Se

Se io pensassi che tu, qualora io ti scrivessi, penseresti che io ti abbia scritto poiché, nel momento in cui io ti avessi pensato, io ti avrei scritto, e tu collegassi il fatto che io ti abbia pensato, e quindi ti abbia scritto, al fatto che io possa o meno pensarti e, invece, decida volutamente di pensarti, allora avrei paura a scriverti. Ma se invece tu ritenessi che, nel momento in cui ti scrivessi, io voglia solamente scriverti perchè io credo che tu non abbia altro da fare, allora potrei pensare che, se ti scrivessi, ti disturberei e, dal momento in cui cominciassi a scriverti, tu penseresti che io abbia voluto scriverti non perché io ti abbia pensato, ma perché io non avessi altro da fare, e quindi non collegheresti il fatto che ti stia scrivendo al fatto che ti stia pensando, o ti abbia pensato. 

A Silvio { Monti Python }

Silvio, rimembri ancora
Quel tempo della tua vita imprenditoriale,
Quando la televisione splendea
Negli occhi tuoi ridenti e fuggitivi,
E tu, lieto e capellone, il limitare
di gioventù salivi?
Sonavan le quiete
tramissioni, e i quotidiani dintorno,
Al tuo perpetuo canto,
Allor che all'opre capitaliste intento
Sedevi, assai contento
Di quel sicuro avvenir che in mente avevi.
Era l'aprile '94: e tu solevi
Così menare il giorno.

Tu i pianoforti leggiadri
Talor lasciando e le sudate aziende,
Ove il tempo tuo primo
E di te si spendea la miglior parte,
D'in su i veroni del paterno ostello
Porgea gli orecchi al suon della poltrona,
Ed alla man ladrona
Che nascondea la faticosa tela.

Mirava il ciel sereno,
Le vie dorate e gli orti,
E quinci il mar da lungi, e quindi il monte.

Lingua mortal qui dice
Quel che tu sentia in seno!

Che pensieri soavi,
Che speranze, che cori, o Silvio mio!
Quale allor ti apparia
l'Italia comunista e il fato!
Quando sovvietti di cotanta speme,
Un affetto ti preme
Acerbo e sconsolato,
E tòrnati a doler di tua sventura.
O natura, o natura,
Perchè non rendi poi
Quel che prometti allor? perchè di tanto
Inganni gli elettori tuoi?

Tu pria che Monti inaridisse il verno,
Da chiuso party combattuto e vinto,
ti dimettevi, o tenerello. E non vedevi
le olgettine degli anni tuoi;
Non ti molceva il core
La dolce lode or delle nipoti di Mubarak,
Or degli sguardi innamorati e schivi;
Nè teco le escort ai dì festivi
Ragionavan d'amore.

Anche peria fra poco
La speranza mia dolce: agli anni miei
Anche negaro i fati
un'Italia felice. Ahi come,
Come passato sei,
Caro profeta dell'età mia nova,
Mio indimenticato Silvio!
Questo è quel mondo? questi
I partiti, i bunga bunga, i calciatori, le televisioni
Onde cotanto ragionammo insieme?
Questa la sorte dell'italiche genti?

All'apparir del vero
Tu, misero, cadesti: e con la mano
un freddo Fiorito e la giustizia comunista
Mostravi di lontano.

@il_leopardi ai Tweet Awards 2012

Per arrivare a parlare dei Tweet Awards 2012, devo partire da una data ben precisa: 12 aprile 2012. Il giorno che, inconsapevolmente, ha segnato la mia vita.
Sarò breve: in macchina verso Como, con i miei compagni di sventura @Omar_Gazarin e @dado728, decidiamo di creare un account di Twitter, in virtù del mio ormai proverbiale pessimismo e del mio passato amore per Silvia. Così, per gioco, nasce @il_leopardi.

Attraverso la parodia di Leopardi, lentamente "conosco" centinaia di persone splendide, ciascuno con la propria vita piena di problemi, gioie e vicissitudini. Nasce quasi subito una forma di empatia e di fratellanza comune tra perfetti sconosciuti: chi si rivede nel mio amore "mai consumato", chi si rivede nelle mie crociate contro Moccia e i tre metri sopra il cielo, chi si rivede in Flavia Vento o negli One Direction che popolano da sempre i TT. Tutto ciò contribuisce a creare un rapporto invisibile, ma allo stesso tempo solido; un rapporto che si misura in risposte, citazioni, retweet di approvazione, "preferiti" di apprezzamento. Ed è proprio questa la forza di Twitter: unire sconosciuti in un unico, grande, "tendone".

Per questo motivo, quando la mattina del 6 ottobre scopro l'esistenza dei Tweet Awards 2012 a Milano, mi registro subitissimo (anche se è tardi!) e decido di andare lo stesso anche a rischio di restare fuori. Mai decisione fu più giusta (tranne, forse, quella di scrivere A Silvia che mi ha dato parecchi introiti in diritti d'autore): arrivo alle 14.30, ben un'ora prima dell'inizio delle premiazioni, e una gentilissima @Gioska23 mi dice che non sarei potuto entrare senza conferma di registrazione ma che, se qualcuno non si fosse presentato, sarebbe venuta a cercarmi e a farmi entrare. In perfetto stile Twitter: non so chi sei, ma ti aiuto per quanto possibile.

Adorabile.

La gente, intanto, comincia (e continua) ad arrivare. La fila aumenta sempre più. "Prima i registrati!" urla Gioska, e noi ritardatari attendiamo pazientemente a lato.

Alle 4, finalmente, si decide di far entrare tutti.

Sembra di entrare in un luogo protetto ed accogliente. C'è la consapevolezza, da parte di tutti, che si faccia parte di un unico mondo, quello di Twitter, in cui ci si può esprimere, si può discutere, litigare, conoscere, innamorare (e ci sono andato vicino, ma questa è un'altra storia) e restare, in ogni caso, amici. Tutto questo a prescindere dal numero di followers (vero, @Gasparripdl?).

Non mi dilungo sulla cerimonia di presentazione, che ormai conoscerete a memoria.
Per chi non c'era, penso sia impossibile capire quanto sia bello associare delle facce e delle persone a dei Twitteri: sarebbe difficile ricordarli tutti, ma ci proverò. Penso al vincitore supremo @Iddio, una persona gentilissima e tranquillissima, e alla sua amica @K_super_tramp; penso a @stanzaselvaggia, semplicemente bellissima (anche se, come ben sa, non può essere meglio di Silvia); penso al mitico @IdeeXScrittori, con il quale twitto spesso, ad un mascherato @TristeMietitore, al quale ho chiesto un prolungamento per questa mia seconda vita, a @BeppeSevergnini, cui vanno tutti i miei complimenti in primis per la bellissima nipote e, in secondis, per essere riuscito a sopravvivere ad una settimana senza internet, traendone anche un ottimo articolo su @La_Lettura. Per ultimo, ma non meno importante, penso anche a @CarloGabardini, al quale non ho altro da dire se non che è una persona fantastica. Purtroppo, ha perso: direi che si merita una poesia, "A Carlo"!
Chissà quanti altri c'erano e non ho incontrato! Sarà per l'anno prossimo!

Che dire? Un doveroso grazie agli organizzatori (@TA12Milano), e un augurio di potervi rivedere tutti molto presto!

Rimembrate ancora, mi raccomando!
Giacomo Leopardi (@il_leopardi)

Foto su Flickr : Tweet Awards 2012

Who has eaten my kebab?

During a general conversation, people usually discuss upon the importance of the appearance over the intelligence. I bet it's generally accepted that the most beautiful woman or the most handsome man, with a brain the size of a pigeon's, is as sexy as a spider moving up your legs (by the way, can you feel it? A huge, enormous spider, full of hair, moving quickly up and down onyour legs, ready to appear in front of your face while you're reading this). I also bet that the general opinion is that men judge women over the appearance, while the women are supposed to do the opposite; finally, I have to say that the "classy" people (myself included, probably) are used to say that they don't care that much about appearance.

Shall I say that? It's just a bunch of bullshit. B-U-L-L-S-H-I-T.

It's the appearance that counts.

But here comes my point: it's not the EXTERNAL appearance (a.k.a. how we look to others), but the INTERNAL one (a.k.a how we look to ourselves).
It's definitively that. If we DO like ourselves, we are more confident, happier and brighter; others will see us as positive. And that, on the medium-long term, will effect our external appearance, no matter what you look like (not that you or I will ever became any Kate Upton or Brad Pitt's like, but surely the pointed nose, or the reddish-like hair will not count that much anymore). Of course, you won't probably be getting Kate Upton but, after all, how many are gonna get her?

I'm pretty sure about it, and I bet you would agree.

Now, let's stop saying the good-for-the-press stuff: who the heck has eaten my kebab?

Fine di un amore (revival)

È finita. È dolcemente, lentamente, soavemente finita tra noi. Non posso più rimpiangere quel che non c’è mai stato, ma posso solo ricordare quanto, nel bene e nel male, si è verificato.

Ricordo quel giorno di quattro anni fa, quando mi parlarono di te, mi accennarono a te, promettendomi che ti avrei presto conosciuta. E così non fu subito, giacché io, curioso all’inizio, tediato alla fine, non sentii più parlare di te e ti dimenticai. Passarono mesi, tre, quattro, forse cinque lunghi mesi, ed una mattina, luminosa quanto basta, un amico mi fece nuovamente il tuo nome, e improvvisamente capii che ti avrei amata senza neppur conoscerti di persona. Ti ho visto e conosciuto poco più tardi, e tu, timida e tenera allo stesso tempo, non osavi aprirti a me, ti limitavi ad arrossi sire, mi parlavi solamente quando eravamo soli, io e te, al pomeriggio davanti ad una tazza di caffè, o alla sera al suono di buona musica; ma in pubblico no, non parlavi, fingevi di ignorarmi, ma in fondo continuavi a pensare a me, e non volevi dirlo a te stessa.

Ti faceva paura, l’amore. Ti sembrava qualcosa d’irruento, d’inebriante al tempo stesso; ne parlavi con le amiche, ma non con me. Ricordo ogni singolo giorno di quei sette mesi che noi due trascorremmo insieme, quasi ogni pomeriggio, quasi ogni sera, senza che mai io riuscissi a dichiararmi o che tu manifestassi qualcosa più di un’amicizia. Ricordo la sofferenza, la fatica, lo sforzo che i miei amici facevano per aiutarmi, riempiendomi di nozioni sul come e sul perché dell’amore.

Ricordo le lacrime versate a scriverti lettere d’amore mai consegnate, ricordo i miei sogni, c’eravamo noi due che correvamo sul prato, e ridevamo, ridevamo di gusto. Ma era solo un sogno. Tu, con la tua vocina delicata, col tuo viso angelico, ti limitavi a sorridermi. Finché poi, un giorno, al cinema, mi prendesti per mano e mi guardasti: mai vidi uno sguardo così vivo, così pieno di gratitudine, così raggiante e malinconico allo stesso tempo. E lì, non so ancora come, ci ritrovammo abbracciati; non conosco la fine del film, ma sento ancora le tue labbra umide di pianto sulle mie, le tue braccia avvolte nelle mie. Mi misi a piangere anch’io.

Sembravamo, eravamo, una persona sola.

Ma non posso dimenticare i momenti più difficili, quando talvolta litigavamo, quando mi lasciasti solo per due settimane; quante lacrime, quanta passione, quanto inchiostro: ma io sapevo, ti conoscevo troppo bene, sapevo che non mi avresti abbandonato mai, mai, mai. E così fu: pochi giorni dopo, ti trovo al campanello di casa, a suonare a vuoto alla mia porta. Ti sorpresi, ma non ti dissi nulla. Ti ho abbracciato da dietro e tu, senza resistenza, ti lasciavi andare tra le mie braccia, tra le mie labbra.

Poco passò che mi dicesti : “Ora siamo maturi”. Ci siamo fusi in un unico corpo, quella sera e tante altre ancora; Amore stava a guardare, sembravi la mia Psiche. Tanti i momenti, tanti gli attimi trascorsi insieme io in te e tu in me. Momenti di passione, momenti di magia. Sembrava destinato a non finire mai.

Non fu così; al volgere del secondo anno apparivi più triste, più malinconica. E, quella sera, mi dicesti che non ci saresti stata più, che te ne saresti andata; incredulo, muto e silenzioso, ero privo di ogni parola. Ti amavo, ti ho amato, ti amo, soffrendo, piangendo, vivendo. Il mio cuore è straziato, ma non posso più, oggi come quell’ultima sera, tornare indietro. Tanto è stato, tanto è stato. Un addio brusco, crudele ma gentile.

Di questo ti ringrazio, mio grande amore passato.

Paradosso e blocco dello scrittore

Il paradosso di quanto sai di avere il cosiddetto “blocco dello scrittore”, è il fatto di sapere che qualunque cosa tu scriva sarà di qualità infima,  e che non desidererai altro se non cancellarla al primo istante. Invece, oggi, ho il coraggio di dire di NO. Un NO grande e deciso al blocco dello scrittore. Per tale motivo ho addirittura messo i margini stretti al documento, così che per riempire una pagina impiegherò circa il doppio del mio solito: perfetto. Sto cercando in tutti i modi di rendermi la vita difficile, eppure sono riuscito a scrivere queste cinque righe e, perché no, magari riesco a scrivere altre cinque righe parlando del più e del meno, partendo forse dall’ultima cosa che ho scritto, cioè il diario di viaggio della ciclabile lungo il Danubio. Gran vacanza, quella. Mi era pure riuscito un discreto diario di viaggio, forse perché prendevo appunti ogni giorno e osservavo ogni cosa con gli occhi del turista, dell’interessato, del giapponese tutto intento a fare migliaia di fotografie a qualsiasi oggetto si trovi di fronte. Ed ora? Ora sono qui, a scrivere cose senza senso, senza un briciolo di ispirazione che mi dia una benché minima voglia, una benché minima idea: sì, perché io sto cercando l’idea, un’idea che mi ridia l’entusiasmo e la gioia per la parola scritta, ed anche, in senso lato, per la vita. Uffa, sto ricominciando ad essere patetico. Non è che la vita faccia schifo, anzi. È solo che allo stato attuale non riesco a trovare un senso alle giornate : fino a ieri ho dovuto studiare, e per assurdo mi rendo conto che, pur nello stato di inquietudine che caratterizza il periodo esami, la vita scorre programmata dalla prima all’ultima ora, senza spazio alcuno per l’indecisione e per la noia. L’ansia che ti prende se non studi, il senso di colpa che ti assale se pensi di dedicare qualche ora del tuo tempo a un hobby, o ad un’uscita collettiva con i tuoi amici che, essendo mediamente tutti universitari come te, si trovano tutti in un’analoga situazione. E così, l’aperitivo collettivo, da svago piacevole diventa un’accozzaglia di domande sull’andamento universitario, sul numero di esami che mancano, e sulla disperazione che lo studio provoca. Ma, alla fine, ti rendi conto che tutto questo è POSITIVO. Positivo perché ti dà uno scopo; positivo perché quando ti svegli alla mattina, pur nell’idiosincrasia verso i libri, pur nell’odio verso qualsiasi forma di disegno, di formula, di testo scritto, sai che avrai un compagno, il libro, per tutta la giornata. Per contro, senza alcun esame, l’utente medio di vent’anni si ritrova a casa senza fare nulla, il che significa : 1. Ti alzi la mattina ad un orario improponibile come le 7 e mezza, perché così sei stato abituato da un mese a questa parte, solo che per quel mese avevi da studiare, mentre ora sei spaesato. Ti ritrovi, dicevamo, sveglio a quell’orario improponibile, e la prima cosa che pensi è : “me**a, ora che faccio?”. Questa domanda ti ossessiona, mentre ti lavi, mentre ti vesti, mentre fai colazione, mentre desideri addormentarti di nuovo e non svegliarti se non quattro giorni dopo. 2. Sei sveglio, e quindi? Pensi, quindi esisti, direbbe Cartesio. La realtà è che pensi, semplicemente perché non hai niente di meglio da fare: il divano ti vomita stanco del tuo peso, la televisione si rende intrinsecamente inutile per l’ammasso di spazzatura che trasmette, la radio cos’è?, e il cellulare con gli SMS diventa ben presto un modo per scambiarsi commenti banali del tipo Come stai? Ti sei fatto la barba?  ma soprattutto, e sottolineo, soprattutto, l’insopportabile “Che tempo fa?”, il modo più abusato per non interrompere una conversazione, ma per far capire ad entrambe le parti che la conversazione è inutile e che sarebbe meglio interromperla prima che si finisca a parlare dell’ultima puntata del Grande Fratello, o del colore del vomito, due argomenti che si assomigliano parecchio e che sono ampiamente confondibili se non ad un occhio esperto. Oddio. Sono a tre quarti di pagina. Non mi rendo neanche conto di aver scritto tutto questo: ma poi, cosa ho scritto? Non saprei dire nemmeno che cosa ho detto due righe fa. Però non lo considererei un flusso di coscienza. Sì , coscienza vuole la “i”. Dicevo, non mi sembra un flusso di coscienza. Bisognerebbe averla, la coscienza. Ed io non ce l’ho, o, meglio, non credo di averla. Se avessi la coscienza, pensate che mi azzarderei a scrivere questa robaccia inutile, consumando corrente elettrica, tempo, voglia di vivere e spazio sul computer? Figuriamoci. Se avessi la coscienza, mi troverei qualcosa da fare, e non sarei qui a lamentarmi in ogni modo della mia scarna esistenza. Ma non è neanche vero questo: non ho nulla di cui lamentarmi. Solo che mi sento avvolto dalla noia. Ah ma mi ero fermato al punto 2: continuo. 3. Una volta trascorsa la mattina in qualche modo, tra divano, sedia, televisione (spenta), decidi che è ora di mangiare. Per chi ha la fortuna / sfortuna di trovare tutto pronto, anche il mangiare diventa un’attività meccanica. Aprire la bocca, masticare, deglutire, vomitare (ma solo se guardi il Grande Fratello, eh). Una volta finito di mangiare ti ritrovi ancora più spaesato. E’ pomeriggio, l’eterno pomeriggio che ti separa dalla cena e anche da una “splendida” serata in compagnia della musica, degli amici repressi e dei tuoi pensieri. All’improvviso, hai un’idea geniale : apri Facebook. Un altro insieme di spazzatura, ma almeno è selezionata tra quella prodotta dai tuoi amici, per cui ti risulta mediamente interessante. Rovisti un po’ tra la spazzatura, scopri che la persona che odi di più, ma che OVVIAMENTE è tra i tuoi amici di Facebook, è diventata single, ed esulti. Esulti, perché non hai niente di meglio da fare che esultare di cose inutili. Ops, finita la pagina. Addio.

Bullshit

There are two kinds of person: the ones who spend most of their valuable life with someone else, where by "someone else" I mean friends or partners, and the ones who spend most of their time alone. I'm not interested in which kind person you are (well, actually I am, but it's not the reason I'm writing at the moment), for what you know about me I'm pretty much the second type of person, but, anyway, nevermind.
Actually, I have to say, there is a third kind of person who is neither lonely nor anti-lonely, but these are not the persons I'm referring to. However, I know many, myself included maybe, who belong to the previous kinds.

Regardless the person you are, there is a reason for you to be the one you are: don't you think so? Or are you all so blind in accepting the fact that, if you are always looking for someone, is JUST because you can't stand to be alone? Or, for what matters, those of you (those of us, actually) who claim that being alone is much better than being with someone, whoever the "someone" is, are you really sure that you believe in this just because you are "good" with your inner self?

I don't think so, though. Of course, this is a personal opinion that can be used either to judge my own life, or to be written in toilet papers to make the bathroom time more enjoyable; so, I warn you, treat it as an opinion, as I'm sure you'll do.

May there be a hidden problem behind such a strong believing?

Isn't that you, who can't stand to be alone, are, in fact, afraid of yourself? Aren't you trying to hide your problems behind a bottle of alcohol, or by staying with someone else talking about something else?

And isn't that you, who largely prefer to be lonely, are instead afraid of BEING with someone? Or being judged for what you really are? What do you have to hide?

I'm not accusing anyone, of course; actually, I've forgotten why I'm writing this, and I don't care anymore.

But I know two things:

- loneliness is like a magnifier: if you are "good" with yourself, you're going to have the best time ever. But if you're not that good with yourself, you're going to have a really bad time.
- you've just wasted three minutes reading this bullshit :) I'm sorry!

"I-Social"

It's a long time since I've not been writing on Facebook. I'm much more into Twitter now, with both my real identity and my fake (or more real, from a different point of view) one.

It's somehow funny to see that my ispiration in writing has decreased a lot ever since I got that awesome postcard which said that I had to never stop writing. Funny. As if my ispiration was urging from an inner insecurity to find a purpose, such as writing to express my feelings or to improve my skills. Now that I got a little (for the whole human kind), but a huge (for me)  recognition, it seems that I've become complacent. Not that anyone cares, of course.

So, why am I writing this? Not to ask for recognition, but to think about one important thing. How many times did I say the word "I" in this post? And, for extension, in all my Facebook or Twitter statuses? Every time I did it (and that's another "I"), someone else probably said "Not that anyone cares".

So, I'm thinking about the real meaning of "social" network. What is it? What's the word "social"? It's just, in fact, a continuous highligth of the ego... It's all about "me, myself, and I"; my pictures, my videos, my thoughts. So, why do we care so much about privacy? Why do we complain is anyone steals our information? Was really this the purpose of social network? Or have they become an I-Network?

They're just a shopwindow in which the only product is our body (for particularly attractive people), our mind, our writing... everything of this is priced and valued in terms of Likes, Comments, Mentions and Retweets.

Ok, what was my point? I forgot. I, I, I simply forgot.

Let's grab some beer and get out of this. Sorry for bothering you!

Not that anyone cares. Of course.

Affinity

I'm nervous. Really nervous. I'm talking to you and I know that it could be the last time, but I hope this could become a new beginning. I don't know how to start, I'm overwhelmed by feelings, by memories, by thousands of moments in which you and I were together. But, what do I really feel? An enormous affection, an "I-don't-know-what" that I can't explain and that bond me to you, inseparably. This, though, doesn't mean I accept you without conditions. I've gone further: my affection for you is unlimited, it is strong, really meant to be so. But, at the same time, is constructive. I've grown with you, I've grown because of you, and I think you can say the same. But I'm scared to tell you that I feel something more for you, so huge that I can't even understand. What can I do? I may be ruining our relationship. However, I'm here now, and I can't escape.

I start talking. My words come out fast, one after another. My babbling is gone, my nervousness is gone. I'm free, as I've always been with you.

Suddenly you stop me. You tell me that I'm not talking about love. I'm talking, you say, about an intermediate feeling, between friendship and love. Then, you tell me you feel the same. We're the same, we're in symbiosis.
My doubts disappear. You're right, it's always been so. It's kind of impossible, and useless at the same time, to describe it. Is it so important to find a term to describe it? If we find a word for it, don't we set a limit for it?
Let's call it "Die Wahlverwandtschaften", Elective Activities. Our affinity. What is it? I don't know. An enormous affection. A huge desire to share, to keep living our experiences together. Without love.

We decide to start from this: we're going to be together, foverer, without never being so. Like two parallel lines that always run together, without never cross.

Day 0 out of NOTHING. Title : "Look for the signal"

Imagine this situation: you are in a bar, sorrounded by friends, and you suddenly see, from distance, a hot chick. Typical situation, isn't it? You lose interest in what your friends are saying, and the world becomes small and small, being populated by one only person: her.

The mind flashes around thinking about the right pick-up line. What about : "hi"? Obnoxious. That's a cool word, I know. Not sure about the meaning, but the word obnoxious really express the difficulty of the moment you're in. You keep thinking, but you stop DOING. And you don't realize that.

Now, only two things can happen: another (surely hotter than you, not that this is difficult) guy does instead of thinking and talk to the very same girl. Or, worse, you spend the night wondering about her, while nobody talks to her, and she finally goes away. Seems familiar, isn't it? To me, at least. What do you lose? Are you afraid of happiness? I think so.

Focus, focus on me! Keep your eyes on this text!

Are you afraid of the refusal? You know what she is losing, but she doesn't know what she is losing. You may be ugly, but you may also be hiding some (very) hidden features that she'd love. She'd never know. Doesn't this make you feel special? If you don't think you have anything special, you are just obnoxious, exactly like saying the word "obnoxious". What's the purpose of not trying? Going back home and thinking, oh yeah, next time I'll do it?

Come on, next time she or whoever else will be attracted by some other male belly dancer while you, poor kind-of-a-special thinker, will face the same situation.

Don't wait for a signal that will never come. You have to create the signal, to have the chance not to be obnoxious, and to be awesome, as the word "awesome" is.

February 23rd, 2012 : don't say cat...

February 23rd, 2012: me, some others, the teacher. The waiting. One after another, she rapidly scans through the students, allowing herself two or three minutes to check whether the student is worth passing the exam or not. And, all of a sudden, here you are. She calls your name, and welcomes you with her strict smile whose meaning can be seen both as "oh you're my next prey, be ready to be torn into pieces" or "oh poor guy, I'm so sorry for you".

You start sweating cold, and your heartbeat is becoming louder and louder with any step you move forward, while the external noise, on the contrary, becomes more and more inaudible. Finally, you're there. With a trembling hand you sign the paper, and with a trembling voice you say "Good morning", knowing that this is gonna be a nightmare. She starts asking you some questions. You have a blackout. Suddenly, something happens.

You speak. You say something coherent. Your fear disapperas. Your pride comes out. You are happy. And bla bla bla you're already imagining your 30 cum laude, your holidays, the freedom, the cocktails, the girls in bikini.

One question after another, you feel safer and safer.

But then, still grinning inside for the good result you think you've reached, you hear the last question: "tell me about amortized costs".

The 30 cum laude, the holidays, the freedom, the cocktails, the girls in bikini. They are suddenly gone. The pride, the safety. Gone. The speech. Gone.

You start babbling around saying incoherent things. You don't know where to look at. The others, who were envying you until a second before, now are desperately trying to help you.

A black out. You start sweating again.

She move her head in disappointment. She grins. With a sadistic tone, she says: "you are not ready enough. Come next time".

And the end is over you.

What you learn today is: Don't count your chickens before they're hatched. Or, in the italian translation, Don't say "cat" if you don't have it in the bag.

The CRACK-Phone trap

WARNING N°1: It's pretty long, so take 5 minutes to read it
WARNING N°2: This post comes with additional multimedia content. Please see the multimedia content AFTER having read this post.
WARNING N°3: it may sound creepy, but it's not :)

A flash in the dark. Where am I?

My eyes, still dazed and confused by the recent sleep, are not yet able to see well. My migraine causes me dizzy spells. I'm slightly getting used to the light.

what do I see?

An I-Phone, 30cm away from me.

It suddenly starts vibrating: it's a call from my girlfriend. I can see her lovely face shown in the screen of the smartphone. I try to raise my arm to take it. But I can't.

I can't!

My arms are chained, and so are my legs. I can't stand up, I can only move my head up and down. What can I do?

The IPhone is still ringing. I can't answer! What can I do?
Suddenly, a Facebook notification arrives: I'm invited to an event, but I can't read properly.
Then, worst of the worse: a Twitter direct message, and a new follower: but who? WHO????

I'm crying at the moment: I can hear the phone ringing, vibrating and beeping, but I can't do anything to see what's the content of this surely NECESSARY and FOUNDAMENTAL notifications.

"Oh God, what have I done wrong? How can I survive? This is torture, Man, I don't deserve it! I beg you, please!"

From distance, I hear a voice coming from an old tape:
[SAW Voice] "Hello, human. You've been spending your whole life checking on your IPhone, looking for some useless notifications, tweeting the meaningless, and waiting for the calls that never come. Furthermore, you've DARED to play games, denying yourself from the pleasure of a normal chat. Now, I want to play a game with you: you have to stay awake for ten minutes, try to have a MEANINGFUL conversation with another human, without ever (EVER!) checking your mobile phone. If you can't, your IPhone will be self-destroyed by a final, definitive, Facebook notification. If you survive to it, you'll be reborn and still appreciate the social life. Live or die, make your choice"

And there was I. Alone. With no mobile phone. No, it was worse: I HAD the mobile phone, but I couldn't reach it.

A girl arrives and she starts talking. The countdown has started.

What am I gonna do?
What can I talk about?

"Hey baby, do you know that Apple is trying to deny Samsung to sell Smartphones in USA?"
"Do you know that Apple SIRI has a stunning 43.2 % of reliability?"

ARGH. This is not meaningful conversation.

ARGH. ARGH!

And then, it happened.

A last Facebook notification on my phone. The IPhone started beeping.

10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

BOOM!

And it all ended. I fainted, and from then on I don't remember anything else.

The morale is:
Don't deny yourself the beautiness of real life social contact. Put the IPhone in the pocket, and start living.

What am I gonna do?

What am I going to do with my life? Sometimes I realize that, if I died tonight, I’d probably leave many things undone. That’s it. This thought leaves me astonished. I suddenly realize that people often do projects, delay things, and don’t act just because they are (wrongly) sure that they’ll have time in the future. Take, for example, my best friend. She has always delayed any attempt to rebuild a successful and meaningful relationship with her cousin; she did so in the name of a presumptuous hypothesis that her cousin wasn’t in her highest priorities. Then, suddenly, her cousin tragically dies, being a never-forgotten 17-years-old boy who was heartbreakingly denied of any bright future. And what is she left with? With the eternal sorrow of never being able to clarify everything with her cousin. Is that what we are aimed for? Shall we really let our life fade away without any order? I, sincerely, don’t think so. Even though we may know hundreds of people (but do we really know them?), - and even though I agree with the fact that it’s impossible to get in touch with all of them, just for saying you’ve lied to them five years before – I personally believe that anyone of us should wonder whether the relationship with someone else (in fact, anyone from the list of your acquaintances or friends) is well built or, instead, based on some white lies or similar. That’s what I mean: anyone should check, within himself, for one specific thing: transparency in relationships. Is that impossible to achieve?

From tomorrow (you aren’t really going to die tonight, right?), be focused on this purpose, either to reestablish older relationships, or to safely create new ones. Call your old buddies, and fix everything. You’ll feel better, and you may even die without regrets.

Day 12 out of 12. Everything done.

The artists usually keep the best for the last chapter. However, I'm not an artist. So, don't expect too much from this. Day 12 out of 12. Everything done. These 12 days already are a far (far) resemblance and they have already been forgotten. They have been tough, simply. Tough, from the day we've been warned the MCS' work had to be sent 10 days before than expected, to the day of this last exam. (at least, of course, till the next one, due in little more than three weeks). I'm not going to say: "oh, I've been good" or "many compliments to you all" or bla bla bla. It's our duty, after all. Or do you, people, do things just to be praised? I don't, and neither I expect you to do so. From tomorrow, 2 days off and, then, back to work. Again.

But, what am I going to tell ya all today? Certainly, not a word of kindness. I'm a rude person, and I think most of you probably knows it by now. Instead, I'm going to tell you a story, a story of hope.

Once upon a time, there was a man who considered himself to be ugly; so ugly, in fact, that he couldn't look at his own face in the mirror. It's not important, at this point, to know whether he was really ugly or not, it's up to you to decide. This self consciousness about his own ugliness used to affect his daily life; he couldn't really appreciate things for what they were. What to I mean? For example, he may have rejected the desire to buy some clothes he really liked as he though that they wouldn't fit him, not because of self-pride, but exactly for the opposite reason, that is the lack of self-pride and self esteem. Ok, this is a stupid example: let's say, then, that he didn't care about himself, not considering himself worth of self care. This, obviously, also affected his relationships with people, both men and women. With women, he is not willing to risk a (sure, for him) refusal and he never goes beyond the pure, platonic, adoration, becoming the "most-looked-man-for-being-in-the-friend-zone" [a.k.a. the gay friend].

This man seems a hopeless case. He'll never get laid, someone would say. He'll keep on overthinking about everything, other will say.

For some reasons, one day he meets a girl. He really likes her, but he forces himself not to feel anything for her in order not to ruin their just-born brand-new relationship. The get along well, and the girl starts thinking about the fact that - 'yeah, he is not the best looking guy ever, but he is really, really sweet and able to appreciate her for what she his and bla bla bla' all the romantic crap you may think of -. She waits, waits and waits understanding that he likes her, and hoping for him to ask her out, but he never does. So, she finally gives up and falls in love thi the most handsome empty-head in her group of friend.

Now, I'm sure you'll tell me something like: 'where is the hope here?'. There is no hope, yet. Unless this story lets you realize that if you feel something for someone, you MUST FORGET about the rules, like "I'm a woman so I've to wait for the man to ask me out", and tell the other one your feelings. If he or she jokes about you, he/she isn't surely worth it.

You could still be thinking that you are the ugliest person ever, but there will still be hope that someone appreciates you fro what you are and, above all, that he/she tells you about that.

I'm finished. Thank you.
Alessandro

International Study. Day 7 of 12. "earthquake diplomacy".

The awkward moment in which you think you're doing something funny, and (almost) anyone else in the room thinks you're just being stupid. The same thing happens, all the time, when you try to approach a woman. I think it should be quite difficult, for a woman, to laugh to most of the pathetic attempts by men, like me for example, to get their attention. But that's the world. Men fight for the women, and the women fight among themselves. Can you imagine what the world would be if everything was the opposite? Could you really imagine that? A world in which a man is sought after by women, who try to get his attention which, magically, goes beyond the observation of physical aspects and focus more on inner virtues.

Why am I saying that? Well, I think the world is already going the opposite way, since the fact that a small earthquake may be actually believed to be a cause of the closure of the university for today and the next days to come. Incredible. As incredible is the fact the most seen video on youtube is by Justin Bibier, or the fact that F.C. Inter Milan actually managed to win the Champions League. Where the world is going to? Will tomorrow be better than today? I don't know, but I believe in this sentence: is better to have an egg today, than a hen tomorrow.

Day 6 of 12.

 (50% considering the # of days, 5% considering the effort done). Doomed study. That's it. You find yourself with 20 more pages to study as the teacher decides to explain a new topic two days before the exam. Nothing wrong about that, of course. It's our fault to be there at that time: nobody asked us to do that course and, for extension, to be born in 1989 so to be exactly there today, in that class. For sure, nobody is going to complain about that. So, let's talk about flying monkeys. Did you ever see one? Did you ever hear anyone talking about them? Nope? Neither I did. But do they exist? Can anything exist if noone ever see them? The point is, have things an existance by themselves without some kind of perception by some other subjects (for example, people)? If,in a forest, a tree falls and no one sees it, did it really fall? If nobody posted on Facebook any picture about the friday party, did the party really exist? Think about that. Nevertheless, remember that if no-one attends the exam of Operation Management only by the assumption that it never existed, Mr. Pozzetti is going to kick your ass!

PS: sorry guys, it's just craziness given by these stressful days. Take care!

The coffee-maker resemblance

As promised, here's the second part for today. I'm tired, so forgive me. I really do appreciate your interest, though, and I hope to give you a small piece of pleasure with these erratic thoughts I'm writing every day.

Today, we also have a title: "The coffee-maker resemblance". It's gonna be quite "old good times" so, if you don't feel like it, simply avoid it :) just saying...

Mystical study. Day 5 out of 12. Don't know if you're used to prepare coffee with the coffee-maker (not with the coffee-machine, beware!). If you do, you've probably got accustomed to hear the noise of the steam coming out of it: and, with it, you probably smell the fragrance of the coffee invading the atmosphere of your room. Can you smell it right now? I do. And when I smell it, I can see, like in an aged picture, me playing in the old house I used to live when I was three years old, and I enjoy it very much. This simple scent can make my day bright. As so can do a smile, or seeing a person you really like. I think you are now seeing my final thought for today: it's in the smallest things that we appreciate (or, at least, should appreciate) our daily lives. So, when some kind of bad thought is crossing your mind, just think about a very (very!) small thing that made you think the day was worth living. And, for God's sake, smile to people. This is going to make their day really better.

Stinky Study, Day 4 out of 12

Ok, today was a very long one, full with empathy and with lots of occasions to enrich my knowledge with the dispatching rules or the number of Ibrahimovic's goals in the A-League. So did I, and I don't have anything to complain about. But, on the other hand, I couldn't help wondering: where would I be now if I'd chosen differently at the right time? Who would I have met without going there? When would I have done this and that if ...? Would have I got laid if...? (Ops, maybe I didn't have to share that). So, kinda like the 'Sliding Doors' movie in which Cameron Diaz (or Gwyneth Paltrow?) entertain us with 2 hours of "what if" question, I spent ten minutes thinking about it (not more, Politecnico would never approve longer pauses). The answer I got was simple: is it really important? I should really care about myself now, not in any imaginary case I cannot ever come back to.

I want to conclude this useless monologue with three overrated sentences, which are my teaching for today: 1. Don't cry over the spilt milk. 2. She sells sea shells on the sea shore (or, if you prefer, "the fat cat sat on the vet's wet hat", said with a typical south-west British accent) and, in the end, the correct motto for Politecnico: 3. Pussy pussy go away, but only for today. Au revoir!

Fuzzy study, Day 3 of 12 (25%).

One group project, two exams. - I know. I know there is something behind them. I know there is something behind that unlimited number of paragraphs I keep reading. What, though? A rule, a moral principle, maybe? Honestly, I don't know yet. I'd really like my soul to nourish when I read about Kanbans, Economic Order Quantity or Web Information Systems. I'd really like it but, instead, behind those lines I find nothing and my soul keeps shrinking back into its shell.

What to say then? Shall we stop doing this? Absolutely not. Even though we may not be able to find a reason for what we do, we can't just stop it and pretend we don't care anymore: we're rolling, guys. It's up to us to keep rolling (and maybe rocking, too) and not to suck. This principle is applied to everything, from the actual period, to boiling eggs (I don't even know why I came up with the boiling eggs... well let's accept them!), to life. Because even though life, sometimes, may not have sense to us, giving up is a way to say: I don't deserve it. But we do.

PS: I'm sorry for this. I planned to write about football and human-behaving monkeys, but I suddenly came out with this useless speech. The power of a tired and slightly bored mind. Forgive me.

Pragmatic Study, Day 2 of 12

Presentation ? Group Project ? Exam 1 ? Exam 2. Instead of the usual and creepy description, let me tell you a little story for today. Imagine, for instance, that you, in this period, meet a beautiful girl you'd really (really!) like to talk with (like, for example, X: well I'm not gonna say any name now, but I think that anyone you may think of would be ok). Ok, you see that girl and you'd really like to approach her. But your guilty conscience continues to repeat to your brain the motto for the average Politecnico student: (Well, it's in Italian: I'll try to translate it almost literally, trying to keep the rhyme) "Pussy, pussy, go away / I've to study Engineering all day". Ok? So you are guessing where I'm aiming to. The story finishes with you looking at girl going away without you even trying to move a single meter forward in her direction. Of course, you've just lost any chance to meet her again for the 35 years to come. You conscience will still tell you: "Com'on man, you are cool! Engineers are awesome!" (as someone, not me, literally said).
PS: For the sake of knowledge, this story didn't happen yet to me, but I'm anticipating it for the days to come, just not to feel totally disappointed.
PS 2: Why did I tell you this? Well, the reason is easy. You may be the most awesome person ever, but if you don't act, you'll be still a loser.