Friday, January 30, 2015

New president of the republic speech in one word

Stories and News No. 712

I could play.
For example with the automatic generator of presidential settlement speeches.
A joke.
Kids stuff, if you let me use a self-referential reference.
Yes, self-referential.
Very appropriate adjective, since we are talking about modern governments.
I will be everybody’s president, could have been the most popular among phrases erupted by that generator.
With deep and sincere emotion, the opening words.
There is need for trust and hope in the country, the expected omen.
No more room for divisions and controversies, the inevitable warning.
Ours is a great nation, rich in history and culture, yet another chorus.
The challenges ahead are difficult, the obvious prediction.
Jobs for young people and care of the elderly, the usual mentions.
And so on.
Without surprise.
You have just read the book backwards and remember.
A power that does not believe that the flowing futures might really lead to the sea, will hardly find voice.
To tell stories.
Yet to be lived.
Nevertheless, those who pine in the folds of a land daily battered by habit for the worst, would not ask all the music.
To fill the ears.
The minimum would be everything.
Without expecting anything, the least would be a miracle.
A president, indeed, better a lady president in front of the people with one word in mind.
Sorry for everything is the caption, but that does not count.
Let's start from here, from the silence.
Because only on the blank page.
You can write.
Something new.

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Thursday, January 29, 2015

8 year old child France police detain for terrorist remarks

Stories and News No. 711

Strange time in France, these days.
I read that in Nice a son of Muslim parents 8-year-old boy was detained by police for the crime of 'backing terrorism'.
It seems that he refused to say in chorus with his teammates the famous phrase Je suis Charlie (I am Charlie). Then he declared to 'stand on the side of the terrorists'.
Despite the disappointment of the parents, the school has sued him.
Violating a sacred children’s right...

Eight years.
Eight year old I can.
Eight years old I cannot be Spiderman.
Because I do not like spiders and cobwebs.
Or just because I woke up so.

Eight years old I can accuse the Fantastic Four to be cowards.
Because it is easy to make the braggarts.
As Four.
The same for the Avengers.
By the way, avengers of what?
We should first understand who began.
The war.

Eight years old I can feel unsuitable in a school of magic where all is already decided. A presumptuous hat comes and a moment after I am Gryffindor, Slytherin, or worse, because what remains is ever worse.
And if I wanted a common room that is not there?
And if lost in the corridors I should meet Voldemort?
You Know?
There are many of us off the classroom because there are no more benches at the bottom.
Kids who came to the world knowing that you-know-who was the only chance to survive.
Especially because of many other unpronounceable names.
Like ours.

Eight year old you would not want to frighten.
Eight year old you want all except to scary people.
Because only the watching eyes could draw it on me.
The fear.
Then the days pass, so months and years and you start to grow fond.
The border becomes blurred.
The contours rarefied.
And inside the mirror of your desires you discover the true face of the wicked queen.
Snow White.
And Grimilde.
They are the same person to children who just read the tales.
Never lived.

Eight years.
Eight years old I can.
If I still were eight year old, I could stay with the monsters.
Especially if most of the time that's where you have put me.
It’s you, looking at me from above, who cannot.
It’s you, up there, who have work a lot to figure out who are the monsters.
How many are there.
And where they are...

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Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Woman imprisoned by husband: imagine that

Stories and News No. 710

Italy, a 55 year old woman found imprisoned and starved, twenty pounds, died today at a hospital in Pavia.
Her husband, accused of kidnapping and abandonment, was arrested.
This news will dissolve quickly, you'll see.
Especially because of current trends: there is no trace of bad religions and exotic origins in the protagonists.
However, the stories, more than ever the small ones, don’t understand the word discrimination.
They tell everything they find...

Imagine that.
Imagine that this woman is something else.
As her remains, because of an extremely avoidable sacrifice, were a metaphor for something else.
Unable to give sense to the ignoble narrative.
But still leaving something.
To eyes that they really wanted to watch.
And to ears that would find time to listen seriously.

Imagine that.
Imagine that all ripped pounds, devoured cells, shreds of longings and disappointed aspirations were not gone too far.
Watch with me, now.
And listen carefully.
Observe the lifeless body on the mattress and feel the inaudible breath, see the triumph of neglect and pay attention to the echo of an oblivion etched in memory.
Here's what lies on the bed.
Just a memory.
Nevertheless, let’s draw together the due respect to the whole story, since judging a story from a few lines is an unforgivable mistake.
Let alone a lifetime.
Lever your look, then.
And light more your ears.
Focus your senses beyond the borders of the bitter image.
Do you see them?
They are all still here, the stolen remains.
The subtracted existence for hatred or simple indifference, which is even worse, is still here, in the room.
Because we can take hostage how much life we want and damn us, all together, to bury it in the deepest point of the earth.
Something seems to disappear, in fact, but it is only an illusion.
Convincing us we had won, we made to go ahead regardless.
Nevertheless, looted pounds, destroyed flesh and thoughts carved on fragile horizons that never come are all still here.
Within us.
In fact, they are us.

Imagine that.
Now, imagine that this woman is a metaphor for something else.
You choose what.
We must only to give her back what we stole.

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Friday, January 23, 2015

World End Doomsday 2015 in 3 minutes video

Stories and News No. 709

Crazy climate change and dangers arising from nuclear weapons has moved two minutes forward 
the Doomsday Clock.
According to scientists we are three minutes to midnight...

Three minutes.
Three minutes to die.
Three minutes...
Why am I losing time here, writing?
Come on, maybe I am still in time.
We pollute and we don’t pay attention, this is the problem.
I shut down everything, pc, the fridge, yes, who care about the frozen food?
I will think about later.
When later?!
Now, I have to do something now, immediately.
I must turn off the air conditioner.
I do not have it, such a stupid I am...
However, I stop entire electrical stuff, so I remember it was written in that pamphlet that my girlfriend gave me.
Two minutes.
What? Is it already passed a minute?
What else can I do... but yes, the differentiated waste collection!
Where are those bags with baskets on... I said that sooner or later I started with.
However, beginning the differentiated garbage collection two minutes to the apocalypse… what difference might it be?
What difference with differentiated collection!
Good one.
What a idiot guy I am, I laugh at my silly jokes, while seconds go away.
One minute.
One minute, I must not lose time anymore.
What else can I do?
Oops, I have to pee…
Damn fragile bladder!
Well... done, thankfully.
I wash my hands... and soap!
I look at the other products and I realize that it is all stuff that pollutes, wow.
I knew it, my girlfriend told me.
Yes, she is one of the.
Come on, those girls obsessed with the ecological life.
Thirty seconds.
Excuse me, but these scientists are so genius: why do they tell it just now?
Ah... they have already told us?
Ten seconds.
What can I do to give a final meaning to my life in ten seconds?
It cannot end like this, suffering for what I missed.
By the way, I am not the only guilty, right?
I should have done more, as my girlfriend did, and we would still have come to this.
Indeed, I could be her, not achieved anything.
Maybe, I would be consciousness, that’s all.
You are going to die like me, honey, what’s the point?
At least I've lived more relaxed.
Less thinking, more time for me.
Time for me... what time?

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Thursday, January 22, 2015

Premature baby left to die by mother: the reign of before

Stories and News No. 708

I read that in Corigliano Calabro, in the province of Cosenza, a pregnant woman and a doctor have simulated a car accident. Once at the emergency room, the lady claimed to be injured, causing the death of the baby born prematurely, to get the insurance price and share it with the doctor.
Another life joins the reign of before.
Another story too...

Call me so, from now.
Forever premature.
In other words, forever young.
Better, right?
In other words is the best, I ever said.
In other words, I ever dreamed, because in our country we do not speak.
No need of that.
In other words, there is no time.
Because the rest of us live there, back there, in the reign of before.
Where everything happens too soon.
Yes, let’s blame the rush.
It is a bad advisor, so they say.
For example, it leads us to cry with felt anger watching the barbarism of the so-called uncivilized peoples, associating them with our exotic fellow citizens.
Shortly after forgetting stories like mine, that happen next us, maybe in neighbor’s home.
You cannot use them to roar as fake lions against the inhumanity of the random gypsy, because we would see the latter very confused.
Reflected in the mirror.
Shortly after.
In the reign of after you can do everything.
All is fair.
All is possible.
That is why we are envious.
For everything.
In the reign of before novels are not yet completed, so there is still chance for the victory.
There are all the seconds, without exception, that will lead to the show on the horizon.
The first kiss and the first real hug.
The first genuine tears without shame.
The first laugh, without fear that sounds awkward.
Because everybody there laugh.
Even the one who you laugh of.
We of the reign of before could destroy the world or save it.
We could even look at you.
In a trivial instant, on a just as insignificant day.
At the metro stop, on the other side.
Maybe you would have look at us, and then forget.
We would have been there the same.
At that time, that day, with you.
However, imagine if by chance, even by mistake, we would smile.
Before the arrival of the train.
That before would become an after.
That would change our lives.
And yours.

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Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Pope Francis letter from a rabbit

Stories and News No. 707

Catholics shouldn't breed like rabbits.
Yes, I read this news.
Okay… I cannot read, since I'm a rabbit.
I found out, somebody told me.
The mandrill did.
He is always thinking about that.
You know what it feels like, right?
Anyway, I will absolutely not disrespecting anyone.
However, since this thing of not to have children as we do is out, all eyes are on us.
Not just you, people.
The other night my wife and I got out the den and found a blind mole selling pirated copies of our making out.
Pirate copies?
Is there also the original?!
Mole, I said, you're blind, you did not even see the video!
Of course I'm blind, he replied, because I watch this things and I touch myself...
What do you say? You were born like this!
Words to the wind, this is the problem.
Wind bring words and spread them everywhere, getting inside, invading you and who pay the price? Those who even ignored you were talking about them.
Like us.
The rabbits.
So, you know what?
We want to end this obsession on how we make children: we tell ourselves.
We make love too.
In this, we are not different from you.
Well… how I do it and, most importantly, how my bunny does is unique.
But I'm sure many think the same.
The blind mole too.
Sure, I cannot go into the details, you'll understand.
But when the light goes away and our lair starts getting hot, heart begins to race and imagination gallops, oh… fireworks at home, no jokes.
Then, you will know how, you are the ones who study things, we just live them, sometimes nature gives us a prize.
A son.
A daughter.
Or more.
Beautiful, huh?
That's why, since I learned the news above, I have two doubts.
First, why any creature of the earth, at any time of day or night, would not want to have children like us?
Second, if you have tried at least once in your life, why do you care how we do it?
Otherwise, I understand.
I understand the insatiable curiosity…

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Friday, January 16, 2015

Racism in Italy stories: his dog

Stories and News No. 706

I read that Ioan Popa, a 52 years old homeless, was beaten to death by a 22 years old guy from Milan, Italy. In according to the police, October 14 night, the man was murdered in front of a pub because he wanted to pet the Italian’s dog, then helped by his friends to hide the homicide.
All this and much more, happens and continues to happen on the general silence.
Silence of the last people of this world, who have no voice…

As the dog.
I am the dog, now.
The dog of the failure caress.
I am the one who saw everything and, unlike you, free to drop the stolen blood, I feel all weight on my back.
It's my fault.
I make it mine.
Indeed, if I had not been there, the man would not have violated the border.
For a dog’s pet.
And if people die for such a fleeting contact with equally insignificant creatures, you know how does obsession for distances is vain?
Between us?
Yes, I'm the dog.
And I'll take the blame.
Just because I was there.
And I have not done anything to stop death.
I am part of it, as the fragment of a puzzle.
And well, believe me, there are no particular overs and supporting characters, theatrical negligible trappings and forgettable colors in the background.
The picture is a murder.
And when the journey to the end of a life instantly accelerate in a whirl of dull anger, it is like being the victim of the backwash on a putrid pit.
It drags us all along.
Then I'm guilty.
Me, the dog.
But you and the other too.
Who is looking, or simply listening.
Who does not find the courage.
And who does not know where to look.
Who strikes the very first.
And who knew that sooner or later it would happen.
This is a silent confession, I know.
Dogs see, but do not speak.
As walls and windows, clouds and leaves, roads and rain.
As mere spectators worldwide.
But this does not mean we cannot write.
Our words are to be found below.
They fall, because too heavy.
They are all still there.
On the ground.

Read other stories about racism.

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Thursday, January 15, 2015

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

What is terrorism for kids

Stories and News No. 704

You can explain it with a definition: The deliberate commission of an act of violence to create an
emotional response through the suffering of the victims in the furtherance of a political or social agenda.
Or, maybe, you could tell it with a story…

Once upon a time there was a planet.
A small one, nothing exceptional.
But it was all there.
Water, food, animals.
Nature, in brief.
However, there were also four human beings.
Without specifying between male or female, high or little, white, black, yellow or red.
So no one might feel excluded.
Most importantly, accused.
I will not tell even the name, for the same reason.
To distinguish, I will call them One, Two, Three and Four.
By tacit agreement, they had divided the planet into equal parts.
On each side there was everything and everybody live in peace and gladness.
Look at them now, at this very moment, I wish you remember them well, because people from this planet were easy to forget.
Like RAM, the computer’s volatile memory: every time you turn off, everything starts again from zero.
But human memory is not like the PC: you cannot turn it off.
You can do it only with brain.
The free ride was short-lived, because someday One awoke in the morning with doubts that changed history forever.
"Why should I be content with only a quarter of the planet? I am the most intelligent, I must have at least half. It’s a matter of justice."
At the same time, also Two opened his eyes with the same urgent question: "Why do I have only a quarter of the planet? I am the strongest, I should have at least twice as much. It’s matter of justice."
Simultaneously, Three exclaimed loudly, while having breakfast: "Why do I have only a quarter of the planet? I am the most beautiful, they must give me double space. It’s a matter of justice."
What can you do, justice is like a pie: everyone takes a piece, until there is no more for others.
The three began to discuss, before calmly and then vehemently, coming to furious quarrels.
Thus, the first threats arrived.
"I am the most intelligent," One cried. "If you don’t give me what I deserve I will use my wits to make it right."
"I am the strongest," Two replied. "If you don’t give me what I deserve I will use my muscles to make it right."
"I am the most beautiful," Three said to both. "If you don’t give me what I deserve I will use my charm to convince someone to give me his land."
"Someone who?" One asked. "You tell us your plan and now we'll be careful."
"Well said," Two remarked.
Someone who?
At that very moment the contenders were crossed by the same thought, which led them to move eyes on Four.
He felt observed and greeted.
So did the three and each one went home.
The following day, One said to Four: "My dear, I'm here to defend you from Two and Three."
"Because they want to rob you, but don’t worry: I will use my intelligence to protect you. In return, you will give me half of your land. Think about it, better half than nothing. Trust me, it's the right thing. "
Four accepted immediately, without questions.
The next day, Two said to Four: "Dude, I'm here to defend you from One and Three."
"Three, I understand, but One too? Just yesterday he offered to defend me from you and the other one..."
"He is the most intelligent, he cheated you. However, you don’t need to worry, I am here, the strongest. I'll protect you. In return, I want half of your land, it is the right thing. "
"I understand, but I have already given a half to One and now I live in the other..."
"No problem, you can stay there, just pay the rent and we agree. Better this than nothing, trust me."
Four trusted.
On the third day, even Three showed up.
"My dear, I'm here to defend you from One and Two."
"Are you sure? Because both are protecting me from you..."
"They are fooling you, probably right now they are laughing at you. Anyway, don’t worry, I got it. I am the most beautiful. I will enchanted them with my charm, keeping them away from you. In return, you must give me half of your land."
"I can’t."
"You see, I have given a half to One and Two has now the other. I'm just pay the rent on the latter."
"No problem," Three said. "This is all resolved. You give me this last part, I will pay the rent."
"But… where am I going to live?"
"Simple: you can migrate to my land."
"Sure, come to me, there is jobs and prospects for the future. Better immigrant than nothing, trust me."
Four trusted again.
However, from that day he began to be more and more confused.
So nervous.
Depressed, but also moody.
Months passed, years too, and Four became even unstable.
Also because things got event worse.
While the past history had been canceled at all, the attitude of others became paradoxical.
One said: “I don’t want Four in my land, people like him are not welcome because they are not well mannered.”
Two repeated the same concept, adding that four was too different from him and that everyone should have to stay at his home.
And what about Three? He declared that Four was in his land only to bring violence and crime.
So he expelled him.
But where, as also the others had banned him?
So, Four began to dig, looking for a place to stay.
A heat place.
He dug.
And dug.
Until he reached the heart of the planet.
A huge and beating heart, made entirely by live fire.
Four watched the flames and felt in the belly a boiling mixture increased over time, fueled by a whole life.
Anger and grief, mad and tears soaked eyes, clenched fists and nails embedded in the palms of the hands.
Without any more doubts he threw himself into the heart.
Of fire.
The explosion that followed was tremendous.
Shaking the small planet.
And for the first time terror invaded the lives of the inhabitants of the world.

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Friday, January 9, 2015

Among Je suis Charlie and silence

Stories and News No. 703

These are hard days to write.
No complaints, believe me, because the real problems are others.
There are people suffering out there.
There are people dying out there, before the Tragedy with a capital t on all screens and, even the next day.
The following one and so one.
That’s life, I will not repeat again.
Silence, I chose silence and part of me still believes is the best side where to look at things.
To hear and understand.
Nevertheless, looking at the design around the principal facts, or rather, their representation, I felt something else growing inside.
The duty to write, beyond the mere needs.
But, forgive me, what I will tell you will be not a proper speak.
Rather a not speaking.
I will tell something about you, like myself sitting in the audience to witness the awful show.
Well, imagine us, all sitting on the more or less comfortable seats in a huge movie theater with an enormous screen that glows with life, death, and more than ever words and images.
We are not in there.
We are the ones who watch.
The noise is loud, the volume is skyrocketing, and from the beginning many cannot avoid to join their voices to the din.
Here, I try to understand better.
I am you, now, you writing Je suis Charlie.
I'm Charlie, I try, really.
I would like to be you, you seem to be on the right side.
As you, I am for freedom of expression beyond all limits.
A perfect example? If at this very moment someone should create a cartoon joking about the dead journalists, I would have nothing to say.
It would be a sacred right.
And if someone had tried in any way to attack the extreme satire, I would defend it.
I would be its shield.
Because I would be Charlie every day, not just when all that count are.
I would be Charlie also and above all, when Charlie was alive.
However, people who are Charlie today are not all in the same way.
The bigger is the flag as many are those who hide behind it.
There are those who cry out now stop Islamic terrorism.
They remind us that we are experiencing a clash of civilizations.
Between faiths.
Christians and Jews on one side and Muslims on the other.
Needless to repeat these people that a billion and a half human begins in the world praying Allah is sitting next to us at this time, between the above seats.
They are like us, audience witness in front of hell.
And today, Charlie are also those who do not lose opportunity to find a pretext for their mission to defend the national soil from migrant invader.
Just guilty of being different from the equals.
Needless to explain these people that all the persons who somehow are definable as strangers are in these hours sitting next to us, between the same above seats.
They are almost like us, audience witness in front of hell.
Only much more at risk of discrimination, since today.
And what about me?
I do not know if I am or not Charlie.
I have no idea if I was yesterday and if I will do tomorrow.
For sure, I'm sorry, are not you, dear je suis Charlie.
That is something different, I hope you understand.
Who am I before the terrible tragedies of the world, I emphasize, that happen every second of our lives, is a question I ask myself since a lot of time.
I wish I had your confidence in the answer, but do not have it, I'm sorry.
Meanwhile, I study, read and watch.
Then I try to write.

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