Opera on us with sharp insistence, almost to defy any form of relationship, creating a user in distress dictated by the usual accustomed to escape before a communication that really knows how to put into play.
The stroke fast, the plot is that being has a texture, a "plot" of a material fact ready to fall apart. A sense of insecurity, of a constitution designed to dissolve dictated by a sense of frenzy that comes between us and the other, preventing or making dialogue difficult. It remains a bitter taste of loneliness, but also a desire for self-assertion of the "here and now."
What emerges from that white is only one side of a being in which we recognize, not its entirety, which is apparently incorporated into quell'abbaglio totalizing.