Yeah, there are also exclamation points. People who come into the world straight, tough, but without losing tenderness, sensitivity, which makes them so human. Born straight to head straight for the target... grasp it by the throat, the target, with the anger and hunger of those who still have something moving inside. No distractions, no stops. It's just that you're born with the worm, with that strange urge toward goodness, the desire to resist. With the urgency to say and/or do something.

"I believed it was very stupid - as well as indecent - to give up on oneself, to let oneself be bent by people of no worth, people you despise for what they think, how they act, how they live, for what they are in the innermost fiber, but right now, I see no reason to stubbornly live this way, as a prisoner of myself, my book, my success. 'Screw success. I want a life, that's it. I want a house. I want to fall in love, drink a beer in public, go to a bookstore and pick out a book by reading the back cover. I want to stroll, soak up the sun, walk in the rain, meet my mother without fear or scaring her. I want to have my friends around me and be able to laugh and not have to talk about myself, always about myself as if I were terminally ill and they were dealing with a tedious yet unavoidable visit. Damn, I'm only twenty-eight! And I still want to write, write, write because that's my passion and my resistance and I, to write, need to immerse my hands in reality, rub it on myself, smell its scent and sweat and not live, sterilized in a hyperbaric chamber, inside a police barracks - here today, two hundred kilometers away tomorrow - moved like a parcel without knowing what has happened or could happen. In a state of perpetual confusion and uncertainty that prevents me from thinking, reflecting, concentrating, whatever there is to do. Sometimes I find myself thinking these words: I want my life back. I repeat them to myself, one by one, silently, to myself."

Roberto Saviano is just a man who has taken on his shoulders the weight of a region, its inhabitants, and their misdeeds and brought it into the spotlight, exposed to all, with the sole purpose of reacting, of making a flower bloom, a flower that has been awaited for a long time, from this mountain of shit. Now this back, this public back upon which to rely and entrust one's, too many, silences, is about to give in. Crack soon live on your screen. Roberto Saviano, born in Naples in 1979, is only twenty-nine years old just turned. Since October 13, 2006, following the success of his book Gomorrah, he lives under protection, like a postal package, due to threats rained down in court, during the Spartacus Trial, from the bladders of "bosses/scum men" Antonio Iovine and Francesco Bidognetti.

Roberto Saviano is everything that I am not and it is for this reason I feel I must thank him. Everyone in Naples knows what the face of the Camorra is. Everyone. Only Roberto Saviano had the strength, the courage, the audacity, to fill 331 pages with names and facts written in reality with the world's blood and transcribe them onto paper with his own blood, with his own renunciation of life.

Cesare Pavese wrote that passion is an uncomfortable thing. Roberto Saviano is uncomfortable, I write from the couch at home, seated. I have no targets aimed at my temple. I feel I'm wrong about something...  

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