PRAISE OF THE NEW LITERARY GENRE: THE INSINUATION WITH BIBLIOGRAPHY AT THE BOTTOM OF THE AI

Everything repeats the same at regular intervals, it consumes itself, it doesn't need a real defendant: all he needs is a target vague enough that it can be anyone, therefore comfortably none.

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In Saxony-Anhalt the AfD — Alternative for Germany, “Alternative for Germany” — won with over 43 percent and its co-president lives in a civil union with a woman while the party she leads does not recognize that kind of family.

 

It's real news, verifiable, and - let's face it - also quite interesting to talk about: the contrast between the private life of those who lead a party and the programs that party writes is legitimate journalistic material, when it is based on facts, date, public statements signed by those who made them.

What a tasty morsel for certain blogs covered with the aura of newspaper headlines, where real news dies to give space to sleight of hand: you take that solid premise and use it as a springboard to land somewhere else entirely, on a target never named, without a single test, with the only help of a list of academic titles lined up to act as a bibliography, the same as, if you take it off, leaves only a naked inference on the table (see reference article who).

The mechanism is proven e, you have to admit it, bold in his brazenness. We start by quoting Kurt Lewin, we pass through Anna Freud and reactive formation, we get to Erving Goffman and his covering, i.e. the strategy, described by the Canadian sociologist, with which those who bear a stigmatized trait do not hide it completely but smooth it out, he keeps it low-key, just to remain accepted by the group that despises that trait. All serious concepts, by serious authors, born to describe real social phenomena, which some columnists however use as a master key universal: any behavior of the target, any of his words, becomes automatically “he tries” of the thesis, because the thesis is constructed in such a way that nothing can disprove it. If the priest is silent on the subject, for example the problem of widespread homosexuality even among the clergy, then he remains silent to hide. Instead, we talk about it, then he talks about it too much and is even accused of “homophobia”, therefore he hides by concealing his true identity, the one that the magician announces he has discovered: his intimate repressed homosexuality. There is no move that escapes reading: it is the same logical structure as astrology, just with more footnotes.

Who is dedicated to journalistic activity seriously and for a long time, instantly understands that the entire first part of this article was developed by an Artificial Intelligence system, the compositional style is unmistakable precisely in the construction of the sentences and in the asepticity of others. Only the final part, in which the style changes completely, it is instead crafted by the poison throwing specialist.

And then Proust… always Proust, always the Baron of Charlus, his character most tormented by his own reflection, always the mirror that the poor inverted person cannot bear to look at. It has become such a tired tòpos that it is worth recommending, to those who recycle it for the umpteenth time, to try to quote someone else, that I know, Charles Bukowski - just to stay on the subject of black holes, obviously an astrophysical concept, don't be misunderstood! ―, it works the same anyway. And so it is enough to take a hendecasyllable at random and state that it speaks of the internalized homophobia with which some priest, accused of being a repressed gay, would give vent to his unresolved being, word of a magician (ending of the same article, who). No one will ever be able to prove otherwise, and that's exactly the point: an accusation to which a priest cannot respond precisely because it is absurd, it's not an accusation, it is an obsessive-compulsive ritual, a pathology about which the magician, although generous in the barrage of quotes provided by IA al “independent international newspaper”, one is careful not to quote Freud in relation to it.

Counting well, among psychologists, sociologists and novelists, the bibliography is close to twenty names: a critical apparatus worthy of a degree thesis, put at the service of an anecdote which - once the footnotes have been removed - stands on nothing, in the belief that a falsehood, if repeated in a hammering way, may eventually become true.

Everything repeats the same at regular intervals, it consumes itself, it doesn't need a real defendant: all he needs is a target vague enough that it can be anyone, therefore comfortably none, or to put it with Luigi Pirandello: One, no one and a hundred thousand". And it must be said that writing about covering without putting your name and surname means being an extraordinary comedian: those who are unaware that they are, they are so busy pretending that they are playing serious things.

While waiting for someone from that shop finally write an article with a name and surname, a date, a document - that is, one who does the job he presumes to do - all that remains is to admire the constancy. The same formula for years, the same repertoire of strictly anonymous authors, the exact same faceless specter. If the poison that replaces the total lack of imagination were a crime, other than covering: a case would have to be opened. On the contrary, let's correct it: another file.

From the island of Patmos, 8 September 2026

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