Lack of.

Lying in the bed, Boves, after a day spent following that part of contemporary history that concerns Peiper in Boves, I saw General Tanz in my mind, and I said:
“Stay away. I don’t want to see you.”
Because I’m mad.

Focusing on Peiper’s life I ended up feeling like I was just too slow, too inactive, too useless. I faced Peiper but I can’t face myself. I’m not made to follow someone else, even though he’s dead. I’m the kind of person who watches movies in order to steal ideas, so that I’ll have the right answer for every situation. I’m asking myself, seriously, if there’s something – else apart from a bomb – that I really want. I say “bomb”, but it’s just a word, that represents a great performance that has no sense. I like great performances. Every time I happen to face someone I put a bomb between me and the rest, so that there will be fireworks. Maybe I’m just bored, bored to the bone. My favorite performance is the one that sets me as the one who lits the fuse – that’s what Tanz said when I was in that bed, staring at me and laughing with scorn. I can’t stand this. I can’t stand a mind like mine, that hangs itself. Flora said I’m devouring myself, and she was so right that I stared at the wall, widening my eyes, nothing to reply. What should I say? (What should I think?) I have no keys, no solution. I slowly swallow myself, but I’m too bitter and I’d throw my soul out. I’m the fly I’d like to squash. The mosquito that’s just sucked my blood before I could have recognized it.

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