Ingrid was not there two days ago at the Feltrinelli Via Appia. Perhaps he was still chained. I do not know. I looked around and I have not seen. And yet yesterday when I heard the news of his release I immediately thought two things. In Oz. And Amos Oz himself.
The other night, the Israeli writer did a lesson in writing and no one felt the need to write down something. See this man who tells you his morning walks every day in the desert, spring, summer autumn winter, can you imagine that then gets to work, taking coffee in the usual place. Imagination and empathy
invent the characters of our lives belong to us. A kind of kitchen where everyone can enter, but in the end we must decide who has the responsibility of the ingredients. How to mix things up. Assuming that one knows what it means. He tells neighbors that are arranged when they feel observed by Amos Oz, because they fear the happy ending in his book. You never know. Better to be presentable. As Oz is one that puts us in the books for those who really met.
without a plot. Without an ending. How would Chekhov. Being a spy, who uses the human comedy compassion, the tenderness and irony. I do not know if in that order. But anyway the point is another.
Be curious. Learned as a child. And do not lose the naivety. Or something that looks a lot like us. Ingrid's why they released. Here's where things
close the loop. Here's how.
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