The Sciroccos
Following a narrative module that has already been experimented many times, someone resurrected an old tweet of mine :
one of the many in which I expressed a concept as simple as it is incontrovertible: a deviant message will inevitably attract deviants, who will equally inevitably discredit the message with their own adhesion.
Carrying out: in a provincial, conformist country like ours after all (you won't come and tell me that stuff like "the opposite of journalism" is a symptom of intellectual vivacity, or that the " new paraculo cinema " is the expression of an irrepressible vitality artistic: we are, unfortunately, painfully subordinates…), it is easy for a message that deviates from the flatness of the mainstream , simply because it rejects the non sequiturs and the shamanic theories (the Reforms, the future generations, etc.), to appear, in fact, deviant, indeed: it is, by definition. But while there is nothing wrong with deviating from conformity, there is a great deal wrong with deviating from normalcy, or, if we don't want to call it that, from a modicum of intellectual and emotional equilibrium. I'm not saying anything particularly subversive or original: I'm just saying 19 days after Capezzone what he said 2092 days after me at #midtermgoofy : those who are preparing to fight difficult battles must choose their traveling companions well: various kinds of deranged and of various nature do not help to extricate oneself in difficult terrain.
Unfortunately, the work done here, in the addictive context of our local debate, as well as divisive, was condemned to be polarizing: it would have been appreciated with full knowledge of the facts by a small number of real intellectuals (Canfora, Majone, and a few others: I made them know almost everyone), and in other ways would have been the flypaper of an endless swarm of deranged people, looking for who knows what: personal redemption, socio-political elevator, soul mate (more than one has found it)…
Naturally, in spite of everything, here too a middle class resists: and its more "resistant" members will remember how tenaciously I kept, from the beginning, on distancing myself from the sciroccos: from the more visibly toxic ones, like my friend Donald, the one who he yelled blatantly brandishing his own improper weapon (remember?), to the less visibly addicted, those who, bewildered and trembling, approached me feebly and querulous: "Professor, I'm nobody…", those who had found the guru, the Messiah , in one that then, in the end, had done nothing but explain the ABC's of the macro. They too, the groupies , were toxic for various reasons, including the inevitable hysterical drive (assisted or not by the Chapman effect) that would pervade them to discover that I was who I was (ego sum qui sum), not what they they pretended I was! Honestly, at the time they paid me, and they still pay me, too little to be crucified or to have "Nobody" stake me in the eye. Without overestimating the benefits of an adherence and intellectual understanding of the platitudes that were illustrated here (the most obvious: if you can't devalue the currency, you devalue the work ), while progressively distancing myself from the idea that the Veritah would have convinced and raised up the masses against the Lie by subverting the political balance in re ipsa (an idea which in any case had vitiated, at the beginning, my own political reasoning, and an example is here ), and indeed precisely for this reason, I distrusted, and was progressively annoyed, by the consensus sentimental, uterine, which I hadn't looked for and whose substantial uselessness I sensed for any purpose. Maybe someone understood it, and so there's no need to say it, but I'll leave it in the record anyway: I was sick of the ammmmmmoooooreeeeeh that many of you showed me. I have often reflected on the basis of my aversion, this visceral loathing. Perhaps it stemmed from the fact that with so much ammmooooreeeeh declared in theory, in a community of several tens of thousands of people, those who in practice then gave me a hand can be counted on the fingers of one hand? Perhaps it derived from the overwhelming sense of responsibility with which he burdened me, this sentiment so all-encompassing that it took away the word (but also the discernment) from anyone who approached me? Perhaps it stemmed from the fact that it is better for a prince to be feared than loved? The fact is that I prefer to be hated, if I can not be ignored. Love is a precious commodity: unfortunately it is not always possible to choose the supplier, but, as is sufficiently evident, I have chosen mine, and I only trust him!
The sciroccos, therefore, had to be cauterized, because directly or indirectly they would have discredited the work that was being done here. Even in reaching this conclusion, however, I hadn't been particularly original: I had limited myself to collecting the experiences of colleagues .
Now, whoever retweeted that old tweet obviously did so to "damage" me, to corroborate the idea that "Bagnai betrayed ooh because he sold himself to Giooggetti to keep his salary and salary" (the grillinometer in the meantime is exploded), but since he is a fool he obtained the opposite effect, actually demonstrating only two things: that I have never sought consensus (I didn't seek it as an intellectual and I don't seek it as a politician), and that I was annoyed by the scirocco (also, but not only, because I sensed their metamorphosis into coloncardici ), from well before joining a party, to choose to trade a little freedom of expression (the freedom not to be listened to by anyone) in exchange for some effectiveness (the one that allowed me to block several attacks).
And so yes: like the one who would never have wanted to be a member of a club that had welcomed someone like him among its members, Bagnai would never have wanted to have a community made up of people like those who read his blog, and if he he noticed early enough, and never hid it from you!
So I thank the geek in question for pointing this out: among the many things that have not changed over the years. there's also the one that deep down I hate you, also and above all because you can't reciprocate me. Strong powers have little to do with it: weak thinking much more.
Remember that when you meet me!
(… the liturgy of the odg goes on in the classroom: the opposition tries to convince me that I'm a bad person, but even in this it proves ineffective: as this post demonstrates, I do it better… )
This is a machine translation of a post (in Italian) written by Alberto Bagnai and published on Goofynomics at the URL https://goofynomics.blogspot.com/2023/05/gli-sciroccati.html on Thu, 04 May 2023 08:44:00 +0000. Some rights reserved under CC BY-NC-ND 3.0 license.