Stories and News

Stories and News No. 756 Why do Italy and many other countries celebrate Republic Day with a parade of their military force? Once upon a time there was a country of just three people. At least in appearance. And, as they say, looks can be deceiving. Oh, if it does. In the only three people country there were natural wealth. Fully available to the inhabitants. Water, earth and air, to say what I now remind. Once a year they meet to celebrate these free gifts by nature. The only ‘public thing’ ( res publica ) that should be really celebrated. Over time, as often happens in human lives, the good coexistence between the three began to falter. For one reason among the most predictable. Especially scrolling contrariwise the book of History with a capital aitch. One of the residents awoke one morning feeling to be the giant of his dreams, he took a breath and informed the other two: "Now I will be the guardian of the water and will defend it with knives, pistols and rif

Stories and News No. 755 Once upon a time, a hundred years ago, there was a magician. A wry and clever magician. “He is the time,” somebody said, “look, he is the time.” For some time passing is magic. Good or bad it is, it depends on each occasion by the public. Because magic stands inside the intent, nothing new, but the deception’s light will always shine in the watching eyes. On 24 May 1915 the wry and clever magician, which some claimed to be the time, took his wand in one hand and with the other grabbed the first transited word there. Madness , that was his random choice. Really, it was a mere accident that such a word was invited on stage. Because you should be completely crazy to choose it with clear awareness. Madness. The man waved his magic weapon of mass distraction and gave a clean blow to the word. Hitting the letters, of course. Phonetics and semantics of the term; also synonyms were brought in, from the most common craziness to the least used senselessnes

Stories and News No. 754  According to the italian PM the man arrested in Milan was in Italy on the day of the massacre... Once upon a time there was the monster. The monster on the home page, yes, of course. But not only this. It would be too easy. To put things in the right place. Impossible, where the monster is now everywhere. Downloaded directly into more or less defenseless hearts of the easy words thirsty people. With or without the consent of the recipient. Especially without. With or without the consent of the monster itself. Surely not. It will take several generations to erase the indissoluble marriage between ‘black’ and ‘enemy’, ‘evil’ and ‘dirty’ from the minds of myopic horizons persons. Imagine what it will take for the link ‘immigrant’ and ‘everything worse you might think of others’. But if the creature with the grim look and the hissing voice was innocent? And if the ‘grim’ word meant ‘I’m angry’, ‘you have no idea how angry I am’? If you knew you

Stories and News No. 753 Right now, in Colombia, the rescuers are trying to save seventeen miners who were trapped in a flooded gold mine. It seems to have no more than three days… Once upon a time there was a school. A normal school, far from favored. By fate as the administrator of the so-called public affairs. In the normal school there was a equally ordinary class. On the other hand, normal or excellence it is, where there is a class here comes a teacher and them. The sons. Of mothers, of course. Of life in general, every color and profile, able to survive the darkened reins of his majesty the prevailing moral. Of course, fathers’ sons. "What job does your dad?" The teacher asked. "Our father fills the others pot," the children of the waiters boldly answered. "Our father, however, erects bed and shelter to the lives of others", the children of construction workers declared with enthusiasm. "Our father is a hunter of possible fut

Stories and News No. 752 On May 17 the world celebrated the International Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia . Once upon a time there was a kingdom. As a kingdom, at the head of the latter there was a king. A king who had taken being a king very seriously. Let’s just say a lot. Infinitely so. Someday the king who had taken himself very seriously, let's say Infinitely much, decided to finish. What? You may ask. Well, the king was tired of all this permissive relativism with the obsession for moral drift and lustful transgression, that’s it. He was the king and the kingdom belongs to the king, until proved otherwise, this was his thought watching the mirror that morning. So, he made a proclamation. Any citizen who was caught in acts against nature would be instantly executed. The supreme judge of the kingdom, which was a fussy and upright man, promised to enforce the edict in six days. Literally. What followed was a true genocide. The first day all aviators

Stories and News No. 751 Rome, Italy. Sobuj Khalifa , a 32 years old man, rescued yesterday a 55 years old woman who had jumped into the Tiber River. He is a Bangladesh citizen. A foreigner, a stranger, an immigrant. Moreover without papers. So an illegal immigrant too. Police awarded the man with the residence permit... They said. Oh, they said a lot. They said that once there they would have taken away a lot from me. The name, to say some. Replaced by a flood of epithets, most often insultingly. In the intent, if not in the exact sense. However, like magic, stories are always born in the intentions. They said, really. They said so much. They said that finally arrived they would have taken my rights. Nothing special, the least human. What remains. Which should remain. Despite you particularly like to steal most of my life. They said, I remember. They surely said. That many would have tried to tarnish my past and, when I had turned to prevent the abuse, the

Stories and News No. 750 I read that an eight years old Ivorian child named Abou was stopped in Spain at the border town of Ceuta. He was hidden in a suitcase. A trolley... Once upon a time there was a trolley. A magic trolley. Making things disappear. And so the magic works trust is necessary. Because when all returns. The world must necessarily be more beautiful than before. In the magic trolley there was a hidden child. So far, dismay in eyes and heart. At least in the trace of remained humanity. But I am here to tell you that the hidden child in the trolley there was unseen another child. A girl, to be precise. Smaller, undoubtedly. But with no less authoritative aspirations. Among the many one only in the guise of the most improbable dream. To be the older child, the greater. Secreted in the trolley. Nevertheless, the story is not satiated of confidences and here I find myself adding the unusual. The girl child who dreamed of being the hidden one in the tro

Stories and News No. 749 It seems that in India four fifteen years old girls, after a note accusing their coach of harassment, have attempted to suicide. By eating the fruit of the tree of suicides… Once upon a time there was the tree of … Suicides? The young girl with frayed heart and torn soul asked. Yes, the tree of ... Perfect, you are what it does for me, she said. Or, she murmured with the remnants of breath still in his chest. Give me the fruit, she added in a tone just as faint, and make me put an end to everything. Of course, as you wish, the tree said. In order to get it, you have to climb on top because I take the deadliest gifts high on the most inaccessible peaks of the crown. Why? Because, you know, the poisonous narratives are the lightest, the fastest running in from belly to belly, and are all trendy, so they are commodity cheap. They are placed there, in the noble window. The young girl rallied the atrophied shadow of vital energy, survived the destru

Stories and News No. 748 It seems that in Australia at least fifteen thousand young Italian immigrants work eleven hours a night, undergoing blackmail, abuse and even violence. 'Migrants' and 'immigrants', the same old story. It always depends where you start to read on... Once upon a time there the land of migrants. The land of migrants was so-called not by chance. The inhabitants lived always with the classic foot on the threshold. Ready to go. To escape. A whistle was enough. Come on, it’s time, let’s go! Or even a way that was just it. A more or less easily passing that would lead somewhere. Possibly there. It was the day when the migrants departed. Some of you might ask: if the inhabitants migrated, who remained in the land of migrants? Easy to say: the land. And all those who dreaming of a better tomorrow had left the present behind. Let alone the past. So migrants without the old land arrived to the new one. "Hello", the inhabitan