This was a terrible mistake.
But, espérance, or spreranza, if you will, springs eternal.
If only I could write the perfect algorithm, I would get it.
If only my life were a perfect algorthim, I could function without hearing those nasty voices in my head. The ones that say nothing matters.
I had been mired in poverty and desperation — for two decades, yo — perma stuck in the buggy cesspool that is Florida, stuck because my ambition and self-confidence was destroyed.
I had very little money saved, and what little I had was running out fast.
You want to talk about grievances, white boy?
But Allah smiles with a crooked grin, as ze English expression goes, which of course has nothing to do with actually being crooked — even as He orders you to take the straight and narrow path.
But who hasn’t heard their inner mystical Muslim cry out: Ça suffit avec ce soufisme de merde!
Who hasn’t suffered the fuckits at some point or another?
Why bother even trying, when the near hills are burning and the valleys are filled with smoke?
If truth be told, there really is only one thing to do.
Especially if you are already of the Mediterranean persuasion.
Sell all your shit and move to Palermo — current girlfriend, wife, husband, or boyfriend optional.
Become that digital nomad, or if too old for that and retired with enough lira coming in, just go plain nomad with a taliano elective residence visa.
Buy that pair of espadrille.
Add a French Riviera striped tee.
And you’ll be good to go.
Frank wasn’t kidding when he told you to forget domani, live for now, and share the moonlight.
Who cares if Trumpo or DeSatan are elected Prez in 2024?
You will be far, far away from their authoritarian venom, them and their lovely friends and supporters.
There’s only one thing.
If it’s such a Paradise, why are Sicilians always whacking each other, since, like, foe evah?