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Showing posts from April, 2018

Refugees umbrella

Stories and News No. 1091 It can’t rain all the time , they say. Yes, it cannot. But in the meantime it's raining, and all, really everything that keeps us alive, joined together, it’s a strange kind of umbrella . We found a refuge under it. Nonetheless, we wait for it to end, the worst day of our common story. We hope that the weather will be benevolent, and so the future. Meanwhile, it's raining. With the imminent arrival of the monsoon rains 700,000 Rohingya refugees risk their lives in Bangladesh The drops become insistent, insensitive and icy as much as the eyes that scrutinize us all. Let’s be honest, right? No government leader will launch proclamations and expensive missions to save us, with or without the support of the assembled nations. No coalition will take the field against our enemy, unless to lift a colossal finger, pointing it there, where the money and selfishness hurt. There are no rock stars who will organize mega concerts for charity and

The creature

The creature By Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher "A terrible feeling, you have no idea, believe me..." "Sure... tell me everything, Peter." "I’ll try… "The thing... I suddenly realize the thing. "It’s inside of me. "It’s alive, it moves and thinks. "At that moment I understand that it's not a thing... "It's a creature, an alien that lives in me, like that sci-fi movie. "But we’re not in a movie, I don’t live in a movie. "I am a person like many, a common guy, of flesh and blood, who may get hurt, who can die. "Someone who has to worry about himself, because life is already hard on its own, it pushes you to protect you, makes you selfish, because you have to survive. "Because I want to survive. "However, at that very moment I could not think of it anymore... "I felt incredibly weak and helpless, fragile beyond any possibilities, like the most thin tissue paper at the mercy of the

Time for excuses

Stories and News No. 1090 Once upon a time there was the time for excuses . "We are truly sorry", said the members of the Basque terrorist group ETA , responsible for the killing of over 800 people during forty years of armed campaign, publicly apologizing for the suffering caused and asking for the forgiveness of the victims and their families. Imagine that it is the time , now. Close your eyes with me, and let's see together before the day of all excuses, but really all , gathered in a colossal chain reaction of conscience, albeit belated, but very necessary. Make the vacant spaces of the incomplete memory shine for good, because the list will be long. United States will stand up and with the head bowed will apologize for slavery, of course, the oil-wars disguised as peaceful trips, obviously, putsches disguised as revolutions and revolutions hit even before being born from the random puppet president. However, more than anything else, they will beg forgivenes

Avatar for everything

Avatar for everything By Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher Once again, in a possible future... We are at a shop counter of the most popular store inside the Web Virtual Supermarket Discount or whatever its name is. Sorry, but scrutinizing the horizon puts a strain on the heart and eyes with the same virulence. The customer is one of the precious ones, very loyal to the buying and ready to be drained by the savvy seller. "Good morning, miss," he says. "I would like some information about your products." "Tell me more," the attractive hologram in the form of a shop assistant replies. "In particular, I'm interested in the face..." "Of course, sir, I see we go on vintage." "What do you mean?" "Well, the face avatar is primordial stuff, here." "Yes, I see. So, do you have anything for me? " "I do have everything for you," the ephemeral interlocutor answers persuasively. "I

Why are there chemical weapons in Syria?

Stories and News No. 1089 The screams , yes. Those on air, a fraction of a second after hell from heaven fell on hell on earth . The screams, yes right. Those later, on resentful or conspiracy, anti or simply still capable of feeling human pages. Those are all finely heard. Then again explosions, and other cries, of proud pain or just fear of being lucky, for now. This time. Nevertheless, the crucial question arises over in the dust that slowly thins out. You cannot die forever and the time comes that you can finally ask: why? It’s enough the appearance of the precious question to displace the protagonists and reporters of the same level, did you see? However, the grammar of the civil war - but you may also read eternal , provides for a small number of queries, and very rarely there is one among them that debuts in such an inescapable manner. Why , yes right again. But you dare and give an objective complement to the aforementioned interpellation: why are there chemic

I will marry you

Stories and News No. 1088 I’ll marry you, Marielle and Mônica . In spite of every limit of logic and possibility, ideal ground for madmen from excessive courage and naive scribblers like myself, I am going to marry you. I will marry you and I will be the celebrant , that’s right. Because in the place where this page and all the aspirations erased from the vilest hate live, it doesn’t matter who celebrates who or what. What is worth the price of the slightest presence is the tangible, realized desire that from this extraordinary moment is written colour on colour , no black on white . Since beyond such a window on one of the many perfect tomorrow, we have just touched, there are all the imaginable shades and no one of the latter will feel entitled to overlap the others. Forgive me, Mônica, while you're still awaiting Marielle's return a month from her unacceptable disappearance, if I offer only a drawing as a gift to this cruelly wounded feeling. That is maybe the

Forbidden to watch

Forbidden to watch By Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher Once again, in an hopefully distant future... The alarms start to sound, that is, to scream and rattle with unspeakable rage. Who dared? Who could get to that? The crowd is packed around, joined in amazement and head bent over the personal, sovereign monitor. "Madam," the agent in charge says, staring at the woman framed on his screen, "your son is under arrest." The mother of the guilty one is incredulous, more than frightened. "Excuse me," she addressed the diligent official portrayed in the video of her mobile phone. "But, I must tell you that..." "I don’t accept your excuses," the man replies, while the curious horde begin filming and tearing away shreds of the unusual event like lewd dogs around the prey revealing blood and fragility. "Your child has violated the sacred rule ." "He violated it..." people around murmur in a chorus, almost cha

USA vs Russia’s fairy tale

Stories and News No. 1087 Once upon a time there was a fairy tale . Indeed, once upon a time there was a repeated story over time, with different settings and customs, but immutable morals. In the middle, the protagonists , who faded and merged from one side of the contest to the other one. Because without conflict, there is no storytelling. The knights in the field were two, as the simplest narration requires. USA and Russia , yes it is. Both the adversaries showed without surprise the most trite and rough attitudes worthy of the worst bully affected by inflated testosterone. In the rhetorical game of roles, USA was the savior and Russia the aggressor , the former the powerful ally and the latter the others friend , and then add also West and East , We and Them , and other semantical tricks to fill eyes and ears, generation after generation, of apparently impotent readers. The fable was ever told from parents to children, as if it were inevitable, as if it were the w

Samar Baltaji Maher Attar photo story

Stories and News No. 1086 It was 1985 . In Beirut, between war and war. On a civil and uncivilized, tolerated and intolerable, far and more than ever closer one. Because that’s what men against men brings. It confuses the opposites, in the violent mixture of hatred and blood. On the background, you can see Samar , inside the veracity of black and white, contrasts of the past and, despite the illusion of colour, also today. With the woman, there was a girl child. With her, a glance full of dignity and pride, despite the wounds. With both, the still warm shadows of the massacre. Despite the left leg prematurely erased by the worst editor in the world, that is, the dull war, yet, still it, always it. On the other side of the lens, there was Maher . A thief of images, but a good one. An atypical version of Robin Hood , which steals memory where all want to disintegrate it, and then he gives it to posterity. So that they see the day after what has passed in vain under t

Story about social media: Close everything

Close everything By Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher Somewhere, that is, in many homes of the socialized, modern world... Tom? … Tom?! ... Tom!!! Here I come, Mary, what’s up? What’s up?! I didn’t hear you shutting the door, honey... Really? Of course, yes, close it, hurry up, the sun got out a long time ago! You're right, I'm going. ... Tom? What? Tom! I said what! I see, but come here, please. Do we have to talk from one room to another? You want strangers to hear us? Right, I'm sorry, I'm coming. So, what is it? Did you close the door? Yup… What about the bolt? And the alarm? Oops... you're right... Tom... do you want thieves to enter the house? These days, at this hour, who knows who’ll be out there... close everything! Yes, my love, luckily you’re there. No, luckily we have an alarm and impact-proof glass. Also, love, but you are the best. ... Tom! What's up now? What’s this air? Well... I think it's the window in t

Missing children found years later story

Stories and News No. 1085 Once upon a time the human journey. You can call it dance , if you prefer to hover between seconds. The climb , when the cruel destiny’s face has chosen you as an example. Quite the contrary, if the soft side has been given to you. In that case, don’t waste it, dear privileged soul. Nonetheless, the key to the melody that we all support it's the same: I lose you , I find you . Just as it happened twenty-four years ago, to Wang Mingqing and his wife Liu Dengying . The two used to work as greengrocers in the streets of Chengdu and, like many far from being lucky, were forced to bring with them their daughter Qifeng , only three years old. Wang left the girl child briefly alone to go to a next door shop and get the change for a client. When he returned, the headlines of the terrible nightmare movie began to flow on the screen: the daughter was gone. In other words, I lose you , Qifeng. We lose you , lovely daughter. The certainty of the worst pa