In the fog Open the car door and be hit by the smell of smoke from a burning cigarette lights up in the archives of my memory, which then develops and acquires precise guidelines with the first few hundred meters walked by the window ajar where, how always, we recycle the air and download the cenere.Centinaia of times when I smoked.
From these smells and these feelings I know today how we can develop memories through lines, unpredictable and just as perfect voted to re-establish a connection between consciousness and the experience often denied or if you prefer, intuition and instinct developed.
In these experiments, during which time warp losing his own sense of importance and common during which, working with fancy pictures left free to grow inside of us with an act of unconditional trust, open unpredictable, magnetic and full of fearful abysses ourselves such a nibble reality and undermine the confidence that exists here and now, materials and form, in individuality of a specific person with name, surname and age.
What proportion, I wonder, the attributes of a time?
emerge from this fog of doubt and surprisingly sudden intuition born from the touch of your hand with a cry for help gently and whispered that transcends time and nothing but the expression of an ego that tries to twirl under the rules of wind, free from itself, flows del Tutto,là dove non c'è distinzione.
