beginning of this story as soon as it rains, because every history, to start, needs of events that introduce the tone and does not prevent the conduct. For this, the beginning of this story, the sun shines and it rains. At the most snow, but snow is guilty of being silent, and this story has nothing to quiet. The protagonist of the story might as well be me, or maybe a woman walking down the street. Even a dog would be fine. It makes no difference, because at the end of the story the protagonist is not going nowhere, has not reached his Ithaca will not have saved his Camelot, will not have faced his nemesis, has not been pierced heroically and will not be a victim dell'immedesimazione of who this history is still trying to take it like all other stories. And it is the only reason he is really the protagonist of this story can stand it. We will make a concession to history, I will use a name, maybe a few more. Not because history has a need names, not at all, but this story, without names, with its way to become history, history would end up being more of the story that aspires to be. And in this story too much history would be a sin.
The name is Shai.
Shai has erected a fortress of micro-habits. The rain makes the shiny pavement. In scenes like these, who called the light of the law. A flashing light is an order. The frequency is measure peremptory. Shai is a hollow body. Cash in the head in the shoulders. The Stringile arms against the body, parallel, bent slightly. Make it look more gray as you can. Adjust the volume so as to cover the world outside, not enough to be noticed by the outside world. Do not slip, for what you hold most dear, do not slide, please. Perhaps today we are able to disappear.
A man raises his voice in the direction away Shai. "Lord, have I wronged you in some way?". The phrase across the street. Shai, the revelation of self that knows how to defeat you, you may look up. Some lights illuminate the road without any logical foothold. Groups of moths racked my brains the same uncertainties Shai, volandoci against repeatedly, which is the way of insects to ask questions. The trajectories of the moths are white circles against the sky. The trajectories of raindrops are straight lines orthogonal to these circles. Shai recognizes the image. Lines of the electromagnetic field generated by an infinite wire path from DC.
waste paper swell of water and dissolve. Shai, notandoli, try to imagine the nature of being immoral perfect. "I am like this? I could be if I wanted?". It flatters. The player intercepts anameccanico thought. Shai hears processing through the earphones. "You were a child and had a game consisting of plastic boxes that sit one inside another. Remember? The biggest was red, and each box had a different color than the adjacent area. They could be stacked to form a pyramid. A moral theory, any one, is that pyramid. The same boxes, placed one against another, are the form of immorality. "Anameccanico The player is a fun gadget. It's technically a hybrid between a connecting machine, a portable EEG, a Markov generator and a membrane positrons. In practice it is a portable companion to philosophy. captures the thoughts and shapes the antithesis later. Use it produces the feeling of having to do with a version of himself cinquenne that not only has all the questions, but also all the answers. Shai is afraid, and need.
To achieve their apartment is forced to cross the square in front of a military barracks. From this point on, every night, Shai loses the ability to ignore. The walls of the buildings are suddenly, and are dry and decrepit. The branches back against the window panes. The stones, the failures, the shadows, the infusions, the grimaces, the paths, the distortions, gradients, feet, clothing, knees, drops, suspensions, cavities, stains. Shai feels filled. Not sick, because that belongs to another story. It 's a parasite colonization. Necrosis and fingers that penetrate the scrape off. Ectoplasm to regurgitate during a seance. The desire to burn your hands by washing with hot water. "You thought you'd managed to resist until the arrival at home, right?"
Now, Shai if he starts to think, feel cold. Not in the limbs, but in thoughts. A metal airship through the skies, impassive. Headlights light up the ground, the chase. "Why I want to end? Why was I mistaken for the needs unbearable truth: because I stopped to laugh and cry with anthropomorphic fiction? Why do not feel the need of special and general?". The airship has disappeared, and the viscous and electric atmosphere again. The barometric pressure increases slightly. Change the geography of the cloudy sky. The player has marked anameccanico hierarchies logical low. Identified a contradiction. "The ancient philosophies sophist theorized the unknowability of being, through logical deductions that they presuppose that the lack of communication, in turn descended from the incomplete nature of human language. The derivation is the modern theory that it is impossible to judge a piece of clothing if illuminated by neon light. There will be nothing, and will not need to servants. "
It will not need me.
I'm free. And I get home.
