#impossibile

My love, another letter from me, seeing as I’m stuck in here. You might think that being in solitary means silence. On the contrary, the row of cells here is full of noise, echoing with cries and clanks of metal.

This afternoon I imagined I was in a sailing boat out at sea. The daylight hours were shortening, the air cooler, the direction north. Days without wind, no movement in latitude or longitude, days skewered stiff as if by a butterfly collector. I refused to go out into the exercise yard for a breath of air. So I stayed in my cabin and gazed at the maps on the ceiling.

I recollect the years when I was locked up in cells with prisoners who toiled to turn them into studio apartments. Then the guards tossed them and turned them back into cells. It's better in solitary. There’s nothing to gather up nor put back in place. In here, you forget about being a body in this world.

In here, there’s a pile of reasons to stop believing in things. My solution is to stop believing in the cell.

— Erri De Luca, Impossible

Il monoteista scrive ripetutamente solo ad una divinità silenziosa; il politeista insiste con più divinità silenziose, convinto di aumentare le sue possibilità.