NIHILITY

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In this hyperconscious mouse we see a prefiguration of Raskolnikov who vacillates between being an overman and a worm; it is also the prototype from which Stavrogin and Ivan Karamazov will emerge . This idea of the hyperconscious individual, self-conscious in the extreme, who necessarily goes beyond the normal individual and cannot help stepping outside humanity, provides Dostoevsky with the raw material for the complex web of concerns that will occupy him in his later work.

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DIFFERENTI REAZIONI AL NICHILISMO

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Volendo parafrasare la citazione dallo  Zarathustra, che chiude il paragrafo precedente,potremmo dire che l’esistenza ha un senso solamente perché noi ne abbiamo creato uno. Senza tale processo creativo, l’esistenza sarebbe vuota, dunque, priva di significato e di valore. In questa radicale mancanza di senso dell’esistenza e, perciò, nella scoperta che lanostra vita poggia sopra un abisso (l’ Abgrund come assenza di fondamento,Grund ) risiede ilcarattere tragico del nichilismo.

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THE DEMON’S INTONATION

INTDEM

For Nietzsche in Thus Spoke Zarathustra, our focus on the past explains the reference to our concern with ourselves, with the stone fact, the ‘it was,’ the musing, brooding preoccupation on the past that is also the poison of ressentiment. Let’s spell this out a bit further by again recalling what Nietzsche’s aggressive demon says in The Gay Science:

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THE TWO FACES OF SILENCE

VERTEZZ

Nothingness as Experience of oneself – Nothingness as Escape from oneself.

‘The ego, therefore, exists. But does it exist in the way it appears to me? No, because it appears to me in a way that involves the conformation of my senses and intellect, i.e. in a way that does not reflect reality in itself. My appearance is nothing but a sign, not a copy of reality.  The awareness of my ego is made by my appearance.
It makes me aware of an ego that is not my real ego.  Nevertheless this real ego reveals itself in flashes, as quite rarely and in an incomplete way, it bursts from the subterranean and dark abysses of the subconscious; and it gives me the vague and confused impression that I’m not what I seem to be but something mysterious and different. The real ego, the true ego, cannot be found but in the unconscious. And it is there that it is necessary to look for it, and understand it, as much as possible.’
Enzo Martinuci – NEMO ME IMPUNE LACESSIT

The Cell as a place – which I’d widely extend to all the redemptive and non redemptive Cells that noisily clutter close morals and all ethical behaviours – where the act of depersonalization is carried out (here too it would be the case to start a full debate on the possibility of the individual, as a whole in its fragmentation, to be able to be a nonsense and a personal contradiction).

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A LIFE

A LIFE

To the friends of Nichilismo

Memories

“My youth was just a dark hurricane passed through here and there by brilliant suns; the lightning and the rain wreaked so much havoc, that few vermilion fruits were left in my garden.”

—Charles Baudelaire

In a distant spring, gleaming with green and sun, my youthful spirit wandered gently through the divine forests of the sky. One day, a sad day in autumn, it came back to me, disconsolate, weeping. A groups of Angels with large, black wings accompanied it silently. It told me: “God is dead! The great Pan is dead!” The Sun went dark, rivers filled with mud, and plants trembled. Darkness wrapped the Earth in her funeral shroud.

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“ECCE EGO!”-LA MORTE DELLE ORE IN TRE MORSI – I° MORSO

cerbero 45

Ho colpito e colpirò come un Erinne il grave delitto perpetuato in nome della sacralità delle cose sul mio Io,il portatore di un’eredità che ride,un’eredità egoista che ha urlato contro il vostro delitto e che ora ride e sorge! Vi ho osservato e ora vi osservo remare nel fiume Stige nel vostro ultimo tragitto funereo,e ancora noto in voi la stessa accozzaglia di carne anonima che in vita,sacrificando la vita stessa, benedicevate nelle vostre ultime ore come Umanità devota a Themis.

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IL BOSCO BRUCIA – UN DIBATTITO AMORALE

VERTIX

Oh!

Non sono solito segnarmi date sul calendario,sfortuna vostra ho una memoria di ferro,ma ammetto che questa – se ce ne fosse stata l’Abitudine- non sarebbe da trascurare.

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I FIORI DELL’ADE

VERTEZZ

C’è chi scrive le proprie pagine di vita con il sangue,e chi invece,come dilettanteschi artritici si affannano nel tratto in firme sbiadite e tremolanti.

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