The average ranting citizen’s beam

Stories and News No. 873

The front page news have variable and constant occurrences. Among the latter you never fail to read about terrorism and immigrants. Above all, what is really omnipresent is the impetuous protest of the irritated average citizen...

On the road.
Two men meet.
Or collide, the choice is yours.
A moment after the unexpected crossing of existences, one of them says: "Did you see the dirt here around? It's a shame."
"In fact, though..."
"It's normal, with all these illegal people who have no respect for our city. You know that there is a squatter camp right here? But this time in the upcoming elections I’ll give my vote to him, so we’ll finally kick them off."
"Perfect, but..."
"Of course, you’re right, that is not the whole problem. Do we want to talk about carefully? "
"All right, if maybe..."
"Let's talk, then. There is no room for everyone, here, no work for us, let alone for those guys. However, they don’t really look for a job. I'm not racist, but... but they are make me become, because these persons are not like us, they are uncivilized."
"I see, anyway ..."
"If they were Christians, one could as well find some common point, but how could we communicate with those people with the long beard and the carpet? They live in a world of their own, they don’t integrate."
"By the way, I would..."
"One may argue: let's see, let's try. What do you want to see? What the hell do you want to try? The Chinese live with us since a lot of time and they are always... the Chinese, with their restaurants and small shops."
"Okay, but..."
"If I had the money I would go abroad, but in some quiet place, though. Because with these terrorists we civilized people are at risk. They hate us, they hate and envy us. They want us all dead, that's the truth."
"It may be, nevertheless..."
"We should build a nice wall around and who stays out worse for him. Indeed, a wall is not enough. A large rugged bubble, a dome, like that TV Series. All safe and the rest of the world goes to hell. "
"I understand, now, if you may..."
"Shit, I already regret having left the house, here. They made us dislike going for a walk, they ruined our life, and then others tell us that we need to help those debauched criminals without any dignity..."
"I told you I understand!" Shouts the other man shaking the very air, capturing the attention of all near passers-by.
"I understand what you think," repeated the man with a disfigured face thanks to the frustration, "and if you had not spoken I would still caught your point of view. But, as I said earlier, now, if you may do me a favor in this order, I will be happy: raise the foot which you’re crushing mine with, withdraw with the special glove the dung that your horrendous mastiff left on the sidewalk and, while you’re there, collect from the ground even the plastic package of the cigarettes that you has just bought from the tobacco shop here. Then, you must apologize to the young man who you bumped entering the shop, the incoming elderly lady who you have not given priority, all children passed through here in the meantime for the vulgarities you just said and the immigrant who tried to sell you CDs for insulting him, since, unlike you, he is working. Finally, me too I should go and earn my bread, so you should promptly move your double parked car that prevents mine going out, then remember to march in reverse, as you came in the wrong direction in a unique way. Then, if you like, you might also continue."
Your ranting...

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Internet Day 2016 in Italy: from darkness to light

Stories and News No. 872

Tomorrow will be thirty years since the advent of the Internet in Italy, since the first connection dates back to April 30, 1986.
Well, after three decades Italy is the country with the lowest number of inhabitants connected to the Internet in Europe, with the most expensive and slowest connection.
So, here is how tomorrow an ordinary man will celebrate the event in the real Italian world...

My name is Giovanni, and today is a great day.
You must know that three days ago, after repeated warnings, re-thoughts and various manifestations of forgiveness waiting for my rescue, once and for all the company have disconnected the power in my house.
Now you might say: why is he rejoicing before such a misfortune?
What's the hurry? I would reply. Let me get to the end, and everything will be understandable.
I was saying, finally the electrical source has dried up, but it was inevitable.
If the mountain lips close, therefore the rivers dry up, and then the sea loses its nourishment... okay, I already imagine my wife’s complaints, who says that I always lose myself in useless semantic trills.
Got it, I summarize: I am three years since the end of layoffs, five from my dismissal and exactly one month from the empty bank account.
Now I said it.
Maybe I should start here.
Anyway, now that the situation is clear, we can go to the decisive framing.
I spent the first day in the dark in bed, from sunrise to sunset.
I did not eat and I got up just to go to the bathroom and drink.
No wine, right? I am not a teetotaler, but the wine costs, you know.
Even water, for that matter, but until we will have the fountain in the square, the glass will be filled.
On the second day, just to stop my wife’s grumbling, I emerged from the blankets, the very run-through of the final destination. Probably a mass grave, unless someone reading this will not want to pay us the funeral.
I did not go very far, to be honest. I wandered through the house like a zombie, a metaphor that seems timely, up to land or fall on the couch, where I spent much of the afternoon and evening to wink at my reflection in the now defunct TV screen. Joining the ranks of the victims of domestic appliances, pc and cell, batteries of both and the fridge, hair dryer and even the toaster, which has always had a special place in my heart. In fact, the stomach.
I fell asleep and I had horrible dreams.
O wonderful nightmares, it always depends on the point of view of the beholder, and who tells.
I saw all the stories that I missed in the last few days.
Of death and fear, as usual.
Think about it, because between traditional newspapers and virtual ones, ruler or servant media, desperate social pages looking for clicks or desperate clicks looking for social pages, altruism on armchair professionals and verbal serial killers minutes on toilet, because to write those abominations I can only imagine them in the bathroom, most of the stuff we eat, chew and share accompanying it with little hearts and approving smiles comes from this.
People who takes away life and some others that strive to do the same, poisoning you every day with fear that this misfortune could happen to you.
By taking your life even before that happens.
Especially in view of elections, let's face it.
The morning of the third day of the tragic power interruption I opened my eyes.
Really, as never before.
I got up, showered and shaved for good.
I took my wife’s and my son’s hands.
And we went out looking for you.
"The teacher told us yesterday that today is the Internet Day," murmured the child, who is only four years, as we walked in the sunshine of the new day. "What is it?"
"I don’t know before, even though I was convinced of the contrary", I replied, "but now I do."
It is something powerful, which can be immensely stronger and more beautiful than how it is told.
More of the same words that hold it together.
Or divide.
Because that is Internet.
It is all of us…

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The war of necessary clichés

Stories and News No. 871

Today I have two news.
First, I read that thanks to a long search by a US university it was discovered that spanking has aggressiveness as side effect and, second, after the hospital bombing in Aleppo, Syria, 27 dead, including children and medics, Doctors without Borders organization had to remind everyone: hospitals are #notatarget.
Well, let war be, then...

Spanking makes us aggressive.
Yes.
And hospitals are not a target.
Agree.
Listen, while you are there, take a larger sheet and armed yourself with a generous pen and a good dose of patience.
Because even slapping make us aggressive, for your consideration.
As those given to someone else other than the beardless viewer.
The pain can be the same for the latter.
Sometimes even more.
While you are there, add that schools are not a target too.
And, if we could be honest, you may easy write also a generic homes, or huts, shacks and other architectural misery that the world not included in the album of light memories uses to call it like that.
Homes.
Listen, also words can make you aggressive and here I know that one sheet is not enough, I warn you right away.
However, do not worry, if you were to stuck in the so-called writer's block because you will find fertile inspiration in the global whiteboard that dominates, oppresses and invades all, now clogged with insults disguised as jokes and fierce blows where it hurts the most, in the form of the usual electoral skirmishes .
You might find other “not a targets” in all the novels of the world that could have changed the latter, every possible achievement for science that maybe we will never see, any wonderful human expression that make you too, as fellow species, something more than what you were before.
Read it everything, summing up, as civilian casualties.
Indeed, since remaining on the subject, just victims. Because this should be enough for you, in this story.
Spanks, slaps and of course punches, kicks and scratches, sharp or heavy, cruel or indifferent words are all included. But also emptiness make us may do the worst job. Absences where the presence was the least and the not given caress where even just a look would have tacked and pushed the ship into calmer direction.
If you wish to use the supreme gift of synthesis, you may also enclose any hope in this way: life, and where life is, are never a target.
As well as: any affront to that very existence, and where it breaths, make them aggressive. Or even worse.
Here, now, knowing this and if you really insist, you can try to make us war.
Have you ever seen that, later, making peace.
Will be easier…

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Migrants invasion in the old body

Stories and News No. 870

In the old Europe, Austria rises high its anti migrant cry: we are ready to use the army.

It was a darker than usual night, when the elder man stirred in his sleep.
Meanwhile, the brain stood up and started to scream.
Because this is what angry cervices do when rise up straight.
Shouting, yelling loudly.
Ignoring that the height does not instill credibility to the speech, as the bitterness in the tone.
Provided that the sense of the speech was the real reason of everything.
"They come to corrupt us", the brain screamed brutalizing without saving the vocal cords.
"They want to rule in our house, erasing our history and our traditions.
"«The belly is empty», they use to say, provided that it is true.
"So, what we have to do? What we got to do with the hell is happening south of the lungs?"
"The problem is that they are too many, this is the truth. And they all want to come to us."
"They say that it would be our duty, since we are the most part guilty of their fate.
"Well, it's time to stop this victimization, it no longer works. Everyone must be accountable for its own path.
"They argue that there are no different routes, all the parts are going in the same direction and sooner or later we will have to answer for their suffering.
"This is a threat that we cannot tolerate anymore.
"This is terrorism.
"In addition, we know what could happen if we allow them to get to us as they please.
"Just look for a moment those deluded and beardless creatures, who do not have the faintest idea of how you should govern a body, wandering of reckless mixtures and random brotherhoods.
"It’s easy to talk like this when your head is free and light. And you can fill it with all silliness that will stand up like hot air.
"Then time passes and you discover that not just good things come from there. So you begin to feel the fear, the real fear, the worst one.
"The fear of what could invade you, to eat you alive, like terrible aliens, even if it will never happen in your life and all those who will follow.
"We must warn you against them and that is why we have decided to close every avenue that leads to us."
The brain ordered and although trembling, wrinkled hands were able to reach the neck and began to squeeze.
More.
More and more.
Nevertheless, it was one of the good days, that.
As far as the fingers clutched the throat, did not close it completely, and they managed to pass and reach the brain.
First a few, then many, finally all.
The feelings.
Human feelings on the run from the heart asking for help.
So, the old man smiled victoriously shutting out the fear.
Once again…

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World Book Day 2016: just a book…

Stories and News No. 869

Tomorrow, April 23, 2016, is the World Book Day...

Everything.
Yes, I know, bear with me as well, but often it was everything.
A wife and a husband, both parents and a son, or even just something that will wait for you endlessly.
It will not ask you anything but eyes.
Curious fingers and will.
To walk together.
There is time, there is always time, do not listen to those who used to tell you that they do not have even a minute.
You need just a second, listen.
Indeed, read.
Because it is everything, it can be everything.
I understand, despise me, judge me too.
But with it I was a woman, tall and old, young and beautiful, or just convinced of being it.
To become one day.
Or not anymore.
I was the worst person in the world, I saw death with my own eyes, I have killed and brought life into the world, I disintegrated planets and, more than anything else, I forgot the pain.
Because reading means to live the missing life.
What always will.
The voids that nobody will erase, because he could not even if he wanted to.
In the real world it is like throwing water on red hot sand with delusional hope that it will become a dreamy lake.
Well, between the covers you do not think about it.
Or you do with the right frame of mind.
What matters is that you are flying, really, believe me, you will fly in there.
Everything, it can soothe everything.
The first time, do I have to talk about the very first one?
The first time, one of the rare, of course, that I really felt proud to be part of the human species?
Listen, it is a true story, read at least that, because here the ravings are in abundance, but no trick on this line.
How not to mention that night, late, when everyone was asleep in the house, with oppressive heat, with that fearful child who ventures into the darkness beyond the refuge called “my room” to drink a glass of water.
It was also the first time that the heart raised its head up and challenged the fearsome, trembling belly on its own ground.
It won, yes, it have won, because that little kid never reached the kitchen that night.
The heart, of course, but also the feet, arms and especially hands followed the call of the library in the living room, full of yellowed volumes and infested by silverfish, with a flower crushed inside and in exchange for little money were everything.
TV, mobile phone, PC and everything else.
Even love and the best company.
A moment later a sudden light radiated that room lagged behind in the last century, when I met the first paper miracle.
Since then the magic happens every time.
But what do you want more?
Nothing for me.
Forgive me, because to me a book, just a book, it is still capable of being.
Everything…

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