a. State how you are prepared to successfully complete a program designed for students stimulated by ideas and not afraid to think for themselves.no chance no way this question looks weird and it’s even the first i should presume there won’t ever be a better candidate than me. is it a serious question. to be honest i like it. i realized only now writing that it’s in english, your mother tongue, i’m talking to the computer, don’t worry, nothing personal is going on between you and me. or maybe not. maybe it’s a trick. this question is a trick if i’m already writing in a language none has mentioned but i understood so it must be natural and this is the way it is. but i’m italian, you, there, listening to me, understood? verstanden hast du? i’m italian. so… what’s the freedom you are giving me? what does it look like? schablone oder kuriosum. oh, nothing important, i can write in English you see, it’s just that i would have felt much more comfortable talking italian. but it’s fine, don’t worry. you are not worried. great. well, i am supposed to articulate and detail my answer. my pleasure. i hope that you are paid quite well because it’s gonna take time, my reply. and my English is also quite crappy so you will need even more time than you supposed giving a look at the paper (is it printed? or are you just looking quite bored and annoyed at the screen?). oh, i would like to know. it’s a rare occasion, this, for me. i’ve got your time in my hands and god knows if i’m not going to waste it. fuck. no, i should not have written “fuck”. i don’t want to give you any legitimation to interrupt the reading. because, believe it or not, am going to write of philosophy in those pages, those, those far away after you, a sea, a sea eating you up into them. i know, i am sure one has to run other more important and other more pleasant businesses than reading me, and an expert like you can judge after two lines if the text is worthy of something or not, and i can tell you now that no, this is not the text you are going to consider good, you might end up feeling a bit sympathetic, if you do not belong to the jealous sort of people who cannot cannot really admit it, but, no, i can tell you, trust me, you are not going to consider it good. but, ehi, this is important, i do not care at all about your judgment, i will feel satisfied if only i will have fucking wasted time in which you might instead have been fucking, while no, sorry, you are here reading this shit. i want to burn your time, give it to the pigs, darlo ai maiali, one says in my mother tongue, because you, people like you sitting on a chair behind a big desk have violently disposed of mine..my own during my last thirty thirty-one years. i wonder who you are. surely not the one who chose the title i am replying to now, or at least i am supposed to. i wonder if you are obliged to read the entire paper or are allowed only to scan it. (leaf through, durchblättern, sfogliare… nice words which will disappear with the books? who knows) i know for sure that as long as i will entertain you talking about your life and my own speculations on your life, as long as i can guess at least something about it, you will keep reading, and that’s my aim. should one say “end” in English? by the way, is it English, your first language? are you not worried that my only worry is that you won’t accomplish your task, you won’t do what you are supposed to do, you won’t fulfill your duty. i am sure you wouldn’t if i were not here writing this rubbish that yet is about you. actually i am already bored. i despair there’s a way to keep you interested and to let you accomplish your task. can i help you somehow? should i write something more specific or be more detailed just to keep company to you during this hard mission? i’m going to tell you why i trust you so little, without knowing you, but before i hope you agree if i take a roundabout for a few minutes, just a few lines. After all everywhere people are getting used to turnabouts, there’s the european union which is giving founding for every turn-about, so that traffic lights are disappearing as during epidemics. And god knows what will happen to the kantian (not cunt, kant-ian, like canto… sing-ing) imperative when none in the world will be able any longer to give the example: dovere per il dovere, even if there are no cars the light is red and therefore you don’t cross the road. i’m getting lost with these turnabouts. oh, i just meant to refer an episode of my childhood. we were planning at school the gita (gita is the annual class excursion, it can take one day but also a week, it depends on the economical kindness of the school): paris, london, barcelona, pisa (twenty minutes from our city… quite convenient…), then, then, the teacher just stopped the screams (of course democratic resolution needed fire spirits) and said: “guys… we can just get on the coach and turn around Piazza della Repubblica for three days… you are gonna be happy so.” that’s it, that’s what i’m trying to do with you, driving you around, but we’ll finally get away. yes. even if you don’t trust me, am telling you that it will be worthy, this short trip of lines, it will result having been worthy of something. no ambitions, no, clearly, it won’t be anything special, nothing good, i’ve already told you, but not so bad as you never supposed. so, where are you? next to me, aren’t you? but it’s nothing original. i’ve already read a few things like this, texts or books (more ambitious) played with this fashion of involving the reader in a direct way, aggressive. well, I am not going to mention the don Chisciotte, or the tradition of homage and dedications, because, even if after all any presumption of knowing something about the reader seems on some level of reception violent, there’s some sort of addressing that’s violent indeed. a month or two ago i was reading a relatively new book where the author was addressing you reader, where you were a woman that, for a long part of the book, one just suspected the author wanted to fuck. but you see, even so there was a “you reader” and a “one reader”, the “you” and the “one”. and i love the one even if i disdain you. but i’m giving you the chance to be the one i love, the reader. both of us know that you don’t feel totally addressed by my words, there’s always some slight slip of the meaning from a word to your face. you know that i cannot know. as a maniac i’m not any good. the naked one in this dialogue is me, the weak one, the one who is expressing, while you are deliberating in incognito, smile, scratch you elbow, yawn. Yawning is empathetic, talking about it you might be really yawning now. but, you see, more than some tricks, there’s not much in my power. The colours of your eyes, i have no idea about the colours of your eyes. my problem has always been the presupposition by the reader that the colours of his eyes had no relevance in my text. the readers always said that my texts were complicated. so, i am satisfying you now, there’s fucking nothing complicated in this text. i guess also my disappointment and rage are quite visible and clear. rage, clear. i spelled it right, i wrote it down. i think that makes it clear. but i will be even more clear. you know what really upset me? the title that has been chosen as letter “a”: a. State how you are prepared to successfully complete a program designed for students stimulated by ideas and not afraid to think for themselves. State what? “stimulated by ideas”. “not afraid to think for themselves”. fuck off, no, seriously, fuck off. I’m giving you what i’ve been supposed to give since i went to school till now, something simple, clear and articulated. Oh. Just give me time and I will argument, motivate each single letter, each single word. I am looking forward. Do you want me to think a bit more for myself? What’s a fucking “myself”? If you ever thought about that crossed sentence to which i am supposed to reply, maybe you would realize why i made my only aim to throw in the rubbish handfuls and handfuls of your already wasted time. because if you looked at it objectively, well, since you must be an übermensch or übersomeone, if you do look at it objectively… No. Stop. I’m wasting words. I do not know if I have got any chance that you’ll ever want to pay a bit of attention to what I’m saying. Will you? ehi. Will you? It’s your son writing. Will you? Your dad. Will you? I fucked your mother ten years ago. Will you? I’m praying. Will you pay a bit of attention to me? To me and to the colours of your eyes? Could you look at the sentence I’m supposed to reply? Can you tell me what I should do? Should I pretend that there is some form of sense in that sentence? There is not. It’s rubbish. It’s clearly rubbish. Do you want me to motivate to you why it’s rubbish? I’m trying. And it’s a paradox. I’m trying to render you back what’s the context of that sentence, I’m contextualizing it. What drove me mad is the fact that your bloody program designed for students stimulated by ideas and not afraid to think for themselves is taking away the last sand, the last beach, the last tent, the last refuge for him who’s really condemned to think for himself. There’s plenty of people condemned to think for themselves. And they are not the ones who either successfully complete a program for students stimulated by ideas and not afraid to think for themselves or even enter the program. because you won’t understand them. you won’t have time to read over the third line. because you will get bored and you are fucking paid how much for what you are doing. so, really, what do you have to do with me? unluckily i have to do something with you, but do not tease me, please, do not offend me, please. don’t write fucking titles like that. both of us know that i will have to accept a compromise if i want to apply, and so… i won’t, even if so far, in a way, i’m doing it, i won’t, and i am telling you bye-bye now, because, now, my dear reader, i will forget and forgive you, and i will dance, and i do not care at all if you won’t be able to follow me and learn the steps, learning is what i am-loving
to read the final part, click here:you uh....