I have the suspicion that to be truly free it is necessary to see your father die and kill your mother. Or was it the other way around? A section of my mind remains in the dark. My hands are sweating, my throbbing is accelerating, a chill runs through my body. I feel the anguish, the temptation and the desire of the one who has to commit a crime. Or has it happened? I can not take my eyes off. Everything is affectively disconcerting, amorphous, strange.
