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One should not "love" but Be in a sensitive space in which all problems, worries, disagreements may enter without lingering.

It is not always simple: daily life often risks crushing even the noblest of feelings. Digital sociality, which is not very social, takes depth away from everything. Pleasure, pain, enthusiasm, a whole range of feelings are condensed and crushed in an emoticon. Love is not a feeling based on an idea or a model.

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"Untitled", Emanuela Genesio

Sitting is essentially a simplified space, daily life is an endless move. 

It is Charlotte Joko Beck to claim it, in a book that brings a direct voice, without frills, in a zen-flavoured clean black and white.
“Daily Zen” is the most unlikely I have read so far. Maybe that's why I still have not gotten to the last page, even if I've been handling it for many years. A book that denies its writing while respecting it, making it disappear in the moment after the reading.

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It looks like ignorance is far more contagious than its opposite sister is.

What’s happening is quite clear: sensibility, intelligence, compassion etc have shrunk to the limit. Is mankind regressing? I don’t know, although I am not sure things were better or worse in other times. It’s just that nowadays, with digital sociality, the sad regression is far more visible and viral.

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Book: Do Androids dream of Electric Sheep? - Philip Kindred Dick (1968)
Movie: Blade Runner - Ridley Scott (1982)

If you’ve only watched Blade Runner and haven’t read the book that inspired it :“Do Androids dream of Electric Sheep?", I strongly recommend you read it as it is so much more that the already way-above-the-norm movie.

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I ask all of you:” Is it really worth to live like this?“ I beg you to avoid coming up with bland excuses such as “There’s nothing I can do about it” because it is just bullshit, you can always do something about it.

Long time ago, for a longish while, I commuted by taking the train every day to and from Turin. At that time, as well as having a quite busy job, I was studying at University and I would work and revise for my exams without giving up my social life. I’m not saying it was gruelling, but it was challenging and, in spite of my young age, I was certainly experiencing a stressful and hectic life.

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In what’s often considered “a life-time moment of clarity and business-like enlightenment”, Patanjali sold his house, goats and wife and set off to write the “Sutras”.

• ‘ I’d say we’re in business again!’ - exclaimed Patanjali.
• ‘ what’s next on the agenda? ’ - asked Pradipika.
• ‘ You’ll see…‘ - stated Krishnamacharya
• ‘ Done’ - …Bikram

After a couple of weeks in a headstand, a finally head-soared Patanjali realizes about the annuities the Rishi were smartly pointing at already three-thousands years before and delayed, if not, but by the fat pigsty-headed and greedy Brahmins bloating in between.

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In the past month, I was asked several times what my “staple diet” consists of.

Given that sometimes I just eat what’s available, or that during our concert nights at the Farmhouse I favour a liquid diet based on alcohol, generally speaking, I do not eat too much and, when I can choose, I prefer fruit, vegetables, fish, walnuts, cashew nuts, eggs and occasionally cheese. Consumption of sweets and desserts is extremely limited too.

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I would like to leave you with some things that I do prior to Aunt Flo showing up in her stupid red lipstick and smug grin.

Ah yes, the (un)timely, consistent monthly visitor that we dread coming to the door every month still comes, whether welcome or not. We have many names for it, which usually consist of something inconspicuous so as to not let outsiders know we’re talking about something so, dare I say, taboo!! Aunt Flo (because a period flo(w)s), is one of my personal favorites.

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What I wonder is if, at some point, there is really a difference between the Italian system and the various mafias that the system should fight.

The question I ask my self is not so much if there is going to be a total collapse of the Italian system rather when and what there will be left. Italy is doomed. Smothered by a system of welfare, by small and great privileges that no one wants to give up and whose maintenance suffocates the few who do something "productive" and create wealth.

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I’ve always wondered whether time for the prisoner runs equally as for the guy who’s having a pleasant evening with friends.

I’m quite sure that “time” is still one of the most inscrutable amongst all dimensions. Without something defining it, it simply wouldn’t exist.
Also, and regardless of the Swiss and theirs infallible clocks, time seems to run subjectively rather than by the dial.

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