Friday, February 26, 2016

Diversity stories: what makes us human

Stories and News No. 848

The gay first kiss in public between two Royal Canadian Navy sailors, so many newspapers wrote recently.

The first time when
We might as well tell the human passage on this earth, if maybe one day we will be worthy to be part of the overall story.
Certainly there are spiders, cobwebs are still sublime art, as well as the caterpillar that becomes a butterfly.
Therefore, powering ourselves with tolerance for the myriad of meanness and passion for neglected brackets of beauty, let’s recall some of the first times when...
As the first moment when a man has realized that regardless of how much fine he will act as a father, he will never be comparable to a woman.
Who is a mother.
As the first day when a child has risen straight among the kneel ones and, in spite of silence was the cheapest answer, it asked the very first why.
As the first night that a girl went to bed with the promise of getting up the next morning to look straight into the eyes the so-called stronger sex. So, to begin with, because this, being the first, it is only the beginning of victory.
Like the first scene when humans considered inferior for any reason, indeed, madness, they looked in each other eyes. Expanding the common gaze beyond the idiot that attempts to conceal the horizon with an insult.
As the first war, sold, manipulated, exploited and cynically imposed, but just before the fatal fuse, defeated by those who always puts his heart ahead, as well as the face.
Like the first time when the most human of the ghost turned around and went back, to hell. Because heaven was only the land that he loved and also will love tomorrow.
Like the first time that two Canadian sailors shared a true love kiss?
No, I am sorry to disappoint you, but this does not fit in the album of our wonderful memories. It must not. Unlike the first and blessed time that we will not feel any inclination to consider extraordinary such eventuality, but only one of the many during our normal, human.

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Thursday, February 25, 2016

If Trump was president here is the story

Stories and News No. 847

Once there was One.
Any one, but he was also a different one.
Let's say one that had nothing to do with the past.
One awoke from a ten-year coma.
One that had nothing to do with the present, then, but only with the future.
"What’s up?" He asked a passer-by coming from the hospital.
"Things are things," the man said coolly.
"Well, I see ... I'm sorry, so far I have slept..."
"Oh", the man exclaimed. "Here's another one! I thought you had all died out, failed dreamers, gooders with deluded skulls and flabby hearts."
"No, look, the fact is that I was in a coma..."
The man remained as frozen, like the confused hourglass in the middle of the monitor.
"So you don’t know Trump have won."
"You mean the at the end Trump has become president of the United States?"
"What end? That was just the beginning and it happened in 2016. The big day was when he became emperor of the world. "
Suddenly the man took out a whistle, blew it, and then shouted loudly: "Bad word, he said a bad word, he said the one with S!"
Apparently the only one who did not know to live in the realm of Trump, One frightened ran away and after he had stumbled on persons even worse than the previous, he tried to find a refuge in a nearby forest outside the city.
However, as soon as he approached the entrance to the green spot immediately he noticed the barbed wire to delimit the borders. He stepped over, but was instantly surrounded by some animals. To be precise, a hen, two squirrels, a wolf, a family of raccoons, a fox and a kangaroo.
"What the hell is a kangaroo doing here?" He exclaimed.
"What the hell are you doing here," the hen replied on behalf of others.
"The animals can talk?" He shouted increasingly confused. "How is it possible?"
"If it is normal for Trump to be president, animals may speak too, don’t you think?" The kangaroo said roughly, maybe because he did not like the foreigner human.
"Touché," the latter said.
"What?" Almost in unison the animals asked.
"Anyway," the hen informed him, "you have to leave, you cannot enter."
"Why?" One protested. "The forest belongs to everyone."
"The forest belongs to everyone..." The kangaroo mimicked, because he really dislike the man, no maybe.
"The forest is not for everyone," the hen explained, "but it belongs to the animals, the ones who were born and lives there, following its traditions and culture. We cannot accommodate all those who come from outside."
One inevitably shifted his gaze to the kangaroo, who left the spontaneous antipathy for a fierce hatred.
"I assure you that I will respect the forest," One promised. "I will make mine your traditions and culture..."
"That’s not true," the wolf interjected. "You are not like us. You depilated every parts of yourself, even the males, now. Was torturing the sheep not enough? Could you imagine how much can be bad a plucked chicken? "
The hen was not pleased and pecked the wolf on the backside.
"You consider migration a crime," the fox added. "Tell to swallows, deer and grouse rosters."
"You call friends people that you know only for a little face on the mobile screen and enemies others who you have never met in your life and you will never do," the raccoon mother said.
"You stink," the raccoon puppy said just to join the discussion.
"You judge your neighbor just because he has a different way to make love", a praying mantis just arrived on site said.
One was thrilled and a bit worried, feeling as trapped in the middle of the border between the two worlds, the kingdom of Trump and the woods.
Therefore made use of the wisest of possible arguments to convince the animals to welcome him.
"You are right to believe that between us there is bad people, it is normal. But we're not all like that, there are also the good ones, as in all things. It's not fair you to judge me without knowing me, just because of what you have read or heard. "
"Yeah," the kangaroo said enjoying the opportunity to have the last word in the story. "Did you get it, now, huh?"

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Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Same sex adoption in Italy: if they were right

Stories and News No. 846

At the end of the day it seems that what some had already budgeted is being punctually true. The real point of the same sex marriage in Italy is about adoptions, even if we are dealing with stepchild adoptions.
The thing that surprised me is that towards the latter, even among those more or less virtually around me, there is much more hostility than what is openly confessed.
So, I want to put myself in their shoes.
I want to talk with you, so I speak to you directly.
Trying to think as you…

Let's say you are right.
Let's say that a child adopted by two same sex persons is expected to grow in some way damaged by the parents.
Let me see what you see, as you see it.
Consequently, I see two persons who live an unnatural relationship, which have outraged the nature and the creator at the same time, mistreating the flesh and the spirit.
I see those same persons who are not satisfied by practicing a perverse life, but who even claim to get hold of an innocent young human being, driven by self-interest of an endless cruelty.
I see them succeed in their insane purpose.
I see the innocent young human being in the clutches of the orcs.
I see his the eyes of a confused and frightened victim.
And I see the passing time.
I see the innocent young human being that day after day is educated to a style of unclean life, where everything is allowed. Where there are no reference points except lasciviousness of lost souls.
I see the innocent young human being growing unhappy and diverted, in complete despair.
I see the innocent young human being becoming, in turn, an adult forever doomed to wander alone.
I see a life without any hope of serenity.
I see death and destruction of a tenderness, that we should protect, made lawful by a government that has lost sight of the one and only compass, nature as the creator has shaped at the very beginning of time.
I see you now.
I look inside yourself and I see what lives inside you.
I see you looking around the shops, next to me on the subway, in the car in front of mine in the city traffic, in a line at the post.
I see you next door.
I see you now, one step away from me.
And, forgive me, but I am afraid.
Of you

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Monday, February 22, 2016

Live song video A star knows everything

A star knows everything (words and music by Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher – guitar by Roberto Moreschi)

Come with me, travel with me
No suitcases, no memory
Travel with me, fly with me
As it has done so far, the love I have

But what it will tell about us, the passing time
But what will happen to us, a star knows everything

It looks at us and smiles already
It is stitching your dreams in a dress
That you are wearing since you were born
But you don’t know, you don’t know

That you will never lose with heart in hands
And if you will stop I will stay with you

But what it will tell about us, the passing time
But what will happen to us, a star knows everything


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Friday, February 19, 2016

Dolphin selfie was already dead? If we were all animals

Stories and News No. 845

I just counted at least hundreds of news related to the story of the dolphin used for an alleged selfies in Argentina and all, various orientation and interest, so-called authoritative press and minor ones, independent newspapers and embedded media, unite in the chorus of indignation before the human cruelty.
It seems, though, that as evidenced here, here, here, as other international news websites, the dolphins were two and the one shown in the photo was already dead, perhaps because of the excessive heat of the water.
Indeed, I also read that Hernan Coria, who has spread the first image, even claims to have done it to raise awareness among about the incident.
What strikes me, however, is the total transversal and popular compassion that fast rise thundering where the abuses victims are defenseless dogs, cutest kittens or, as in this case, adorable dolphins.
Perhaps, aware of the obvious contradiction, and because desperate times need desperate measures, we might color the truth a little bit.
For a good purpose…

Share, please.
Like it and share the dramatic news. Or story, as you prefer.

Little opossums forced to work in brand stuff factories in the third world, we have evidence, all documented, they come from poor and marginalized families, they are all so young and work up to twelve hours a day for pennies and for what? To allow us to feel good with the latest smartphones and trendy clothes. Poor opossums, we must do something, please, share and do not forget to sign the petition, write to the government and, above all, be indignant as you can.
Wait, that's not all, we are just beginning.
You cannot imagine what you'll see if you look at this picture, believe me, you cannot fail to cry.
Do you really think is normal that two female pheasants who love each other cannot make their nest in peace without some toucan to tell him that it is against nature?
Watch them, see how sweet they are, does not it seem absurd to you? How can they be against nature if they are nature? Come on, save this article, send it to more possible contacts, and more than anything be angry and tomorrow come to the flash mob under the Embassy of Toucans, or as it's called.
I will continue, be brave, I want to ruin myself.
Join us in the fight against the exploitation of the young groupers,
forced to sell their bodies to meet walruses enriched by sea shells and without any empathy. Sign against them and do not forget to follow us on socials, together we can change things for those poor creatures, view the photos, cry with us, get up for the poor battered groupers, this is a shame.
Finally, the icing and then I go, the next market opens in an hour.
It is causing a stir in a few hours... or is viral... and that’s top trends of the day... well, see as you want, but you've got to also speak of
the koala family - who does not like koalas? They are shipwrecked on our coasts, trying to escape the cruelties of red ants and zombies locusts that have invaded their country.
Watch the little brother and sister koala drowned, look, please, take a look.
Watch with that part of you that melts more, we are no longer concerned about what it really is.
No matter what are you really looking at.
What counts, now, is that you have feelings.
For us…

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Thursday, February 18, 2016

World press photo contest 2016 winners refugees true story

Stories and News No. 844

Warren Richardson, Australia, won the first prize (Spot News, singles) of the 59th edition of the World press photo with "Hope for a New Life". You may see a man and a child attempting to cross the border between Hungary and Serbia in the night of 28 August
2015, when the infamous wall was not yet finished.
Consistent with the famous painting by Magritte, "La Trahison des images" (The treachery of images), a pipe accompanied by the caption "Ceci n'est pas une pipe" (This is not a pipe), here's the true story of the image..

Well, let us start from here: the people in the photo are not the winners.
No one is in such great defeats.

There are no refugees, no, they are not.
Because to have refugees, there should be a shelter waiting for them.
Those who offer it.
And, at least, those who are ashamed of denying them.

There are no survivors.
Wait, let us wait, do not delude ourselves. Do not delude them. The journey, as the story, is not finished yet. Let us build the needing page, instead.

They are not immigrants and illegal citizens, or to translate the sense, the least valuable human.
Because, looks carefully, they are still luckily far from us.
On the line between a hell and the other, but safe.
On the sword’s tip, but not yet stretched in the future injury.
In the dreams of those left behind, still not disappointed.

They are not lives to be feared and, listen carefully, even to tolerate.
Because before a human being ready to put on his hand all the past and present he has, to throw it away like sand in the wind, and so save the only left fruit of his irreversible sacrifice, how can you not feel admiration?
Or even just simple and ordinary empathy?
How can you not?

I want also add that the picture is not black and white, which suggests the past, the time that was.
That is the way we see it.
That is the way we prefer to see it.

I even tell you that what you see threatening the youngest among the portrayed lives is not barbed wire. That is the sky that daily dominates those who dared to tattoo their own heart with the most feared four words that ever reached the shores of this fortunate planet: I want to live.

To be honest, finally, maybe you will discover with me that those who we see are not two men that in 2015 are exchanging a child on the border between Serbia and Hungary.
It would be too absurd.
Almost as much as all of us looking them.
Like it was a normal thing...

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Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Surrogacy law Italy: satirical story

Stories and News No. 843

Unlike Italy, surrogacy is legal in twenty nations, including the US, UK, Canada, Australia, Russia and Greece.
Meanwhile, the so-called traditional family defenders insist to spread their fear.
I suggest a satirical story…

My oldest frequenters know about my previous life.
Yes, I was a trainer of mouflons.
What memories…
I miss those goats, I admit. They were stubborn, no doubt, but when you saw them dance together it was a true incredible show.
Wait, I have not said? I taught them the hip hop.
Now I understand your hilarity and skepticism, that is normal, I'm used to.
But hip hop is not born in the seventies in the United States, I understand that this is a new fact, but this what it is. Anyway, we are on stories and news, the border is labile, such as that between the excited mouflon and the possessed Ammotragus lervia. They are not the same thing, you may ask the nymphomaniac goat, if you do not believe me.
Nobody invents anything, it is common knowledge. Above all the rest of us do not create anything. We humans, I mean. For animals it is different, however. They invented everything and we will copy as wild donkeys in Tibet, which even go around the mountains dressed as monks, they are so unoriginal.
For the record, the first hip hop dance was made in the UK by a female Gypsy Vanner (also known as Tinker or Gypsy Horse) to distract a cowherd fallen in love for her, then escape with a punk mouflon.
Well, everything comes back, you see? This is typical of the mouflons. Things go smoothly, then all comes to them, and everything start to ruin.
Let's get to the point, now.
Surrogacy in Italy have already been granted.
To whom? What questions? The mouflons, is clear. And the consequences are there for all to see. All those who see only what they want to see, that is evident.
To say just one, there was once a pair of hermaphrodite mouflons who could not have children, and we could already stop there, I know, but it continues. The two animals were selfish and self-centered, two stubborn creatures who wanted a puppy to carry around as a trophy, showing the little horns. And who will care about the baby? No one, not even me, because in the meantime I had been transferred to teach belly dancing to otters. I confess this too.
Given that the law permitted it, the couple convinced an old blind female mouflon to rent her uterus. I am talking about an animal incapable of understanding, but not wanting. She wanted everything. To name a few, think that in the same day she had already lent its horns to a chamois that wanted to make a good impression on a first date with her ugly fiancé. Well, when there is love ... She had also promised her tail to a lions Swiss tamer, too good at heart. He wanted to use it as a whip. It hurts less, but makes the scene real, the inexperienced guy claimed. Well, he was eaten alive during the first show, look on the internet.
The rest is horror, I realize. The baby, who was called Thaddeus, found himself prisoner in a world of complete moral anarchy, with two parents who did not know whether to call dad or mom.
Mouflons, call us mouflons, they said.
But how may I distinguish you? Mouflon 1 and mouflon?
That's right, he answered. Which of the two? Hard to say still today.
However, they became soon tired of the toy and the poor animal thing was abandoned in the woods.
Taddeo grew up alone and in a great crisis of identity. He changed his gender and species several times, finally becoming a Nutria to join my group of students.
I told you that everything will be back, right?
I learned this story from him, or her, which was a he. Or not?
Do you see, now? Can you understand what do we risk?
The example does not work because we are humans, not animals?
Well, reading what many say on this subject, it does not seem we are...

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Monday, February 15, 2016

Live song video The freedom

The freedom (words and music by Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher – guitar by Roberto Moreschi)

There once was a man who never spoke
Watching us from a distance
He lost in his hair the eyes of one who
Never cries for what was

Three meters high or more without complex but
With so many dreams in hand
He wears a dark blue jacket with a thousand pockets
But with no money to look for

He writes and will not cry
He writes and will not cry
He writes and will not cry

Freedom is to have nothing but trouble
Freedom is to have only trouble

The man with a destiny written by a tribe
Praying the trees at night
He never leaves traces behind when he goes and goes
But he is always alive in the memories

He has a heart with a birthmark of strawberries and truth
That cannot stand the illusion
A tic that keeps the time
Of when an endless dance will begin

He writes and will not cry
He writes and will not cry
He writes and will not cry

Freedom is to have nothing but trouble
Freedom is to have only trouble


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Friday, February 12, 2016

Migrants wall: the man who feared himself

Stories and News No. 842

I read that according to Austrian media also on the Brenner Pass the government is evaluating the possibility of building yet another wall against migrants...

There was once a man.
One among many.
They have already been, you know.
If you look back, you see billions.
Because we are so many, because we have been many.
The man, like so many that there have already been, you know, was feeling tortured day and night by a sneaky terror worse than a snake within. A snake within pretending to be an invincible shield to protect you.
The man feared as death itself being invaded… from himself.
Obsessed by the most paradoxical of human paranoia, he asked help to a man even crazier than him. Or, perhaps, much, much smarter.
I have the remedy for you, buddy, the latter said. Yes, “buddy”. Do you see? All strangers who cannot wait to help you with that problem that pesters you so much ever say to be your “buddy”.
Make walls, make walls around, and forget about it. This was the suggested remedy. Simple and quick solution, with elementary words that also a child could easily understand, let alone a crazy person.
So, the man, who had seen first in the hands, his own hands, the hated enemy, did raise a wall on the wrists. Two stone bracelets that enveloped the way between the arms and the fingers, a boundary between the upper limbs and the ability to grasp but also touch, to push or, at best, caress, often to indicate, sometimes to greet.
The sleep improved, but it did not last long, because in most cases the delirium is like an insatiable drug. As soon as you deceive yourself you can handle it, here it comes under another, much more powerful mask.
The feet, the feet had become the invader, and then the man, as it seemed to have worked with the wrists, and consequently with his hands, did the same with his ankles, making them crushed by impassable walls.
No more anxious races, then, but even meaningless walking, enough with each kind of jump or fleeting illusion to trick gravity, end of any absolutely natural movement from here to there and maybe return.
The rest became further more serene, as well as forced, since the recent amputation, but it lasted just as little, since after his hands and feet the alien presence made hear its voice in the middle of the belly and then inside the chest. To mock the man and all his vain attempts to protect himself.
From himself.
Tired but resolute, he decided to make a clean end to the feud.
“This is no time to show tenderness,” he exclaimed looking in the mirror after a sleepless night, “a man must prove to be a man when it needs, to honor the past heroes, we must win and we will win”, and other amenities of this kind.
So, without further ado, he built the most impressive wall around his neck. An impenetrable rock collar, to defend the last bastion: the precious head, where to preserve intact traditions, history and culture threatened with extinction.
This time the relief, if we may so call it, lasted a few seconds, because as soon as they the last brick was put on the neck, the man began to choke.
He tried in vain to intervene to break down the wall, but he could do nothing, having lost the use of his hands. He thought of running away to call for help, but it was impossible, having also lost the use of the feet. Also he endeavored to shout, but it was useless. Having no longer use of the belly and chest, he was no longer able to blow air into the throat, and speak words of any kind.
However, shortly before his death, the man who did not want to be invaded by himself smiled. Because he had lost and at the same time he had won.
Because once and for all he killed… himself.

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Thursday, February 11, 2016

Syria death toll 2016: percentage remained humanity

Stories and News No. 841

I read that the Syrian Centre for Policy Research has recently reported the details of the conflict that is tearing the country.
11.5% of Syrian population killed, the majority of newspapers says...

Eleven point five percent.
Words matter, in the true sense of the word, this time.
They stand up, as the cries of a child left alone for too long.
And, for the usual law of gravity of fragile information, fell upon us slowly, in a real paradox, as if it were snowing and no one would notice.
Listen, it would be like saying that eleven point five percent of my family is unhappy. So, let's say we were five, it would mean that concerns only the zero point five hundred seventy-five, or just over half of one of us.
Maybe I'm not.
Maybe I am, but let’s look at the half-full heart, right?
Well, it is like saying that I know everything except the eleven point five per cent of my girlfriend. That is, I know the eighty-eight point five. Okay, come on, a little mystery is good.
And always on this path, it would be like declaring to remember everything of our past, apart from the eleven point five percent. It would be normal, in short, we are a forgetful, you know, what matters most in life is not to go in red on account and not lose too much hair, my grandfather said.
Continuing according to script, it would be like to be dishonest just at the eleven point five percent. Do not look at me like that, okay? Do the calculation among our politicians, I just want to see what comes out.
And again unsurprisingly, it would be like to assert that we had harmed only to eleven point five percent of people frequented till now.
I know, let's say they were hundred, a normal average for a socially active person, it would be about eleven individuals. Come on, maybe at least half deserved it, and the thing becomes ridiculous.
Anyway, this is all exaggerated.
All this noise about nothing.
We are talking about an eleven point five percent, ladies and gentlemen.
We are talking about a little more than one out of ten.
What are we talking about?
We are talking about four hundred thousand deaths.
Among men, women and children...

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Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Stories about life: why you are alone

Stories and News No. 840

Another crime reporter was murdered in Mexico. Since 2000 the journalists killed in Veracruz are sixteen, ten in the last five years.
Anabel Flores Salazar, from El Sol de Orizaba, leaves two sons, four years and few months old.
These words are for them…

You are alone.

You are alone, now, because your mother has been left alone.

You are alone because your mother was fighting to make feel justice less alone.

You are alone because there is a void to be filled.
And now you are part of it.

You are alone because a lone woman is sufficient to fight.

You are alone because a lone woman, or a man, is rarely enough to win.

You are alone because the vile, you see, is never alone.

You are alone because the brave, remember, should never be left alone.

You are alone because so the truth is.

You are alone because, on the contrary, lies are ever more and more.

You are alone because Mom believed in the power of words.
And despite what they say, do like her.

You are alone because someone felt damn alone.
Thanks to her.

You are alone because someone felt damn small.
Thanks to her.

You are alone, now.

You are alone, children, because your mother has been left alone.

You are alone because your mother gave her life.
To make feel less alone.
All the others…

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Friday, February 5, 2016

The most complicated country in the world

Stories and News No. 839

Once upon a time there was a country.

Think of it, draw it in your mind.
Let's do it together.
Now, take a true fact.
Verifiable with the naked eye, such as the ability of a glass of water to relieve the thirst, two plus two equals four, and the country in question is the second oldest in the world and first in Europe.
Consider an obvious thing.
Verifiable by anyone, as the human inescapable need to alternate hours of sleep to wakefulness, the danger to swallow a living scorpion, or the country is the one with the lowest number of graduates in Europe.
Imagine a simple argument.
Demonstrable at any moment, as the frailty of goldfish won at the shooting range, the duplicity of many politicians of every place and time before and after being elected, but also the country above is the one with the lowest number of inhabitants internet connected in Europe, with the most expensive and slower connection.
And, if you still have a couple of seconds, imagine a sensible idea.
Discernible even by a child, as the importance of health in the life of each of us, the irrepressible joy of a love finally paid, or the same country is last in Europe for skills in reading and is the second lowest for mathematics and for the ability to solve technological problems on the agenda in most modern countries.
That said, choose a contemporary theme, including the most current in the most advanced societies, such as same-sex couples marriage, artificial insemination, the stepchild adoption, the end of life law, the secular State, freedom of the press, civil consciousness, democracy... and I stop here.
Imagine them suddenly appear on the principal table of the protagonist country of this story. On the more opulent news, in the speeches of the most talkative politicians, like the mouths of casually informed citizens.
Well, you will see everything become complicated.
No more simple and reasonable, obvious and indisputable, verifiable and provable.
But only immensely and, above all, necessarily complicated...

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Thursday, February 4, 2016

Diversity stories: Stepchild adoption Italy story

Stories and News No. 838

In Italy, the debate about the “stepchild adoption” – adopting’s possibility for the non-biological parent, extended to homosexual couples, turns on the descent into the field of pediatricians and psychiatrists, the former cons and the latter pros.
The discussion continues here...

It was just the beginning.
The dispute, or, rather, the tennis match.
Look, it really fits, you will see.
After pediatricians and psychiatrists the plumbers exclaimed: "We are against adoption by same-s. couples, it is against our traditions. As a random example, you will never see a female plumber. There must be a reason, right? "
The electricians disagreed vehemently: "We are for equal rights, it's a fair thing, as evidenced by the First Law of Direct Current: whoever you are, any orientation, if you shove your fingers into the socket you will get the shock."
In just a few seconds the shoemakers said: "The same-s. adoptions do not facilitate girls’ lives. Because, if they have two fathers, who will teach them to walk in heels?"
The tobacconists did not agree at all: "Two fathers instead of one is ideal, however, because then there will be double bets on football matches." They were of course supported by pay TV owners with sport subscriptions, teams’ owners and all unauthorized parking workers in the vicinity of the stadiums.
One voice came from bakers, butchers, greengrocers and all supermarkets managers: "Two fathers instead of one is the ideal? No way, because everybody knows that men without women do their shopping in a hurry , buying just prepared foods and, above all, they forget the fruits. "
Consequently, the toilets manufacturers replied vigorously: "We stand on the side of same-s. couples, strictly of women. We want to see, then, who will leave the seat up. "
"No to the families of same-s. couples!" Publishers, directors and responsible editors of the magazines ‘He and she’, ‘Wife and Husband’, ‘Males and Females’ and ‘Mom and Dad’ screamed almost in unison.
"Yes to families of same-s. couples!" Publishers, directors and responsible editors of magazines ‘Fathers’, ‘Mothers’ and especially ‘Parents’ replied.
But it did not end at all, because as everyone got courage, really all those who until then had not expressed an opinion, pros or cons.
Among the cons, the Kangaroos trainers: because nature is nature, otherwise we might use the baby carrier as a cell phone holder, gosh.
Among the pros, the roses’ sellers: because traditions are traditions, but what matters at the end of the day, is that someone buys those blessed flowers.
In short, pediatricians vs psychiatrists was just the beginning.
Of the fight.
Or, much more appropriate, the tennis match.
However, as long ago an exhausted young ball boy asked at the end of the longest Wimbledon final: what would the ball say, after having been for days affected in any way, if it were alive?
What would it say if it were a human being?
And if he were a child, like me?

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PS: I have no idea if they really exist, but, if so, I apologize to the magazines for having brought in. Each reference is totally not intentional and just functional to the story.

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Wednesday, February 3, 2016

Oldest death row inmate dies: the story in the dust

Stories and News No. 837

After 36 years spent in the so-called death row 72 years old Brandon Jones was killed by lethal injection by the State of Georgia.

The oldest detainee died.
The story in a sentence, a title, but also a key for giving sense to the rest.
A pile of neglected words, grouped in the middle of the room with the broom, ready to board on the only possible way of transport in the unique granted trip. On the shovel to the trash or, at worst, under the carpet.
But let's assume that the device jammed. It happens, it happens often and maybe is not a real news, but that does not mean it did not happen.
That does not imply you cannot believe it.
Let’s assume you had in your hands the same key and with it time and desire to see better that rest.
We have to dig through the forgotten dust and read tiny stories.
Of a soul who was abused at home, for example.
Another story in a few words, other meanings, other keys.
Then be brave, let’s advance, door by door, and let’s find a young man with mental illness.
Yes, I know, that is a prelude to rhetorical scenarios, not original repertoire and all debased to conquer the soft areas of the jury.
But what we do if all this was true?
Then let’s proceed until there is more light in the dark, or perhaps the opposite. And we see a thirty-six year old man, exactly how many separate him from the last paragraph of his life, entering a mini market to steal.
As evidence that the protagonist is guilty, but that does not mean that the guilty one was the real protagonist…
That does not mean that you cannot empathize.
In fact, let’s enlarge our vision and let’s see everything.
The oldest detainee is not alone, before the prospective victim.
There is an accomplice, unaware of having himself a poisonous syringe waiting for him six years ahead.
Think about it, but this is really the more obvious news.
There is always an accomplice in any wrongdoing, it just does not always earns the name in the credits.
Let’s face the twist, literally. Namely, let’s assume that the fatal shot was not made by the oldest inmate on death row, but his comrade.
So, let’s suppose that he has spent in chains more than thirteen thousand of his days, the last ones, for being found at the wrong time in the wrong place in the world that boasts of being right.
Let’s think that was what really happened.
The oldest inmate is dead, now, nothing to object, despite the biggest punishment was not death, but rather life.
Well, then, who or what was executed on that bed?

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