Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Uganda Gay video letter from a civilized country

Stories and News No. 648

No, we are not as Uganda, where a tabloid publishes a list of the top 200 homosexuals.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wpT6_CYUWDU
Watch the video
We are a civilized country.
No, we don’t do these things.
Telling the truth, we too have our rankings.
And what's wrong?
There is nothing bad in classifying.
The sin, where it is, concerns the object of contention.
The reasons for the primacy of one over the other.
It's all that, think about it.
For example, speaking about press freedom ranking, it seems natural to me that provokes boast to the first as shame to last one.
But these are the charts that divide.
The rich from the poor.
The north from the south.
We do not, we in the civilized country are off these contentions.
Because our freedom of the press has never been questioned.
As well as freedom of religion and freedom of expression and opinion.
Imagine the sex freedom.
That’s why we are here to strongly reaffirm that we are not like them.
Nevertheless, we are outraged and replicate the Ugandan government with our gay ranking.
Here is our top ten.
At tenth place is one that is so gay that never goes to sleep for contentment.
At the ninth position there is another one that is so gay that many are convinced he had a stroke, given the everlasting smile that he has on his lips.
The guy at eighth place is so gay crying from happiness, then laughs because he cried, and then cries because unable to stop laughing and everyone cannot avoid to watch him.
At seventh place is one that is so gay, so gay that he cannot stand alone because he instantly spreads happiness to others.
Read as an amazing human being.
At sixth place there is a guy so gay, really, because he has the carnet full until 2030.
At the fifth position is one that is so gay to sing out loud at all hours of the day and night and then was sent on a desert island because no one could sleep, but then he put a video on Youtube that became viral, and now on the shore there is a huge crowd of adoring fans.
At fourth place there is one so gay to overcome the force of gravity every second, then the next one he hits the ground, and then he wins again, and goes on like this, without stopping, up and down, and causes earthquakes, but are happiness earthquakes, then are welcome, very welcome.
The person on the third place is so gay to love everyone and everything, and then repents, because no matter how drunk by heart he realizes that not everyone deserves his love, but then he falls back, because he's too gay.
At the second position there is someone so gay to burst, but then he doesn’t explodes because he reminds of the reason he's there, at second place.
Because he knows he has the love of his life.
That is, the gayest of them all, the one at the top.
What a show, right?
This is a ranking to be proud of, dear Ugandans.
This is a record that deserves the competition.
The joy.
Yes, I know, in their rank gay means homosexual, not gay as happy.
But ours are homosexuals too.
This is the reason they are so joyful.
Because they live in a civilized country.
I would like so much to live there...


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Monday, February 24, 2014

Empty homes vs homeless in Europe 11 million tricks

Stories and News No. 647

They told me, so they told me.
It seems that in Europe there are 11 million empty houses.
They told me so, so they did.
How many empty homes are there?
So that guy asked me, I never remember his name.
11 million, I replied.
Because I cannot remember his name but he’s nice to me.
Not always, today he does.
And then, if you're nice to me today, I will not forget this.
At least for today.
But 11 million empty houses...
Well, I do not forget it easily.
Tomorrow too.
An empty home, and then multiplies it.
With an empty kitchen.
No stove?
Never mind, it's always a kitchen, listen to me.
So an empty bathroom.
Devoid of WC?
I told you never mind, trust me.
Empty means it is empty.
I can go in when I want to.
As in the kitchen.
Then I want to see who will protest.
If both are empty.
Because if both are empty, and so the entire house, even the bedroom is no exception.
Do you know how empty things work?
You can only fill them.
There's no bed? It’s without furniture, you say?
Listen, you don’t understand?
I said never mind.
That is, just let me in.
There are only too skinny floors and bare walls?
But the ceiling is there, right?
So what are we talking about?
A trick, that's what.
An empty house, and then multiplies it.
Eleven millions of tricks, here.
In my country.
No, because the country is everywhere, not just the indoors.
Not just your full living room.
And the first trick is in the name.
Homeless? No, my friend.
Shameless, rather.
And I think it is clear I am not talking about me...
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Friday, February 21, 2014

Korean families reunited after 60 years photos magic story

Stories and News No. 646

Far since the end of the Korean War in 1953, more than eighty old men and women separated by an absurd double-sided wall named north and south have finally found each other.

It's a hug.
No, this is trivial.
Then it is a dance, with music or without.
No, somebody said it before, too many times, indeed.
Here we are: it is a human gesture.
Too general, I agree.
But what if I told you that it is an intimate image?
Okay, it could be misleading.
In these confused and contradictory days, we must be more precise.
It's an exchange of dreams, missed by accident or crime.
No, that’s not even enough.
The exchange presupposes a previous interest that depreciates the main quality of the act.
Spontaneity.
Unspeakable spontaneity.
Could it be a mutual gratification?
No, huh?
The temperature of the sentence has dropped to the limits.
The bar of the thermometer must be kept to the top, without exaggeration, but, as the naturalness of the movement, the heat is essential.
A fundamental requirement, before and after, let alone in the middle.
Nevertheless, thinking about it, if there is a before and an after must mean something.
Before and after presuppose a walk, a journey, a quantum leap forward.
Or back.
As in a story.
Because who said that the stories should be read in a single direction?
That has something to do with the rights of the imagination.
Or life.
Taking this into account, with a little courage, daring would not be an offense at all.
It's something that goes beyond logic, right?
Am I close?
Is it an extraordinary event that defeats physics?
Quantum mechanics too?
Is it right?
Well, now everything fits, in fact.
Before is the after.
And vice versa.
Since what lies in the middle disappears.
And everything comes back.
Wonderful as the first time.
Because sometimes a hug is pure magic...



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Thursday, February 20, 2014

End of the world 22 February 2014 Ragnarok in Africa

Stories and News No. 645

I am breathless.
The reason? I’ll tell you at the end.
I read that there is yet another end of the world coming in, this time predicted by the Vikings: the Ragnarok.
The end of the world.
The end of the world as we know it.
Let me imagine it, right now.
Yes, I know, I was already fooled by Maya, but try to understand me.
Here we dream, this should write on the entrance.
Indeed, here we hope, that gives better the right idea.
The end of the world...
The end of modern society.
Of one-way streets and toll roads, high but also low speed trains, ever new Iphone and always old frauds.
No more national governments and geographical boundaries.
No documents, residence permits or even just die on the sidelines, where no one sees you.
The end of TV.
Telesales interspersed with soaps selling everything except a story that is worth your time.
The disappearance of the money.
Banks and ATMs, taxes, transfers, checks.
The disappearance of the prisons.
No more ghettos, and peace missions to kill you softly.
The death of the dominance of humanity over nature.
The death of pollution.
The death of pheasant hunting and all other species.
Stop to the noise of the machines, and then space to silence...
On stage the crickets, the nightingales, ducks, donkeys and even pigs.
The end of the world, do you figured it?
Zero.
A huge zero hits the earth ground.
All would be canceled.
Maybe it starts all over again, and this time I'm sure it will be different.
I'll pay much, much attention to what lands here.
In order not to find myself in the absurd paradox of being the unwanted host.
The end of the world February 22, 2014?
Maybe.
Maybe the sky wanted...

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Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Football world cup 2014 winners red’s dream

Stories and News No. 644

It’s a dream, I know.
But I am a player.
And those who play, must necessarily dream about it.
The victory.
But not a normal victory, huh?
Because if you really need to dream, then look for the top.
Anyway, it is just a dream, what are you going to lose?
I knew that the FIFA World cup is in Rome, now, in a world tour that will take it to Brazil, where at
the final whistle of the last match it will be delivered to him.
The captain of the winners.
Yes, I agree.
I am not even the captain, to be honest.
And believe me, I've never figured out if we never had one.
However, who said that to win the game we should have a leader?
If everyone will do his part, we won’t need science to send a ball into the goal.
On the other hand, the name is game, not nuclear fission.
In spite of all that stuff - strategy, tactics, high and low pressing, mixed zone and marking to man, this is always a game.
Sending the ball into the goal still remains the sense of all.
Obviously, I know what your objection would be.
We have one who commands, actually.
Are you referring to who has fun with all of us, right?
The guy who pulls the strings of our two dimensions dance.
Back and forth.
But who scores the goal, really?
The one who cries out the field and goes mad by joy or those like us, who seriously hit the ball, getting the insults, if things go wrong?
The fact is that, in reality, we never win, at all.
There is always someone who takes the credit for our work.
But I'm not here to complain, I want to clarify.
My buddies can testify.
The reds.
As well as my opponents.
The blues.
I never complained about what fate has decided for me.
For us.
Forced to this endless game.
Nevertheless, even the condemned creatures sometimes close their eyes and travel.
Especially them.
It's a dream, I know.
But I am a player.
And those who play, must necessarily dreaming about it.
The victory.
Of the World Cup...



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Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Galileo optical illusion explained video: racism defeated

Stories and News No. 643

Ladies and gentlemen, after 400 years we made it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z9I3VhrMU2E
Watch the video
One of the most famous optical illusions has been unveiled.
Why does a white object on a black background appear larger than the contrary, even with the same size?
Galileo Galilei was the first to raise this question, and on the occasion of his 450th anniversary, a team of researchers from the State University of New York found that the illusion depends on how our eyes identify light and dark.
That is, our interpretation of the black/white contrast is conditioned by the idea we have of both.
Damn, this is a scoop.
Come on, who among you has not thought the same thing?
The implications of this revolutionary scientific enterprise force us to look at things on a different light, literally.
Although of the same size, up to now the white on black seemed larger than the black on white background because we had prejudices.
Let's face it.
This conditioning mechanism has made great damage with a stubborn imaginative discrimination.
The white on black is necessarily a more honest approach.
And the black on white background is certainly to steal something.
Who? To the white on a black background, which becomes the protagonist of the movie.
Movie where the black on white background have to die first.
Or doing the villain, the drug addict, the criminal.
On the contrary, he can be the best friend of the white on a black background that marries the beautiful girl.
Or the white on a black background that never falls in love with a black on white background because who will come to watch this?
Only the blacks on white background.
And some white on a black background very confused.
You may call them the gray guys, so to speak.
In fact, the real problem according to Galileo was always the gray on white or black background, because you never know what he is going to do.
And since the common people, the average citizens, don't like too ambiguous or complicated things, they want to be safe.
White on black background, all right.
Black on white background, no way.
The real problem is when there is a blackout or in general the night falls.
It becomes more difficult to distinguish white and black. This is the reason why people at night go out less and prefer to stay at home watching TV.
Large screen, high definition, and especially well-defined colors.
But now that the illusion was revealed, how could we know who deserves more our trust between white and black?
I think that we all have to make the effort to learn more about the others.
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Monday, February 17, 2014

World's Largest Solar Power Plant California: what I want

Stories and News No. 642

What are my eyes reading?
Reading...
Watching, that is how it should be.
The world's largest solar power plant, Ivanpah Solar Electric Generating System, was opened in California, in the Mojave Desert, 40 Miles (64 km) southwest of Las Vegas.
Well done, you are good, really.
Well, it doesn’t bother me.
I've never done any discussion, you are my witnesses.
Anyone who sees me, knows what kind of silent spectator I am.
Not at all, I agree.
It's normal, right? Somebody looks, looks, and looks, then something resonates in.
The lake, the river and even the sea agree, it's like when someone throws a smooth stone on your back, possibly with a multi-purpose rebound.
Sooner or later the stone stops and while you count the rebounds I’ll do the same with circles spreading around.
Inside of me.
Read as well as the consequences of the end.
Of a journey, a love, a lifetime.
Of a story.
And this is my prize, at sunset.
Listen, you might say, you've got a prize, why you have to complain?
Complain? Not really.
I don’t think at all that I exaggerated.
And I don’t think it has ever happened before.
You would have noticed, believe me.
Let's say that, given the pomposity of the central, such as to merit the above record, I felt entitled to encamp some legitimate request.
Nothing special.
Anything that is not in your power.
I am referring to a very natural need.
Nothing purely inguinal matter, don’t worry.
Vulgarity has never been my style.
It's more a need of the spirit than the body.
Okay, I said it so to speak, considering that I don’t regard either of them.
There is none of the most ancestral diatribes that interests me.
It exists or not, it is true or false, he is right or the others are, the first or the last.
I do have my own opinion on the major issues, don’t get me wrong.
Unlike many, too many, I'm not so convinced that my opinion is so important.
On the contrary, my eyes are.
I am particularly keen on what I see.
And it is here that I stand up for the first time since I exist.
Or you exist, that it is perhaps more accurate.
Take how much life you want from me.
Feed yours with mine.
There has never been more perfect barter on earth.
But, in return, I really want to see it, that life.
Surprise me with originality.
Fantasy.
And freedom.
Things that people like me, with unchangeable time and fate.
Already written.
Never had so much.
Life.
Sincerely,

The sun

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Friday, February 14, 2014

Love stories to read: the spinster

Stories and News No. 641

An old spinster, yes.
So that artichoke face called me some days ago.
If I knew what it means, I might as well reply.
The fact is that I am convinced that he does not even know the meaning too.
Spinster.
People talk nonsense, this is the truth.
They see you there, alone.
Alone now, you know.
So they draw their conclusions.
Hasty ones, there is no doubt about.
Well, would you like to comment? Stop for a moment and let's talk.
Come on, ask if you are interested.
Yes, I'm alone.
But it was not always so.
It may seem strange to you, but I also had friends.
Affection, chatter, laughter, and lots of camaraderie, more than you could imagine.
The reality is that all go fast, today, as the rats chased by cats.
Unintentional rhyme, but you get the idea, right?
I am alone, I cannot of course deny it.
It's my today life.
But why it must necessarily be a disgrace, I don’t understand.
What about: congratulations, you survived.
Very good, you are still dancing around.
I admire you for your tenacity.
Well, this is too much.
More than tenacity, it was just about very good fortune.
So, then, why am I alone?
Monsieur the Fate, that's all, but the question is quite another.
Why the others?
Why did the others go? This is the real question.
Go...
Somebody torn them away from their homeland.
Literally.
A violence I witnessed helplessly.
As an eyewitness of inexplicable no ransom kidnappings.
Almost inexplicable, to be honest.
There is something I know.
Listening to the voices around.
Around me, of course.
A little bird told me, I confess, but I already know that you will not believe it.
Because of the eponymous famous phrase.
Love and lovers are guilty.
The feast of St. Valentine does too.
I think it works, since the peak of disappearances there was always between the beginning of January and the first half of February.
Every year.
You are alone, because you're an old spinster, a worm reiterated just now.
If your name is worm, I replied, there is a reason, right?
I'm not old and not even a spinster, whatever it means.
I'm just alone.
Today.
It was not always so.
But on the other hand, who might say that so will be tomorrow?

Read other stories about love.
 


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Thursday, February 13, 2014

China moon Rover Yutu is in love

Stories and News No. 640

Good news, ladies and gentlemen.
Every now and then, here are some good news.
After twenty days of worrying silence, Yutu, the Jade Rabbit Chinese Lunar Rover, has awakened and returned to work.
These were days of anguish and sleepless nights for Yutu’s family, I think it's understandable.
But now is the time to rejoice and get rid of accumulated anxiety.
“I've always said, and no one ever listen to me,” dad Chang complained, a retired satellite. “A narcoleptic astronaut should not being there, but his mother advised him not to put it in the resume and this is what happens.”
The parent has thus revealed the secret problem to the press that apparently Yutu had hidden during the talks with officials of Beijing Space Agency.
The latter invited Yutu to return immediately but in the monitor he smiled without speaking.
“He left the hearing aid at home,” his mother Lyn attempted to justify, an old black and white TV, those with knob and no remote control.
Meanwhile, the Chinese Space Agency announced an internal investigation.
The mist of the storm thinned, and a name came out.
Someone has falsified the entrance exams of the Jade Rabbit: Yutu sister, the printer Mosako.
“She is adopted,” Chang tried to minimize.
In the meantime, the Agency intends to do everything possible to block the mission and tries to communicate with Yutu through billboards with various written phrases.
Billboards… well, only one with these words: you're fired, return immediately.
Same reaction as before by the Rover, he smiles without speaking.
“If he could read, everything would be easier,” Mosako said, talking with the family lawyer, the toaster Chun, a skilled jaw of Chinese courtrooms. “He is illiterate...”
Hearing the latest shameful revelation about Yutu, the Agency has decided to send another rover on the Moon to communicate face to face his dismissal and replacement.
However, as they say, they had reckoned without the hard drive.
In fact, the Rover which is now on the road is actually a female Rover, her name is Fujiko and is known as Crystal Hare.
But she is even better known by Yutu’s family as his girlfriend.
“They are fresh married,” the mother-in-law Lyn confessed, “try to understand, they wanted a dream honeymoon.”
Police, army, navy and air force are all decided to stop the couple of fugitives at the expense of the government and the court has already held that exemplary punishment awaits their return on earth.
Possible, return,” Chang said to reporters. “If he goes back to sleep you may wait forever.”
The Agency has contacted Yutu again and this time he is no longer alone in the monitor.
The smiling Rovers are two, now.
Mission accomplished.
Valentine’s Day on the moon.
Honey moon…


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Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Copenhagen zoo giraffe Marius video right to reply

Stories and News No. 639




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Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Birds migrating the wrong way: the discovery of Leaf Warbler

Stories and News No. 638

I read just now that a bird called Pallas's Leaf Warbler, or Phylloscopus proregulus, during its migration suddenly changed idea and from central Siberia flew up in Italy, near L'Aquila, rather than China, where it actually was supposed to lead by instinct. Travelling 6000 km in the wrong direction.
According to the experts it was a mistake.
Experts… why do not ask the guy directly?
He is also a singing bird…

Dear friend,
Remember what you told me a whisper from death, in that black tight hug?
You cannot fly, these were your last words.
Almost the last ones.
The last, really last, it was something different than a simple word.
Something more.
Fly.
I loved you so much, in the time I spent with you, together, possibly far from that overrated floor of grass and rock called mainland.
But so more, when you have become just a memory.
That is, the story of you.
With a heartbreaking finale, I agree, but seasoned with a hint of mystery.
A unusual phrase, with an even weirder post scriptum.
Fly.
At first I thought your words were crazy escapes of a mind overwhelmed by the shock.
However, as the months passed and the images of that last scene flowed again, again and again in the replay of my own memory, something sensible begins to take shape.
Two wings.
Two wings flying alone.
Without a body, without beak and feet.
Only two wings.
Free to follow themselves.
Dazzled by unraveling the enigma that you left me as unexpected inheritance I have come across the branch of a tree and I fell to the ground.
There, with my back on the grass, wings outstretched and eyes fixed on the sky fragment that survived the intrigue of leaves I saw the light.
Migrating is not flying.
Sure, you go flying from north to south of this planet and vice versa, it is still the fastest and safest way.
However flying, rely on them, trust them, really believing in them is another world.
The wings I never had.
Yours.
Forgive me, my dear, forgive me for having scolded vehemently when you instantly change the route just for the sake of flying wrong, only to end up in that damn black oil water.
Only now I see who was the crazy and who the bird.
Read as the one who flies because has the gift.
Because he wants to do it.
Not because he have to.
And because flying always knowing where you are going it would not make any sense.
I am happy because you taught me to fly.
In the wrong way.
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Monday, February 10, 2014

Marius the giraffe killed at Copenhagen Zoo video: shames story

Stories and News No. 637

"I'm proud because we gave the children a great knowledge of the anatomy of a giraffe that they could not have had through photos," this seems to be what the spokesman of the zoo in Copenhagen declared, on Sunday, when they killed a baby giraffe on live TV before an audience of children and their parents, then dissect the animal and give it to the lions.
Here is what it creates in my animalistic fantasy...

My name is Marius and I am a giraffe.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hpHYRn4Fys
Ooops, I was.
We're on the air? The cameras are on? May I go?
Well, I wanted to add a sort of tail to my yesterday performance.
Metaphorical tail, of course.
By the way, I have one only tail.
Pardon, I had.
Sorry, this is the Jet Lag.
You see, getting in the paradise of the beasts is not like making two stops on the subway.
Where I am now is incalculably far more than the place I lived.
I lived, I begin to guess the verb tenses.
Too bad, however, it is a shame it is so far if you look at it from the live world.
If you image it.
And shame is the right word, believe me.
At least now that I've done my part for the spectacle of human morality.
I thank you, anyway.
Giving your life teaching something to children is a great way to end a story.
The problem is that there is nothing original in my departure, don’t you see?
And in the end the giraffe dies. Eaten by the lion.
Banality is the most terrible of shames, when you call a public audience.
And even if I'm an animal, I realized that the children are the most demanding spectators, speaking about surprises.
I would have understood the opposite.
Maybe with a few special effects, but do you imagine the lion dying eaten by the giraffe?
Oh, come on, we would have made a viral video.
Nevertheless, it was not the only shame.
The anatomy of a giraffe...
Listen, who told you that children possess the same your obsession with raw nerves, pumping muscles and especially warm blood?
I understand there are many among those kids dedicated to break toys and puppets in thousand pieces, for the right curiosity of what lurks inside, but what makes you think that everything you see is well known?
This end is just a shame.
It's a shame because I could tell you if I ever wanted to have a shorter neck. Which is a shame because actually I've never felt comfortable with this sort of oscillating speckled perch.
It's a shame because I could really show you what a giraffe may do to save his life. And it's a shame because you'll never know it. You do not care of humans, let alone the rest of us.
It's a shame because the lions are repentant of having eaten me only after the digestion. And because the lion is a lion, he eats a giraffe if this is what the script suggests, but that does not mean that once in the dressing room, no makeup, he will not cry.
It's a shame for me, if you let me say it. And it is a shame because, although I died very young, I escaped to the lions a bush of times.
I was aiming to category record, you know. Of course I did not think to end up mauled at the zoo.
It's a shame, it's just a shame that you, human beings, do not know how to write a final with a minimum of imagination.
But if you approach the ending scene without passion for the story how you will find happiness reading it?
And what about living it?


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Friday, February 7, 2014

Military dog of war captured by Taliban: what I learned

Stories and News No. 636

My name is Colonel and I am one of those who usually are called dogs of war.
Now I'm a hostage, prisoner of my enemies.
My enemies...
Just to clear it, the Taliban, here in Afghanistan, are not my enemies.
They are the enemies of my masters.
Former masters, to be precise.
So, to be honest too, I am now in the hands of the enemies of my former masters.
Therefore, until a moment before my capture, I was a dog of war who fought against the enemies of my masters at the time.
While now, my current masters keep me captive and are very proud to show me to their enemies, who are my former masters.
Well, let’s go back in time.
When I started my training, early in my career.
No, before that.
A dog, just a dog.
Nothing more, I agree.
Not a police dog or a lap dog, not even a truffle sniffing dog or a retriever dog, not a dog for blind or a hunting dog.
A dog, a dog and nothing else.
Nothing less, you know.
And suddenly, here comes the blessing, the additional feature, the merit of serving humans, extreme elevation to the top ranks of animal useful for more advanced purposes.
Humans.
A dog of war, knowing how to find bombs and weapons, to save lives, to protect the good from the bad, fighting for democracy and peace.
Human peace.
No, because canine peace is a fact, is a condition of existence, let's face it.
We do not even call it peace, here.
We are what we are, we bark, we smell, we eat and make love, some flea around and that’s all.
Try to understand, we are just beasts.
We are not human.
No inhuman, which means other, I know.
How I was glad, then, when I finally had earned on the field the proving adjective.
Of war.
Finally, I also was a dog of something.
Even if sometimes I wonder if there are dogs of peace.
I feel that they maybe they have an easier life, but maybe I'm wrong.
I have not got all that brain.
Human.
However, one thing I understood and I say to you, now, whoever you are, dogs or whatever.
Try to do everything possible to remain what you are.
Humans or animals.
Do not be fooled by words.
Especially to find yourself someday paying the consequences of having not understand anything about your life’s meaning.


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Thursday, February 6, 2014

Japan Beethoven fake: ghost composer paid all story

Stories and News No. 635

Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come to remove the masks.
The famous Japanese musician, Mamoru Samuragochi, does not know how to write music.
And he is not deaf, as he has always claimed.
The true composer of his works, Takashi Niigaki, is a teacher at a school in Tokyo, exploited for decades by the Japanese Beethoven, as he was called.
An isolated case? An extraordinary exception in the firmament of the famous people? Quite the contrary.
The all story is greater than that.
The best-known writer, who I will not name because it is not yet official, confessed to copy his novels directly from the diary of the grandmother's Chinese caregiver.
So, in a chain reaction of deceptive words, or a domino of first choice books, other popular authors have confessed.
The porter and the plumber, the waitress at the bar and the lady of the fruits, the introverted young man on the near apartment and the girl with the cap met daily on the subway, the Egyptian hairdresser too, here are the real authors of the best sellers.
But that's not all.
Close your eyes and image.
Your singing idol.
The golden voice with the alluring body, which never hurts.
Indeed, it is much more than the vocal cords, let's face it.
Well, every voice that is now familiar in your ears, verses or choruses dressed by, belongs to a single creature.
I am talking about a schizophrenic parrot, a rare case of volatile with multiple personalities, tragic consequence of a lifetime trapped in the living room, forced to listen every music festival and show in recent years.
Do you think it is enough?
Well, but this is nothing.
This is for you, that in all this time have lived with envy toward over-sized star of the bedroom. You have to know that at the time of most turbid moment somebody else arrived.
The cousins.
Yes, every star of the mattress owes his success to that cousin.
But in the end, you've always suspected, isn’t it?
Who has not had a dream about a cousin, come on.
Are we over the limit?
Maybe.
Sorry to puncture the balloons, covered with glitter and sequins, circling on the admired horizon, but if they confess it is not my fault.
In fact, in a long row you will see outside the television studios sad queues of well-known actors and actresses.
Actors and actresses, we? Are you kidding? Do you think we studied acting? A real course, huh? Not that stuff done in ten days to write something at the bottom of the book.
Shrill confessions barking like dogs in the night, animals brought here anything but random. A round of applause rises by the audience. Finally a truth from the diaphragm.
I could end it here, and actually that's what I'm about to do, but do not think it does not go ahead.
The story widens, I told you.
To the point of discovering that the Olympus does not exist.
Maybe the gods have always been us.
Although mortal and limited.
But infinitely funnier than puppets in the big screen.
Because we ever was to move them.


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Wednesday, February 5, 2014

National Food Waste day story: the demon confession

Stories and News No. 634

Today, Wednesday, February 5, 2014, for the first time Italy has its National Day against food waste. I read that FAO has estimated that each year in the world 1.3 billion tons of food are thrown in the trash.
Here is a story…

It’s mine, it's my fault.
Only mine.
Oops, I did not present myself, sorry.
I am the demon of waste, oh yes.
I get, I grab and take away all I can.
Read it as what the humans forget.
Among the alleged negligibility of living.

The white that, apparently, you do not need.
The space at the bottom of the story, the absent row, the break between two rhymes, the entire page uncut to give volume to the novel.
All I grab, space hairless from various inks, and I crash everything in a myriad of unusable fragments.
Hopefully irreparable in a fatal dance of tearing.

Pauses, ever useful breaks of common conversations.
The more palatable ones to those like me.
Thieves of unspoken words.
Semantic sins and syntactic crimes that I love to collect.
I might as well fill myself with my sentences.
If I had something to say, actually.
I'm too busy in the accumulation of endless amounts of remains.

All the stuff that suddenly, after a week or a month at most, will be cleared from the property.
Unworthy to deserve the label.
My stuff, our stuff.
What at the beginning of the first act has a price and at the closing of the curtain becomes superfluous scenery.
Deleted from the memory.
As white brackets of writing and hesitations of saying, as if it never existed.
Except to me.

Here I am, exactly on that unnamed screen pixel I steal the gift with greedy hands.
What the human eye does not see, I make it mine.
Especially what he sees and does not care.
With the right condition.

Nevertheless, ladies and gentlemen, even I own ethics.
A sort of that, I know.
That's why the waste of food and any more trip of the latter is your business.
Because not even a devil comes so far.
Stop, once and for all, to compete with me...



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Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Talking Cars in USA video story: what they really say

Stories and News No. 633

I read that in the United States, improving road safety, engineers are designing cars able to communicate Wi-Fi through a technique called vehicle- to-vehicle, V2V in short, so that the driver is informed about arrivals by other cars even 300 meters away.
We speak about future, of course.
However, if cars could talk today, what would they say?
What would they say of us?

Early morning.
Peak traffic.
Clogged road.
The first voice arises from the confusing conglomeration of metal and smoke.
“Life is short,” the scooter says wriggling between the cars in columns.
“What do you mean?” the preceding fast running motorcycle asks
“I'm talking about your half centaur,” the former replies.
“Explain.”
“What's to explain? If he continues to drive as well as in a video game sooner or later someone opens a door straight on your snout.”
The motorcycle makes a visibly apotropaic gesture: it touches its muffler.
“Why half centaur?”
“Because if he insists in this way, no more half horse and half man. He will remains only with the second half, listen to me.”
“Well, at least the bike will be freee...” a jam-packed bus screams passed by both.
“If you're referring to the pilot, I agree,” a small car with a noticeably nasal voice says. “I cannot stand a second more with mine..”
“What are you complaining?” The bus says. “You could get it at the most... - counting the empty seats too - five, maybe six people, there. Do you see that shapeless mass of human stuff should I bring in my belly every day?”
“It will be as you say,” the little car says.
“Are you chilled?” the bus asks.
“Why?”
“When you talk it seems you have the pipe clogged..”
“No, I close it with a clip. I told you I hate the guy who guides me.”
“No...” the bus says gravely. “Don’t tell me.”
“I do.”
“You win, then. Mine are not the flowers of the field, but a flatulence concentrated in such a small space I think it's deadly.”
“You don’t know how much it is true.”
A violent car horn interrupts the conversation.
“Do we make a move?” a scintillating and rumbling car cries behind.
“Where do you want to go?” the bus replies. “I don’t even see the end of this row.”
“Yes, I know,” the big car says, “If I had my way I would throw the engine and would spend the rest of my days to rust in a nice box with sea view.”
“You're better than me,” the little car says.
“Too slow?” the big asks.
“No,” the bus replies, “too much stinks.”
“You are right. Damn smog…”
“No, you don’t understand...”
At that moment they all hear an unusual sound and every car shut down, cocking eyes and ears.
A bear slips on the sidewalk, although slowly, passing all of them.
And the unusual noise referred above is produced by the creak of plastic wheels.
You know, the tricycle is old, but still does its job.
With great pleasure, it seems, and no effort.
As if it is just a game, traveling.
Thus, in the general silence, the animal moves away to the horizon.
And the same words rise from each car.
Lucky him.
No one will ever know which one they were referring to…

Watch the video:




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Monday, February 3, 2014

If Harry Potter had married Hermione story

Stories and News No. 632

JK Rowling, the author of the famous saga of the young wizard of Hogwarts has revealed that, according to simple criteria of plausibility, Harry should have married Hermione instead of his friend Ron.
I was disappointed, because - for what it's worth – I liked the improbable romance between the cute but clumsy Weasley and the smart and charming girl played by Emma Watson.
On the other hand, is it really plausibility so important in the stories?

Truth.
Let’s get an injection of truth.
That's what it takes, to our imagination.
And all would be more acceptable.
Maybe.
More logical.
For sure.
Peter Parker is bitten by a radioactive spider and a shy nerd and geek finds himself transformed into a good looking guy, also strong as a bull. With great power comes great responsibility? Yes, I agree, but why am I doing this? Everything is a crap, you know what? In the plausible story it’s crazy to think Peter sewing the costume and mask to fight Goblin, Octopus and Sandman, anyway considered as a criminal by the police and Jonah Jameson. In the real version, he marries Mary Jane, cheats on her with Gwen and starts to really make the wrestling champion to earn money, then breaks into the film industry and earns even more.
D’Artagnan finds himself with a subspecies of horse and challenges on the same day the top three musketeers of France? Nah, in the plausible world he sells the nag and goes on to become a painter in Paris, in the artistic quarter of Mont Martre, listen to me. What makes him risk his life to work for the queen?
James Bond on the service of Her Majesty whole life? Are you joking? You only live twice?! Well, we barely live one life, let's face it. In the plausible stories ì 007 sold himself to the Russians and then back to the British empire, then switches to the CIA, betrays them with the Chinese, becomes al-Qaeda but then converts to Buddhism and writes a memoir book that sells to Hollywood and at the end is a candidate with the Democrats in Arizona.
Miss Marple… sorry, but do we want to talk about? The old lady who goes around solving cases where the police regularly groping in the dark? In the plausible story, at the very first intrusion the old woman gets arrested and then interned in a psychiatric clinic. That’s it whether her comments are right or not, because that inspector would accept that a crone granny proves to be smarter than him?
The same would happen to Sherlock Holmes, this is clear. Indeed, if indeed he is so brilliant, he would never disturb Scotland Yard in the investigation. On the other hand, in the case the latter would like his advice, Sherlock would ask for a handsomely fee, Watson would cause him to have a percentage and everyone would end up in court or to the hospital after a violent struggle.
At the first sign of imbalance, the crew of Captain Ahab revolts, it would be hung for his wooden leg to the highest flagpole and Quiqueg would certainly be the mind of the mutiny. And also Sancho Panza would ask a fee to Don Quixote after yet another folly.
I mean, I could go on but I will stop here, because I am convinced that the virus of plausibility would finish to shred every figment of our imagination, starting from the best.
So, despite what even the great English writer thinks, in my small way I prefer to accept the wings, although cheesy paper made, enjoying the inadmissible flight until the end of the words.

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