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I left the port with a south-west wind. Around, above and below, moving structures, water, wind, stars, wood, floating landscapes in which everything moves. Everything goes. Everything moves out of place... Around, above and below, nets.


The destination is unknown and the sea we face is invisible. Visibility this morning only reaches our feet. We couldn't see the full structure of the sails or the distant profile of our boat in full. In this condition, walking is no longer a displacement in a supposed geography, since nothing is possible to see around, the only crossable and visible landscape is our interior landscape. Aside from the total insecurity, fear and discomfort of the humidity, which involves everything and everyone, this unstable and uncomfortable position can be obtained some benefit.


The distance from things and the world makes us discoverers. Our senses open up in search of a signal, a noise and in the permanent attempt to interpret a movement, an indication of light, an image on the horizon, an opening in the fog...


Adventurers. Unconscious. Desperate. Emigrants. Sailors. Fugitives. Gypsies. Deserters. Apollites. Out siders. Fugitives. Clandestine. Rebels. Transgressors. Unconscious. Dreamers. Deserters. Abnormal. Immoral. That is, researchers.

DI FELICE, Massimo. Letters from a pirate ship

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