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Feeling nostalgic today. Longing for the past. Not mine but ours. We have fallen into an eternal present where everything that happens is obsessively ′′ cartographed “. The chance to process has vanished as time has vanished, losing the ability to transform into memory. Every fact equals another. In the background there is insisting an endless comment and the feeling is that it’s an empty talk, which never really exists, since there’s no longer a real object of conversation, of comparison. There are no longer events that surpass us and on the track of which we are stubbornly standing. Nothing that deserves to be archived in the remittance of Memory and History.

And then, inevitably, I remember the last Fellini, the one of the moon’s voice, when the naive protagonist, melancholy poet and in love, summarily says: ′′ Yet I believe that if there was a bit of silence, everyone Let’s keep quiet, maybe we can understand something “.