there is an intense sadness to these days that is almost choking, thick and coarse in substance. i see it on the news, i see it in people around me, i see it in my slow dragging steps early in the morning and late at night, pulling of feet upwards and forwards. sadness contains in itself, by nature, the promise of eternity, which is why even the smallest suffering can crush a person who is already sad (because sadness can exist independently of suffering, although they may coincide). not many philosophers have written directly and explicitly about the nature of sadness, at least not any i've come across. that is, not many have spoken about it in terms that were not tied to psychology or psychoanalysis in any way. except maybe julia kristeva, who spoke beautifully about the phenomenon of melancholy as deeply connected with the process of mourning. that is, mourning directed to an unattainable sense of self or a lost identity. but, although she had detached from freud at that point, one still gets the feeling he lingers around, like he lingers around everytime one attempts to speak of complex psychological dispositions. see, i'm even using the same damn terminology. fuck you freud, chaining modern society to the shackles of explanations like 'neurosis'. when it comes down to analisys, everything is a damn neurosis. but i refuse to believe sadness is a neurosis, or purely physiological for that matter. it definately puts a veil in front of one's eyes though.

mio nonno sta morendo, ed e' pieno di gioia per la sua vita. there are some who die giving thanks for their lives, and some who live carrying death. philosophy could never explain that, but maybe a poet could say it much better than i.