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If I had to summarize myself, I would define myself as one of the possible incarnations of an inadequate soul, pushed and relegated to a land that is not congenial to it and therefore destined to estrange itself from it in painful silence.
The lagoon city and its surroundings give a falsely opulent backdrop to the portrait of an ordinary man, whose eyes linger beyond the rhetorical celebration of beauty until they understand its inconsistency and artificiality, drawing lessons that leave no room for illusions or hopes of any kind, but the awareness of an immutable misery, if not in perpetual degradation.
During the school period and in the following years, a somewhat critical and rigid opinion of the world matured in me, taking root quickly, as it had presented itself to me up to then, assuming extremely disappointing appearances; nonetheless, the rationality that has become the rule of evaluation and yardstick, however consistent, has already had to share the throne of thought with the more ethereal and introspective pages of literature: those romantic and decadent currents with which I have been able to dialogue using of a common language, inexorably descending into the abyss of a parallel cosmos cleansed of the dross of rigid scientific pragmatism.
The whirlwind of feelings, passions and sensations has naturally found its way to vent its content; thus, recurring thoughts such as nostalgia, melancholy, disillusionment, pessimism, and theories such as the imaginative ennoblement of ideals that have expired in banality, the contrast between obscure tendencies and the search for a utopian eternity and atheism drowning in jargon typically religious, once the spirit is saturated with the thousand poisons of melancholy, they have become the basis of my humble written productions.