apatia a·pa·tì·a/ sostantivo femminile. 1. Incapacità prolungata o abituale di partecipazione o di interesse, sul piano affettivo o anche intellettivo. 2. La suprema virtù dello stoico, il quale, vivendo secondo ragione, sa che tutto è come deve essere, perché tutto ha una sua ragione, e non si lascia quindi limitare né influenzare dalle cose. quando si perde definitivamente il senno e non si trova conforto neppure nelle piu squallide delle opportunità tutto perde colore. eppure, a discapito delle aspettative altrui, in un mondo sulla scala di grigi la mancanza di colore non è rappresentata dal nero bensì convergente nel bianco. bianco, un neutro che riflette e respinge ogni colore. bianco come la purezza infantile, come il più candido dei petali di un fragile fiore. bianco come l'utopica felicità, bianco come il lutto. se poi di lutto si sta parlando non si sta che facendo riferimento alla psiche. quanto è curiosa la psiche umana ? così prevedibile ma così instabile, così palese ma così rivoluzionaria. viviamo di poemi e lunghi discorsi dai termini complessi ma quando ne abbiamo necessità usiamo fasi fatte e finite, fatte e finte. perché perder tempo chiedendo al prossimo come stia se non ci interessa realmente ? che di egoismo si sta parlando, di egocentrismo. l'io narcisista al centro dell'attenzione che vive di sguardi e sospiri, ammirazione e falsità. cosa siamo, quindi, se non pallide imitazioni di quel che potremmo essere ? bianco. siamo bianco.
continuo a chiedermi come possano mai esser convinti che si tratti di vera amicizia quando neppure l'ombra del loro stesso sorriso altro non è se non pura falsità
A Person/A Paper/A Promise
Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it “Chops”
because that was the name of his dog
And that’s what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X’s
and he had to ask his father what the X’s meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it
Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it “Autumn”
because that was the name of the season
And that’s what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.
Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it “Innocence: A Question”
because that was the question about his girl
And that’s what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle’s Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly
That’s why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it “Absolutely Nothing”
Because that’s what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn’t think
he could reach the kitchen.
-Earl Reum
(via thibault-claude-nerone)
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