Praise to the “I don’t want to believe it” to spit in the face of the hardened hapless

The world map is partly unexplorable, destiny is blind, we can’t grasp it and pigeonhole it like that talented nut Elon Musk

I don’t want to believe it: here’s a nice old-fashioned phrase. She drives away sadness with will. Even when misused, even when poured to the worst, to a neglected and fragile ignorance, the will always has something I won’t say cheerful but vital (otherwise what are we Nicciani to do, all this Zarathustrism and porter’s lodge prophetism where do we put it? ). Does Italy disappear because the forecasting models of demography, certainly based on facts, on births that have not taken place, on curves and other very useful bells and whistles in statistics and in the human sciences, tell us that we are at late sunset? I don’t want to believe it. Is the planet being depleted by climate change, and will the house soon burn down? I don’t want to believe it. Do the two genders no longer exist? I don’t want to believe it.