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Hello, I'm LEP, the shortened version of LEPIDOCTERA, a class of insects better known as butterflies.

I hate insects, I'm entomophobic to the point of living on a sterile environment (and no, I don't want to change, good to be so ill).

It's interesting to indepth of things you're fearing or hate. 99% of our society is based upon satisfying desires, the price is your soul. A morbid, unsatisfied soul. Inspecting what you don't like is the way you can spare yourself from de-humanization. It's only a personal revolution, don't expect for someone to give you a medal for such effort or get along a revolutionary party, but one day you'll be dead and probably you don't want to be just a satisfied customer the whole time.

English is not even my third language, but I don't feel sorry for that, Why should? Try to learn mine for once.

I'm a failed novelist. In the meaning I'm writing uncannily good, so no one want to publish me. Uncannily good is something different than J.K. Rowlings or other oral sex dealers you meet in your literary adventures.  They write for seducing masses and become quality customers themselves. You give them money, they spend such money, you know the game. Formal prostitution. I'm more attuned to Kafka - well, in fact I don't like such comparison.

I like older french writers, my wife love for russian artists, but I was recently fascinated by american counterculture, probably the  only thing USA did for culture is being not american at all. As italian, I belong to a streak of failed novelists, we don't have any Hugo, we spent all of our talent into music composition. We invented allegro, mezzo andante, nota legata, but we solve our writing with "plot points", "Hero's Journey" and such atrocities. You know why? Fascism.

We were fascist, indeed. We were not conquered by fascists, we were happy to be the most bastard specie of humankind.  Fascism wasn't fed to people thru their throats, all the ingredients were already there, inside people. They just burped it out. All publishing houses have a fascist background and live on top of political courtesy since those days. They don't live on top of selling figures, but government incentives.

Our writers are regime. You cannot explode as a writer if you don't have some political affair, writing for a political journal, kissed the Pope, having sex with the editor or his wife, or being a fake Left winged intellectual that love - but  never touch - the lower class - c'mon I AM the lower class and I never seen a writer sleeping on a bench with me. Being gay can help, but a suffering gay, not a normal happy gay like some of my pals, a political gay (whatever that mean) that play the role of the caged bird and tell the sneaky love affairs of politicians/soubrettes - both way often. To be a selling writer, in my country, you need to be a prostitute - the older, melting prostitute or the young, bold gigolò - choice is your.

Not that I'm doing hating speach, is just that I WAS published by a cool house, but some time ago a fascist party decided to burn out the editor depot - yeah, he published a partisan memoire. Hatefull, but not for the reasons you're thinking. I'm used to fail, I'm not used to human failures.

As a nation we are failing and when the seas will rise in the next 30 years most of this disgraced  land will be submerged. We're also happy to do some fascism revival, fueled - can you figured out? - by Instagram kids that find fascist figures more fun to share - idiots follow just to feel adequate. I think it was an american writer that told that one day youngsters will destroy the world. For the time being they're fueling that morbid market of human satisfaction I've told some line ago, and destroying our peacefull country.

Don't you think so? Italy got the highest pro capita cellphone rate of the world. It's also on the low scale of tech education. Sum up the things.

I'm european. Not that I received some Europe gift at my birthday, I'm euro the same you're Zulu. I can't figure out I'm pal with Estonian girls, it's impossible, they're too cute - and Estonians DID a revolution the way we never did.

And I have to survive with the daring pain of Brexit.

C'mon! The best music was british! The best cars too! Now I'm alone with french chansonniers, norway goth and whatever they do in Germany after 1980 disco. Brexit killed my pride. I cannot smirk at canadians when Queen play on the radio. "We will rock you? Something ours, ya know? It's EURO, ya know?". Now canadians policemen can slap on my face and I CANNOT REPLY. You damned Brexit. I feel like being divorced.

I'm talking of music 'cause I've learned english just by listening songs. Old QUEEN and SIOUXIE and SUPERTRAMP vynils, you can figure out by my lexer. I never practiced english at school as when I was young I was cheated, they said as Euro parliement was in Belgium **obvioulsy** french will became the official language. That was way way before the coming of Internet, you know how the deal ended.

Anyway, with 14 years of french I was able to seduce and mate with an uncanny sexy Israelian girl - don't ask me why french helped, I was unaware, it was an hot summer and you should have seen her, i've lost my reason (or she did). Probably I've spoke a pidgin the whole time and you know, body language, such stuff, let's not decrease the discussion quality.

My dream was to code a videogame, later was to become a comic artist. I can't draw, I think I have some spatial perception issue. Anyway I was in love with a girl, she was in love with an awesome guy (my best pal) skilled in art and you'll know the plot. I've spent my youth failing at drawing - night, day, sleeping with pencils - to the point of becoming half good - no, well, somehow good, I've also teached art and storyboarding for handicap kids in my town. Their lasting thanks were probably the most moving thing happened to my life. My friend died in a motorcycle incident not long after, that girl married someone else, who care.

My dream was to code a videogame, I've said. My failed chemistry school attempts proved I was suffering of discalculia, something like 2+2 = 7 (my mind confuse a 2 with a 5, 3 with 4, 7 to 1 quite the whole time [I did too while writing here]), guess what happen when you have to do algebric computing for memory allocations.

You cannot be whatever you want to be, probably is  better to be something you don't dislike too much and be wary of this way long before you're trapped and full of responsibilities. As my granny said often: learn something that you can use many ways, smile a lot and don't believe to good offers.

My grandad was 1 meter 20 tall, poor to the point of having yellow broken shoes, my grandmother 1.80 and daughter of a noble kind of my town. One day GrandM met GranD crying at a corner street. she was very polite and asked such disgraced poor guy why he was crying.

-Are you hungry?-

-I was thinking that no one will ever love me the way I am-

My GrandM felt an uncanny pain. They married, got 6 childs, and so you can say I'm born from an act of humanity, that's something way more powerfull and meaningfull than love.

My mother, today, saved a pigeon. She never loved me, I was the reason she had to marry a sad man, but I've seen her expressing humanity to an unusefull, common pigeon. The pigeon was locked in am inaccessible court, she observed it and take care of it from the  window. She often look at the window and surely she will to see that pigeon surivive. I felt this act more human than simply love his complicated kid.

So, in the end, my story is: life is full of wonder if you take your time to observe instead of trying winning a competition that run directly to your grave. Second chapter: you don't need 99% of stuff they told you need.

I'm playing this game on an old EEEPc notebook just cause other casual games will not run on such old hardware, not that I'm sexually unhappy or fond of anime. I was just tired of GBA emulators.

Have a nice day.

Edited by lepidocter
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