Lui disse che si sentiva una sensazione dentro, io gli risposi: «giusto», poi spinsi il jack nell'amplificatore finché sentii il familiare clack , alzai il volume ed urlai forte fino a tre. Non fu come le altre volte perché I was thinking of something else, I was looking inside me a response at the worst time to do it, the sweat dripping increasingly troublesome right into the shirt collar and the colored lights that blinded me, I was looking for something that I would not find even at a time of lucid calm. My answer would be unhappy because he was born an orphan of a question: would deserve to have every answer a question, but my - poor - not had, and worse still in hiding.
When it was over I saw before me only the microphone was what was behind acid and indistinguishable until I focused the audience screamed and applauded, as held by the smell of beer and the decibel who were wandering aimlessly along the walls of the large shed. Suddenly I looked around and at that sweat, screaming in decibels and I found the answer, although I still could not understand what was the matter. Maybe even a question I owned, was perhaps in some history book or in a Greek tragedy, perhaps had the form of a reckoning of the past with the present, the search for coherence and a clear and unique way, shape of a law on the nature of which having to interrogate. I wanted to be like Antigone, I would prefer the certainty of all (she was sure of his case because of their own fate) rather than the thrill of a sore anxious search. Maybe then I could not even if I had found the answer that time had been the right one.
'radius of the sun,
you who are the most beautiful light
among many never sparkled
Setteporte on Thebes,
you finally shone,
golden eye of day,
levandoti currents Dircea "
