Between the wrong playgrounds of Bangkok

Stories and News No. 911

A Thai real estate developer had the idea of creating in Khlong Toei, a densely populated area of Bangkok, irregular playgrounds, trying to get the most of limited space. The capital of Thailand is an eight million inhabitants city practically built on a swamp, and, because of the growing overpopulation, is desperately in needs of space, with new shopping centers and residential projects to the detriment of the poorest communities...

Well, the game is about to begin.

It must do it.
It is a matter of life and life.
Because death is not an expected result.
It does not when kids are ready to deal with everything to play.
They say that the important thing is to take part, where the lines are straight and the ball rolls smoothly.
You know, here taking part is not the only important thing.
Everything is.
Even losing.
Because it means that the game was really there.
That someone has taken the field.
And someone else saw and told everything.
Here we are, the referee blows, let us play.
We have got the very first kick.
How nice it is being able to say, even if it is just a game.
We have got the very first kick is the most beautiful phrase in the world after everybody go to shower, because it means that there is water, and everybody can drink, because it means that it is clean.
But the best word is everybody.
Because it means that there is something for everybody.
Then, of course, if you score a goal is a great time, but short.
It is not a matter of snobbery. The unacceptable disregard for a successful stunt is not granted, but in the wrong fields the game must go on, not the show.
Even after an amazing goal you should be careful.
Because if the game has started it does not mean will last forever.
Sooner or later, you know, the game will have an
end.
Sure, I understand what the players of soft meadows will say. The final whistle is in the rules. Match time, plus recoveries, extra time and penalties.
Sorry, but these original athletes have made a small change...
That is, a venial omission for the rest of the world and a valuable oversight for them.
Plus deleted.
Because once the teams are finally free to clash, where the real obstacle will not be the opponent, they will do all to enjoy the moment.
In spite of every sporting manual, they will kick the ball from balconies and cellars, and if mom or dad will lean out just at the climax, with the pride of the house near the enemy line, ready to win and jump for joy, the miracle is accomplished.
Joy for everybody.
And everybody back on the field...


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Children of Aleppo killed: how we escape

Stories and News No. 910

According to UNICEF since last Friday, only in the eastern Aleppo, Syria, at least 96 children were killed and 223 were injured.
"These children are trapped in a nightmare," said deputy executive director Justin Forsyth. "There are no words to describe the suffering they are experiencing."


Words are over, for us.

Trapped in a nightmare.

Maybe we only escape to reach more or less manipulated images.
Blurt between an alleged beautiful diva and a new super-equipped gasoline drinker.
At worst normalized in the large muffler called world news.

Maybe we even go out in an inspired speech.
In the sense of made by other heart and mind.
Even in a warlike gathering of cheaters dressed as doves.


We could also get out in a prayer, even if said as heaven commands.
A blessed speech, as they say.
Remembered with a clear compassion and then everyone out for a walk, the sun is still there.
With no hard feelings, indeed, light is light everywhere.

It also happens that we come out extremely

dignified in the magical kingdom of His Majesty the Fiction, among movies and songs, committed videos and even short pages like this.
Protagonists of moments of an unpredictable value.
Because, as it has always been and always will be, the public will decide life and death of words and dreams, not a deluded narrator.

For sure we go out in the worst way, marked with numbers between numbers in the bloody lists that will have weight only one day among many to come.
When the look that will measure the inhuman sum will feel innocent enough to do so.

Rarely we do get out for unspeakable luck or unexpected bad one, no middle ground. It depends by those who will welcome us at the end of the journey between water and ground.

Even more rarely we do get out for time frames as
well captives, between a friendly fire and a cruel mine. Fleeting unreal, so short and rarefied windows that really a few recognize them, just before the sky is tinged red again.
The usual, stubborn visionaries, life will always love them.

We go out invading nights and dreams of those who saw us with their own eyes, bringing the nightmare even to them. Well, this is an opportunity to ask forgiveness of the looks that come here with demobilized hearts.

So we escape, so far this is what they told you.
We do in all these ways, but none of them really happens.
Because this is how you escape your nightmare, when you look and read about us.
And because there is only one place in the world where we all will be, eventually, truly free and at peace.
Only where at free and at peace.
We will be.
All…




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Police kill unarmed black: end of story

Stories and News No. 909

In the US, San Diego, for the umpteenth time a police officer has killed an unarmed African-American.
So I find again myself writing something about this grotesque, absurd phrase...


Police kill unarmed black.
Four words.
Take them strong in one hand.
In a page, if you prefer not to burn yourself.
Four words that may break all things in pieces.
That's why the page is good, right?
Because we can write and read them endlessly.
And everything goes on.
And everything is repeated.
Because we believe in the end that so no one really hurts, in a newspaper.
When the newspaper is like a movie.
But let us say it is all true, try to believe it.
Just like in front of a movie.
Look, the spot is here.
No, wait, do not pay attention to it, you are not obliged, in spite of colors and mellow sounds.
Let us back on the main vision and observe the words one by one.
Start from the very first, so no one will be offended.
Say letter by letter and now express all that it resonates inside and out.
No censorship, no consequences.
We are still on the page, remember?
Empty for good, without fear, every thought and regurgitation, feeling and prejudice, opinion and perception that the first fragment arouses you.
Done? Do not you feel better now?
Watch it again, that simple set of characters.
Police.
Only six letters that we ourselves invented.
For our safety and protection.
Well, now let us focus on another protagonist of the damn title.
Once again hold your breath and do the same with every ebb seeking light from the most secret recesses of your belly.
Be brave, or its opposite.
And eject all things, for once lawfully.
Then look at the steaming puddle and return your eyes on what's left.
A color, its negation.
Only an adjective.
Only black.
Only a five-letter word that we all have obtusely fed.
For our safety and protection?
No, quite the opposite.
Done that too? Well, let us go to the last word.
As usual, the most important.
That’s trivial, at the end of the story here is the end of the latter.
Where everything would end in a second.
As the other two, again, with all the impudence which distinguishes you, throw out what the term arouses you, in the shelter of a page that welcomes all and everything preserves.
What remains? An adjective, perhaps?
No, something more.
A natural condition that should remain inviolable.
Eight letters that all of us, everywhere, are underestimating.
Unarmed.
Well, you know what is the true miracle?
The incredibly simple formula which would remove the curse?
A virtuous oversight.
Kill.
A noble misprint.
Kill.
And a saving forgetfulness of the second word in the same sentence.
Kill...
Because what's left in the end would finally be a new beginning.
Police and black unarmed





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Fault in Our Stars true story: thanks to life

Stories and News No. 908

Only five days after the death of Dalton Prager, the twenty-five man with cystic fibrosis whose story resembled John Green’s book, which was made into a hit film, wife Katie, 26, passed away because of the same disease.
Fault in Our Stars…


Fault in Our Stars.

Yes, that’s it.
There it is the line where we all walk.
Between an amazing story and the normal, everyday lives.
Between an exciting film and bare ground.
Between a dream or nightmare, both memorable, and subsequent awakening.
One to remember absolutely or discard instantly as a bad selfie, just now required by the loved one.
Nevertheless, we walk, we often run and just as often we fall.
Anyway, on the height of the jump, rather than lying on the ground, a significant portion or even the whole of our bravest pupil points there.
Towards the brightest area of the sky.
Because that is where we would like to see us at that moment.
Because that is where we are, when we cannot do otherwise.
Because they say that outside is not all heaven.
Well, down there it's even worse.
Nevertheless - here is the wonder of wonders, this does not mean that the story is not worthy of the book page, such as the big screen.
The problem is all in the chair, never in the quality of the show.
Think about it, because after all this is what the public for special occasions wants more.
A wide and soft backrest, equally pampered seat and a not too distant vision from the adored scene.
Powerful lights on the latter and perfect resolution are trivial, because once the viewer is really comfortable you are halfway there.
From the privileged position of those who pull the strings of the folktale you can put on everything.
Oscar Wilde’s “Better being talked about than not being talked about”? No, better many to watch, than nobody.
Blame the stars, or all of us for that.
At the same time, however, without having to raise your heads, possibly moving a few centimeters to the right or left, even remaining in the exact spot where you are, you may witness the miracle.
The stories, or the films, which are staged without stories and films.
Reality that does not beat imagination: it doubles the latter with ridiculous ease.
Fault in our stars, if sometimes we miss such extraordinary gifts as negligible gusts.
But for someone they are everything.
As two fragments of the same love they have only five days of autonomy from each other.
Because to them they are something more important than earth, sky, and even stars.
Their fault.
Or better.
Thanks to life…



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Fertility Day Italy campaign racist: a day with bad companions

Stories and News No. 907

Many in Italy criticized an image of the Pro Fertility campaign by the Ministry of Health, where below the supposed good guys symbolizing ‘good habits to be promoted’, separated by a fracture, you may see the ‘bad company to be abandoned’ (together with a girl smoking weed and a drug addict even a black man…)
Here is one day, then.
One day far from the good ones...

It is morning, very early.

Giulia always gets up first, because she loves to breakfast alone.
This is the way she gets the time to wake up calmly, but never completely.
Because something has to keep on dreaming.
Even awake.
Then she prepares milk and cookies for everyone, takes a shower, dresses and goes to work, where she teaches Italian to foreigners.
It often happens that many in classroom are blacks.
Bad companions in the picture painted for the day of fertility.
But this does not prevent the meeting of destinies.
To be even fruitful.
Just as the teacher spreads her national words among people coming from far away, Daniele enters the group assembled in the meeting room in the community.
He goes at the helm of the ship, despite appearing as a regular chair, like the others in the circle, where are the fragile hope souls torn from the dope.
The fascinating, poisonous traitor who should fill emptiness instead it devours all that just grazes.
The bad companions await a sign from him, and gradually open the doors of the common solitude.
No particular excitement, it is clear, but they do.
They do this for the very first time.
Tell me if there's anything more alive than those who resume to be born.
So it's time for lunch and, while Daniele and Giulia also take a break from so much badness, Stefania gets her shirts and start to job.
Actually, no, to dance.
It is a dance, always the same, no music, choreography by survivals in columns with tray in hand, waiting to reach her and the others.
Angels with cap, this is how one of the bad companions sitting in the canteen for the homeless uses to call them.
No, thinks Stefania. Because none of us has wings.
But we all dance to the tune of a perfect melody, between miseries.
The sound of normality, like eating something together.
Federico leaves home just after lunch.
He goes to jail and he is happy. Do you think this is healthy? I do not know, but it is not important, right? Not at all for this piece of stories, am I wrong?
Because he lost the real job, the one with the professionals of the goodness and, above all, always the same habits.
How to get rid with chilling ease of one who does not serve anymore to the cause.
Now he's a psychologist with inmates.
Perhaps, more than ever in this case, you should say with bad companions.
And the bad things he hears are many, no one denies.
But then he comes home and the next day retraces the same route.
Because he knows that, despite everything, the day after he will find something different even in a prison.
Because life can create life everywhere.
Then the sunset came.
For all it inevitably does.
And for once, albeit with different experiences, in the day of fertility, Giulia, Daniele, Stefania and Federico go to bed at the same moment and at the same time close their eyes with the same serenity.
Because, as many who live far from the good guys, they have realized that when the bad companions are abandoned by all, they need someone.
That welcomes them…


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