And now we will talk until the morning?

G. Parise

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Robot Dreams is a Paleocene shell. A fossil imprint, that book that you loved as a child and that you find by chance during a move, after you have decided to leave each other because sometimes it happens that love ends. Robot Dreams is the right thing, not the desired thing. The last look at the view before getting on the train and leaving. The boxes of crayons, your grandmother's shawl, the change of season, the smell of your father's coat that you no longer talk to and miss so much, the adolescent engravings in plane trees of love. Robot Dreams is a smile in the dark, the long mortal walk of our troglodyte ancestor who painted walls and ate beating hearts, it is the low gaze and the hinted smile that invade your face when in the crowd of a sidewalk you meet that person who once called me friend, sister, darling, love, and that now you don't know how to say hello - and you know it, and she knows it too, and all around people are going I don't know where. Robot Dreams is a wonderful book of poetry that has sold seventeen copies. Robot Dreams is a scar. Robot Dreams is a long series of breakfasts on the terrace, at 8 in the morning, while everything outside is in bloom and momentary. Robot Dreams is what happens after you make your dream come true. It's the conjugation of a verb you're not sure about – so check the dictionary. It is the kind gesture of a stranger on the subway, on a morning of rain and metaphysical sadness. It is the white space between the cartoons, it is Rilke's transience, it is Pessoa's elsewhere, it is Garcia Lorca when he says that the laurel has tired of being poetic. Robot Dreams is the sidereal, cosmic, primordial, intergalactic, hexadecimal desperation of a child who loses his mother's hand in the supermarket next door - and all the apocalyptic scenarios that blossom in those 4 and a half seconds of terror. Robot Dreams is your mother's hand – warm, safe, universe, everything, blue. Robot Dreams is the first time you learn the 5 times table - and it is also the first time you understand that all knowledge is built around an act of faith. Robot Dreams is the sleepless night before an important day. It's his suitcase next to the bed – what is it doing there? It is going away? Is he leaving me? So haven't I tamed the world? Robot Dreams is the clean pillowcase. It's a phone call with your father – you don't know how to tell each other that you love each other, so you talk haphazardly about useless things, football and memories tinged with autumn. Robot Dreams is the September sun. It's finding an old friend, who you haven't seen in years, and inviting him to the bar. It's the laughter of someone you don't know, who nevertheless reminds you of something – or someone. Robot Dreams is the smell of bread, the feeling of disorientation when you walk down a road for the first time that you have only traveled by car until then, when someone calls you by your surname, the warmth of a kiss, the last verse of the last poem of an anthology, a documentary about space, an unpleasant situation that happened at the right time, the awareness of being transient, transitory, ephemeral, momentary - that is, eternal. Robot Dreams is time passing. A beach but in winter, a scarf but in summer. Robot Dreams is that "all right" that sweetly announces your desire to end the conversation - yet I would like to say so many things, why can't I? Robot Dreams is an unexploded bomb, an disrespected rhyme – which are the same thing. Robot Dreams is the promise of eternity that life makes to every newborn. It's the work suit, it's the attempt to give a name to the night, the smell of his skin that invades the embrace, the rainbow in the puddles, when you notice a stranger reading the same comic book that you've been reading all your life. Robot Dreams is touching your feet under the covers to feel safe in this world. Robot Dreams is like when you sing without knowing the words – and dunaninanna it's already over, da du da di na na it's already over... Robot Dreams is a lonely dog, very alone. Robot Dreams is just a dog, very dog. Robot Dreams is this phrase that says nothing except its very existence. Robot Dreams is the adventure of a tear. It's when the lights go out in the theater, the film is about to start and you feel like a child and a dinosaur together. It's the memory of a kiss. Robot Dreams is the inevitable pain of coming into the world. It's the time it takes for light to realize that the universe is me. Robot Dreams is a moment, it is now – and as such it is the inevitable past. Robot Dreams is a riverside walk. It's that minute of bliss that is perhaps too little. It's the first sentence written with the new pen you bought. It's that “do you remember?” which leaves no escape. Robot Dreams is a looping song. It is the feeling of disorientation resulting from the acquisition of the mirror stage - then the one looking at me is me. Robot Dreams is the rough sea, it's eating ice cream while it's pouring and it's cold, it's all the confetti, it's passing by your old elementary school, it's the smell of the lawn after the rain – and it's the rain. Robot Dreams is the book with grammar exercises, it is the logical analysis of the sentence "Roberto chewed up all his dreams last night - and yours too", it is an old sewing machine, it is above all a ball of yarn. Robot Dreams is the autumn of every season, it is a waiting room, it is when you return to the city where you grew up and discover that that little wall where you built hypothetical futures with friends has given way to a toiletries – there is a girl who is buying towels and you cry because you miss that future. Robot Dreams is absolutely nothing, it is a mirror of a long time ago, a crack, an unexpected desire, a heart problem, the hands of a tormented writer, the smile, the blue, a sleepless night after a sleepless night, an afternoon at the end of April, erasers, pebbles, the earth in the eyes of an astronaut lost in outer space, the sound of monkeys, divisions, brutal sweetness, a black swan, a chessboard, skates, the city at night , flickering lights, dancing to forget, heart of fire, punctuation, a flower that blooms inside the storm, everything that can only be ephemeral, the nostalgia of a memory never lived, a long - boundless - luminous - story of love with life. Robot Dreams is a caress that leaves the cheek.