Take in care this is a "personal" web site and my goal writing is to learn the language. Of course, in another context, it would be pretentious to afford these subjects with my poor English.
by Walter Alejandro Iglesias
I ask myself every morning why I am here. And all the love my mother gave me is the prove that this fact is not just the consequence of a biological accident. I clearly remember how I felt when I was four, five years old; how I saw people. I can objectively say that I've never felt to belong in this world.
In my young days, in a final attempt of finding my place, between other not so cheap (and unsuccessful) ones like leaving my country, I searched in books written in this and other centuries (some can be seen like messages in bottles) and I've found others explaining with other words the same I paraphrase every morning to the mirror, convincing myself that I am not the only one in this world that needs a reason, a sense, that I am not the only "stranger", that I am not the only wrong. Indeed, the "world" (the human world), like a concept, needs a sense.
Some times I find myself exposing my ideas in front of others. The worst damage ideas from others can do is to enrich the own conceptions. People see a menace in these vicious ideologies that misinterpret as ideas, and all idea is distorted in a football shirt by its atrophied instinct. That's why, in most of cases, I get ignored or insulted. I understand all those that just 'survive' (or may I say 'subsist'?) only in this point: their need of calling me insane to disguise their misery. Despite these "normal" people, the other that I've found in (some) books seems to agree with my insane assumptions. The big contrast between the few (that I secretly consider my real friends) that share their thoughts and the insipid life of the millions that nothing have to share is the evidence that world exists like a whole much more because of fear and obedience than because of wish and consensus.
Certainly, I am alive. This could mean that I am not part of a dead culture. And if we understand that "culture", being it human, cannot be other thing than a "concept", "our mutable conception of the world", and taking in mind that written history mostly shows a concatenation of irrational, stupid violence, we can deduce that what is actually dead are normal people. Of course, theoretically, all mankind facts can rightly be considered part of that that we call culture. But, what I like to think culture is (or should be) just lives in the consciousness of some few human minds.