I lived all my live in the most normal and sane of conditions. I had a very ordinary education and job, and of all families mine didn’t shrine for egocentrism or strange tendencies. All through my life I was warn against such things. All through my life I never did so much as daring to take a look at those things. And even at my darkness of moments I dared not touch or God forbid read such materials. I never believed in anything that wasn’t on the newspaper, approved by the academia and scientifical accurate. Then having said all of those things I wonder how did my pious eyes laid upon those most profone of words!

It wasn’t my choice, it wasn’t my fault, circumstances had played with me. I couldn’t not resist, the temptation was beyond any resistance. My wife had divorced me and I had lost my job, and not long after, my appartment and security. It was in that moment that in dumbster I found a book, a very old book by the colour of the pages. Having nothing to do I started reading it. The author wasn’t clear, or better said, he presumed that you knew what you were going to read. The book had a strange and suggestive title “The Lost Knowledge of Immagination[1]”.

In it’s first chapters it appeared as the most innocent of books, merely more than a schoolar essay or some lesser known things. And for long I couldn’t do anything but agreeing with him. It was only in the latter cursed chapters that I finally understood what my eyes had set upon. A monstruosity! A profanity! I believed that such superstions were long ago gonne in the age of enlightment and reason!

But, but...but cursed me, I couldn’t stop at that. I got a glimpse of something more, something beyond my reach. And in this way that I begun seeking something more of live. I started questioning the unquestionable dogmas that I grew up with. I became exactly what all my proffesors hated and despised. The epitome of abbandoned reason. It was at this time that someone, a dare and naive soul I immagine, wrote to me. They say that they could help me, that they had books, that they had the knowledge. And, most importantly, a shelter.

I couldn’t refuse, the circumstances, the factors, were against me. I joined them.

I saw more truth and knowledge than a man sanity would allow… but it was never enough. There was always something more beyond my reach, some obscure interpetration of this or that, a new analysis, a new text. I had to know more, I had to learn more. I must advance.

And in this in this way that while many of my fellows succumbed and failed I endured. There was a vision, glimpsed, of truth there. No matter how horrific the pieces were, no matter what I had to do, I had to to complete it.

I remade my flesh into the shape of that vision, I commited the most attrocious of crimes. I did the most unthinkable of things. All for one end: Truth.

And even now that I see how horrible and alien that Truth is, even now that my life is at his end, even now that those walls are collapsing and mind breaking… even now I don’t repent of what I had done. And if my destiny was to become part of that horrific vision of Truth so must be it.

The end