“The dream is over / what can I say?” sang John Lennon, who had lived with eyes closed in his strawberry fields, lacking secure answers after the Beatles adventure. There is a sort of aphasia grasping the throat when you wake up, rubbing your pupils and realizing that something does not fit, that something is happening. What is there to say? Sometimes reality is so dishonest that it may appear sweet, even necessary, especially when it seems primordial, or better still if it is fateful.
—Flavio Arensi