The myth of the cave ... and my 
We see little, almost nothing. We are blind.
half dead, if you feel like it. Sometimes we are there, sometimes we did not. In either case
however, we
,
inhabitants of the dark, we can not help but see the shadows.
I say this because my friend
Plato has done for years for the '
idea that some brave pioneer could afford to buy a pair of glasses
, go up the winding dirt road and contemplate the error, the new ringalluzzito visual power, the amazing and radiant sunshine.
you turn away from this bad thoughts already announced early on that much-needed optical miracle will not happen.
First
the sun burns the view, preventing us from enjoying even been down in the shadows cave. Secondly, and this statement is a bit 'stronger, there is neither truth nor as screwdrivers and hammers to break the chains that bind us "trapped" in the cave, "obliged" to observe the illusions machined by skilled magicians to our shoulders. Those chains
us, here's the thing. If we break
break.
I think and I'm not joking, that we are the filters placed between the false and true, we are IL-Lusion, that is inside a game (in-ludo) to whose ends facing the reality and hallucination. We can never, and never say
, tap these extremes. Penalty: death.
I , however, in the prestigious
.
not bring out the political or economic burattinaggio advertising, for the love of god. I do not have in their mind when I say that we are guided by "someone" or "something" in our buildings. I think of a nonsocchè with that extra touch of charm and above all with strong creative talent, quality definitely missing our old
governors.
Of course we can not see them, these magicians.
God willing, our condition is semicecità a protective coat that we avoid being scalded by their hot
awareness.
But the fact is that mankind is not a slave to these gentlemen cosmic. Exists between us, an honest and sincere relationship of exchange: they give us the truth and we, after filtering and falsified, handed it to him.
It 's a nice circle , not vicious. Indeed, it is not even a circle, is a big mess, time shift, sudden jumps, straight lines that flake circles already drawn up and a whole lot more ... then I'll talk.
It is important to know that the dough that comes out, the shadows that run on the wall of the cave is also known as objective reality, are
everything that we can aspire .
But do note,
achtung!
You do not fall into stupid traps and hasty judgments such as "this belongs to us", "this one is their", "this is definitely fake, it's so obvious", etc.., Chew well before you spit out.
We do not know exactly what is real and what is not. We do not know what
there, exactly.
There is the man, the single individual. He is accompanied by a practice as old as his being born into the world: the mental masturbation
the andierivieni of thought, the smooth flow of his reasoning.
When the activity of these 'individual reaches its climax, when the nervous systems intertwine and clash and reach apoplexy, his thoughts in the sky and ejaculates
stands above humanity.
E 'hallucination, intuition and subjective precarious, but it's his world, his whole world.
Even if emissions of other individuals join the first wing here that, like a big puzzle composed of many mondicini, takes the form a roof. It 's the
noosphere, a kind of opaque film over our heads, as real as the biosphere, how it protects and oxygenating.
so disgusted Plato. He hated the character fleeting and transitory as it did. That brilluccichio sensitive ... you know ... when the plates are still fresh, and mingle with each other, and there's no way of separation and there is confusion and worlds of psychological inadequacy.
Sweden could not even bear who squandered his inheritance in useless piles of cementitious material with the intent to be varied in febrile plates or otherwise manage them in their own way.
And I am convinced that he hated even more the time when, due to dryness and aridity that comes after a long time to any form of life, as it was to form a hard crust that, little by little, let it fall into pieces worlds as cingomme stuck under a desk calls suddenly to the ground by the force of gravity.
No no, it was not stuff for Plato this mantle, this smoke screen full of movement and overlapping. He wanted to overcome it. He wanted
cleaning, refuse collection
,
definition. He wanted to see clearly.
Y'know what.
I like to be blind man . I enjoy jumping in viscous semen of humanity, love to be drowned by long winters in the warm procreation of my species, floating slowly rintontito from the torpor of foreign ideas, experience the lethargy of the mind, not to be there ... until a cry
powerful ripping me from death and whispers,
fast, now it's my turn, I can now be
I to play.
I am happy to live in a disconnected dream, to be part time the same sleeping and waking.
There was a time in my life when I tried to wake up completely
.
I was small and unconscious, I had to slip into the habit of sneaking in Latvian and night of my parents. Serviced by these two shields tried to repeat continuously the phrase "life will never end", "will never end", "will never end," "never," "never."
was my way, rough and primitive, to shed light on the concept of eternity
. And it worked, eh, and how then! I arrived at a stage in which the faces of my mother, my father, my sister and I took a spin around the sky and then rose up and stopped, and also the time he stopped, and laid on a framework as dots of white and blue ones were beginning to throb and I began to smell the eternal ...
Then, suddenly, the heaviness, fatigue stops to take the picture and a wave of fear which took possession of me. Everything, then, ended cleanly.
Understand? Arrived at the edge of knowing my little mind was quickly extinguished
by magicians. I wanted to know too, I wake up, and they applied a veil over my eyes with the same caring attention of a mother.
I know, I risked big, but someone saved me.
It happened to me also the opposite: I am relaxed, I trivialized and ridiculed the world man. They have taken crafty and yawning, and that reality is shattered, the veil of Maya has been weakened and, for that short amount of time, I was given the generous opportunity
to pick up the stitches.
I do not want you to busy their heads with the controversy about what is objective or subjective in my speeches. I would hate to see you deep thinking in the dilemma of choosing between a life dedicated to finding a 'unique, healthy and uncontaminated truth and instead plunged into a resignation to a world full of illusion and oppression.
then I leave you with this pearl of wisdom and I hope you do not take it either to laugh or too seriously.
We're the cock of good magicians . They sprayed us and shake us out of ideas. We must not afflict
because what comes out is not, as they say, of our flour sack and we should indeed be pleased to work with them. Pasticciume certain that we are dealing with is not much, especially after it has passed from our hands and began to smell of fiction. But we must admit that deep down, we have the great advantage of working on a material
divine.
So what if the spill, the product
, is a shadow. On the other hand, if we were to put on his own, if we decide work without that material gireremmo empty.
And if we want to override the presumption of the roof, if the pure material
we aspire to is not diluted as much by our folly and we also wanted to use it in its fullness, it would be too strong and alcoholic
: we get drunk.
We need magicians, tricks of their cushioning. We need to conceive the inconceivable. They need us to look at the bottom and dall'infimo the monstrous and boundless self-image.
We will be an obstacle to understanding, oh Plato, but we are also the engines
creative universe.
-ori.jpg)
and with a perfect American accent I said: "A Caramel Apple! There ... do not understand! I guess' cause it was too perfect my accent! 
Just look at this image from the satellite weighs to understand the entities' fire: 
) 