mercoledì 9 maggio 2012
Federico Buono – “The Depersonalization of the Individual” (Edizioni Cerbero)
Federico Buono
THE DEPERSONALIZATION OF THE INDIVIDUAL
‘Body coexistent in an existence with a presence’
‘The divine is the cause of god, the human is the cause of man. My cause is neither divine nor human, neither the truth nor the good, neither the right nor freedom etc, but it is only what belongs to me, and it is not a general cause but a unique one, as I myself am unique too. There is nothing above me!’
‘I placed my cause on the nothingness’ The Ego and its Own M. Stirner
Through the concentric and concentration camp-like chain mails of the moral-judicial monster and of disabling annihilation of the individual a pre-planned life is overcome by detriment in an existence in the ‘free’ cages of human society, where to be programmed to failure determines the ‘instant’.
It annihilates the trajectories of life attracted by the ‘pale sun’ of existence, in the introjections of the analysed being, and makes the contours faint like threads that can shortly burn, if touched, given back to life itself by thin certitude.
Limpid visions given by marginal aspects are a ‘margin’ that, rather muffled way, explores a world made by precise schematic and logic elaboration, in which the enumeration of repetitive gestures forms and assimilates the coexistent body in a psycho-somatic absorption.
A ‘step’ into the margin delineates and deforms a correlation of the psyche in a vision of the body.
A ‘breathless breath’ as an attitudinal of a look at a wide horizon.
In the belly of the moral judicial monster, the erection of the form ‘defendant’ unravels in an extension of sudden stratification of the redemptive trajectory of programmatic subordination.
Cells are the experience of an empty imaginative memory of a life, which is chosen sometimes and expiated from time to time.
Depersonalization occurs hand in hand with the assimilation of the essence of the ‘prisoner body’ in its ordinary doctrines for the keeping of power in the cells of redemption.
The ‘revolt’ of an individual is assimilated and engulfed in the intricate presentation of events that dissemble the pivot and essence of its extensive singularity.
The existence of the cells of redemption represents the disentanglement of events taking on speculative intents in search of all-comprehensive doctrines of the not-being an individual.
The ‘form-defendant’ is depersonalization carried out in countless synthesises of ramifications through a vision in the shape of a ‘wolf’s mouth’.
The stratified form of sub-induced estrangement produces the anaesthetisation of derivative forms with space-time occlusions.
‘Time’ is like an experiment of jurisprudential conformation in the ravines of the cells of redemption.
As events given by structural-programmatic dispositions pass by, an ‘overcoming’ occurs, the overcoming through a time that is temporality of the event in a concentric form and correlation of a correlated ‘wait’.
The wait is a definite time, where the blunting of an obstruction in the construction of the definition can be found.
The wait delineates and assimilates the gestures that are predisposed in the alienation of a definitely waiting ‘something’.
Waiting ‘something’ is subjected and orientated in a disability of the wait itself.
The wait becomes a memorandum of modifying gestures as a given wait conformed to the gestures is obtained while the being waiting for ‘something’ in a modified way is in wait.
This ‘something’ is the aspiration to obtain a thing from ‘somebody’, a thing which is also obtaining a wait.
Being in wait is being in a disabling obtaining of the ‘something’, which waits for the ‘someone’ to introduce itself while waiting to obtain.
After the wait, the obtaining represents the being engulfed in the ‘prisoner body’, waiting to obtain the role of ‘defendant’ itself.
The attestation of wanting to be something which goes beyond being an individual is also obtaining that ‘somebody’ is there, somebody which wants any given thing to be a frustration of any gesture of revolt, so that total alienation of one’s own ‘being’ is achieved in the cells of redemption.
Depersonalization is not only a consequential datum but also intrinsic introjections of the depersonalized being, in the attestation of having achieved consequentiality.
The being decomposed in an organic composition has minimally wanted to achieve that ‘something’, which gave to the act of depersonalization its annihilating the singular existence of the individual.
‘Time’ is a waited event in the reconstruction of the given events, which become an intrinsic juxtaposition of the being received in a definite moment.
Schemes delineate the signs of a supposition, which the divergence of a given ‘time’ makes a firm and certain sign.
Being marginalized poses the juxtaposition as a continuous flow in the wait for a being that is definitely given.
‘All propositions express the idea of a relationship of commensuration between the rule and what that is regulated by the law; but if we do not consider the interest and evaluation, this relationship between the condition and the one who is being conditioned and the corresponding normative proposition present themselves in the form of subsisting or non subsisting.’ 1
This ‘not all’ means to frustrate all researches that experiments with on the one side a give depersonalization and on the other the way and methods of our ability to break out the alienating fibres in a prison circuit and in the cells and yards of redemption.
But is there or not the chance to be able to break out something, even if minimal?
And this breaking out must or must not be analysed through a research inside the recondite existential ravines in dark cells, which are pregnant with a bad smelling inhalation of a cadaverous transposition of being an individual?
In a continuous research for the countless forms of systematic dispositions-within of the being, to write about all this means to succeed, minimally, to searching for the meaning of the structures of power in human society.
Here human society is intended not as a ethical and demo-centric power but as the essence of the human being, in its countless facets in a composed disposition of decomposable sub-ordinariness to the massification of society itself.
But let’s go back to the main pivot of this exploration and of the questions that can’t have a precise answer: and they do not obtain anything that is an effective answer.
In the cold and damp cells, as they are cold and dump, even when the heat is like the presence of Cerberus in the Hades, the presence-absence of being present experiences the absence of the presence of something, which is the correspondence of determination of the presence of an experience of the events in a life of atonement.
In jumping through an ‘expectorating’ of oneself, there is an interpenetration of the constant exploration of what belongs to one’s own self, in the determination of hiding one’s own atonement.
A constant exile of one’s own self is the expression of a falsification of being something which is more than an absence.
Interpenetration of the absent absence.
Absence is not being there but being something in the daily life and struggle for survival, but absence is not there when not being there is something that looks for someone, in search of the Self-something in a planned and falsified being something as having being someone in an extensive and impendent effect.
The spreading of ‘expectorating’ of oneself is the expression of the terms of a report of an explicit and extensive conduct while hiding a planned impeding effect in one’s own ‘prisoner body’.
Channelizing is jumping through a living depersonalization.
It is the absent being waiting for something, of achieving that something in constant aspiration and atonement and in a constant flow of emotional expedients, extraneous to oneself.
Is or is not the expedient the achieving of something?
The impeding jargon goes back to the mystifications of the objective equalization of the present being; it breathes the disgusting annihilation in the amorphous form of spirals that lie down inside the composed walls by a presence at the limit of decomposition.
The ‘bars’ concealing the desire of individual revolt exist as an existence of a presence of fixed and unchanging existent, which however is changeable.
The existence of planning forms in flatness implies the change of the ‘prisoner body’ in movement inside the essence of the nucleus of the planned form in a motionless presence, yet it moves, while the absent being is waiting something, which can be a change of the moving form, of the existent existence or of the existence of the ‘prisoner body’.
This transfiguration transfuses the emotional-directional drives of the desire to obtain ‘someone’ and ‘something’ as an appropriation of the form of the ‘prisoner body’.
The being that moves at the presence of an absence changes the presence into the very essence of an impeding predication of the absent being in search of ‘something’, in the achievement because what has to be given has to be given and received by the applicant in something, to someone, that is already receiving in the achievement of the amorphous form.
In the darkness and dampness of the cold cells of redemption, the presence of a ‘fixed’ existent promises subordination to a motionless existent.
One moves towards permeating and interlocking the experience of being oneself in an impeding life, where the flow of events stretches one’s dreams of revolt in flatness.
The presence-absence of the existent in a procedure of a program is a rule of conduct, which starts from a datum formalizing the instant.
The ‘prisoner body’ recognizes the very existence as if it was the procedure of an amorphous solemn walk of the presence, in an absence that widens and amplifies the terms of achievement of the meaning of being in anchorite. 2
The still of an instantaneous life gives countless deformed visions, which are affected by the presence-absence of the absent being.
Like presence, the existent also blocks any instant in a mono-thematic approach to the ‘bars’.
Being oneself, having being oneself, being present and absent in front of a presence, which is the instant in a still, where the presence brings about lines of mutuation and metamorphosis while achieving a presence-absence and the being conforms itself and does not conforms itself at the same time.
When ‘time’ is flow of events in the presence, motionless, which presents itself as a wait in the ‘prisoner body’, as something of the presence-absence in a mobile and vague recurrence of expedients of expectorating oneself.
In a cold and dark cell the presence is existence in an affirmation of redemption?
The gaze turns into a motionless form like Noesis.
Individuating and perceiving the absent presence and its motionless form, which is also fixed and determined and where the gaze looks, means to fix the marginality of one’s own absent being and turn –in a way or another – to a well defined point, which is definitely ‘given’, even if in complete transformation, in the forms and deformations of composed structures that give the ‘gaze’.
As a result, a penetration occurs into the motionless composed form in an attempt at penetrating this limit, not looking ‘beyond’ but observing that motionless composed form as something fixed, a sign of thought going ‘beyond’, but while looking the ‘seeing eye’ is accomplished.
The very limit of a derivation of depersonalizing decomposition.
‘Before and after, a negotiator must make the counterpart notice the information because he cannot help presenting his case and discuss the solutions. But he will have a huge advantage if the other part exposes his situation first.’ 3
Writing about the psycho-achieving aspects of the ‘prisoner body’ is like moving in the search of the lost part of one’s movement as a single; and the formal datum, an anaesthetic act of being an individual, is like giving a gaze.
Besides the substantial peregrinations of those who end up inside the moral judicial monster, where the precluding one is in contrast to a believed equalization, the complex and complementary ramification occurs, and it refers to the objectivity of the power of annihilation of oneself.
If the depersonalizing effect is not included in theme ‘sentence’, that is like to say that in the cells and yards of redemption free will is ongoing, which later nullifies itself in the fact that is ‘already’ a ‘defendant-form’.
The annihilating complexity permeating the moral judicial monster leads to the need to be more incisive when writing about the permeated complex and sinking all formal ‘data’ into an easy conclusion of the opposite, of a friend and an enemy, which the Anarchist-Ego-Nihilism denies and trying to cut all forms of absolute concept of adducted morality like a stabilizer of formal data.
The corresponding role of being prisoner does not occur at all times, a role of opposition, on the ‘guard’, but it must be seen again in front of an examination inside a new shape of negation of the opposite.
A role can correspond, if it is corresponded to the moralizing rules of the corresponding leading role.
To have and to be ‘leading role’ delineates parameters of absoluteness of the corresponding roles.
Now we can take a step forward in the research here exposed, and write about a corresponding assonance in taking roles, which makes all ‘singular powers’ normal, but which also affects the deduced (and induced) depersonalized surrender.
The fulfilment of an assumption of the ‘form-prisoner’ makes and absorbs all fibres of being one’s own self.
To be an individual for oneself.
The fulfilment of one’s leading role it is not only to be someone who wants something and obtains it by the use of one’s impact force.
The fulfilment occurs in the centralization of being oneself subject in a compression of the being induced and ‘rendered’ in a depersonalized way.
The ‘leading role’ is to portray oneself as a complement of being something. Not anything but one’s will to achieve one’s role, which must lead one’s being like something that must and want to obtain a role in being something asking someone for the attainment of the corresponding ‘Being’.
In this the concealment occurs in an impeding and prostrating form, in an imaginary request of equalization in flatness.
To obtain something in a certain way is not to obtain because this ‘something’ is the reification of the being oneself subject, in a deducible minimum attainment and giving the maximum achievement in a surrender becoming depersonalized.
The compression of the being in a ‘prisoner form’ is the certificate of the examination carried out, aiming to consolidate the reification and not the attainment of something, but receiving something, which is minimum but it is also nothingness for the most part.
The ‘nothingness for the most part’ does not demonstrate the prominent emerging of an Egocentric and singular force, but the essence of the role one has given to oneself.
However, to establish a ‘leading role’ is ‘already’ to give oneself something, an annihilating centric form; and as it is so, the presence of the absence is the presence of an annihilating void of the being oneself subject.
Prostrating oneself in order to achieve this role leads to nullifying any fibre of individual resistance and delineating the joint form in an impeding movement, in being ‘something’ and nothing more than nothing less.
The aspiration to a resolution decriminalizes, in a deprecating act, any determination to insurgency in the dark and cold cells of redemption like a single volitional being.
Resistance becomes atrocious for those who fight knowing they can succumb at any time because one’s radical movement in Egotism is completely nullified at any second in the gnawing of the depersonalizing form. Even the refusal of a ‘leading role’ and of any role disposed in the organization chart in the moral judicial monster is still to struggle against the infecting invasion of a depersonalized surrender.
‘The person of the accuser, no matter their name or assignment, is absolutely necessary for the judgement: as innocence is the natural state and common condition of all citizens, there can be no doubt or investigation concerning the exceptional quality of being guilty. And the necessity of the affirmation leads to the necessity of someone who affirms.’ 4
Depersonalization penetrates deeply and establishes a link of ramification and completion of the objectivity of the dark and fetid cells, which change in a vision that widens, compresses, diversifies, intensifies, gives and takes away the ‘prisoner body’.
In the cells of redemption the structural forms explicit themselves in a deconstruction of their volitional acts.
It is not ‘being’ but it is being ‘anything’, a something that is presence.
In narrow spaces, with inhalations of cadaverous stench predicting the act of depersonalization, the mutations of the motionless form that modifies itself produce instants of decomposed mnemonic visualization.
The pivot in which the smell of cadaverous form is strong and irresistible intensifies in the systematic anaesthetization of the development of given events that conform to the daily nightmare.
The occluded space-time-limit incessantly expresses signs of decomposition in the complex moral judicial monster and in the exposition of the producing effects.
Emptiness comes back in exolicit dispositions of memorandum in an intricate and speculative ‘prisone form’.
The ‘key’ implies the ‘prisoner form’ and its implicit essence in an effect that comes back, deduces and seduces, and expresses the significant surrender and the rendition of this ‘surrender’.
The significant intro-composition promises spirals of falsifying observation.
In the obstruction of a logical scheme, the opening and closing becomes the manifesto of a programmatic examination, which extends the pivot of its effluxes, to the ‘prisoner body’, in a conformation that changes the bet of the signs in the essence of its ‘principle’.
The essence produces the introspection in the sign-effect, in the disposition of the composition of the effect, which wants that the disposed ‘leading role’ emerges in the assimilation of the ‘principle’, which is a compromising and compressed comprehension of the essence of the ‘key’-order, which amplifies the mono-system of the events in methodical and schematic induction.
The essence of the falsification of the composition in the disposition is the prodrome establishment of the penetration of the ‘principle’ of the ‘key’.
The ‘principle’ becomes a ritualistic symbol, where the redemption deposes the principle of the very essence of procedural power.
The proclamation becomes the effect of the significance of the ritualistic symbol.
The penetration is the contraction of the signs in a relaxation of the ‘leading role’; and in a programmatic act it is assimilated by the essence of the ‘key’.
In the darkness of a cold and damp cell, what kind of depersonalizing experience is that of the sound of the keys?
Is that a ‘return’ or a ‘repetition’?
Is or is not the material of the keys the beginning of a ‘prisoner form’?
The returned logical form is the assumption of a subjection of the unloading of events, which form again the symptom in the cells of redemption.
The ‘sound’ in an impeding exposition makes the contours clear, but not the ‘contour’, which remains the effect given and wanted by the necessity of a ‘leading role’, which obtains the wanted, as it does not want to obtain the corresponding giving the ‘wanted’, something that must be a ‘saying’.
Obtaining is ‘not wanting’ in the opposed confrontation, as ‘giving’ is a given and definite receiver.
The willy-nilly wanting expresses nothing if not the ‘giving’ the beginning of the ‘sound’ of the keys, the corresponding ‘leading role’ in an assumption of correlation between a given wanting that is given by the giving, and a wanting that is not given by the giving.
Is not wanting the expression of wanting a corresponding wanted ‘leading role’?
The significant signs of not wanting express and extend the question: is the ‘prisoner form’ a not wanting that wants?
Is the definition given in a systematic introspection inside the intrinsic significance of the wanting that does not want?
The organic disposition in the dark and damp and fetid cells of decomposed redemption promises the symbolic extrapolation of the principle of the significance of the wanting that does not want, but the essence remains in a bottom of putrid stagnation, whose smell attires and intensifies the volitional act of understanding the essence, but it does not predict anything that is not a wanting and recognizing the putrid, stagnant and imaginary inhalation.
The wanting that does not want assumes now the shape of a putrid ascension in a rite with a despicable smell.
Is the ‘key’ the essence of the wanting that does not want or is it the wanting that does not want?
‘If, as we usually do in a spontaneous way when we talk about expressions, we first limit ourselves to those expressions that serve the living dialogue, the concept of signal seems to have a wider extension than the concept of expression. Not for this it is a genre in relation with the content. The meaning is not a sort of being a sign, intended as indication. Its extension is more restricted for the sole reason that the meaning in the communicative speech is always intertwined in a certain relation with the being a signal, and the latter is at the base of a wider concept because it can also appear without this intertwining.’ 5
Sparks of lucid madness interpose at any time the adumbration of what is being experienced, where time does not move anything that is not a concatenation of normal and centric events, but in a deposed and decomposable disposition.
The ‘key’ is the sound given to the decomposable conformation of the interactions of the methodological structures intrinsic to the ‘prisoner body’.
Writing this means to sink the Ego-Nihilist blade: in the ‘prisoner body’ and in its assumption of a ‘leading role’ and nullifying any singular peculiarity.
The question is: how to annihilate the emergence of a composed form of depersonalization and of its annihilating advancement?
The answer leads to nothing without knocking down the door of one’s self, if not the fall into the alignment of the ‘prisoner form’ to something more than a corresponding ‘leading role’.
There is no effective answer to the question because one does not want to obtain but to annihilate human society.
In its countless ramifications and predispositions as it formulates the rules of smoothing any singular peculiarity.
In the constant and endless research, without any question coming to the ‘absolute’ we have to ask: what is the depersonalizing ‘substance’ that nests in the recondite ravines of the putrid cells of redemption?
‘God and humanity have placed their cause on nothingness, on nothingness and on themselves. I want to place my cause on myself too, because I, like God, am the nothingness of all the rest and for me I am my all, I am the Ego as unique.’ 6
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1 ‘Theoretical Disciplines as Foundations of Normative Disciplines’, ‘Logical Researches’ E. Husserl.
2 An ‘anchorite’ is a religious man who lives in solitude fasting and preying.
3 ‘Listen, do not speak’, ‘A guide to techniques of negotiation’ J. Winkler.
4 ‘Program of course of criminal law’ F. Carrara.
5 ‘Double sense of the term “sign”’ ‘Logical researches’ E. Husserl.
6 ‘I placed my cause on nothingness’ ‘The Ego and its Own’ Max Stirner.
http://325.nostate.net/?p=5173#more-5173
lunedì 16 aprile 2012
Federico Buono – “In the Cells of Redemption”

from culmine, transl waronsociety:
“In the Cells of Redemption”: thoughts of Federico Buono locked up in the security cells of a police station. Fede has refused the public advocate, is not presenting himself at trial, nor will he appeal, in accordance with his anarchist anti-juridism.
These thoughts will be included in the next issue of “Vertice Abisso”
**********
Premise
On May 12, I will undergo a trial for armed robbery, after being released on house arrest order. I have said to the lawyer that I refuse defense, but he told me that he has to do his job. Although I had not signed anything, and have claimed responsibility for the robbery, in my experience and in the continual anti-juridical study, in the courtroom before the judge and the cops I was considered a “right.” Just as the house arrest order is also a right, even though I did not choose anything. As a point of debate — without occluding any limit to a “limit,” one has to ask oneself if in the extreme case evasion and fugitive life are the form of total refusal?
Catapulted into a present absence, and in a reality of static form in the existent, I end up in a background in the remaining profundity within a dark cell of redemption.
What do I see? And see with my “sight”?
Am I able to listen and/or hear in a privation of perspective?
My deadening feet and my legs — nodding the absolute perceptual void — in a compulsive movement the diffusion of events.
It is as if my legs had a major role in my moving, but are they still part of myself, in the moving of my body?
I enter on a Saturday afternoon into the cells of redemption, but after a few infinitesimal minutes, I do not know what moment it is and at which point and what time.
Compressed by a force induced producing induced subordination, I look at the walls — imprinted with images drawn with the blood or vomit of my “predecessors” — by myself.
Moment by moment — in an immobile instant — I introduce the act of depersonalization, in the same absence of “perspective,” inside of the security cell.
I hear a voice that seems to come from a world of imaginative allusions.
I hear, and what do I hear in this hearing?
The voice calls me and asks me, “Need anything?”
In the cells of redemption, there is nothing except an iron bed with a rancid blanket.
Yes, there is something else, it is above, it is a sort of black box, from which the “voice” comes. This sort of relic contains lights that are always on, and a microphone from which the voice can be heard.
“Yes,” I say, “I have to go to the toilet.”
In the cells of redemption, there is me and there are for walls that emanate the odor of soporific redemption.
Outside of the static cell, a corridor lined on both sides with cages as high as the ceiling.
And always great neon lights that eat away the moments where the eye turns in search of “something” to see.
I go back in and begin to hear noises that never stop.
“Rain?” I think. Then I realize that I couldn’t possibly know, in any way, but I discovered in my last trip out of the cell, that it is the water from the toilet, which in a continual circle never stops running.
Silence. The nothing forms the temporality of the silence in a deformed time.
In the cells of redemption, the silence grips the voice in the intimacy of one’s own “being,” and presses it in a vice, where in a moment this silence brings to life nightmares in a layered form, which eradicate experience and suck out the lifeblood, in what is being experienced.
Half-sleep is the dream that moves reality around the redemptive cell.
But in the cells of redemption is there an “around”?
In half-sleep there forms in a continual intertwining of imaginings, a world populated by innumerable visions that appear and disappear.
I turn over, I lay on one side of my body to not feel too much pain in my bones, which the iron cot press into me, in a compression of my-individual-self.
I hear again the voice, “above” me: “Need anything?”
Did I call it?
I don’t distinguish what I hear from what I had heard.
I often hear the iron gates opened, and a spectral figure arrives, in uniform, who looks me in the face, which must be something abnormal.
To me, “Do you want to eat?”
In the cells of redemption, one cannot eat — and although I am not hungry, I consume the rancid pasta given by the cop, even though it is difficult.
In the continual “ups and downs” of the depersonalizing act, I have a kind of intuition, and I ask the cop for the time:
“It’s 5:50 PM,” he tells me.
“Ah, I thought it would be 2 in the morning,” I respond.
It was my belief, based on my having been counting how much had passed, since my entrance into the cells of redemption.
Within, in the cell, the imagination darts from one place to another in a “given” moment.
Before walking away, the cop says, almost considerately, “Try to rest.”
“Ah yes, rest?!” I think.
The cell’s security door closes, producing inhalation of dullness into my imprisoned body.
I try to walk in order to make a bit of motion, but cold is pressing, and there is also a fan that never stops.
I sink into the deep and into the recesses of the cell of redemption.
Silence… I hear a pounding: “Who is that?” I ask myself. I think I am alone — in passing through the corridor I had seen three empty cells — but I find that there had arrived — without my having heard — someone who complains, and wants to go to the toilet.
I take advantage of this moment, to go as well, and to see who my temporary corridor-mate is, but no, one at a time – the atonement is continuous, and it becomes the fasting of the thought.
Only to end in having fully atoned.
Back in the cell, I lie down, I cannot do anything else.
Do I fall asleep into a continual half-sleep, or is the half-sleep my sleep?
At a certain point I see in the lining of the rancid blanket, imprinted among the folds in brown, a depiction of skulls and skeletons, arranged in various positions.
Am I awake, or not?
I place an arm over my eyes to reduce the headaches that the always-on lights produce in a continual march of their depersonalizing effect, in a moment which I do not sense how it can be passing, I hear a voice again.
But it does not come from above, I hear it around me.
But it seems that I recognize it, it is the voice of Maurizio, my Nihilist-egoist affine, and he tells me in a series of references:
“Cerberus stands guard at the gates of your personal Inferno.”
Am I awake?
Indomitable creature
conquered in the body only by Force:
“The redemptive void
stripped of the lives of all those who dare
in a recurrent excessive dazzling
of a white and luminous death
hours overhearing
an individual labor
that Cerberus that stands guard
at the gate of your personal Inferno.” [1]
“Maurizio?!” I ask, not feeling anything.
Am I awake?
I laugh, I feel a warmth at the base of my forehead, in an instant of lucid madness, but it goes as it came, and like a shadow that falls I hear again the water of the toilet that never stops…
But around me, in the crevices of the cells of redemption the silence envelops the walls — and I go back to sleep in a perpetual nightmare.
When I go to take a piss, they bring me the food, and I ask the time: “It’s 7 PM,” the cop says.
Tomorrow I expect the trial, and in this static but moving moment, I think of what to say to the public advocate who they have given me without my choosing to take him.
“I deny the right,” here is what I will say.
My thoughts in the successive hours intertwine in a myriad of fragments of psycho-attitudinal intuition.
I wake in the morning and I go to the trial, and in the end though I wanted to oppose it, my limited strength does not allow me to decide.
The handcuffs rattle at my wrists as affirmation of the depersonalizing act, and the persistent light assails me in a series of reflections…
In the cells of redemption have I experienced nightmares, or reality?
_________________________________
1. from “La Fatica” by Maurizio De mone
http://waronsociety.noblogs.org/?p=3982#more-3982
martedì 10 aprile 2012
Personal Inferno – for an overcoming of solidarity, for Culmine and Parole Armate

from liberaciontotal, transl waronsociety:
“I don’t want and I don’t grant solidarity,
because I am convinced that it is a new chain,
and because I believe with Ibsen that the one who is most alone is the strongest one.”
Renzo Novatore – I am also a Nihilist
______________________________________________
PERSONAL INFERNO
For an overcoming of solidarity
I invite to Egoist and Nihilist action all those affines hit by the law of the State emanated from society under the
vote of Sor Manuela Comodi [Italian prosecutor]
No prayer!
No sign of sinking!
The rebellion that triumphs in your I recognizes and knows what great abyss there is in your existence,
unfortunately “there are too many abysses for the solitary ones,” spoke Zarathustra!
No prayer!
No profession of faith and no creed for the solitary!
No fanatic-religious solidarity for the solitary!
No prayer and no rosary!
This is the path, the non-way!
Thus arise the vagabond singularities of the I!
Do not kneel!
If you Die, your soul even before your body!
Pray not!
“I am a dam in the current: I cling to what I can.”
I say unto you!
“But I am not your crutches”
Do not trust in man, Christ recommends! I would add, not in God either!“The anarchist program, based in solidarity and in love, goes beyond justice itself… The love of ‘everything that one can and wants others to do unto you (which is the greatest good)’ is what the Christians call charity and we call solidarity: at the end of the day, it is love”No Charity!
Trust in yourself!
Beg not!
To the affines of Culmine and Parole Armate
Edizioni Cerbero – Maurizio De mone and Federico Buono
http://waronsociety.noblogs.org/?p=4121#more-4121
venerdì 6 aprile 2012
PERSONAL INFERNO – For a clearing of solidarity

April 6th, 2012
‘… I don’t want and don’t give solidarity,
Because I’m convinced that it is yet another chain
And because, like Ibsen, I believe that the one who is most alone is the stronger.’
Renzo Novatore – I’m also a Nihilist
PERSONAL INFERNO
For a clearing of solidarity
Invitation to Egoist nihilist action addressed to the comrades hit by the law of the State issued by society under the disguise of nun Manuela Comodi*.
No prayer!
No sign of abating!
The rebel who triumphs on his EGO knows, and he knows how many abysses his existence has. Alas! ‘There are too many abysses for the lonely ones’ Zarathustra used to say
No prayer!
No profession of faith or creed for the lonely one!
No fanatic religious solidarity for the lonely one!
No prayer or rosary!
This is the path, the non-path!
So rise up you single vagabonds of the Ego!
Do not kneel down!
If you die your soul will die even before your body!
Do not pray!
‘I am a guardrail on the flow: those who can, take me.’
So your EGO speaks!
‘But I am not your crutch’
Do not trust man Christ recommended! I add, not even God!
Trust yourself!
Do not beg!
To the comrades of Culmine and Parole Armate
Edizioni Cerbero – Maurizio de Monte and Federico Buono
-
* M.Comodi is the public prosecutor directing the case
English PDF – Spanish PDF – Italian PDF
http://325.nostate.net/library/personal-inferno.pdf
http://325.nostate.net/library/infierno-personal.pdf
http://325.nostate.net/library/inferno-personale.pdf
martedì 3 aprile 2012
it es - Federico Buono – Nelle celle della Redenzione

“Nelle celle della Redenzione”: pensieri di Federico Buono rinchiuso nelle celle di sicurezza di un commissariato. Fede ha rifiutato l’avvocato d’ufficio, non si presenterà al processo, né ricorrerà in appello, coerentemente con il suo antigiuridismo anarchico.
Questi pensieri saranno inseriti nel prossimo numero di “Vertice Abisso”
**********
in pdf: nelle celle della redenzione
http://culmine.noblogs.org/2012/03/24/pdf-federico-buono-nelle-celle-della-redenzione/nelle-celle-della-redenzione/
Premessa
“Il 12 Maggio subirò un processo,per furto aggravato,dopo essere stato liberato con il divieto di dimora.
All’avvocato ho detto che io rifiutavo la difesa,ma lui mi ha fatto presente che lui doveva fare il suo lavoro.
Nonostante non abbia firmato nulla,e mi sia rivendicato il furto,nella mia esperienza,e nella continua ricerca antigiuridica,nell’aula
davanti al giudice e agli sbirri,io ero considerato un “diritto”.
Come diritto è il divieto di dimora,anche se io non ho scelto nulla.
Come punto di dibattito-senza occludere nessun limite a un “limite”,ci si deve chiedere come punto estremo se la latitanza e l’evasione
sia la forma di negazione totale?”
Catapultato in un assenza presente,e in una realtà di statica conformazione nell’esistere,finisco in uno sfondo nella
profondità rimanente dentro una buia cella della redenzione.
Cosa vedo? E vedo con la mia “vista”?
Posso udire e/o sentire in una privazione di prospettiva?
I miei piedi e le mie gambe attutiscono-annuendo l’assoluto vuoto percettivo-in un moto compulsivo il diffondere degli
eventi.
è come se i miei arti inferiori,avessero la parte maggiore nel muovermi,Ma sono ancora parte di me stesso,nel muovere il
mio corpo?
Entro un Sabato pomeriggio nelle celle della redenzione,ma già dopo pochi minuti infinitesimali,non so a che punto sono
e in quale punto e di quale ora..
Compresso da una forza producente subordinazione indotta,guardo le pareti-con impresse immagini descritte con il
sangue o il vomito dei miei “precedenti”- a me stesso.
Attimo dopo attimo-in un istante immobile-inoculo l’atto di spersonificazione,nell’assenza stessa di una
“prospettiva”,dentro la camera di sicurezza.
Sento una voce che sembra provenire da un mondo di allusioni immaginative.
Sento e cosa sento in questo sentire?
La voce mi chiama e mi dice “Hai bisogno?”.
Nelle celle della redenzione non c’è nulla,che non sia un giaciglio di ferro con coperte rancide.
Si,qualcos’altro c’è,è in alto,ed una specie di scatola chiusa,da dove viene la “voce”.Questo specie di reliquia contiene
all’interno luci accese sempre,
e un microfono dove poter farsi sentire.
“Si” dico,”Devo andare al cesso”.
Nella cella della redenzione ci sono io e le quattro mura che emanano odore di soporifera redenzione.
Fuori dalla statica cella,un corridoio con ad entrambi i lati gabbie alte fino al soffitto.
E ancora grandi neon con una luce che corrode i momenti dove lo sguardo volge alla ricerca di “qualcosa” da vedere.
Torno dentro e incomincio a sentire rumori che non si arrestano mai.
Penso :”pioverà?”. Poi mi accorgo che non posso saperlo,in nessun modo,ma scopro in un ritorno alla mia precedente
uscita dalla cella,che è l’acqua del cesso,che in un circolo continuo non si ferma mai.
Silenzio. Il nulla forma la temporaneità del silenzio in un tempo deformante.
Nelle celle della redenzione,il silenzio attanaglia la voce nell’intimo del proprio “essere”,e la stringe in una morsa dove in un
attimo,questo silenzio produce incubi di forme stratificate,che srradicano le esperienze e tolgono linfa vitale,in quello che
si sta vivendo.
Il dormiveglia,è il sogno che muove la realtà intorno alla stanza redentiva.
Ma nelle celle della redenzione esiste un “attorno-intorno”?
Nel dormiveglia si forma in un continuo trasalire di immagini,un mondo popolato da innumerevoli visioni che appaiono e
scompaiono.
Mi giro,sono disteso su un lato del mio corpo per non sentire troppo il dolore nelle ossa,che la branda di ferro imprime,in
un comprimere di me-stesso-individuo.
Sento di nuovo la voce-”sopra” di me:”hai bisogno?”
L’ho chiamata?
Non distinguo quello che sento,da quello che vedo sentendo..
Sento aprire lo spesso cancello in ferro,e arriva una figura spettrale,in divisa,che mi guarda in faccia,che deve avere
qualcosa di anormale.
Mi dice “vuoi mangiare?”
Nelle celle della redenzione,non si può mangiare-e anche se non ho fame,consumo il pasto rancido davanti allo
sbirro,anche se il fastidio è parecchio.
In un continuo-”sali e scendi”dell’atto spersonalizzante,ho una specie di intuizione,e chiedo l’ora allo sbirro:
“Sono le 17:50″ mi dice.
“Ah,pensavo fossero le 2 di mattina”,rispondo.
Era la mia convinzione,dopo essermi messo a contare quanto poteva essere passato,dalla mia entrata nelle celle della
redenzione.
Dentro,nella cella,l’immaginazione schizza da una parte all’altra in un “dato” momento.
Prima di andarsene,quasi premuroso,lo sbirro,mi dice “Cerca di riposarti”.
“Ah si,riposare?!” penso.
Il blindato della cella si chiude producendo inalazioni di ottundimento dentro il mio corpo prigioniero.
Cerco di camminare per fare un pò di moto,ma il freddo è pressante,e inoltre c’è una ventola che non si ferma mai.
Sprofondo nel profondo e negli anfratti delle celle della redenzione.
Silenzio..sento bussare:”chi è?”,mi chiedo. Pensavo di essere da solo- nel mio attraversare il corridoio ho visto tre celle
vuote-ma scopro che è arrivato-senza che io l’abbia sentito- qualcuno che si lamenta,
e vuole andare al cesso.
Approfitto di questo momento,per andare anche io,e per vedere chi è il mio momentaneo coinquilino,ma nulla,uno alla
volta-l’espiazione è continua,è diventa il digiuno del pensiero.
Solo-fino all’avere espiato totalmente.
Ritorno nella cella,e mi stendo,non posso fare altro.
Mi addormento in un continuo dormiveglia,o il dormiveglia che è il mio sonno?
A un certo punto vedo nel rivestimento della rancida coperta,impressa,tra le pieghe,dai colori marrone,una raffigurazione
di teschi e scheletri,disposti in svariate posizioni.
Sono sveglio,o no?
Mi metto un braccio sopra gli occhi,per attenuare il mal di testa che le luci sempre accesse producono in un continuo
incedere del loro effetto spersonifico,e in un istante che non intuisco
in che modo possa essere passato,sento un altra volte una voce.
ma non viene dall’alto,e la sento attorno a me.
Ma a me sembra di riconoscerla,e quella di Maurizio,il mio affine Nichilista-egoista,e mi dice in una serie di rimandi:
“Cerbero veglia alle porte del tuo Inferno personale”.
Sono sveglio?
Indomabile creatura
vinta nel corpo soltanto dalla Forza:
“Il vuoto redentivo
spoglia della vita di chi osa
in un accecante eccesso recidivo
di una morte bianca e luminosa
ora origlia
ad una fatica individuale
quel Cerbero che veglia
alle porte del tuo Inferno personale”.1
“Maurizio?!” chiedo,non sento nulla.
Sono sveglio?
Rido,sento un calore,alla base della mia fronte,in un istante di follia lucida,ma come arriva va via,e come un ombra che
cala adesso sento di nuovo l’acqua del cesso,che non si ferma mai..
Ma attorno a me,negli anfratti delle celle della redenzione il silenzio avviluppa le pareti-e io mi riaddormento in un
incubo perenne.
Quando esco per andare a pisciare,mi portano il cibo,e chiedo l’ora: “sono le 19″,mi dice lo sbirro.
Domani mi aspetta il processo,e in questo momento statico ma movente,penso a cosa dirò all’avvocato d’ufficio,che mi
hanno dato,senza scegliere di prenderlo.
“Io nego il diritto”,ecco,cosa gli dirò.
I miei pensieri nelle ore successive si attorcigliano,in una miriade di schegge di intuizione psico-attitudinale.
Mi sveglio e la mattina vado a processo,ma fino alla fine volevo oppormi ma la mia forza limitata non mi permette di
scegliere.
Le manette si stringono ai polsi come affermazione dell’atto spersonalizzante,e la luce persistente mi assale in una serie di
riflessi..
Nella celle della redenzione ho vissuto incubi o realtà?
_________________________________
1 Da “La Fatica”;Maurizio De mone
http://culmine.noblogs.org/2012/03/24/pdf-federico-buono-nelle-celle-della-redenzione/
En las celdas de la Redención x Fede Buono
“En las celdas de la redención”: Los buenos pensamientos de Federico encerrado en un calabozo de la policía. La fe se ha negado a la representación legal, no estará presente en el juicio, ni va a apelar, de conformidad con su *antigiuridismo anarquista.
Estos pensamientos se incluirán en la próxima edición de la “Cumbre de Abismo”
Antigiuridismo: Rechazo radical y neto hacia cualquier dialogo con las instituciones judiciales
.::Descargar pdf::.
http://vivalaanarquia.espivblogs.net/files/2012/04/En-las-celdas-de-la-Redención.pdf
En las Celdas de la redención
Premisa
“El 12 de mayo me someterán a un proceso, por robo con agravante, después de haber sido puesto en libertad con la prohibición de residencia.
Yo le dije al abogado que rechazaba la defensa, pero me comentó que él tenía que hacer su trabajo.
No obstante yo no haya firmado nada, y haya admitido el robo, en mi experiencia, así como en la investigación continua y anti-jurídica, en el aula ante el juez y la policía, yo era considerado un “derecho”.
Como “derecho” lo es también la prohibición de residencia, aunque yo no elegí nada.
Como punto de debate, sin poner ningún límite a un “límite”, hay que preguntarse si, en caso extremo, la rebeldía y fuga y la evasión son una forma de negación total”.
Catapultado en una ausencia presente, y en una forma estática en la realidad existente, termino en el fondo de la profundidad, adentro de una oscura celda de redención.
Qué veo? Y veo con mi “vista”?
Puedo escuchar y / o oír si pierdo la perspectiva?
Mis pies y mis piernas mitigan, en un vacío absoluto de percepciones, el subseguirse de eventos con un movimiento compulsivo.
Es como si mis piernas tengan un papel importante en el movimiento. Pero, sigo siendo yo mismo mientras que muevo mi cuerpo?
Entro a las celdas de la redención un sábado a la tarde, pero después de unos minutos que parecen sin fin ya no sé a qué punto estoy, ni cuántos minutos pasaron.
Comprimido por una fuerza que produce una subordinación inducida, miro las paredes-en las cuales son impresas imágenes dibujadas con sangre o vómito de “los que me precedieron”.
Momento tras momento- en un instante inmueble, empiezo un acto de despersonalización, envuelto en la ausencia de cualquier perspectiva, adentro de una celda de seguridad.
.
Oigo una voz que parece venir de un mundo de alusiones imaginativas.
Oigo y qué oigo en ese oír?
La voz me llama y me pregunta “necesitas algo?”
En las celdas de redención no hay nada salvo una cama de hierro cubierta con sábanas rancias.
Sí, hay algo más, está arriba, y es una especie de caja cerrada de donde viene la “voz”. Este tipo de reliquia contiene luces siempre encendidas y un micrófono a través del cual uno puede hacerse escuchar.
“Sí”, le digo, “tengo que ir al baño.”
En la celda de la redención sólo estoy yo y las cuatro paredes que desprenden el olor soporífero de la redención.
Afuera de la celda estática, hay un pasillo que da sobre ambos lados a jaulas altas hasta el techo.
Y también hay grandes luces de neón que carcomen los momentos en los cuales la mirada se anima a buscar “algo” que ver.
Vuelvo a entrar y empiezo a oír ruidos que no paran.
Pienso: “lloverá?”. Luego me doy cuenta de que no lo puedo saber, de ninguna manera, pero a la vuelta de mi anterior salida de la celda descubro que es el agua de la taza del inodoro que da vuelta in un círculo continuo y nunca se detiene.
Silencio. La nada forma la temporaneidad del silencio en una distorsión del tiempo.
En las celdas de redención el silencio se apoderó de la voz del “ser”, y la apretó en un torno en el cual en un momento el silencio da vida a pesadillas de formas estratificadas capaces de erradicar experiencias y quitar la vida, en lo que está experimentando.
La duermevela es el sueño que mueve la realidad alrededor de la habitación redentiva.
Pero en las celdas de redención existe un “alrededor-en torno a”?
La duermevela se genera entre continuas apariciones de imágenes, en un mundo poblado por un sinfín de visiones que aparecen y desaparacen.
Me doy vuelta, estoy echado sobre un lado de mi cuerpo para no sentir demasiado dolor en los huesos, ya que la cama de hierro ejerce una fuerza sobre mí-mismo-individuo.
Oigo la voz de nuevo-”arriba” mío: “Qué necesitas?”
La llamé?
No puedo distinguir entre lo que oigo y lo que veo escuchando..
Escucho abrir la espesa puerta de hierro y llega una figura fantasmal, de uniforme, que me mira a la cara y que debe de tener algo anormal.
Me preguntó: “quieres comer?”
En las celdas de redención no se puede comer, y aunque no tengo hambre, consumo la comida rancia adelante del policía, si bien su presencia me molesta bastante.
En un continuo bajar y levantar la cabeza de este acto despersonalizante tengo una especie de intuición, y pregunto al policía qué hora es:
“Son las 17:50″, me contesta.
“Ah, yo creía que eran las 2 de la mañana”, le respondo.
Estaba seguro de que así fuera, luego de haber tratado de contar el tiempo que transcurrió desde que entré en las celdas de la redención.
Adentro, en la celda, y llegado un determinado momento, la imaginación se dispara por todos lados.
Antes de salir y en un modo casi amable el policía me dice: “Trata de descansar.”
“Ah, sí, descansar?!” pienso.
La puerta blindada se cierra produciendo inhalaciones de embotamiento en mi cuerpo prisionero.
Trato de caminar para moverme un poco pero el frío es agudo, y también hay un ventilador que nunca se detiene.
Me hundo en la profundidad y en las grietas de las celdas de redención.
Silencio .. escucho unos golpes, “Quién es?” me pregunto. Creía que estaba solo- mientras atravesaba el pasillo vi tres celdas vacías- pero descubro que llegó- sin que yo lo haya escuchado- alguien que se queja y quiere ir al baño.
Aprovecho este momento para ir yo también, y para ver quién es mi coinquilino momentáneo, pero nada, uno a la vez – la expiación es continua y se convierte en el ayuno del pensamiento.
Solo- hasta haber expiado totalmente.
Vuelvo a la celda y me acuesto, no puedo hacer otra cosa.
Me quedo dormido entre continuas duermevelas, o ¿es la duermevela que es mi sueño?
En algún momento veo en el revestimiento de la manta rancia, entre los pliegues, un estampado de color marron, una representación de cráneos y esqueletos, dispuestos en varias posiciones.
Estoy despierto, o no?
Con un brazo me cubro los ojos, para aliviar los dolores de cabeza que las luces siempre encendidas me producen, en su efecto continuo de despersonalización y en un instante del cual no tomé consciencia que pudo haber pasado oigo otra vez una voz.
Esta vez no viene de arriba, está a mi alrededor.
Pero me parece reconocerla, es la de Maurizio, mi contraparte nihilista-egoísta, y me dice en una serie de referencias:
“Cerbero vigilia las puertas de tu Infierno personal”.
Estoy despierto?
Criatura indomable
ganada en el cuerpo sólo por la Fuerza:
“El vacío redentor
Desnuda la vida de los atrevidos
en un exceso reincidente y cegador
de una muerte blanca y luminosa
ahora escucha
en un cansancio individual
aquel Cerbero que vigila
las puertas de tu Infierno personal”.1
1 Da “La Fatica”; Maurizio De mone
“Mauricio?!” llamo, no escucho nada.
Estoy despierto?
Me río, siento un calor en la base de mi frente, en un momento de loca lucidez, pero así como llega se va, y ahora, como una sombra que baja, escucho nuevamente el agua del inodoro que no para nunca..
Ahora me siento gotas de agua en el proceso de nuevo, nunca se detiene ..
Pero a mi alrededor, en las grietas de las celdas de redención, el silencio envuelve las paredes – y yo me vuelvo a dormir en una pesadilla sinfín.
Cuando salgo para ir a mear, te traen la comida y pregunto la hora: “son las 19:00″, me dice el policía.
Mañana me espera el proceso, y en este momento estático pero móvil, pienso en lo que le diré al abogado de oficio que me asignaron, sin que yo haya elegido tenerlo.
“Rechazo el derecho”, eso es lo que le diré.
En las siguientes horas mis pensamientos se retuercen en una miríada de fragmentos de intuición sico-actitudinal.
A la mañana me despierto y voy a juicio, hasta último momento quería oponerme pero mi fuerza está limitada y no me permite elegir.
Las esposas me aprietan las muñecas remarcando el acto despersonalizante y la luz persistente me invade a través de una serie de reflejos..
En las celdas de redención viví pesadillas o realidad?
https://vivalaanarquia.espivblogs.net/?p=12262#more-12262
domenica 25 marzo 2012
(pdf) Federico Buono – Nelle celle della Redenzione

“Nelle celle della Redenzione”: pensieri di Federico Buono rinchiuso nelle celle di sicurezza di un commissariato. Fede ha rifiutato l’avvocato d’ufficio, non si presenterà al processo, né ricorrerà in appello, coerentemente con il suo antigiuridismo anarchico.
Questi pensieri saranno inseriti nel prossimo numero di “Vertice Abisso”
**********
in pdf: nelle celle della redenzione
http://culmine.noblogs.org/2012/03/24/pdf-federico-buono-nelle-celle-della-redenzione/nelle-celle-della-redenzione/
Premessa
“Il 12 Maggio subirò un processo,per furto aggravato,dopo essere stato liberato con il divieto di dimora.
All’avvocato ho detto che io rifiutavo la difesa,ma lui mi ha fatto presente che lui doveva fare il suo lavoro.
Nonostante non abbia firmato nulla,e mi sia rivendicato il furto,nella mia esperienza,e nella continua ricerca antigiuridica,nell’aula
davanti al giudice e agli sbirri,io ero considerato un “diritto”.
Come diritto è il divieto di dimora,anche se io non ho scelto nulla.
Come punto di dibattito-senza occludere nessun limite a un “limite”,ci si deve chiedere come punto estremo se la latitanza e l’evasione
sia la forma di negazione totale?”
Catapultato in un assenza presente,e in una realtà di statica conformazione nell’esistere,finisco in uno sfondo nella
profondità rimanente dentro una buia cella della redenzione.
Cosa vedo? E vedo con la mia “vista”?
Posso udire e/o sentire in una privazione di prospettiva?
I miei piedi e le mie gambe attutiscono-annuendo l’assoluto vuoto percettivo-in un moto compulsivo il diffondere degli
eventi.
è come se i miei arti inferiori,avessero la parte maggiore nel muovermi,Ma sono ancora parte di me stesso,nel muovere il
mio corpo?
Entro un Sabato pomeriggio nelle celle della redenzione,ma già dopo pochi minuti infinitesimali,non so a che punto sono
e in quale punto e di quale ora..
Compresso da una forza producente subordinazione indotta,guardo le pareti-con impresse immagini descritte con il
sangue o il vomito dei miei “precedenti”- a me stesso.
Attimo dopo attimo-in un istante immobile-inoculo l’atto di spersonificazione,nell’assenza stessa di una
“prospettiva”,dentro la camera di sicurezza.
Sento una voce che sembra provenire da un mondo di allusioni immaginative.
Sento e cosa sento in questo sentire?
La voce mi chiama e mi dice “Hai bisogno?”.
Nelle celle della redenzione non c’è nulla,che non sia un giaciglio di ferro con coperte rancide.
Si,qualcos’altro c’è,è in alto,ed una specie di scatola chiusa,da dove viene la “voce”.Questo specie di reliquia contiene
all’interno luci accese sempre,
e un microfono dove poter farsi sentire.
“Si” dico,”Devo andare al cesso”.
Nella cella della redenzione ci sono io e le quattro mura che emanano odore di soporifera redenzione.
Fuori dalla statica cella,un corridoio con ad entrambi i lati gabbie alte fino al soffitto.
E ancora grandi neon con una luce che corrode i momenti dove lo sguardo volge alla ricerca di “qualcosa” da vedere.
Torno dentro e incomincio a sentire rumori che non si arrestano mai.
Penso :”pioverà?”. Poi mi accorgo che non posso saperlo,in nessun modo,ma scopro in un ritorno alla mia precedente
uscita dalla cella,che è l’acqua del cesso,che in un circolo continuo non si ferma mai.
Silenzio. Il nulla forma la temporaneità del silenzio in un tempo deformante.
Nelle celle della redenzione,il silenzio attanaglia la voce nell’intimo del proprio “essere”,e la stringe in una morsa dove in un
attimo,questo silenzio produce incubi di forme stratificate,che srradicano le esperienze e tolgono linfa vitale,in quello che
si sta vivendo.
Il dormiveglia,è il sogno che muove la realtà intorno alla stanza redentiva.
Ma nelle celle della redenzione esiste un “attorno-intorno”?
Nel dormiveglia si forma in un continuo trasalire di immagini,un mondo popolato da innumerevoli visioni che appaiono e
scompaiono.
Mi giro,sono disteso su un lato del mio corpo per non sentire troppo il dolore nelle ossa,che la branda di ferro imprime,in
un comprimere di me-stesso-individuo.
Sento di nuovo la voce-”sopra” di me:”hai bisogno?”
L’ho chiamata?
Non distinguo quello che sento,da quello che vedo sentendo..
Sento aprire lo spesso cancello in ferro,e arriva una figura spettrale,in divisa,che mi guarda in faccia,che deve avere
qualcosa di anormale.
Mi dice “vuoi mangiare?”
Nelle celle della redenzione,non si può mangiare-e anche se non ho fame,consumo il pasto rancido davanti allo
sbirro,anche se il fastidio è parecchio.
In un continuo-”sali e scendi”dell’atto spersonalizzante,ho una specie di intuizione,e chiedo l’ora allo sbirro:
“Sono le 17:50″ mi dice.
“Ah,pensavo fossero le 2 di mattina”,rispondo.
Era la mia convinzione,dopo essermi messo a contare quanto poteva essere passato,dalla mia entrata nelle celle della
redenzione.
Dentro,nella cella,l’immaginazione schizza da una parte all’altra in un “dato” momento.
Prima di andarsene,quasi premuroso,lo sbirro,mi dice “Cerca di riposarti”.
“Ah si,riposare?!” penso.
Il blindato della cella si chiude producendo inalazioni di ottundimento dentro il mio corpo prigioniero.
Cerco di camminare per fare un pò di moto,ma il freddo è pressante,e inoltre c’è una ventola che non si ferma mai.
Sprofondo nel profondo e negli anfratti delle celle della redenzione.
Silenzio..sento bussare:”chi è?”,mi chiedo. Pensavo di essere da solo- nel mio attraversare il corridoio ho visto tre celle
vuote-ma scopro che è arrivato-senza che io l’abbia sentito- qualcuno che si lamenta,
e vuole andare al cesso.
Approfitto di questo momento,per andare anche io,e per vedere chi è il mio momentaneo coinquilino,ma nulla,uno alla
volta-l’espiazione è continua,è diventa il digiuno del pensiero.
Solo-fino all’avere espiato totalmente.
Ritorno nella cella,e mi stendo,non posso fare altro.
Mi addormento in un continuo dormiveglia,o il dormiveglia che è il mio sonno?
A un certo punto vedo nel rivestimento della rancida coperta,impressa,tra le pieghe,dai colori marrone,una raffigurazione
di teschi e scheletri,disposti in svariate posizioni.
Sono sveglio,o no?
Mi metto un braccio sopra gli occhi,per attenuare il mal di testa che le luci sempre accesse producono in un continuo
incedere del loro effetto spersonifico,e in un istante che non intuisco
in che modo possa essere passato,sento un altra volte una voce.
ma non viene dall’alto,e la sento attorno a me.
Ma a me sembra di riconoscerla,e quella di Maurizio,il mio affine Nichilista-egoista,e mi dice in una serie di rimandi:
“Cerbero veglia alle porte del tuo Inferno personale”.
Sono sveglio?
Indomabile creatura
vinta nel corpo soltanto dalla Forza:
“Il vuoto redentivo
spoglia della vita di chi osa
in un accecante eccesso recidivo
di una morte bianca e luminosa
ora origlia
ad una fatica individuale
quel Cerbero che veglia
alle porte del tuo Inferno personale”.1
“Maurizio?!” chiedo,non sento nulla.
Sono sveglio?
Rido,sento un calore,alla base della mia fronte,in un istante di follia lucida,ma come arriva va via,e come un ombra che
cala adesso sento di nuovo l’acqua del cesso,che non si ferma mai..
Ma attorno a me,negli anfratti delle celle della redenzione il silenzio avviluppa le pareti-e io mi riaddormento in un
incubo perenne.
Quando esco per andare a pisciare,mi portano il cibo,e chiedo l’ora: “sono le 19″,mi dice lo sbirro.
Domani mi aspetta il processo,e in questo momento statico ma movente,penso a cosa dirò all’avvocato d’ufficio,che mi
hanno dato,senza scegliere di prenderlo.
“Io nego il diritto”,ecco,cosa gli dirò.
I miei pensieri nelle ore successive si attorcigliano,in una miriade di schegge di intuizione psico-attitudinale.
Mi sveglio e la mattina vado a processo,ma fino alla fine volevo oppormi ma la mia forza limitata non mi permette di
scegliere.
Le manette si stringono ai polsi come affermazione dell’atto spersonalizzante,e la luce persistente mi assale in una serie di
riflessi..
Nella celle della redenzione ho vissuto incubi o realtà?
_________________________________
1 Da “La Fatica”;Maurizio De mone
http://culmine.noblogs.org/2012/03/24/pdf-federico-buono-nelle-celle-della-redenzione/#more-14867

