Friday, September 29, 2017

There was once nothing

Stories and News No. 1028

A Rohingya refugee ship is sunk. More than 60 deaths are reported, although numbers are not yet official. According to the United Nations Migration Agency, they were trying to escape persecution in Myanmar, when the ship capsized.

We are nothing.
Sure, that's it.
Believe us at least now, look at us.
As if we were really here.
Consider all the elections, think about Germany, reflect on the right way of common thinking and see what happened on the left one of the country.
It's right there that people voted against us.
People watch as the bodies of Rohingya refugees are prepared for a funeral near Cox’s Bazar. Photograph: Damir Sagolj/Reuters
The nothingness.
For fear.
Of emptiness.
Even if it is a region where we are less present.
Can you understand the craziness of that?
Because we are nothing.
And suddenly we become everything.
It's a weird kind of magic, isn’t it?
That is, an ambiguous sort of spell that bewitches you, but it sacrifices us.
We are not the imminent issue, we exist in another universe, but we become the main problem in the same sentence.
Hand’s and word’s game so sluggish that should be instantly unlocked.
Nevertheless, it is difficult for an eye to find what is not real.
That should not exist.
We are nothing, yes we are.
Perhaps it would be good that nothing was not there.
Enough with the pain, stop to everything.
But maybe it would have been worst.
Because without that, you too would be nothing.
Really that, you know? With monitor turned off, a silent camera in the dark of the bedroom, lone under the shower and more than ever in front of the mirror.
So, we must go on stage.
Being the nothing.
Acting like that every day more.
Until the usual moment when we are so much an explosion of zeros, a soundless, invisibly colorful voyage on the rigorously behind horizon.
Here it is, the famous five-minute of popularity.
That is, of nullity.
The exact second when the curtain of waves and wind covers us all and writes the end word at the foot of our allotment towards destiny.
That’s how nothing sinks and dies.
Putting everything under the spot.
Nevertheless, after the brief time to honour the mourning that other futile extras are chosen for the untold show.
To be the precious nothing.
Of the world.



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International Day of Nonviolence 2017 video

New video from Storytellers for Peace. This time it's for the International Day of Non-Violence, also Mahatma Gandhi’s birthday.
Could storytelling share and support non-violence?
Storytellers for Peace tell stories in their original language (with English subtitles).




Storytellers for Peace” is an international network of narrators who create collective stories through videos. Artists and stories are from all over the world and speak about peace, justice, equality and human rights. All participants tell one or more verses of the story in their first language. The project was created and is coordinated by Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher, author, storyteller, stage actor and director.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/StorytellersforPeace/

Thursday, September 28, 2017

Climate change stories: when the water rises

Stories and News No. 1027

The International Monetary Fund has called on the richest countries to help poor nations tackling climate change - which they’re often the original accountable ones, otherwise, weaker global growth and higher migration flows will be inevitable.
Meanwhile, in places such as Bangladesh, nature laws lose their mind and upset families and homes.
The door is air, the ceiling is sky and the floor is water...


 
Let's watch it together, the temporarily stolen picture.
Chintan looks back over the boundaries of the latter and is rightly concerned.
Mom of all and everything, Dhara, continues undaunted to deal with nourishing affections and hopes.
Her older daughter, Sati, is studying her mother, studying as a mother, studying how to face the fate.
The little one, Ahir, is also staring at the world beyond the deformed side of the mirror, as his older sister Padma too.
Nevertheless, different moods and light are woven into their gaze.
Chintan has got the fundamental task of adding the decisive dimension to the apparent inertia of the image, to remind us that that photo tells true life, despite the poor resolution of common empathy.
"What could we do if the water rises?"
Dhara listens, but chooses not to answer.
That is, she does in the only acting that she sees as reasonable, good parent and human lesson.
Read as well as never stop pursuing daily priorities.
Sati also replies in her own way. The girl who studies the past confirms her choice, since she confides in it to deal with any obstacle that might cast doubt on present and future: you are a the true teaching road, mother, and your food is eternal school.
Padma seems to ignore the comprehensible question.
Maybe that's right, maybe not.
It really doesn’t matter, you know?
Because it’s likely that every question, all the biggest doubts of larger number’s humanity, are mixed together in the burning demand which she hits the screen with.
I see you all, in short.
The only one to give word to word, in the silent ritual of that wonderful demonstration of family tenacity, is the youngest.
"If water will come up we'll eat on the top of the house," Ahir replies, still ready to confuse the moment's despair with a smile.
Precious magic that one day will save his life, the next one and the other as well.
"And what if the water is still rising?" Chintan insists on accepting the challenge.
"We will eat on the clouds," Ahir explains, as if it were even easier to answer.
"And if clouds break and rain?"
"We'll eat where the rain will take us."
"And if the wind sweeps them away?"
"We will eat by flying."
"And if the wind doesn’t stop anymore?"
"Good, it means we will eat forever."
The fair lips design on Ahir's face becomes furtherly intense, sure of winning the contention, and his brother assists the triumph, caring not to crush the full half of his imagination.
Precious skill that one day will save his life from modern cynicism.
In any case, the goliardic diatribe is interrupted by the mother.
The meal is ready to be consumed and soon forgotten, to be immune to the disputes of the worst time to come.
However, today, we say thanks to these gifts.
May the table and the earth still supporting us be blessed.


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Wednesday, September 27, 2017

Women's right to drive and fly in Saudi Arabia

Stories and News No. 1026

I read that the Saudi ruler's decision to allow women to drive is a turning point in a society where roles have long been rigidly and far from being equally distributed.
Inevitably, the comprehensible resizing of the alleged conquest will spontaneously arise, concerning the road that is still to be done realizing a modern idea of equal opportunities.
That’s a mirage not only in Saudi Arabia, isn’t it?
Nevertheless, in a tough and hard journey, the path to the sighing goal must count on the partial successes, which summed up one by one as bright dots in the darkest sky, represent the true road...


I.
Yes but…
I can.
Okay, but...
I can drive.
Certainly you can, however...
However, before you take breathe and steal time and page, I start and look for the horizon still to fill.

With one eye on tomorrow, the dreamed oasis, on the shore touched just within my imagination.
At the same time, the other half of my heart rejoices, staring at the missing rest that makes vibrating my chest and rubbing my hair.
Yes I can.
I can think of what you don’t have the courage to look at.
I can breathe in time with my own aspirations and aspire to the time when I will breathe victories and defeats in the only shadow of my shamelessness.
Yes I can.
Today I can say loud what I could best whisper yesterday.
I can watch the dark passages of the past fears and pass through today's darkness without fear to be watched.
I can drive, yes I can.
I can drive the car and also my body where the body itself will find fate.
I can cross the drawing that separated before from after as if it were right and draw the only right that should change before in after.
I can, yes it is.
I can touch what I feel alive in the light of my eyes and yours.
I can wear the nothing of the world that scandalized the nothingness on the surface and annihilate the superficiality that the real scandals of the world were giving to us.
Drive, that’s right.
I can do it.
I could before, if you know what I mean, paying an unacceptable price.
Common currency in places where sacrosanct right is disguised as a crime.
So, before you can lower the music and turn off the lights, I will be far away.
Unreachable and free from every painfulness of the present time.
Because I could.
I can and will.
Fly…



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Friday, September 22, 2017

The many faces of the forgetful humanity

Stories and News No. 1025

Here it is, humanity.
Here is one of its faces, that is masks.
Here are all of them, spread a lot on as many faces of schizophrenic souls, changing with illogical cynicism from one extreme to the other of a slippery morality.
Look and see.
Look at The Lady.
The Nobel Peace Prize, the Human Rights and Nonviolence’s paladin, the woman who fought the worst offenders, the legalized ones.

Look at Aung San Suu Kyi, and see how she contradicts herself and every principle that has made her a symbol of the whole world, showing an insensitivity worthy of the worst politician before the sufferings of the Rohingya, an unlucky minority imprisoned inside a brutal majority.
Do you think it's all accidental?
Do you think it's just an amazing paradox?
It would be nice, always paradoxically, obviously, because that’s a well-reputed and repetitive plot in the script of the so-called upper species.
Look, in fact, and see.
Look at the millions of deceased and exiles, destroyed families and wounded bodies, affections robbed of landmarks and dear objects, lives discriminated by madness disguised as hate, innocents labeled forever.
Look at them, and now see what is happening right now between the Israeli government and the Gaza Strip, see how today's Jews are dealing with Palestinian reasons for a tomorrow that is everyday more at risk.
See how easy it is to forget so much in such a short time.
Look at the foreigners and migrants who have never found a real home, if not in a flag made of pride and opportunities for everybody, citizens refused by their own blood and survived traveling to the unknown, which is just another name that in the past we gave the new.
Look at those who have found America and now are holding it tight.
Look now, and see them raising their stars and stripes on windless days, believing their idiocy could build a wall against those who have already passed.
Who are already part of you.
Look at the old ones in the world.
Look at the fathers and mothers of all the thieves in history, who built boundaries and accumulated riches by raiding the unsuspecting creatures of the global story that would have devoured them, ragging geography and fooling literature, in spite of their own religions and laws.
Look at it, the united Europe.
Look at it, and see those same robbers of the future, as they have now jumped over the present of their favorite victims, while focusing on every effort and policy to defend the Mediterranean from whom to come and ask for the bandits.
Let's carefully look at it, our humanity, let's take the best time to observe it, and, although it’s inherent in our very nature, let’s try not to do the same mistakes of our past headsmen.


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Thursday, September 21, 2017

Play read and sing

Stories and News No. 1024

According to a recent report by Unicef, 25% of children in developing countries do not have the opportunity to play, sing or read with their parents, most of them unavailable by roughly tireless working hours.
Playing, singing and reading together with the ones who have put you in the world is something that is often rare even in the most industrialized, rich and modern nations, despite time and chances being many.
However, depriving of that a human being, since the very first years of life, makes another with some voids that somehow he will have to fill as well as quite the contrary…


Take away and see.
Erase and hope.
Turn it off and wait.
Back and forth, like a dance stealing life or lighting it up.
Right and duty of each soul at the start of the journey.
The magic of a hand that could create and destroy, without any guarantee of eternity.
Take the game away from anyone who would have all the seriousness of the world to appreciate it and respect it, and you will see. You will see someone who will have no consideration for any supposed concreteness of your life, because he could never give it a delicate form in his own mind.

Erase the stories spoken by the perfect voice, which will remain so on the time when the fragile heroes of the happy days will lose their special powers, especially in those instants, more than ever after, and hope. Hope that there will not be a time when the innocent victims of such a lack, ignoring the vital difference between reality and illusion, they will confuse the most dangerous fear seller for a harmless, bold narrator.
Turn the voice off that tracks notes and chest vibrations as if they were the demonstration, once they have been reached, that it could be more than just a short happiness, and wait. Wait out of time creatures, with useless, empty scores to occupy the heart, unable to recognize the simplest harmonies at the mere sound’s touch.
At the same time, everywhere, for those who seem to be deceived or those who are all still to save.
Donate and look.
Tell and goes back.
Turn on and trust.
Donate a game to those who possess the innate vocabulary to literally translate it and the colours to revive it, even in the eyes of those who have stopped seeing the very best, or the sense of a light hour as much a second and a face loosened in a smile, and look. Look how it would have been and it still will be.
Tell everything, with honesty and frankness, showing for the morality of the fairy tale the same consideration as you have for the secret word of your bank account, and goes back. Take a step back and let the imagination of your most valuable spectator grow in every direction and sizeable figure. You’ll find evidence in the extraordinary stuff surviving on earth.
Finally, turn on the natural amplifier of the verses and the refrains that unite common affections and memories, let the false note appear on the surface, because that’s what they are, superfluous nuances unable to weaken the loving chorus, and trust. Please, trust that the melody will defeat any suffering, every anger, and each kind of wrinkle.
Because this wonderful game of singing and reading the life of others is the only humanity we still have...


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Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Trump UN speech in front of the mirror

Stories and News No. 1023

A large part of the first speech given by the US President to the United Nations is everywhere on the news.
Nevertheless, we are all human.
The debut before the UN audience, heavily crowded for the occasion, would shake their legs to anyone, even if skilled in hiding the thrill.
To prove that, here is a “faithful” storytelling of what happened in the presidential actor's room, in front of the oldest friend, maybe the only one for whom is perpetually forced to conceal himself behind a mask.
The inseparable, silent and revealing mirror...


Here we are.
Let’s do it, Donny, it's your turn.
Enjoy it, enjoy every second of it.
Who would have ever said that, uh?
I still cannot believe it.
If they told me that ten years ago, I would have called them crazy.

That's right, it's a mad thing and it's all mine.
It's the world to be out of control and I take advantage of it.
Calm down, Don, stay calm.
Don’t laugh, I recommend it.
Smile, but how you used to do it.
Let me see... now, come on... more, give me more... ah!
Here it is, your proverbial grin.
Do it, but do not abuse it.
If they knew...
If they only knew, but they are too snooty in their contemptuous looks, politicians without temperament.
Then, let's review the usual story.
You don’t have to say much, just repeat the usual stuff, okay?
They already know what you are saying, anyway.
That’s not to the present public, that you are going to speak, but those out there, those I owe everything I have now.
They don’t want any surprises.
The simple stuff is one that sells better, the old ones used to say.
Well, if it’s also silly, the product is a sure best seller: first us, then the others.
How easy it is to say: we, the others.
Simple.
And among the others, them.
It has always been easy and simple.
Relax, Donald, stay calm.
You're going on stage in a minute.
You're alone.
You've always been alone.
If only they knew, if only they could see you now.
Remember: don’t talk about the wall, today, it's not the right time, you know what happened, okay? And you also know how it ends, they mock what you said, and then you have to lay off someone randomly.
Here we, my moment is coming.
Everything will be accomplished once again.
Because it’s not the first and it will certainly not be the last time some like me on the best scene.
I knew it perfectly, so I won.
Because I trusted me nightmares more than my opponents did with their dreams.
However, once out of here, under lights and flashes, the show must go on.
Let nightmare looks like a dream.
And vice versa...


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Friday, September 15, 2017

The need for terrorism

Stories and News No. 1022

Here I am.
Here we are.
It's right there that I try to see myself.
Exactly at that spot where I imagine the many.
Now, at the very moment I write.
Just when we know little or nothing.
Instant that will be almost identical at the end of

the story, despite the words will have been totally blown out, and the most bloody images will have entirely covered eyes and virtual homes, monitors and even negligible memory portions.
Of course, the bomb is there.
Of course, the victims deceased or just wounded too, otherwise we would not be here, right now.
That is, at best, the reason would be far less sad, and I suppose many people would have preferred not to widen their curiosity’s window on yet another hell’s spark on the favorable side of the world.
Nevertheless, more than anything else, there is the familiar scene.
Explosion, murdered or endangered lives, and the latter, the friendly environment.
You know, the bitter blend is ideal to instantly capture the attention of the most.
But that's just the introduction, isn’t it?
The perfect Trailer to take us to the movie, to pay the ticket for the horrible show.
The overwhelming prologue that must inevitably bring us to the expected conclusions.
The most tranquilizers, paradoxes among the paradoxes of contemporary narrative.
Here I am, then.
Here we are, so.
It's at this line of the tragic live storytelling that we’re starting to feel it.
An apparently secret, uncompromising need.
It wasn’t an accident, right?
Don’t tell me that, please.
Don’t let the iron and delays steamer, which at best causes frustrations and anxiety, might fall inside my social nightmares.
No, I say no, please…
Life’s danger cannot be left to chance, not at our latitude.
The guilty is fundamental, he must be known, otherwise the unbearable mystery survives to itself and corrodes from inside a heart already frightened by the same words it’s told.
That’s a terrorism news, right?
I knew it.
We knew it.
Because, in the end, we hoped it down there, in the darkest side of our conscience, obscured by the producers of digital fears.
But it's still not over, right? We're not even half the damn movie.
We’re missing the usual answers, indispensable to finally turn on the lights.
It doesn’t matter how, no matter who, it's okay.
But tell us it is a Muslim.
Tell us, and let's finish it.
Write that absurd name, unmistakable, wrong in the native language, yet perfect in the reassuring general picture.
Please hurry, so a second after we’ll have forgotten it.
Just as we’ll do with his face too.
Show it as soon as possible, on every front page, in the head everywhere, in the wake of the feel-good of the day before, and the naughty advocates of cold-sided societies, let alone open.
Please, we let’s go to the usual ending credits.
It’s imperative we never suspect that something else was happening other than it was yet another Islamic terrorist attack.
Here, like yesterday, today again, and everywhere in the world.


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Thursday, September 14, 2017

On the mid-chocolate planet

Stories and News No. 1021

The world's chocolate industry is accountable for shocking deforestation in West Africa. The largest producers on the planet buy illegally cultivated cocoa in protected areas, particularly Ivory Coast, where rainforest has been reduced by more than 80% since 1960.

Once upon a time there was a split in half planet.
Well, the above half was smaller, much smaller.
Maybe because it was up in the stylish attic with a view of the luckiest horizon?
In fact, I should have said two different half, that is, not exactly half, you know?

So much for me and so much for you, equal to both, and so on, but in this case we should admit that the story itself is wrong. However, there would be no need to write the right one, you know?
Coming back to the point, the half that half was not, but let's pretend it did, it was entirely made up of chocolate.
Dark for sharpest bites or milk for tender teeth, chili for the brave palates or sushi for the fools, you know? How can you eat chocolate with raw fish? Not even the Japanese do it, I'm sure about that.
But I'm changing subject, sorry, I often do, dealing with culinary exaggeration, you know?
So, imagine on the smaller side of this world pudding rivers for delicate skins and hot chocolate streams for the colder evenings or those days gone so bad that you’ll try everything to warm your heart by passing through your stomach.
Or picking it up for the throat, you know?
In short, all was chocolate, from the walls of the buildings to the winter underwear, from bridal rings to earplugs.
Only chocolate, the one we all eat, it was not made of chocolate, despite the inhabitants ignored it.
Thus, in the common archive of tastes, at the cocoa place, they had memorized a wrong flavor, mistaken like the whole story, you know?
Like if you were convinced that spaghetti tastes as eggplant.
But if everybody believed that, who could contradict others?
This is one of the contraindications inside the wrong stories: if many see it correct, if you wanted disagree, two possible chances follow.
One, all consider you crazy and they'll start looking down at you.
Two, you're leaving on the other half of the planet, and it's understandable that they look down at you, you know?
In fact, it’s time to change or flipping the perspective.
Unlike the above half, the one that half was not, but much smaller than the other, the below part, or the majority of the planet, was not made of chocolate.
Not anymore.
Long ago things were different, but how can you remember something here, inside the wrong story? It's not exactly the right place, you know? It’s like looking for a book about generosity in Uncle Scrooge’s library.
What I can sure tell you it’s that the below half was made up of an indefinable and varied substance, a colourful blend of stolen colours, of ill-tempered dreams and hesitant hopes, primal gifts and atavistic resentments, genial ingenuity and self-surviving souls, broken wings and not healable wounds, of things with the right flavor, with the memory of the latter still clear in individual conscience, rather than collective memory.
Indeed, at the entrance of the latter, warning for every inhabitant below and, more than all, the above ones, it was written: the things of the world have a price for all the living creatures. If to you, only you, it will be sweet, to all the rest it won’t be at all...


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Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Stories about how racism is taught

Stories and News No. 1020

We weren't  born racist, because, since we were kids, we’re taught to discriminate on the basis of the origins and, often and willingly, the skin colour, not only at school, but everywhere, in each plausible, influenced way.

With Arithmetic:
Hundreds, thousands, ten thousand, and more victims are approximated by default, down to zero value, in inverse proportion to the distance from our country of birth. In short, the more the dead

are far from us and the less significant on the balance of our empathy. At the same time, one life lost by one of our fellow citizens is worth hundreds, thousands, ten thousand, and more lives beyond the boundaries of our ID.

With Geography:
You can say and write immigrant, illegal, foreign, stranger, in short diverse, and yet, although all of the following could at least be into one of the above categories, there is no imagination that might figure the blue eyes of a Swedish, the red hair of an Irish lady, the blond one of a German, or the pale skin of a Norwegian.
We just need to close our eyes and the above-mentioned definitions evoke a definite and unique image of a human being, the easiest to draw and blame.
I think you know who I’m speaking about.

With logic, that is, the adapted version of If... Then..., Else or Otherwise... formula:
If a crime was committed by an immigrant, then, there are too many of them, they are all criminals, the fault is in their religion, etc.
Otherwise, if the crime was made by an accepted, canonic citizen, the offense is only alleged, there are holes in the versions of the victims, meanwhile, let’s publish and share some fake news of other immigrant felonies, even without sources, there is always time to rectify…

With storytelling:
Once upon a time there was an absurd story about a strange country, with a great number of illiterates, where a few books are read, where people get informed on Facebook and WhatsApp, incredibly male chauvinist and individualist, capable to divide on everything, where corruption and lack of meritocracy are spread everywhere, a country where it’s so easy to elect politicians who don’t respect women and laws, but… where the problems of the safety come from immigration.
Yes, I know, this should be funny, unless it is taken for granted and not just a crazy fairy tale…

We weren't born racist, we become so since our childhood, that’s the way we have being educated.
So, no one should feel good.
There is no distinction between good and bad, not in this, not today.
If you really want to change, you should start accepting it, as a first, indispensable and propaedeutic step: I am racist.
Secondly, I have to face who are my masters, past and present.
Third, no less important, I must understand what are the subjects and rules of this dirty, continuous lesson…



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Thursday, September 7, 2017

Climate Change stories: the effects people

Stories and News No. 1019

Once upon a time there were the people of the effects.
You could add without cause, but it was deleted during the editing time.
Because that’s how they do.
What confuses them, forcing them to face questions, should be banned instantly, eliminated on the spot.

In fact, they always go around with an eraser in their hands, and the keyboard key they prefer is obviously Del.
They are used to easy words and concepts since they were kids.
I’m talking about highly digestible food for modern-day minds, Ikea models, with thoughts and designs that even a child could assemble or disassemble.
Therefore, there is no place in their brain for the reasons of world.
Take, for example, that thing of climate change, their words.
Apart from the fact that amongst all the unenviable causes, that’s perhaps the one that nowadays most requires a personal accountability - and it would be enough to condemn it to exile from their vocabulary, ignoring it, they’re at the same time able to give paradoxical and tragicomic speeches.
So, every occurrence is a consequence with no motive. Increasingly devastating hurricanes, drought and famine, human migrations, rising sea levels, the disappearance of lakes and rivers, the sunken seasons, the day-to-day extinction of animal and vegetable species, each of these terrible events, all happen, period.
That’s right, they’ve got an easy period, quick to write it a second before any possible doubt.
Enough with any reasonable kind of the latter from the horizon, as well as the questions that pointed a finger on them.
Stop with the streets that require a new soul and the solutions that involve excuses by the old one.
It’s easy, therefore, to figure out the typical day of the average individual, free of the explanations for living.
Everything is certain.
The sun rises and is granted, like drinking flowing water and the light obeying the presumed master, the artificial warmth or cold if the body pretends them, and, above all, the car. Yes, their faithful friend, that is, the infantile monster who sucks directly at the earth’s breasts, to run as far away as possible from what remains of the conscience.
Now, everything becomes more understandable, doesn’t it?
It's easy to understand the choice of the pretest, comfortable enemy, right?
Because that's what they like more, the people of the effects.
Where they’re forced to identify a cause for one of the latter that mostly disturb them, they choose exactly according to their primitive logic.
Well, what’s the best guilty than the other side of the moon, the people of causes, or those who cannot help but ignore the effects, since they paid them by their own lives?
So, there were once the effects and the causes people.
Born to coexist on the same planet.
Like plant and seed, they are parts of the same life cycle.
But, since the world began, only those who have the seed in their pockets will see the new dawn.


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Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Letter to future “migrants”

Stories and News No. 1018

Dear you,
There, beyond the limits of our senseless existence, go on.
Don’t give up, please, resist.
You're not alone, you know?
You're not alone in this story or history.

So many people have shared your unlucky destiny.
You may count also poor, women, homosexuals, Jews, slaves, Native Americans, farmers, and all the children of an uncomfortable, though lesser God, who were sacrificed at the altar as easy lambs.
The person who is writing lives in a time where migrants have got this infamous role.
Yes, I know, now you're going to be angry and you're right.
It’s not the destiny neither the role to be bad, but those who dare making in your behalf.
They impose on you their plagued and cruel delusions as if it were unquestionable truth from the sky.
Nevertheless, everybody knows that the latter gives just rain and snow, even lightning, miraculously comets and falling stars.
On the contrary, the burning dullness of the heart, which inflicts pain by hitting many times on the same wound, it always comes from your own kind.
My friend on the horizon, I have no idea what your name is.
Maybe you have blue skin, three eyes or flames in place of your hair, I have no idea what your diversity will be, in the eyes of others. So, I don't know your features, the depths of your being, and especially the reasons that will push your contemporaries to use you as the scapegoat of every evil in the world.
Nevertheless, I think I know what you feel.
Don’t give in to fear, promise me.
But, more than anything else, never let anger wins.
As far as it is justified and understandable.
Because, believe me on the word, they will be able to take advantage of it too.
It's already happened, it's happening right now, and it's probably going to happen tomorrow.
Nevertheless, you must learn something from the days ahead, as far as they are presented as stories from an unacceptable end.
It will not be easy.
I won’t tell you lies, so don’t do it yourself.
Many won’t make it, and not all who look like friends will be such when solidarity will be crucial.
However, I'll tell you something that is perhaps the only truth has so far been able to overcome the weight of time and human idiocy.
You can survive.
You can because you have to, and you have to, because you can.
In spite of the whining and tractable tales from a blind and opulent minority, the one and only accountable for your misfortunes, that’s exactly how the vast majority of humanity has so far walked and resisted.
Therefore, brother, walk and resist.
That sooner or later you will also have.
A normal life…


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Listen my song Wolves
Watch my last storytelling show with English subtitles It's amazing what a little light can do
Storytelling videos with subtitles subtitles