Friday, March 27, 2015

Diversity stories in the reign of normal

Stories and News No. 736

I read that Mike Pence, Indiana governor, signed the "Religious Freedom Restoration Act" (more preciously the "religious Objections" bill).
This seems to assure people the right to refuse any kind of service to someone if their beliefs do not recognize it his sexual behavior as normal.
Think if things were really as well as professionals of fear scream.
Imagine what it would mean to live where the straight path is one and only one...

Once upon a time there was the reign of normal people.
Where things were simple.
Or at worst, dark.
Men and women.
Regally in that order.
Despite the beautiful saying in the very important evenings, the place you sit matters.
And so the places you leave to others.
Imagine to be wrong person between pure souls.
Shaky existence with confused consciousness.
And a jumbled morality, perpetually crossed by huge question marks.
Imagine the proportions of the sin.
Hearing arising questions when everyone around you had answers, without the need for such overvalued stuff.
As questions and doubts.
Silence would be a good way, really.
Perhaps the best, in the first instance.
Expressionless mask or invisibility cloak at day.
Strictly both at night.
Because you know.
In the reign of normal people night does not bring counsels.
Unless to close your eyes and have good dreams.
Those who can freely tell in the morning.
Forgetting the rest.
Maybe you could talk about it, of course, but it would not be a simple story.
A balanced journey of words, from me to you.
The knees should kiss the ground with sincere contrition.
The head should bend down showing a sufficiently humble neck.
And the voice should be guided by a holy shame.
For failing to show timely gladness.
To be chosen among the chosen creatures.
The normal people.
Nevertheless, even repent of existing may not be enough.
Because between the imperfect lives there are some who are born with the senses so distorted to see in the contradiction an obliged vocation.
As a wrong color in the right place.
As a naive and short story that claims attention behind an adoring audience before the prestigious showcase.
As someone who would bet a lifetime on the idea that the reign of normal people does not exist, except in the phobias of a coward narrator.
It is worth to see who will win in the end, do not you think?

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Thursday, March 26, 2015

Germanwings crash: the land without destination

Stories and News No. 735

"What are the origins of the pilots???"
That is what an Italian politician asked on twitter.
Despite the tragic event, hard to stay serious before such question.
Nevertheless, overlooking the umpteenth unkempt as clumsy manipulation would be a mistake.
There is something rotten in the words and that is not Denmark, because we are not in Hamlet, here.
We are in the land without destination...

Once upon a time there was the land without destination.
Travelers, yes, everyone were so.
With or without a valid ticket.
With visible or hidden hand luggage.
In first class, of course.
And all the lower ones, that never end.
Because there is always someone behind you.
To envy your place.

In the land without destination people go each day.
In every moment of common living there was someone who exclaimed proudly: I'm going away.
Because I can, because this is my land, because I sanctify its boundaries and feeling protected I am the king of my whims.
Everything I can, until somebody will arrest me.
But he should stop and that is hard for the inhabitants of the land without destination.

Here we are, take a look at us.
We are in a row, we live in the queue, one behind the other, waiting to arrive.
While time goes, it slips away on the treadmill of our forgetfulness, but no one is shocked.
There is no reason.
We left a day, but it does not matter which one.
What is certain is that we all come from there.
From the fertile womb of a confused mother, face shaped like a boot, always ready to smile to the prince, as to kick the vassal.

There is no discrimination, but consistency.
With a half-life.
Of myopic explorers, who do not distinguish the past from the present.
As long as they stay with their galley fellows.
Having drank and ate together, this makes us brothers and sisters.

So the enemy appears.
Suddenly he is on board, daring too much.
He even claims to travel sitting.
With ticket or not.
With luggage or just a dream.
In hand.
But the most shocking story is written in the eyes of those illegal immigrants.
Because they know exactly where they come from and is never the same for any of them.
Because they have got heart and soul fixed on what really matters in a trip.
Even if everyone you meet will have it forgotten.
The fundamental destination…

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Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Earth Hour 2017 video: the perfect robbery

Stories and News No. 734

Saturday, 28 March 2015 at 8.30 pm local time will be the eighth edition of Earth Hour, an event created by WWF to raise public awareness on the urgent issue of climate change.
2015 will be remembered for a theft.
A theft of words...

Once upon a time there was the perfect robbery.
That is what earth told the moon the day after, when the latter asked about the hour of darkness, that would have shed light up on the end.
Inevitable, but at least postponed.
Tell me more, the queen of the night requested. I'm curious.
The earth hesitated, fueling suspense in the stars too, the usual abusive spectators.
I'll tell you a lot more, she said.
I'll tell you everything.
That is all the story.
I was there and so them.
The most arrogant creatures among the terrestrials, the true aliens, the real unwelcome customers.
The only illegal citizens that, often, should be expelled.
The human beings.
Countdown, open curtain and... dark.
No total blackness, ideal condition for a precise show.
However, I’m used to live without perfection, when I’m dealing with the so-called superior species.
So I did my best and taking advantage of the less attention by the guardians of saying, I stole.
Yes, I admit, and I am not ashamed, because I have stolen words.
The thinking bipeds do it all the time and the set of letters they adore to steal is the most paradoxical.
Which One? Moon asked, becoming the voice of all the lights.
Humanity, do you believe it?
No, the lady with the blue cloak replied, I see it. Every night I dream about their days.
But what words did you take away? She asked curious.
Those I needed the most.
I stole later.
So they could not say anymore we think about later, later we will see, or who knows what will happen later?
So I stole tomorrow and future, so everybody will stop to say the most overrated tomorrow is another day and the hypocritical young people have got the future.
Because today is today and tomorrow as well.
And because the future is not for young people, but everyone.
Or nobody.
Then, I took a gigantic bag and I've stuck it with all the conditional verbs, starting with I could, I would and I should.
However, to be honest, I have not only stolen.
I cheated too.
Practice learned from those alleged teachers who claim the right to rule on my skin.
Borrowing words to put them back distorted.
As civilization, peace and rights, to name a few at random.
For my part, I had no doubt and with quick hand I grabbed the only word I was interested to.
Believe me, I did not think it had become so small, watching it closely.
So I realize the deception.
I took the borders and I have expanded the breadth beyond human measure.
For what purpose? The muse of the singing wolves asked.
Oh, not to create other dreamers.
Who does not point a single penny of their existence on the unacceptable design will not change opinion.
Losing hope’s growers need help, nowadays.
They are few, as always, and lacking of encouragement.
The less could be enough.
Think, then, what a disproportionate horizon could do.
And what happened at the end of your time? Moon inquired. Even if, then, everything will be as before.
Earth smiled with a triumphant look.
So she revealed the most important word among those who had stolen.
The End.

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Friday, March 20, 2015

Polar bear attacks man in tent: Oh sorry

Stories and News No. 733

A tourist camped at the north pole to see the solar eclipse was attacked by a polar bear. The man was brought to a nearby hospital with wounds cured in a few weeks.

Oh sorry, but you too...
Try to understand me.
Because if you do not understand, I come to the hospital to end what I started.

Oh sorry, you know, but you...
You come up to the North Pole to watch the sky?
How weird are you guys?
Besides other adjectives banned in every state except the south pole.
I've always wondered why someone told me that in the latter bears might say what they want, when they want and especially how.
The south pole must be the real land of freedom.
Maybe, this is also just another illusion, because if you think the best you always image the other part, as the sky above.

Oh sorry, but you...
I could not avoid to bite your arm.
You would have done the same if you was me.
Put yourself in my skin, if you've never done.
Besides, if you've never done, next time I meet you I will snap to finish.
Rather than to remember.
By the way, do you remember the facts?
Because I do, my hairless friend.
I was there, in the middle of the morning, warming at the light of the always open eye, except when you dream, when suddenly something went wrong.
The eyelids are slowly dropped on the full life’s road.

Oh sorry, but then I turned around and you were there...
What else should I do?
I became visionless by rage, and it was dark as well.
On the other hand, you are doing this game with everything.
Ice becomes water, water becomes oil, oil becomes gasoline but what do I get by that? Air becomes stuff I did not understand what it is but the penguins have phlegm and there is a reason, blue sky becomes blue sky but everybody knows it is the old blue anymore, except the one eye fish that is completely blind but nobody tells him for compassion.
Well, compassion that is over for guys like you, sir.
Humans, or those creatures by heavy head and light heart.

Oh sorry, but when I saw you the first thing I thought was: "Even the sun becomes moon? No way..."
Okay, this time I agree we were wrong.
But we are still three billion to one…

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Thursday, March 19, 2015

Anti-Racism Day 2017 story: the monsters city

Stories and News No. 732

Once upon a time there was a town.
A frightening one and this adjective was never righter.
Yes, because I speak of the monsters’ city.
It was inhabited by monsters.
Only monsters.
Real monsters, not the stuff that now no longer scares anyone.
Becoming ridiculous too.
As vampires with plastic teeth and living dead thinking to be really alive.
Ghosts who do everything to be seen.
Even touched, everything for believing to exist for real.
In the city of monsters, monsters were seriously monstrous.
And every day, they scare each other.
As a famous monster said, if you do not scream of terror at least once a day, that day is not worth living.
However, the day when fear began to run low came.
So, the most sadistic monsters among citizens, TV entertainment workers, had the good thought.
To recover the dark ability they organized a talent show.
That is a contest to elect the scariest monster.
On the evening of the final race, contestants were fierce as ever.
The judges anxiously awaited behind the examiner desk.
In the middle the boss, Mrs. PC, crazy cable clutters as hair, smiley drunk emoticons as eyes and USB input as lips.
On the right Mr. Taxes, with an ATM that worked on the contrary instead of the head and on left Mr. Bribery, tiny body but large hands and belly.
Avidly large.
Mrs. PC started the exhibits and a horrid unprecedented show followed.
Lady FB - Facile Bouche, easy mouth in French, despite appearances do not get confused with the well-known social network - showed up with a towel around her neck in front of a plate full of boiled mosquitoes and expired Nutella, which is a sacrilegious crime, no jokes.
"I like," she read every single bite of the revolting meal.
All were horrified, but one of the competitors laughed.
Sir Hashtag - even here, ignore the similarities with the famous website - promised and kept his word to declaim, for twelve hours without interruption, only nonsense in 140 characters.
At the end there were some who regretted mosquitoes with Nutella.
But one of the competitors kept laughing.
The maximum point of dismay was reached with Lord Bicameral, a creature with two heads speaking at the same time. One said one thing that the other disagreed, the latter changed his mind, but the former differed too, the next moment they agree on what divided them, and then accused the other of not being credible, up to eat each other.
So both vomited to start again.
The judges and all contestants wanted to run away and cursed the idea of the talent.
While the last one competitor had never stopped giggling.
"You," Mrs. PC said, "why do you keep laughing?"
"Because I'm the most monstrous of all," he said arrogantly.
"Why?" the chief judge asked.
Being honest, he appeared as a harmless creature, only two arms, two legs and a pair of eyes, no claws and additional tails, with gray suit, anonymous tie and equally insignificant face.
"I am the winner," he said, "because I am able to teach everybody to be afraid of others just because of a different skin color."
At that time there was a vacuum around him, because all the monsters in the race went off with an indignant look.
Ms. PC, watching him with severe eyes, said, "You are expelled from the competition."
"Why?" He asked.
"Because you have violated the first rule of the city of monsters: we just scare, we do not create fear."
Those are human beings.

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Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Moral stories: the land of the blind

Stories and News No. 731

Once upon a time there was a land.
Only the story will tell its name.
This one and, maybe, only this.
A story with tiny initial and ambitious final.
The inhabitants lived with and easy eye in the land.
They were called the easy eye people and that was not a coincidence.
Nothing escaped to them, when transited before the most celebrated of the senses.
His divinity the eyesight.
The power who captures the essential and steals the private.
Which looks at the close, imagining so far.
Never the reverse.
Those are the fools by nature and those who become abusing their imagination.
But this is stuff for other stories.
Let us remain here, or what you will see.
Yes, because in the land where the eye reigned, one axiom determined the world.
Only what is seen has reason for being.
Leave the rest to children, who have long time and courage to be wary of the big picture.
So, even in the land the news of the solar eclipse came.
This shocked everyone and everything.
I mean, imagine the anxiety exponentially growing rising the social ladder.
Think that at the upper floors volcanoes erupted hot molten fear.
Think that at the last floor even thoughts trembled.
Think that the whole land, gradually going down, could not avoid to dance at the rhythm of the crazed hearts beating above .
Because that is how things worked in the land: if all lived by what they see, all would live and die for what they was told to see.
Thus, the dreaded day arrived.
The sun embraced the moon, the moon said yes with ardor and together began to make love.
In short, eclipse.
A few seconds of darkness, the true dark, what you see in the daytime, the absence of light for many, too many, that means normal, the simple existence of the lives you consider negligible, who wake up in the morning and never surrender without fighting even if it would be the most religious action, without the need to bring here any divinity.
Only a handful of moments of tasting what is reality for the creatures strictly out there, those who must look for all possible senses, except vision.
Because what the world shows to them is ever too unfair for being human.
In the brackets of unspeakable terror and at the same time great clarity the unnamed villagers for the first time really understood what to see meant.
To see the others.
It did not last long, because that is the way the embrace of the primary stars should be.
Otherwise, you would not do everything possible to relive it.
How I wish it was just the beginning of a new story.
For the land of the unconscious blind

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Friday, March 13, 2015

Moral stories: letter to son

Stories and News No. 730

It seems that in China every year twenty thousand children are abducted.
Xiao Chaohua’s son disappeared in 2007 and since then the man has never stopped going around with an RV covered with photos of the kid, nurturing the hope of finding him.
Even at the cost of just having feed an illusion.
That is, a clear defeat...

All right.
Let’s say I have lost, dear son.
That I'll never win.
That the most I will get is the compassion for another crazy guy in the world.
Infected by an obsession, crazy like many others.
To embrace you.
Worshiped needle confused in the saddest haystack.
Woven with twenty thousand broken dreams.
Let’s that this is the way life goes.
That crazies are just crazies and living a long time means solid land under the feet, deep pockets and skillful hands.
Grasping the graspable, nothing but wonderful ghosts.
It will mean that thing will only get worse for me.
I know well how it works.
Attending fantasy’s frustrations you end up accustomed to falls and the day when the bruises no longer hurt finally comes.
The fire does not burn anymore.
And the frost does not touch you.
Because inside there is no longer anything to freeze.
Let’s say I had already lost everything at the very beginning.
Even before your departure for oblivion.
Even in one of the many vigils of your coming to the world.
Let’s assume it was all already written.
Winners and losers.
Alive and crazy.
And all the others across the river: the dead.
That is, the crazies who have at last understood their death.
Yes, let’s say I was born without any chance of victory.
That there are many who will certainly lose.
Always lose.
Ever last.
Surely surmountable.
Inevitably vulnerable.
Let’s admit your father is one of them.
The most beatable.
The one who will be overwhelmed even if every opponent will do everything to give him a free shot.
Let’s say that what the most sadistic of the fates have decided for us will be true.
So, I will walk near you unable to recognize you.
You look at me the same.
Watch me as I now dream you.
And steal even a millisecond of unhappiness to your crazy parent.
Despite the nature of the world.
In spite of the inhumanity of the latter.
Despite me.
To whisper.
I 'll be fine, dad. And I will be happy.

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Thursday, March 12, 2015

Threat in Italy: the man in the front window

Stories and News No. 729

Once upon a time there was a man.
One as many.
A gentleman who is attentive to the world’s atrocities.
Because abhorring horror means something.
It must mean something.
I cannot remember what, but it is important.
You need despise if the script requires it.
"Those uncivilized people", the man exclaimed that day in his balcony, speaking to his fellow neighbor of the front window. "The use chlorine gas bombs for their attacks. Did you hear that?"
No reply.
"Oh, I see, you are used to that, gosh. It's a shame, we should bomb them all, those guys with long beards and scimitar. "
Ever quiet.
"They are beasts, I'm not racist, but these are real animals. They also force children to kill in place of them, do you understand? "
Nothing on the opposite side.
"Of course you understand, it does not take a genius to see that this is a religious war, no jokes. Here we risk all, we must learn to defend ourselves, unless we want to destroy us, right? "
Nothing new from the window.
"Do you know what the cousin of bartender told a friend of my sister in law? After decapitated victims, they strip them and use skin to make turbans. Do you realize that?"
Still silence.
"And we should welcome these people here? I’m not saying they are so, but who know who is hiding in the midst of the crowd on those ships? Anyway, even if they were not terrorists, these refugees come here to do damage, that's for sure. "
Same as above.
"Someone says those fanatics have nothing to do with that, that there are also moderate ones. What nonsense is this? It’s like saying wild moderate... if one is wild is wild, no way he could be moderate. Those guys teach kids violence and cruelty towards others, isn’t it? "
No replies.
"We need a good war, but if we wait Obama... I want the old Bush’s back, and come one with a rain of bombs on bearded. I want to see, then, if they send us another video from the dead world, am I right? "
Always silent.
"Let me tell you clear: stopping the hands of the murderers is a human duty, indeed, a Divine one. All of us should fight for justice, because as the soldier said in that movie I don’t remember, if you don’t destroy the evil out of your house, evil will come to you. Do you remember the movie's title? "
"Hey, are you listening or not?"
No, the man is not listening.
He was just arrested.
Because he is the man from Naples who has raped for a year his eleven years son, and then decided to sell him on the web…

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Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Moral stories on death penalty: a nightmare

Stories and News No. 728

It seems that lacking of pentobarbital anesthetic could stop upcoming executions in Texas and other US states.
A nightmare for the supporters of the death penalty...

Once upon a time there was a senator.
A senator from Texas, so we remain close to the truth, or maybe just the news.
Far from being synonymous.
We will call the senator as Mr. White.
So, just to remind us the number of Blacks crowding the death row.
That night the senator awoke screaming loudly drenched in sweat.
Sitting on the bed, he looked at his hands on the pillow and started to cry.
He cried with relief.
It was just a nightmare.
It happens also to the senators.
The disturbing storytelling of the psyche had began quietly, with a trivial prologue.
The man had found himself in a very well-known scene.
Microphone near the lips and an attentive and silent audience.
Never let it be otherwise, when the senator went on stage.
Usual words of usual speeches for pre vote sowing.
The man must pay for his misdeeds, lethal injection works, the statistics prove that, good citizens have the right to security... and so on declaiming.
Until Mr. Grey, the faithful pilot fish inseparable from the predator, had caught his attention from behind.
"What do you want, idiot?" Mr. White had squawked enjoying his own bastardy even in a dream, "don’t you see I'm talking to the crowd?"
"Yes, I see it, but we cannot proceed with the execution of Mr. Brown."
"Because anesthetics are finished."
"Well, I have to explain everything? Hit the man with a blow to the head before the injection."
"Well, the fact is that lethal drugs are also finished..."
"So what? Use arsenic or cyanide, what you find."
"Maybe, but the problem is that syringes are over too. A subversive organization of schoolboys enemies of the needle stole all of them; their name is the Defenders of the tender butt or the Avengers of the sacred ass, I cannot remember."
"Damned kids... what about the electric chairs?"
"Useless, boss, it seems that now they no longer work. Scientists call it the syndrome of the torpedo and it is especially prevalent in poor and abandoned by the state neighborhoods."
"What do you mean by that, idiot? Are you suggesting that where is poverty and degradation it is easier to end up in jail? You're right, this time, but it is a good thing, so we do a little cleaning freeing us of useless existences, that is natural selection..."
At that moment the senator had noticed a detail changing the dream into a nightmare: the microphone had been turned on all the time.
So, backs to the wall under the looks of the crowd, Mister White had taken the only possible direction, the one to the end.
"Mr. Brown should die," the senator had passionately exclaimed, "he must answer for what he did, the law says that, he should have thought before making his crimes to the state, toward us. Eye for an eye, the book says, the man hit me and I'll hit him..."
"Amen, Senator," Mr. Grey had said pushing a bed with wheels to the stage, "here is Mr. Brown."
"W-What should I do?" the senator had asked with pale face.
"Make justice," Mr. Grey had replied.
And a deafening chant had risen from the crowd: "Death, death, death to the man."
As if in a trance, a kind of killing voodoo puppet, Mr. White had brought his hands around the neck of a helpless Mr. Brown, who was staring at him with expressionless eyes.
He had started to shake.
He had choked him more, and more.
Until he woke up and saw the pillow in place of the victim's head.
"What is it, dear?" Mrs. White asked.
"Nothing," he replied, trying to push back the tears in his eyes, "it was just a nightmare."
Only a bloody, terrible and inhumane nightmare, killing someone in cold blood.
Fortunately, I am just the one who speaks, the senator thought before going back to sleep.
Otherwise, just telling another one, do you imagine all those who have praised the military intervention in the wars of this world running under the bombs?

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Friday, March 6, 2015

Diversity stories: Letter to Free

Stories and News No. 727

Two thousand and something, 8th March, over there…

Dear Free,
I have no idea if your name is really so, but that's how I see you.
I think of the meaning, rather than the name, but this is obvious and I ask your forgiveness for that.
The world has proved so far too much lack of originality referring to you.
So I hope not to sin of redundancy.
I'm here, with these words, to congratulate you.
Because a party is a party and the protagonist must be honored.
That is a duty, even before a pleasure.
Today, March 8, it is your celebration.
You won, you come first, you are the first.
Of many, I hope, unless the past will not resuscitate.
And who better than us knows how formidable history’s regurgitation is?
This is why we must celebrate festivities like yours.
Because yours is not like others before.
Because there really is something to celebrate today.
That is why it is called festivity, that is why we celebrate, that is why you have every reason to wake up in the morning and smile thinking to this day.
Because it is special.
One and Only.
As if you had discovered a star that everyone said it was just a black hole, at most, otherwise bright.
As if you had broken a rule at the cost of losing everything, conquering everything for everyone, except than you.
As if you could prove that the real beauty is the color that everyone sees, but only one person loves.
So, go.
Congratulations and gifts.
Applauses and public revelries.
Theme nights and dedicated shows.
Articles of complaint and also letters claiming to be original.
Go, go away all this.
My dear Free who lives over there, today, the eighth of March two thousand and something, should be celebrated because you and your world are finally able to wipe out all this.
Getting rid of everything.
Including my words, which I hope will play vain in your ears.
Because everything which we would have to fight, rather than celebrate for, you will already conquered long ago.
It will be a true festivity.
The first day when there will be no need to celebrate Women's Day.

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Thursday, March 5, 2015

Caronia fires explanation: is a fraud

Stories and News No. 726

It seems that there were no electromagnetic phenomena, not even military experiments or alien activity, behind the fires in Caronia, Italy, but people’s fraud to steal economic subsidies.

Light on darkness.
The worst form of it.
The phony obscurity, cooked intrigue, that takes away to enigmatic horizon the charm it deserves.
The fires of Caronia are human stuff, gentlemen.
The deception is revealed.
The emperor is naked, and, apparently, he has nothing relevant to show.
However, this is only the beginning, because it was the classic misfires that breaks the cup.
Filled with lies.
The next day it was discovered that Africa was a continent rich, the richest on the planet.
Rich of colors and shapes, but also of tough substance, black and yellow gold, sparkling stones and magic gas that moves things and houses.
Africans, as people of Africa, were therefore rich.
So the real poor were the old rich.
Or old and new thieves.
The next day a formula that can shake the world was proven, no jokes: H = E x I
What does it mean? The scientists asked, but not only them, even latecomers plumbers, Jehovah's Witnesses and those with red hair.
Simple: Hate equal Enemy times Ignorance.
And what does it mean? Swiss ladies with lisp and porters with easy chats asked.
Many things, the discoverers said.
For example, Hate against an Enemy is proportional to Ignorance towards the latter.
So it was realized that if a person extremely manifested hatred towards an entire category of people, it was proof of how much he did not know anything about someone belonging to that category.
Imagine all of them.
Hence, the corollary: S = H x P
That is, the Stupidity of a man is proportional to Hate multiplied by the number of Persons in a given category.
The same day in many bother imagining the number of homosexuals, blacks, Jews, Arabs, Palestinians and even bald people on earth.
The next day there was the discovery of the third millennium, that would once and for all destroyed the box of wonders, the real old lady, the TV.
Someone called it the mate in three moves, by the revelations that emerged from as many phone tapping in a correspondence between television and refrigerator.
First, the creatures beyond the small screen do not live to make people laugh, dream and think: it is exactly the opposite.
Second, they would do anything to stay on the air, even telling the truth to audience, but so far, none of the latter demanded so much.
Third, they tell ever the same story of wars and fights where only who wins counts and the winner is here, the loser is the one left out: you.
This went on for days and days, with unsuspecting ventriloquist puppets manipulated by other puppets, guided by other puppets again and so on, without end.
A Matryoshka of scams, as long as the miracle became reality.
Because when many became accustomed to eye’s fraud, natural spells found the primary scene.
So we all restarted to speak about human beings and life's stories.

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Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Immigrants stories: Italy migrant boat capsizes

Stories and News No. 725

Another boat capsizes off Sicilian sea, near Italy coast.
Other unfortunate people died.
And the usual game started again...

Once upon a time there was the boats.
The boats with many migrants.
Too many.
Even for the boats.
Let alone His Majesty The Sea.
Read it as well as the innocent giant who shakes life from his shoulders.
The story of all stories always told the same... story.
Forgive the repetition, but I have not written the latter.
I'm just the one who strives to change it.
In the story of always the same stories, boats collapsed.
Often, not ever.
Because the unexpected happens even in the reign of noble front pages.
It happens in life.
Let alone the fiction.
A boat capsized and so far nothing new.
However, the ride of death by drowning stopped just at the climax.
Pause, still picture on the obvious impending tragedy, a moment before starting again with the usual party game.
Who was? Many asked.
Who has dared to obstruct the inevitable events’ flowing?
A little girl with a strange name was clutching the sacred remote.
With a wry smile on her face and a finger on the button that you do not expect.
Who is she? Many shouted.
Who could leave the narrative’s fate in the hands of an illegal immigrant and even spiteful little girl?
No one answered, except for her.
"Let's make the boats were dices," she suggested, "but special ones, with a myriad of faces, as many as the alternative to hell in life."
The boats are not dices, many screamed moving to her, don’t talk nonsense and give us the remote control.
"Stay where you are," she replied moving her finger on the button you would not want, especially if you are on the best side of the largest boat, the one that never capsizes. "Another step and I delete everything and everyone."
Silence, still image and silence.
It’s wonderful, she thought, when the surface world is forced to watch and listen.
In silence.
"Let's make the boats were dices," she repeated enlarging the mocking smile, " with a myriad of faces, as many as the roads leading to an island that is not yours. So my mother and my father, everybody and me too, will no longer fear that earth and sky could change place. Because when the boat will be completely capsized, game will restart but we will never be the same. "
"I will not be the same.
"I will be the one who watches TV and is moved by tears, I will be the one who does not care because the last downloaded application does not update, I will be the one who does not know anything because lives too far and the one who does not know anything because lives too close.
"I will be one among those who use the dead to accuse the living and among those who do exactly the opposite.
"More than anything, better than all has already been, I will be a spectator, the one who looks and listens, somewhere, wherever it is.
"Everywhere except here, one time above and a moment later under."
For real.
No stories.
And news.

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