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My life is surrounded by pretty crazy. A "pretty crazy" is a language game: denotes someone who inhabits a world alien to ours are in our world but not of this world, and in general we do not do anything: we who we are attacked by them because all ex - tran, in general, is attacking us.

One of them, particularly, I find it very touching. His walk is slow compared to ours, because their world has a different pace, less frantic. Say hello to everyone talks to everyone, jokes with everyone. His speech, his account, consistent from him, going separate ways from ours. Shakespeare can happen Tinelli, from Kierkegaard to Maradona, in half a second. Remember beautiful poetry, but not only recalls speaking with them, while lost in a hallway. Talk permanently, with a speed that, contrary to your walk, it is faster than ours. Moves from one topic to another with astonishing speed: it is simply his thinking, his associate and feel, is spoken and displayed. When you do not lose it with a guitar and plays everywhere beautifully when to think it does not apply. Air live and love from friends and calls but did not insist, takes what he das, but really seems to need it at all. Suffers a lot but never comes down from his cloud and never complains about God. The order of the practice is alien, or order of the practice is alien to us. I was moved when he told me the first time I had to go to hang clothes, no one said you had to put pins.

many years ago was diagnosed with a disorder etc etc and since then around and around in a world that does not. Medication would be important, yes, to protect neuronal structure. But to "adapt"? What this cruel world that ignores it? This cruel world is supposedly healthy. No. No? I ask seriously.

I have known many crazy cute. All ends well: alone and ignored by the world of the healthy, if not enclosed because recite poems hanging from a spider drawn on a cloud. I dream to put them all in a house and say, here to sing, write and fly, and do not worry at all about the clothes pins. When you want to go out and when they are hungry or sleep again. I do not want them down from the clouds. Dream cure myself, and meanwhile, to penetrate the mystery of these creatures fed by the wind.