where and when. And how to contribute. And if we are ready to assist the event.

[1] it’s a joke of words between “old fashioned” and “fascism”.

[italian version]

Homeopathy of the idiocy

Homeopathy works on the principle of similia similibus curantur, or the similar treat the similar, that it means that to heal from an orchitis we should take small doses of political jargon, a concept that raises some legitimate doubt.

The fact is that the success of homeopathy seems to have no boundaries, due to the penetration of a product on the market seems to be directly proportional to the degree of misunderstanding of the mechanisms that regulate it. Indeed, this is why religion still selling well, despite the fierce competition of best surrogates, especially in their soothing qualities, such as satellite television and bowling.

Therefore, people are convinced that you can cure the idiocy with the idiocy, simply by applying the principle of successive dilutions that, contrary to common logic, instead of diminishing the effect of the drug, increases his effectiveness.

Found that also Italy has entered the fan club of homeopaths, do not be surprised when you hear or read nonsenses uttered by some leading figure in the bleak media landscape. This idiocy is used to treat those already present, the idiocy that has infected the institutions and citizens, conveyed by mutant viruses through the ink of newspapers (take a look at yours fingers, the next time you will read a newspaper), by radiation or television, or by other unknown beams.

Unfortunately, the suspicion that someone is overdoing it with the nonsense exists and is reasonably based on the resurgence of symptoms, so that to be diluted in the ocean of boundless stupidity, it might rather be the intelligence. But maybe that’s the problem at its source: there’s somebody that maybe we need to heal from this terrible disease, whose most common symptoms are critical sense, a desire for knowledge, tolerance, manifest inability to intellectual sodomy and to collapse in front of the socio-economic superpower.

[italian version]

We need more Viagra, but for our brain

We live in a society that has screamed at the miracle for the launch of a blue colored pill, able to treat male impotence. Gallons of ink have been paid in jokes and laughters, hours and hours of broadcasting, between news and gossip, with the conductor winking at the quivering housewives, ready to drop pots and pans to runaway with the half-length on duty, willing to grant him unconditional trust on the hidden part, the most important cut of meat in a phallocratic and phallocentric society.

We live in a society that has a twisted vision of sex, a society in which pornostars are considered miths above any possible kind of suspicion. The prove of this beatification consists in the rise of these actors at the honor of immortality, at the same way of others celebrities, which the people reject the idea that they simply die like all the living things.

And then here we find a lot of plots and dozens of witnesses ready to swear that Elvis, Bob Marley and Jim Morrison – and who knows who else – are in some place, smoking and drinking very well, while we go on pilgrimage on their, empty graves, to see if maybe instead of photography there is a videoclip that explains how to defeat death in ten simple steps.

We live in a society where it is more important to spend millions to treat erection of the irreducibles of sex, the nonagenarian slime that, in slow motion, chases the old ladies in nursing homes, rather than to find a pill to harden the soft hemispheres of who is extremely stupid about science and politic.

We live in a society that is afraid of  feelings and then it prefers to focus on concrete manifestations of existence, like tangibility of sex and the penetrability of bodies, rather than on intangibility of mind and knowledge, too ephemera ways to be considered real by flaccid and atrophied brains.

[italian version]

This is the hand

This is the hand, my only friend, the hand. Oh, I love Jim Morrison and his lyrics, but I don’t sacralize him so much to be unable to joke with some verses of the most discussed song by The Doors. Because, at the end of the fair (which in italian means “alla fine della fiera”), the hand is the end of the arm, therefore the extreme part, a border line of a body that suffers of borderline personality disorder. This will be the light-shining-motiv of this blog: a kind of masturbation in the borderland of mental illness.