by Christos Polydorou
What is the meaning of life? I ask Italy tonight, because someone told me that they are unable to find meaning in anything. That is because, my beauty, anything is not specific enough. It is one thing being paralyzed in indecision, and another blaming the world for not offering you enough choices. You must choose. You must form a relationship with someone, with something. With a cat, with the art of painting. If you want to be happy, be specific. Choose. And then you will learn to juggle. And then you will stick to the thing that you are both able to love and be the cruellest with yourself with, in a way that makes you selfless, free of the blindings of pride. Pride, lovely Italy, is a thigh high boot kick.