Friday, December 26, 2014

Happy New Year 2015 video the story is now

Stories and News No. 702

Last post of the year, with a video. See you in the new one.
Best wishes and many thanks to those who were here.

There is the story.
No 'once upon a time'.
There is now...

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Monday, December 15, 2014

Christmas story of the others: out the festivities home

Stories and News No. 701

Once upon a time there was Christmas.
Known and obvious story.
Lights and music.
Decorated trees and balls.
Festoons and songs.
The famous father with the big smiling face.
Music and lights.
Stale story, no surprises.
Until the paper goes away, the box is broken and…
Here is the Gift.
But it's not over, right?
The surprise is still there, sure?
We will run together until the end will come.
Until new beginning will start.
Of this too short or too long year.
It depends, as usual, by the points of view.
Yes, the points of view.
Once upon a time there was Christmas, yours.
Known and obvious story, for you, my friend.
Lights and music, for you, my dear.
Days of levity and shared affection.
For you.
Among the many.
Watching from afar.
Or closely.
I remember, I remember well.
And I do not forget.
Look, take a look, if you can, and try to do the same.
Despite the inexperience.
Of the unfortunate opposite.
Fades music and lowers lights, not at all, though.
Just enough to see.
Even without understanding much.
No… here we go again, this moment arrived.
The world revolves around, yelling, harnessed with vivid colors.
Too much of that.
Forcing me to look at the emptiness.
Xmas, bastard Xmas.
What do you have to celebrate?
What have you to smile?
Your joy explodes and brightens loneliness.
They are there.
Believe me, they are there, they are many.
They are the world, not us.
A few.
I know, it would be unfair not to enjoy the beautiful, now.
Nevertheless, please, if you can.
Love the happiness of your moment.
You have to.
However, for them, do not make too much noise.
So that all steps soon and painless, for those left out.
From the house of the festivities.

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Friday, December 12, 2014

Moral stories: Michel DuCille dies

Stories and News No. 700

The Washington Post photojournalist, Michel duCille, three times winner of the prestigious Pulitzer Prize, died of a heart attack in Liberia, doing his job.
Telling the truth about Ebola.
Telling everything, despite everything.
Think that just a couple of months ago the University of Syracuse, fearing Ebola, canceled his participation at a workshop for students, although duCille had followed all the practices to guarantee everybody’s safety.
That is the story of the stories.
And who tells them...

There is the story.
No once upon a time.
There is now.
With us.
Without us.
Despite us.

There is the story and those who live in the foreground.
Under bright highlights, they stay there, enjoying the latter.
Or complaining about so much interest, flaunting fake humility.

There is the story and the army of supporting actors, voluntary or forced extras to serve the Olympus.
Mythological or digital one, there is not so much difference.
What matters is to admire.
What matters is the show must go on.
What matters is the adulating mass.
Because, without it, the golden penthouse collapses into dust.

There is the story and who writes it.
No, it is not famous people, you don’t need to guess.
They're out there, somewhere.
Many of them do not even know that the pen in their hands is the only one that really writes.
Sensible words and phrases born to remain.
The rest is just confusion for ears and heart.

In fact, there is the story and those who pretend to write it.
The names are there, the faces as well, more than ever, the cacophonous sound of their lives.
Made of the same substance of nightmares.
Made to be forgotten.

Finally, there is the story and those who tell it.
Wherever you turn, they are scrambling to get your attention tickling the eye and stomach, with special effects that have just the trick.
Gaudy packed boxes.

Wait, don’t go away.
Please, stop running and take your time.
When fog has gone, noise fades, you see them.
Here they are.
The story and who, to tell it exactly as he sees it, is ready to die.
Watch, listen and read.
Maybe you will find love to do the same…

Read other stories with morals.

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Thursday, December 11, 2014

Stories about life: war and heroes

Stories and News No. 699

A military plane crashed yesterday on a care home for the mentally disabled people that is located in France, near the town of Tours.
Although this is a provisional report, we talk about one dead and four wounded among those present in the facility at the time of the accident, while the pilots seem to be saved thanks to the parachutes.
Story of contrasts wrote by the usual cynical chaos of events.
Training soldiers and fragile souls.
The former glorified and celebrated on the public parades. The latter isolated, hidden and more than ever ignored...

Mister General, may I say a word?
Could I call you sir, or I have to start by saying something proper due to your degree?
Most importantly, may I remain seated?
No, it is not a matter of lack of respect for the uniform.
And even less of an arrogant assertion of anti-militarism.
The rest of us do not have time for this.
The rest of us do not have time for common clashes.
Because we are at war.
Every day.
Yes, you got it right.
I said war.
You know it, I hope.
Since some pay your bills in the name or in view of that.
That is, we pay.
All of us.
What war am I talking about?
Simple, in its sublime nature, Mister General.
The one who earns the most sought-after scene, in the climax of the story.
Of one against many.
A hero.
I assume you also know him fully.
In the cloth as in life that lies beneath it.
Otherwise, I wonder, how does one become a General?
What enemy?
Oh, but you should use the plural.
You do not remember? I said against many.
Many of the most formidable opponents that human existence might cope.
Equipped with the most terrifying features that an adversary could show off.
Elusiveness, literal or less.
Tireless, physical or less.
And inexhaustible amount of cruelty.
Human or ... no, nothing less.
Entirely human.
In short, monsters.
Victory? No victories, Mister General.
Nevertheless, we give each other a medal at the end of every day, because we are aware that the best we can ever get is courage.
Courage to continue the fight tomorrow.
Yes, that’s what it is.
We make war, just like you.
And we also have our heroes.
Actually, we all are.
The only difference, you will admit it is not normal stuff, is that we fly ever with bare wings.
Read us like the ghost pilots without a parachute

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Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Racism stories: an inconvenient truth

Stories and News No. 698

I'm not racist, I want to put beforehand.
I just want a criteria of reality.
This story could also be called criteria of reality.
I have always believed that one of our biggest problems lies in our lack of criteria of reality.
Think of our planet.
The planet earth.
We call earth a planet which is made for the most part of water.
We should call it planet water, not earth.
Criteria of reality.
Think about us.
We define us as human beings.
Think carefully about human adjective.
Well, we are the last thing on this world that is definable human.
Saying that animals are often more human than us is trivial.
The stones, the stones are more human than us.
Criteria of reality.
Take the Christian commandments, the ten commandments.
You should not covet neighbor's stuff.
A stone does not want other stone’s stuff. They are both made of stone, so no wish.
At the same time, any of us, watching desirable things in other people’s house, we all hope to have them.
Criteria of reality.
Nevertheless, let’s go to the title, this thing of whites’ racism against blacks.
There is an enormous lack of criteria of reality, in my humble opinion.
Who is the fastest man in the world? Usain Bolt, the greatest sprinter in history.
And he is black.
He won many finals at the Olympics Games, where they are always all blacks.
But even the semifinals and quarters, you know that.
The marathon, the ten thousand meters, the five thousand, three thousand, fifteen hundred as well.
Blacks are always the ones who win.
But what about soccer?
Who is the strongest player in the world? Pelé and he is black.
Sorry Maradona or Messi, but Pelé won three world championships and seems to have scored more than 1200 goals...
Do we want to talk about music?
Who is the greatest guitarist in the history?
Jimi Hendrix and he is black.
The greatest guitarist is black.
And the biggest pop singer?
Michael Jackson and .. and he was black, I know.
Then he turned white, but in the beginning he was black, he was born black.
And what about the United States?
Who is the most powerful man in the US? Obama and he is black.
Do we want to talk about golf? Who is the greatest golfer in the world?
Tiger Woods is black and almost every year the highest paid sportsman on the planet.
And who is the world champion of Formula One? Lewis Hamilton and he is black.
English and black.
Do we want to talk about strength?
Think about the boxing.
The strongest boxers are all blacks.
And who is the greatest boxer in history? Muhammad Ali, who is also black.
Do we want to talk about basketball? Take a look at the NBA, choose a game at random, they are almost all blacks. The strongest are always blacks.
Finally we want to mention the size of... okay, we don’t talk about it, take it easy.
Criteria of reality, that's what we really miss.
This story about whites and blacks.
This thing about white racism towards blacks is a lie.
It is not racism.
It’s fear.
A terrible, agonizing fear.
Yet, despite what I said, I repeat.

I am not racist.

Read other stories about racism.

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Friday, December 5, 2014

Racism stories: ban colors

Stories and News No. 697

Yet another news of an African American man killed by the police in the United States is everywhere.
As the killings in 1919, the narrative presents the same unacceptable title.
I'm tired of this...

I offer radical solutions.
Let’s ban the colors.
Beautiful, huh?
I know.
Stop colors, stop racism.
And stop to pair of useless words in overvalued meanings.
White men and African American women, colored people or just black, yellows and mulattos, ebony skin and so on.
All away, simplicity time.
A few seconds and ... crash!
You will understand, without colors, no street lights too.
So, among other billion basic things, no more books.
Read as well as spells of black magic on white pages.
Because that’s what writing stories is.
Pure magic, nothing less, and much more.
I cannot abolish the colors?
Let’s ban the skin, then.
Brilliant, right?
Muscles and tendons, blood and heart, all in plain sight.
Stop again white girls and black children, mestizos and Creoles, all away, simplicity time.
Well this time too, a few seconds and... no, no crash.
But other unbearable empties.
The photographs of him, who no longer exists, and the beauty of her, who one day will return.
The perfect painted and sculpted shapes, serious injuries in the creation of the artist who was.
Imaginative memory erased and senses suddenly dead.
Not to mention the privilege of being a fingertip.
The gift of the caress will never be like before on the naked flesh without its natural dress.
Okay, okay, forgive the skin.
I said radical solutions, right?
Fine, we're serious, now.
Let’s ban the others.
This is the best I made up, sorry, but I applaud myself.
Thank you, thanks a lot, I say to me, because I am also modest.
Anyway, erase the others, stop every problem.
No more blacks, but also whites, who are the others for the latter, no more foreigners, but also aliens, strangers and new people, away everything that is not... us.
A few seconds and...
But so, who will read these words?
Hey, are you there?
Please, come back, I was joking, I get back all right.
The colors, the skin, the others, as usual.
Except for those cursed words.
Police kill black man...

Read other stories about racism.

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Thursday, December 4, 2014

Rome Mafia: what about the immigrants problem?

Stories and News No. 696

The news about convictions and ongoing investigations on the new mafia in Rome, with plots between fascist criminal gangs, entrepreneurs and representatives of right and left parties is everywhere in Italy.
Here is a satirical and fictional comment by an average citizen, an usual staunch defender of the native soil against the immigrant horde, preferred cause of his misfortune.
The one who ever knows everything…

I know

I know it.
I know everything.
What? The Mafia in Rome?
The Romanians, the gang of Romanians, I know them.
No? Romania has nothing to do?
They are black criminals?
Africans, I knew.
Black in the sense of fascist far right...
I know and also you know: the bad apples are everywhere.
What? They corrupt anyone, even to the leftists?
The Chinese mob is behind, that’s sure.
Those billions of restaurants… who knows what they hide in the kitchen.
What do you say?
The culprits took advantage of immigrants?
Yet I know.
I know it.
I know everything.
The gypsies are guilty, they have dishonest nature, teaching children to steal and...
What? The convicted ones profited by Roma?
But I know, I tell you.
I know it.
I know everything.
Or I knew.
As I always said?
They do not live like us, they trade on us, they do not respect our laws and do not integrate.
Here they are: the mosquitoes!
It's all because of the mosquitoes.
I can finally go back to sleep.

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Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Diversity stories: We Are You

Stories and News No. 695

Today, December 3, marks the United Nations' International Day of Persons with Disabilities.
I always thought that the gaps that distinguish us and often afflict us are until someone fills them for us.
Deleting them...

Differently abled.
Or, maybe it's better, just you.

You, who are here now.
Relax and enjoy the journey.
Because what you're missing, we have a lot.

If it is fantasy, we will give you the best colors, the ones that make wonderful the discreet, chosen on sunlight with frankly hardworking, no gift from photoshop.
We will not give you all the stories, but only those that will remain.
Forever and ever.
And we'll give you chords that will free the body from that pontificating pretentious guy up there, in the skull.
No eighth discovery, anyway
We will catch among the usual seven, do not worry.
Nothing is heard, when music translates the present day.
Read also like you and us.

If courage is what you are missing, here we are.
Turn and see us.
Stay on the enemy.
But you will know we are there.
The enemy looks at you.
And he will feel alone.
Against all.
Or read as before.

Even if it is the heat you might miss, you will need just a hand.
If you can, even two.
And throw them in opposite directions.
Yes, just like the chief of the great four heroes, the one with the stretching body.
Draw a circle with arms in front of you, and ends the work when you pleases.
What you hold is worth the effort.
Not everything is good.
The world here narrated is not the kingdom of the gullible.
It’s just a mere matter of statistics: the treasure is out there, somewhere.
All without exception, among those who until now allowed us a horizon, said it.

However, if it is something else you are missing and we will not be able to remedy the lack, we are you.
The disabled.
Or, maybe it's better, the differently disabled.

Read other stories about diversity.

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