Stories and News

Stories and News No. 675 At the 26th competition of World ugliest dog the winner was Peanut . The owner, Holly Chandler, has revealed that his ugliness is due to ill-treatment and burns on many parts of the body when the dog was just a puppy. Here are some words stolen from the acceptance speech. By Peanut, of course . Thanks, but sorry. Yes, I know. Not great as a start. But what can I do? I say what I think. So, do not expect from me words for granted. Like I want to dedicate this award to my agent or my mother. To other candidates, which are also really ugly. To the poor in Africa. And to those next to us. Rather, I would like to take advantage of the glory of the moment to focus on my disabilities. Yes, let's be honest about. When you win is beautiful, I agree. But, as they say, what you see is not all beautiful. Then, in my case the meaning is literal. Sure, some may argue that esthetical appearance is not everything. There are other qualities, isn’t

Stories and News No. 674 We are the refugees. All of us. No one is excluded. We are the refugees every time we go on Facebook. Yes, really. We do when we feel the heat with ‘likes’ and ‘shares’, when we welcome a smiling or winking face, and we feel loved by the number of followers and friends. Sure, hundreds of so-called friends who are always there, motionless and looking at us as the picture of a family album. Making us feel like family. Or at least that is what we believe. What we find. Because we need that and because we lack. To feel protected. And safe. We are the refugees. All of us, every time we turn on the smartphone or, at best, the iPhone, and we are there, ‘whatsapping’, crazy clicking with our fingers, saying, responding, reading, and starting over. Just so we're all together, never alone, never silent, never empty, inside. Let’s look, now, for example in the crowded subway. Hundreds of people all with head pasted onto a giant screen, even 5 inc

Stories and News No. 673 Yes, we are not the winners. And maybe never will. No complaint or protest. You will never see us fighting the opponent off the game. Or yelling at the referee for a more or less assumed oversight. It is not in our own style. I know well and that is easy to me. I am the goal keeper. That is a real privilege, I know. I see everything where I am. The igniting match and the running ball. The rejoicing and suffering eyes. Read as well as the perpetual alternation of the most prevalent disease in the world . In short, supporters . Right and left here are the modern fullbacks. Real human elastics, two wonderful trips, those you need to do at least once in a lifetime. Taking you deep down, where the field ends, to understand what is behind the horizon of green grass. But forcing you to go back exactly where you started, to show that you've been really down there. And especially not living me unattended. Fortunately, I would not be alone. A

Stories and News No. 672 The tank and him . This is the picture in history. Who was he? This is the question that accompanies it. Wang Weilin, the unknown protester or rebel, the tank man . The white shirt and black pants guy. This is what we know. The arrested and shot student. Died in prison. Hidden and maybe tortured. Fled, but still dead. Alive, perhaps still alive, but away from the noise of the time. Read also as the earned right to be forgotten of History writers . This is between what is told. A young brave or just reckless person. An idealistic, or perhaps a little dreamer teen. An already made man, despite his age, able to put everything on one side of the scales even when there is nothing for most of us on the other. Something incredibly light and almost invisible, as only the more real utopias can be. This is what we assume. Wang Weilin, the unknown rebel. The tank man. That is, the tank boy. But who was he, really? And most importantly, who