Who am I?
Am I the European dream? Am I one among others, the edgy hope of the future of this landform? Am I the significance of decades of an unsubordinated society?
I have a unpretentious answer to these periphrastic questions. I could try to give you fine-looking and intriguing answers to masquerade what I should be, but I am not. I could bloom my answers to try to convince you of whatever I would like you to see on me, but in fact I prefer to not induce you of anything at all, and just to show you what I am.
I wanted to tell you what I am not, but once more I would be using a sophistic speech to once more to take you to the vision that I want you to have about me. In fact it’s sad that people make questions expecting exactly this kind of answers. Inclined answers to what they want to listen. Answers full of false and invalid premises. This is what I can do. I f you give me the opportunity I can tell you exactly the Super Me that I want you to know. Are you expecting that? I am going to light my cigarette now to give you some easy flashes of expecting an answer to that. It’s not going to happen. You know the answer to that and I really don’t give a fuck to what you expect. That’s the good part of writing something so nebulous about me. I know what I am saying and most of all I know exactly all the craps that you anticipate to read about me. Maybe now you already understood that you are wasting your time reading this words because I am just mad, and I want to make you even angrier with the fact that you really believed that you would read something that in fact would be a pleasant moment on trying to understand who I am.
Why I am furious? One more question. You don’t even know the answer to all the other interrogations, and you are already thinking in more questions. Can you see how irreplaceable is the ability of making you to lose time? Well, I am mad because of what I am. Because of all those promises that life gave me, all the dreams that people taught me to have, because of all the people that inspired me with their arguments about a certain possible dream, that in fact it’s nothing more than a fantasy. I am angry with all my expectations about life, with all my expectations about myself, about all the people that leave around me that try to convince me that life is something different than what it is in fact.
Am I irritable? No, I am just telling you who I am. Who am I?
I am just someone.