I have been trying to post this for a while but the catatonic stagnation I suffer from was extremely overwhelming. Perhaps the DSM conceals a syndrome synonymous to such a level of laziness describing my current mental, emotional and physical states. But alas, the effort I might need to invest in unveiling such a terminology might be fatal, needless to mention how vain and insane can a diagnosis of this nature be.
It was never clear to me why my home sweet home was ironically sour (no pun intended) for lack of better word or judgment. I must have at home everything I could ask for from gastronomy to astronomy. I might not even need to dream, imagine or think for all is taken care of by the loving family. It took me many meditative hours to realize how such love can paralyze a restless soul, and make any excursion from one's oasis unbearable, until depletion. I finally understand how paradoxically devouring is the land of plenty and any attempt to escape it after a certain time results in more agony ad nauseam. Ode to Pirandello's ephemeral beauty that is beautiful as it lasts and ode to the ignorance of my innocent childhood that is now irreversible and tomorrow more so.
La cuccagna (cockaigne) is a mythical place where people are paid to sleep and punished for working. I recommend Luigi Tenco's only cinematic appearance in "La Cuccagna" for an intimation about my nation.
