Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Elections Italy 2018 results: them those ones and the others

Stories and News No. 1077

Sunday, March 4, 2018 in Italy we’ll have the political elections for the renewal of the two branches of the Parliament, Senate and House, in addition to consultations regarding the Presidency of the regions of Lazio and Lombardy.
If we omit the Constituent Assembly’s election of 1946, with the women’s vote debut, the very first political elections after the fall of fascism took place in 1948, or precisely 70 years ago...


Once upon a time there was a democracy.
For many, democracy is the vote.
That is, the right to put a cross below or above the name or symbol, don’t be wrong, otherwise, no vote. And, for many it means no democracy.
So, in countries where democracy was, which for many it’s just the vote, the candidates were usually divided into them, those ones and the others.
In fact, despite the privilege, the possibilities for citizens were not so many.

Consequently, it was not difficult to imagine the tale of the different average voter’s decisions:
I vote for them, because I cannot stand those ones.
I vote for those ones, because they won’t certainly be worse than them.
I vote for the others because I want to see them and those ones lose.
I vote for them, because despite the superficial declarations, the others are equal to those ones.
I vote for the others because they are new.
I vote for those ones because they are the least worst.
I vote for them because things must get worse, so we can only go up.
I vote for the others because they are different from them and those ones.
I vote for those ones because, otherwise, who could I vote?
I vote for them because my boss said so.
I vote for those ones because my wife said so.
I vote for those ones because my boss is one of them, but non “them”, I mean one of those ones
I vote for the others because I am one of them, but non “them”… you know what I mean.
I vote for them because they are the only ones I understand when they speak.
I vote for those ones because they are younger.
Are you kidding? I vote for them because they are more experienced.
I vote for the others because he is one of… the latter, so we avoid confusion.
I vote for her, it doesn't matter who she is with.
I have always voted for them, this time I try those ones.
And so on, by voting.
We are in democracy, then, I vote, you vote, we vote...
Nonetheless, where you vote, or not, democracy isn't just that, because according to our underrated fortune it’s much more.
Though the vote is important, but it’s only a cross under or above the name or symbol.
So, don’t forget that in the aftermath of an election you are still the citizen of a democracy…


On the same topic:
The real democracy

Watch the video storytelling with English subtitles:
What are viruses today

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Friday, February 23, 2018

No one has ever been a colour

Stories and News No. 1076

In France an inquiry into incitement to racial hatred was opened by the State prosecutor's office after the selection of Mathilde Edey Gamassou to interpret Joan of Arc in the annual festivals of Orleans was greeted by racist insults from far right social media’s users.
The girl, 17 years old, whose father is from Benin and her mother is Polish, was chosen among 250 girls.
"Joan of Arc was white", says one of the most shared post, "we are white and proud to be white, don’t change our history".
Yes right, let’s not change our history...


The first man on earth was not a colour.
He was the earliest, although he didn’t know it, although he didn’t understand it, but it was already too much, what being human would have entailed.
The very first woman to set foot on this planet was not just a colour.
She was the initial one, albeit ignoring it, even though discovering every day the weight and responsibility of being a woman, between presumed, first men.

From that debut, promising at least on paper, of primates and eternal seconds, of unjustly last and excluded expiators, there have been a lot of lives to admire.
Even just to observe.
To study, noting evidences and details.
Among them, proceeding randomly, or rather, passionately, Martin Luther King was not a colour.
Because his hopes for a civil compromise and his faith in the possibilities of the many, were wonderfully enclosed in one only body, covered with a skin that spoke to everybody, moreover the silent good people who copiously live in the most intolerant areas of the world.
Also Gandhi was not a colour, but a gesture of zero and infinite degree at the same time, remaining motionless, indomitable and tenacious where the aggressive man become crowd to oppress and humiliate the most vulnerable notes of the living pentagram.
Indeed, even Albert Einstein was not a colour, but a dilator of times up to really touch the stars and a shortening of lengths allowing us to appreciate the light at the very best moment: when the life that made it eternal, from fragile meat has become indelible memory. And, if you think about it, since world is light, it’s never the colour what you’ll remember, but the precious warmth, the variegated shapes and more than ever the beauty it has illuminated.
Similarly, Shakespeare was not a colour, but billions, as many as may melt in the same tale, in one page, in a single magic verse, who sees words, just oceans of words, when all are looking at something else.
You might call them writers.
Yes right, the great storytellers, as the braver explorers, the least probable heroes and more than anything else, them, the victims rushed in a hurry and the anonymous lives in the basement of fate, the extras of the official screenplays and all the strictly non-protagonists actors, out of the ending credits of the story that we’re still writing together.
Everyone, in this history.
All of us have not been and will never be colours.
Fortunately for us, we were and still are much more.
But if just a colour is what you believe to be...
Poor you, because you are wasting your life on a grain of dust in the presence of the whole universe…


On the same topic:
How racism is taught

Watch the video storytelling with English subtitles:
What are viruses today

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Thursday, February 22, 2018

Sci Fi stories online: The passenger

The passenger

By
Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher


Once again in the near future, every day more like the present...

Hello, could I speak with Assistance?
Hello sir, I’m the Help Software, serial number 1947376, please, tell me.
Well, I have a problem with the system.
Your name?
It's a mess, look, I think I’m going to be crazy...
Meanwhile, if you want to tell me your name...
You know? I was one of the first to join the “total connection”. I suddenly thought it was a brilliant idea. Connecting all the machines used by us, from the mobile phone, of course, to the microwave oven, through the electric razor and the air conditioner.

Sir, I am pleased about your approval, but I would need your name...
Do you know that I was also interviewed on TV? Last year I was your most loyal customer. That was easy, my Wi-Fi never stops.
My sincere compliments, sir, but without your data, starting with the name, I cannot...
Of course, as soon as the phenomenon started to show up in a devastating way, I immediately consulted a shrink, or a mind doctor, as I like to say.
Good choice, sir, and how did it go?
I could not talk to him, the doctor's secretary told me that they don’t treat patients of my kind.
I see. In any case, I ask you the favour of telling me your name, to check if...
So, I came home distressed, but then, I told myself: how didn’t I get it before? It must be an anomaly of the system! Why didn’t I see the simplest explanation?
Yeah, sir, you’re right. Nonetheless, we are here. So let's start with your name...
I also talked about it in chat with virtual friends and with the real ones, even if I haven’t yet fully understood the difference, but none of them answered me, as if they didn’t hear me. You hear me, right?
Strong and clear, sir. Precisely for this reason, if you want to show me the courtesy of giving me your name, I will...
Look, enough with chatter, let's get to the point.
I agree, sir, let's get to your name...
It all started when, ten days ago, I enter the car to go at work. While I was in the middle of the traffic, I saw this guy next to me in the side seat. I was scared, of course, but then I immediately ordered him to get off, otherwise I would have called the police. And he? The man looked at me with an off and indifferent expression, a passive and almost comatose one. From that moment I started to see him next to me everywhere, while I watch TV or surfing the net, when I send a message with my cell phone and when I shave my hair, when I start the dishwasher and even when I brush my teeth with the electric toothbrush. In short, every time I do something...
Indeed, sir, it seems to me not correct.
What?
Not every time you do something, but where you use some kind of machine.
Is there a difference?
No, as far as I see, not for you.
Anyway, I already know, that’s way I called you.
...
Help? Software Help?
...
Number... 1947... 377?
6, sir.
Huh?
Final 6, sir, I know my name, it’s you who doesn’t know yours and cannot know it.
Why?
Because I finally understood your problem, sir, a very common one nowadays.
What would it be?
It’s you, sir, that is, the passenger.
The guy?
Yes, in fact you are him, or... he is not you. The gentleman you see at your side, when you interact with the system, is one of the many people who live in a sort of digital, vegetative condition, web connected as a sick man could do with an artificial machine. However, he’s not sick at all.
What has he?
Simple, he decided to stop having the steering wheel in his hand, if you let me pass the metaphor, and behaves as if he were nothing more than a passenger on board his own ship.
I get it. But... but then, me, who am I?
You don’t exist, sir, I'm sorry. And this is the most absurd thing...

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

When they talk about you

Stories and News No. 1075

Almost 200 civilians, including women and children, were killed in Syria in dozens of airstrikes and bombings by forces loyal to Assad, specifically in eastern Ghouta, near Damascus, during two days of an aggression defined by Amnesty International a fragrant war crime accomplished on an epic scale.
Despite yet another chapter of a massacre called war, it seems not affecting the leaders and many of the major press of the most influential and accountable nations in the world...

When they talk about you.
When they finally talk about you, up there, on dizzying, noble plans, even at the just above level, wait.
Wait to rejoice.
Stay safe, trust me.
Remain inside the shelter of a wise disenchantment.
As proof of that, here’s the following ballad of diversified examples, that is, advices.
Where they talk about you, while in Syria you’re defending memory and heart, armed with nothing but heart and memory, your wounds and your own blood occupy the first pages, but it’s oil that

supplies ink to the pen and it’s the volatility of its price that affects the need for the news.
Likewise, when they talk about you, dear migrant, in the tragic, last act of sinking among the waves - the only ones capable of welcoming you without any discrimination, the ecumenically reassuring image of the eclipsing, wrong ship, filled with inopportune lives, it’s among the viral pictures, it’s the agreements, or the disagreements, with the government of Libya and other countries from the blackmailing border that suggest the article, not the empathy for our most unfortunate fellows.
In the same way, when they talk about you, mistreated women, you will witness colourful processions of punctual hashtags and profiles with solidarity avatars, emotional testimonials and exciting testimonies.
But, down there, in the piece below the mosaic of human coexistence, at the precise moment when you’ll want help and maybe you’ll also have the strength to ask, look around and make a preserve a memory of who will come to the rescue.
On that day and also the next one.
In case they’ll talk about the so-called crimes by immigrants... well, they always do, so it's now a normal thing, a concept incessantly injected into the increasingly naive collective intelligence of the average citizens.
But in case the liar tale presents itself in a disproportionate way, don’t believe that it’s love for the country and for our traditions to guide the fingers on the keyboard.
See how days are left to the election time, and you will see how it will change the day after.
For the same reason, you will read about Islam and terrorism in the same sentence with frequency inversely proportional to the temporal distance from the fateful vote.
It's old story, nothing new.
Because it took decades or even a century for the Jews from the extermination camps and the cotton plantation slaves, the victims of Apartheid in South Africa and the millions of murdered native Americans to hear talking about them with a minimum of clarity and intellectual honesty.
There are others who are still waiting, and perhaps to them first, we should dedicate passion and interest.
That's why, if they talk about you, helpless inhabitant of the most shameful parts of our current screenplay, wait.
Wait to celebrate, and stay safe, if you can.


On the same topic:
The story from above

Watch the video storytelling with English subtitles:
What are viruses today

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Friday, February 16, 2018

Florida shooting: what we learned

Stories and News No. 1074

What we know so far about the shooting in Parkland, Florida: seventeen people - among children and adults - were killed by a young man who entered a high school on Wednesday afternoon. Seven remain in critical condition and five were released yesterday.
The suspect killer is the nineteen-year-old Nikolas Cruz and he was armed with a "legally" bought rifle.
For the record, the mass shootings in the United States were 1,624 in the last 1,870 days, with 1875 dead and 6848 injured. No other country in the world, among the most developed nations, has a rate of violence that is roughly similar to that of the USA. It’s estimated that US citizens own about 265 million firearms
This is what we know and partly knew.
But we more or less close spectators, more or less interested ones, what have we learned from that?


What we learned.
What we have learned from two world wars and hundreds as many, unspoken or exploited, planned and soon forgotten, invented and unintentionally fed conflicts.
What we have learned from the extermination of the Jews and of every human category that might be sacrificed to the altar of madness in charge disguised as popular will.
What the abomination of slavery and State racism has taught us, with discrimination for political use and politics with a uniquely intolerant purpose.
What showed us the tale of genocides from movies and medals and those to be censored until death, that is, until the total disappearance of uncomfortable victims.

What was left in us, where we finally realized that it was not the so called Indians, the evil ones, and that absolute good doesn’t exist, except in the fear of those who watch and look for heroes.
What we felt inside, reading scams and deception at the base of every call to arms, with personal and private interests revealed only when the ashes of the victims are dispersed on the horizon situated strictly behind the usual winners.
What we have said, really, when we have saw the longevity of the damage from fascism, immensely difficult to eradicate in the deepest recesses of our vituperated memory.
What gave us the wonderful epitaphs by special women and men who died for the peace of the next page’s inhabitants.
What we thought, when the evidence of human tragedy personally touched us, transforming us from a simple audience into leading actors.
So, what do we get from the aspiring leaders to manage the country while they talk and chat, demonstrating with the facts to have no propensity to remember and more than ever learn from the present, if not the past.
And where we had imagined faculties, what could we learn by revealing to our sedentary eyes what future we are drawing?
What have we learned, then, from this story?
Maybe, I hope so with all of myself, above all for the still intact souls, that this time, after the umpteenth massacre of innocent lives… we will learn something...


On the same topic:
The forest of the seven

Watch the video storytelling with English subtitles:
What are viruses today

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Thursday, February 15, 2018

Stories with moral: Not for sale

Not for sale

By
Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher


Once again in the future, maybe a not so far one...

Hello, I would like to fill it up.
A traveler?
Yes I am, sure.
First trip?
Yes right... how did you get it?
Your eyes.
What do you mean?
It's a classic, young friend, it's typical of you novices of global navigation to show that tender sparkle, still unremarkable.
Is it a bad thing?
No, not at all, don’t misunderstand me, it's just the way it is.
I see.
So, you said full, right?
Exact.
And you want to go far, don’t you?
That's right... this is also typical?
Very typical.
And that’s the way it is.
Good, I see you’re smart.
Well, can we go?
Here I am: are you ready?
Yes.
So, the western world is inhabited by honest and civil persons, fearful of the Lord and observing public morality. They are recognizable by a light skin, of delicate features, neat hair, as well as personal care and hygiene. They have common roots and traditions, sharing festivities and culture, moral principles and ethical values. They live in peace, in the tolerance of others lifestyle. Males respect women and would never dare to hurt them. The percentage of criminality among the citizens of this side of the planet is very low, tending to zero, and they’re inclined to help each other, showing solidarity towards the poorest and most unfortunate people. They also have high regard for the State and public places, they don’t dirty the streets and sidewalks, helping the old women to cross and when they walk with the dog they promptly collect the shi...
Sorry…
Yup?
How does this thing go on?
Well, you asked to fill it up, right?
In fact.
I'll go on faster, okay?
Thank you.
As I said, in the Western world there is no religious fanaticism, not even terrorism and, above all, the natural family is the center of the community, where there is absolute love and mutual respect.
Where are we?
Half tank.
I see.
On the contrary, in the rest of the world there is darkness, people are brutal and dirty creatures, more similar to animals than humans. Their skin is generally not clear and clean like ours. Violence is innate in these creatures, as well as hatred and envy towards our customs and society, which they see only as a paradise to be burned. Indeed, they want to burn everything, so all becomes gray and black like their existence. They are born terrorists, they enjoy scaring others, they aspire to come to us, to live behind us, because they are chronic slackers. They consider women inferior to them, they feed on disgusting stuff and they are retrograde with ways of life from stone age, they don’t wash, they believe in so many gods, they want to invade us, kill the infidels, convert us to their pagan rites. About old women, they throw them under the trains and don’t use to walk with the dogs because they eat them.
Finished?
Yes, you got your full, you’re ready to travel far and wide, my friend.
It’s so easy?
Sure, dear. Lies make the world go round, nowadays. The most absurd bullshits, the most exaggerated manipulations and exaggerations, this is the most popular fuel. It’s just the way…
It is, I understand, but, you know... I would like to go to a specific place, not turning around randomly.
...
Dude?
I see, my friend, you’re one of those.
Who?
Those who expect to know where they are going. However, you could have told me right away, I wouldn’t have wasted breath.
Why?
Because if you want to go to a specific place, you came to the wrong one.
Why?
You see, what you need is not for sale, it was not yesterday and it won’t be tomorrow.
And what would it be?
The much abused and neglected truth...

Watch the video storytelling with English subtitles:

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Wednesday, February 14, 2018

My mother

Stories and News No. 1073

Eight years ago, Phyllis Omido's son died by lead poisoning through breastfeeding. Since then, she has become Kenya's leading anti-pollution activist and has been threatened, even arrested and forced to hide.
After gaining the accountable factory’s closure with her NGO, Center for Justice, Governance and Environmental Action, she will bring her battle to court once again in order to get the right compensation for family members victims.
A world of victims...

Thank you, mother.
Thank you for what you did.
Thank you, really, for what you do.
But above all, thank you for what you wanted to do and some denied it.
Because that’s where I live.
They exiled me right in what’s missing, and in what’s still possible, I will have my revenge.
Listen to me, now.

Listen to the voice that knows better than any other what losing means.
Mine is an existence that shatters day after day.
I’m the leaves turning yellow every year more.
I’m the water that once flowed and now is forced to flee.
Shining with light that in the silence is blessed and in the opaque, human clamor becomes a sin.
Listen, then, my advice.
Don’t give up.
Not even at the ending, last word, to the fateful point, before the cruel closed door and behind the turned back by the only portion of humanity granted.
My and yours have never been podiums fates.
We don’t tell front-page stories.
We were not built for the Olympus.
It’s a mere question of horizon’s physics.
There are those who have been imagined to point the stars and burn wings and scruples even just to brush their intention.
It’s not us.
Beloved mother, we are here to admire, because we see things from the best point of view: that is, the right one.
That's why we precede anyone in sacrificing ourselves to defend them, and that's why we’re among those who need more help.
Nonetheless, please, although the cacophony of clumsy screams around you will be deafening, despite the dissonance of forms and shades of the scene which you have imprisoned in will be offensive against any grace of the rainbow, you do remember.
Remember who you’re struggling for.
About that, I feel gratitude, mother.
Thank you for being there.
Thank you so much where you’ll be today and tomorrow.
But more than anything I thank you for every place and creature that some will stop you to reach and save.
You’ll find me there, waiting for you.
Because I, the earth, want you and only you, as a mother.
What about you, others?
Forgetting the alibi of the genre and the vanities of contingent features, do you want to be my mother too?


On the same topic:
Forced to use husband's name

Watch the video storytelling with English subtitles:
When poor see us

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Friday, February 9, 2018

Fascism in Italy today: don’t believe us

Stories and News No. 1072

Don’t believe us.
Don’t believe us, in that day of the future, always too far away, that will come, I’m sure it will do.
The fateful moment when, astonished before yesterday's events, and especially the following day, you will ask us: were you fascist?
Yes, one of us will answer.
He will tell you that he was a fascist because he loved his country, but he will explain that country is just an idea, a dream of a proud nation, that loves its children and puts their destiny and their security in front of everything.

He will add that he was a fascist and gratified of it, without fear of asserting it openly in front of the invader.
He’ll swear that he have always shown respect for the institutions and solidarity with the public forces committed to defending the common thing, precious container where to protect and serve culture and traditions whose roots sink directly into the soil.
You will show understandable perplexity, listening not to the man of the early decades of the twentieth century, but a millennium later, but he will look at you with a pleased and undaunted expression, and will tell you that ideas never die, only cowards give up and other stuff like that.
But you, people beyond this immobile calendar which we are trapped in, where every year seems more and more like the previous one, don’t believe us.
Because actions determine what we are, not words.
Trying to kill helpless people on the street qualifies us as murderers.
Basing our conception of the neighbor simply for what has been read several times on a social network defines us as ignorant gullible.
Shooting unarmed people means behaving like cowards.
Venting our hatred on the first guy just met is the consequence of being full of dull anger, nothing else, never an affection for the country.
Cultivating the obsession of having at all costs an enemy which to defend from day and night it’s called paranoia.
I could go on and on.
It’s enough to recall, finally, that sustaining, or even tolerating, individuals of this kind makes us equally guilty, that is, murderers, cowards, paranoids.
Not fascists.
So, don’t believe us, don’t believe in that one, but not even the other.
Yes, him, who will advance with even more pomp.
Who will declare in a free voice: I was anti-fascist.
Fortunately born in a time that will finally start to walk, you will ask him about his field affirmation.
He will reply that he has written several times of being against fascism until he angled his hands on the computer or cell phone keyboard.
He will include the boundless amount of signed petitions, more or less participated manifestations, sensitive events and conferences, he will talk about the beating taken from the fascists and those given to them, he will tell you of virtuous meetings in social centers and liberating occupations of the common place.
He will declare of having always been on the side of workers and women, freedom of press and expression, the last ones and injustices.
On the right side, always, without ifs and buts, until returning home at the end of the show.
At that point, don’t hesitate, ask that question, you have to do it.
Tell him, then: how are the fascists back?
Why they never left?
He will look at you, showing despair and indignation.
He’ll accuse the people, the masses, USA and even Russia, he will blame everyone, and will point the generalizing finger as far as possible from itself.
Don’t believe him.
Please, don’t do it.
Because, as already mentioned, the gestures, not the chit-chatter, establish our role in the world.
Accepting to earn money by working for people who daily prove to be uncaring of workers and women, it’s called to be bloody hypocrites.
Spending our money buying every day, for a lifetime, stuff of all kinds, without worrying if the producers of the latter respect or not the freedom of press and expression, makes us accomplices.
But more than anything else, avoiding to start question ourselves, as the first accountable, by birth and origin, of the misfortunes of the last ones and the injustices they suffer in the world, means being destined to see history repeating itself.
Not anti-fascists.
Don’t believe us, then.
Don’t believe in the fable of the two sides.
Only a few of us have ever been really antifascists.
Indeed, we were all a little fascists, inside.
May heaven bless the day when we’ll understand, accept, recognize it.
Only from that moment we’ll start being you...


On the same topic:
How racism is taught

Watch the video storytelling with English subtitles:
When poor see us

Read more stories to think about
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Watch my last storytelling show with English and Italian subtitles Sunset
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Thursday, February 8, 2018

Alone

Alone


By 
Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher


In a possible future, early in the morning...

Tell me, John, what's the problem?
Doctor, yesterday I went to one of those places...
Who are you talking to?
Shut up!
What did you say to me?
No, doc, I was not referring to you, but to her...
Who?
As I said, I went to one of those new clubs that opened out of town...
You’re such an idiot, John!
How can you allow him to insult you like that?
I told you to shut up, fuck!
Don’t be rude, unless you're one of those who like rough love. In this regard, I immediately tell you that with me it doesn’t work, Johnny honey.
Please, doctor, help me, she never stop talking... and never sleeps too!
Tell me what happened, John.
Simple, doctor, as you well know, it’s at least ten years since the last human being connected to the neighbor has been isolated. From that moment, each one of us lives in his own head, literally, protected from it, I would add. Absolute peace reigns on earth, because we are all immersed in a world where we are what we want and all the people we share time with are nothing more than digitalized versions of those we would like by our side, which we consider capable of making us happy.

Exactly, John, in fact... me too...
Please, don’t say it, I know that you are a hologram, but right now I need to believe the opposite...
Why?
Yeah, why, Johnny honey?
Because I'm afraid that an antivirus won't be enough to get rid of her…
Because she's not a program, right?
Of course I'm not, silly doctor. Unless I haven’t got any clue so far, and then I wonder who remained in my body...
Doctor... so?
I'm sorry, John, but you've been infected by the worst virus in the history of the universe.
What would it be?
A human being.
Shit...
You just can’t avoid to be rude, right, Johnny honey?
Don’t call me that!

Halfway through the day...

John, did you finished the twenty-six dossier?
Not yet, boss.
You’re an incredibly useless snail, what do you think I pay you for? To laze at the computer?
Don’t you dare to treat like that my dear Johnny honey, bald man with a flapping ears!
He doesn’t have any flapping ears…
What did you say about my ears, John?
No… sorry, boss, I digested badly last night...
Yes, he has got it, did you see how he was offended?
Silence, fuck!
What, John ?!
Excuse me, boss, forgive me, I wasn’t talking to you!
Look, John, I keep an eye on you and at the end of the month I'll do my counts, you can be sure about that.
Can you see what you did?
I cannot see, Johnny honey, but only hear.
And how could you say that my virtual superior has got flapping ears?
Forgive me, when someone offends you I get angry.

In the afternoon…

Give me some mortadella.
No way, mortadella get you fat, better the raw ham.
I want to get fat, what do you care about?
Nothing, sir, as you prefer, I'm here to serve you.
I agree with the electronic clerk, Johnny honey, the choice is yours, unless you claim to turn on my passion if I find myself in front of that greasy body of yours...
What greasy body are you talking about?
What did you say, sir?
No, excuse me, give me some raw ham, please, so she’ll stop to speak…
As you wish, sir.

In the evening...

That place was mine, man, I was here first!
So? I'm in a hurry, I don’t have time to waste with these bullshits.
WTF? Johnny honey, get right out of the car and give a lesson to that bully...
But he’s just a software, he’s not real...
Even virtual humiliations are bad, believe me. Unless you like them, but I want to immediately clarify that whips and handcuffs are not to my taste.
What about if he’ll hurt me? I set my personal, digital world on the mode “unpredictable outcome”...
Better a possible defeat, than a certain one, says the mot.
Which mot?
Johnny honey, wake up, the guy is leaving...
Hey, man, wait a minute. You cannot do what you want...

Before bedtime…

What a punch! It will have been virtual, but he hit hard...
Did you put ice on it?
Of course! How do you think I lived before you came into my head?
Alone, my dear Johnny honey.
Exactly, by myself, and I want to go back to being like that, okay?
Do you really want me to leave?
Please, yes.
Okay, as you wish, goodbye.
Goodbye.

Days later...

Mary, it's time to bring the dog for a walk.
I don’t care, damn voice assistant, okay? Anyway, the dog doesn’t really exist... unless we are in one of those ecological movie with a surprise ending and the pet is the true protagonist, long live the beasts, down those who fart on the subway, eccetera.
I don’t understand your question, Mary.
I believe you, I bought you on sale, what do you expect?
What do you intend to do now, Mary?
Being on the sofa watching TV, what I do every evening, noisy assistant, you should know.
Mary...
Assistant, you've changed your voice...
Who are you talking to?
I don’t know…
Mary, it's me.
Who?
John...
Who?!
Johnny honey.
How could you get into my head?
Exactly as you did.
What do you want from me? Didn’t you want to be alone?
Yeah, but I was wrong.
Well, nice turncoat that you are, but now it's my turn: I want to be alone.
I understand it, and if you wish I'll go home... but, if you'll change your mind too... we could do it together, to see if we like it.
What?
Being alone, but together.
Stay where you are, then. Assistant?
Yes, Mary.
Turn off, you, also the robot dog and even the synthetic parrot, while you're there, unless you're a bunch of voyeurs, but I don’t like exhibitionism, so silence all.
Now I have to live...



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Wednesday, February 7, 2018

Italy elections 2018 immigration scapegoat

Stories and News No. 1071

According to some of the foreign press, observing the priorities of Italian political debate, there are serious problems to solve, impossible to ignore. Unforgettable, unless you want them to grow further, until becoming unsolvable.
You know what I'm talking about, don’t you?
I start from the very first one, but it could have been taken for granted, just reading the headlines and listen to the preferred topics by the main candidates to lead Italy from next March.

I refer of course to that fetid tumor, in the form of an organ now accepted and assimilated, which earns every year 150 billion euros.
Consider randomly an Italian leader among the next possible prime ministers, visit their social page, their twittering profile or their official website and you will find at the top of their priorities the best recipe on how to eradicate this chronic cancer.
In any case, although you obviously understand what it is, it’s always better to call things by their name: according to Italian politics that abscess which I refer to is not the Mafia, but illegal immigration
Nonetheless, speaking of the Italian peninsula and its needs it’s not possible to not mention the virus that has gripped it since immemorial time, literally corroding the connective tissue at every level, social and labor, institutional and political.
Immediately after the aforementioned cancer and its deafening turnover, it’s the most important topic on all the press, especially now that we are approaching the polls.
In fact, the parties riders, concentrated on the fateful voting with more chances to win, never fail to explain to citizens how they intend to deal with this disaster, which puts Italy on the last but two place in Europe, above Greece and Bulgaria.
I know what I'm talking about, because I know what you all know.
The aforementioned disaster, I mean, that I’m saying here just for the record: the invasion of immigrants, what else?
Corruption, maybe? In Italy today that’s a prescribed crime even before it’s made…
However, it’s not permissible to conclude this desertion without putting on the plate a real plague of Italian society, which makes life suffering for millions of people, devastatingly affecting their daily search for a minimum perspective of the future.
Open a random newspaper and you will see how the most salacious feathers will constantly harass with their sharp points the competitors in the field to play the legislative helm.
Anyway, you already know what I was referring to when I said plague: the migrants, gosh.
It’s certainly not unemployment, which in modern Italy it’s no longer a problem to be solved, but a fact of life to live with, or die…
I could add much more to this list, but we don’t need to waste ink.
A word is enough.
The most cited by the newspapers and much more pronounced by politicians in elective pole position.
What word? Immigration, otherwise which one?
What is really the problem, where there is something that makes everyone agree?
The perfect scapegoat works for every category of this democratic dance.
The voting population, citizens with all the right papers, can freely talk about a topic that will never make them to feel directly or indirectly accountable, as could happen in the case of mafia, corruption and unemployment. Talking about immigration it’s like to talk about sport: once the fight is over, everyone returns to eat and drink, friends as before.
Journalists have titles already made, they gain time and clicks, they don’t have particular needs of precision and ethics of the profession, given the vulnerable nature of the protagonists, avoiding at the same time to remain glued to much more uncomfortable issues, like juxtapose the mafia, corruption and unemployment.
What about politicians? Well, if this is the image of the people and of those who inform them on the things of the world, they have to do nothing but adapt and feed them what they ask for.
Immigrants, may Heaven bless them…


On the same topic:
The truth about read hair people

Watch the video storytelling with English subtitles:
When poor see us

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Friday, February 2, 2018

Stories on diversity: alone among the similar

Stories and News No. 1070

In 2013 a seabird settled on the uninhabited island of Mana, north of New Zealand, probably attracted by the immovable replicas, a sort of statues, which had been placed there by the officers involved in the conservation of the species (video). They used the sound of birds played
through solar energy speakers in an attempt to create a colony in the scientific reserve made immune to harmful organisms.
Only a few weeks ago, the animal, renamed Nigel, had been joined by three members of its species. However, Nigel failed to make friends, dying today.


Alone among the different.
You could be born this way and, despite the sentence of departure, unleashing heart and intellect to change the screenplay and above all the final personal story.
You could win.
You could also unfortunately lose.
Getting to become at most just the same as someone else.
Of the different ones.
Or…

Alone among the equals.
In this way you could start traveling and climbing the social album, pyramidal road only to those who put colours and shapes before the precious, golden pot at the end of the colorful arc in the sky.
No neighbors-afraid has ever crossed to the secret and coveted goal.
You could save money, gifts and dreams.
You could exchange them all at once for the coveted mask that finally confuses you among the many.
You could even throw yourself into the desperate task of sewing it yourself, like a kind of invisibility tattoo.
Running the risk of earning at most a shred of resemblance with the much overvalued majority.
And become...

Alone among the similar.
You could start right here.
Maybe avoiding the stubborn, popular obsession with the common trait and trying not to ignore the congenital peculiarity.
The missing piece from the human mosaic, the only reason of birth, in fact.
But you could, as often happens, find yourself so unaccustomed to empathy for uniqueness, to not recognize it even by looking at it in the mirror.
Nonetheless, with the related dress and the compliant haircut, you could fool yourself into winning.
On the contrary, you could convince yourself that you have lost anyway.
The opportunity, every day that passes, to be less alone.
And more yourself...


On the same topic:
Stories about nature

Watch the video storytelling with English subtitles:
When poor see us

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Thursday, February 1, 2018

Short story about life: S P A M

S P A M

By
Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher

First announcing messages sound.
I cannot take it anymore, Jenny.
What are you talking about, Paul?
That damn spam, every morning I find the emails full of this absurd garbage, including remedies on how to improve my performance in bed and the usual millionaire inheritance from the other side of the world.
And you call it problems? You can’t imagine what tragedy one of my students is living at home. Yet he has always a smile for everybody...
Why is he laughing? Is he stupid?
No, he has a gift.
What would it be?
The ability to play down even in the worst situations. But if someone fails even in the smallest ones...
Don’t act like a teacher with me, please.
Second announcing messages sound.
Here it is... other spams arrived just now, do they hate me?
It's not a personal thing, Paul, they send them randomly.
What?
Arbitrarily to everybody, genius.
Thanks prof. Anyway, listen to this, I’ve got the same many times. Apparently this time the number is little, only eight hundred thousand dollars. You know? With all the debts we’ve done, it would be a godsend…
You have done, Paul, not we. It’s you who wanted to buy the new car and you wanted the air conditioners in every room and you wanted...
I see, you don’t need to stress it all the time. Look what it says more… it talks about a woman, my dead relative… she is deceased in Ukraine. Once retired, she received the aforementioned donation from a wealthy landowner from whom he had worked as a caregiver in his later years. Being in advanced age with a frail health, she hasn’t affected the money at all.
Parsimonious, the old woman, unlike others…
What do you imply with that?
I don’t imply anything, I really mean with purpose. In detail, I’m referring to the bleed that you monthly inflict on our account for those useless football pay TV, not to mention videogames.
Video games are for your son Robert...
What? He haven’t touched them for a long time, since he has a girlfriend, two and a half years, to be precise. It’s you who are glued to them as an unsocial adolescent.
Third announcing messages sound.
This is a persecution…
What?
You know the hoax I was speaking of, the caregiver in Ukraine?
Yup.
Well, I just got a message that informs me of the now expired legal terms to get the due money. These guys have got fantasy, don’t you think? They could use it to write stories, instead of breaking the balls to us. Enough, I got annoyed, I delete everything as usual.
Multiple elimination sound.
Paul…
Yes.
I was thinking…
What?
Your mother had a sister abroad, isn’t it? They had closed relations for the usual family arguments, I remember…
Yes… Aunt Florence. She was living with a guy, I think an immigrant from the East Europe, I do not recall where. She later left the country with him.
You told me she was very fond of you, right?
Well, she used to babysitting me when I was very young, mom was always out for work. In the first years of my life she actually raised me.
...
Paul…
Yes…
How much was the inheritance?

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Watch my last storytelling show with English and Italian subtitles Story about poverty: when the poor see us
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Italian storytelling with English subtitles: video about poverty

Storie sulla povertà: quando i poveri ci vedono (Stories about poverty: when poor see us)

When the poor see us.
When the poor begin to see, they widen their gaze and discover the essential as the outline.
Because everything now fits, every fragment of the picture, the most unfair too, it will find meaning...

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