Main Text

Main Text

First, I want---yes, really want---to solemnly declare that a person's essence is laid bare by what and how he writes. Writing is the last and highest skill in language acquisition. Most of what my "peers" write are stupid, childish, uninformed, and poorly reasoned. They make me laugh at their stupidity and ignorance; they make me feel much better about myself. I wonder how they can be that stupid and ignorant in the first place. You see, if a person has nothing striking or good to say, he must keep his mouth shut. Opening his mouth and pontificating about things he dies not have a fucking idea just reveals that the ignoramus is empty-headed but loves to make noise. Maybe you're thinking the same way about me, but frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn and a fuck of what you think about me. You should know that by now.

Now, having got off my chest about the quality of the "writings" of my "peers", I'm disclosing that from here on, the rest of this "book" is a shameless plagiaristic take-off, "inspiration", and "improvement" of the "Ecce Homo" of my long-dead twin brother. Many coincidences in here and there are deliberate. Writing this "book" is going to be fun in the sun and therapeutic. It surely beats picking up the gun and blowing the heads of many assholes and scumbags on my black list. 

1. I am no mere man. I am a phenomenon and a destiny of my own creation. 

2. My words are spoken from the highest mountains of solitude. Reading them requires a strong constitution, otherwise you will get pneumonia and die.

3. I am tired of hearing that there is no single truth. It's a hackneyed cliché. Truth is One, but it's the mountain top. There are several paths to get there. Now, isn't that a better way of expressing about "Truth"?  I'm telling you, a person's level of thinking can always be seen by how he expresses himself. 

4. Do not read me too quickly, otherwise you would mistake me for somebody else. 

5. Ask yourself, are you really like me? How much truth can you endure? How much truth can you dare? In other words, are you intellectually brave?

6. My words sound like preachings, but they are not because no faith is required. You can stop reading them at any time. You can run away from them and I am not in the least offended. I write for myself, rather than for you. There is an organic growth in my words, my thinking. They all reflect a struggle, a wrestle with a perennial concern: to find meaning of life, to look for reasons to live and not to kill myself. I don't mind at all you turn against me, disagree with me, as long as the reasons you put up are sound.

7. My father died when I was 19, of cancer. He was a flawed saint. He wanted to kill himself when he was in his 20's. He didn't share that awful and awe-inspiring wish with me. He shared it with my brother who is 12 years my senior, who in turn out of the blue told me that when I was 44. Assholes and scumbags like to pontificate that suicide is an act of weak will. I beg to differ. It's a momentous decision, much more important than believing in God or falling in love. Yes, it has a lot to do with depression which triggers a lot of unhealthy thoughts. When you are in a depression, you feel like you are sucked into a a downward spiral and vortex of pain and misery. The therapy involves a lot of physical exercises and actions that put you in mortal physical danger. Most ISIS fighters are depressives. Yes, I am a doctor of depressions and other ailments of the mind. If you are never depressed, you would not know what depression is like, and you would pontificate glibly and smugly about it. But all you do is to show that you are an ignorant asshole. 

8. Everyday now, I am struggling to learn Chinese and German. It is an act of will and ego and pride and a journey into how the human mind copes with patterns and memory, and a fight against brain entropy. 

9. You cannot live if you are not proud of who you are, of your worth, of your place in this world.

10. A lot of women like to go to bed with me. My defense is telling them that I am a lousy lay. All I want to do is to talk, not to fuck. Talking is more fun to me. Humans talk. Animals fuck. But they all say to me that hearing me talk makes them horny like hell, "so why don't we take off our clothes and jump into the hay". 

I routinely reply, "Yes, we may, but please be prepared to accept my view that a naked human body should be a work of art and a thing of beauty. If I cannot perform well in bed, you must have yourself to blame. So are you sure you want to go through with that?". Most of the time, the women just back off and say, "Roberto, you're a strange bird. You just made my desire disappear." Those who are willing to take a risk, however, have a night "to remember".