Stories and News

Stories and News No. 769 Once upon a time there was a body . A great one, too much great. Of different skin colors and genders. Various age. And at the thought of looking down in that measure makes the image disturbing. Yet let’s look, let’s be brave. Because that body is here. Let’s approach eyes and heart. And let’s read. Let’s read the stories etched in the flesh, as tattoos fed by the worst indelible ink in the universe: the human cruelty . There is the memory of the cuts . And the dancing of the burns . Down there is the show of the bruises . And further down the gift of the lashes . No, let’s not avert our eyes. Let’s read together, again. There is an echo of the beating . And above the shadow of the blows . Over there are the consequences of punches . And there those of kicks. Yes, I know, that is a filthy storytelling, but it is here. The body is still here. So let’s not give up. Because we have to read more. There is dried still too red blood . And h

Stories and News No. 768 Once upon a time there were the people of rights . That population was made up of many kind of persons. Different, despite appearances. So far, we are still in the land of banality. So be brave, let us strive to leave. Inside the people made up of many different persons, despite appearances, there were some who claimed to be in favor of migrants and the resulting free movement of survivals. Hopes. And the only possible future, where we are all equally guests. Nevertheless, at the same time, many of them stood up against the unpopular and uncomfortable inhabitant of lager 2.0. In short, Romani people . In other words: I'm not racist, I’m totally not, but the 'gypsies' ... At the same time, in the same people, perhaps even sitting alongside, there were those who screamed in defense of the latter: "Don’t say ‘ gypsies ’, that is offensive." However, seamless in the heart, the same persons were against any alternative to the ca

Stories and News No. 767 Once upon a time there was an alien. An alien named Buk . He had been sent long ago on earth to observe. Writing down. And, based solely on what his eyes had carefully seen, try to understand. Once that is done, Buk would have been return to his planet and tell what had understood of mankind. In particular, his mission was about the human family. Once at home he was immediately questioned by his colleagues explorers. "Tell us, Buk, what the human family is founded on?" The alien made it clear that the earth was very different from them. On the Buk’s planet family is founded on the union between a person and a book. A book of stories, of course. Some of you will wonder how it is possible that a living creature and a book can flirt, let alone procreate, fight with a lot of throwing slippers and smashing plates, then making love again, and unfortunately leaving. Then remaining friends, but maybe not. It is, it is very possible , Buk might

Stories and News No. 766 116 years old, Jeralean Talley has died . She was the oldest woman in the world, that is the oldest ‘person’ in the world. She was. Because 21 grams later this record has come to Susannah Mushatt Jones , who will reach the same Jeralean’s age on July 6th. Here is an imaginary baton passing by letter. From the old mother of the world to the new one... Dear Susannah, here we are. The moment has come. Time is now. So the inhabitants of the TV say when the instant is solemn. Ladies and gentlemen, the winner is... and let us go with the more or less spontaneous applauses, the important flashes and, who knows, the standing ovation too. Yes, I know that I could not give you that. We both ran. I had no time for greetings. And you have certainly had not time to say hello to me. Who has left the scepter. What nonsense, right? We are, and we will still be with you, the only real queens of time on earth, but we had found ourselves not having enough. T

Stories and News No. 765 Speaking of the massacre in the church of Charleston, South Carolina, USA, where a young man killed nine people – according to the news he seems to be ‘white’, the police chief says there is no doubt that it was a hate crime . The religion of the killer, if he is Catholic rather than Buddhist, does not matter. No matter whether he is a perfect citizen , a regular immigrant or an illegal one. It is not relevant even if he has to do with the Isis or Al Qaida . And I do not think that is because we are talking about a ‘white’ guy. What intrigues me is the nature of the crime... Once upon a time there was the hate crime . Everytime. Especially the others . When you close your brain, if you really have one, and open the taps of a putrid belly, vomiting delusions and dullness insulting entire populations, feelings, traditions and lives. Lives who read and suffer, more or less in silence. Everytime, really all. More than ever the others. Where, du

Stories and News No. 764 A message in the bottle from a young immigrant on a rock in Ventimiglia . Entrusted letter to the sea waves, hoping it gets to destination. Without breaking… Dear mother, we won. Almost ... You and I, we did. More or less ... For dad. Who wanted nothing more than that. For us. Who could not ask for more. Not reaching the goal. Never touching the promised land. Maybe putting on our feet and feeling it ours. Meanwhile, we watch. We are the ones who do not cry when the ground finally appears on the horizon, because the joy is unstoppable, breath escaped and the forces are all in the latest effort: the victory. Almost... Screaming at the finish is a privilege for the ancestors of the memory sick guys, which today demean our souls, ignoring of doing the same with their very own. And they are right, if some of these people cling to the idea that their ancestors were very different from us. Yeah, it is so, but not for the reasons they think. Bec

Stories and News No. 763 Saturday there will be the Rome Gay Pride 2015 . Waiting for another day... Once upon a time there was a day. Which we are proud of. Already now, we are. Of the next tomorrow, we are. But today, here, inside. We are proud to be joyful. I mean the sentiment as the nature which they need. Still too much, they need to draw us. We are also proud to be a lot. How many you can count with naked eye. And not only in the solitude, even if brave, of our own imagination. We are also proud to give sound to the fragile strophes. Which in the past were deleted from the final script. As simple misprints or vain redundancies of the human lexicon. We are proud to be able to be. Proud. And look that is much more than what you can image. We are proud of our eyes in yours. Who observe closely, as sheltered from a monitor. Yet, this is strong stuff too, believe me, if I think back to when also a stupid look could hurt. What it should instead be cherishe

Stories and News No. 762 Roberto Maroni, the governor of Lombardy, Italy region, after having informed the mayors, wrote a letter to the prefectures on the possible welcome of immigrants. *Dear fellow citizens, we live in difficult times. And in difficult times we must remain united. All united towards one goal. Make our nation ever greater. To do this we need to have eyes and ears open. You will have to do so. So we will. You know the enemy, you know him well. And he is among the most dangerous opponent. Because all of you know him well. He lives in the opponent building. You look him out the window. He passes by on the sidewalk. He comes in with you in the door. He is beyond the next door. And, in some cases, even living in your home. The enemy is an enemy. He merges, disguises, pretending to be like us, but its diversity is clearly visible to the clear eye. He should be recognized, he must be fought with courage and mercilessly beaten. This is our duty. Thi

Stories and News No. 761 News from Belgium : first world case for a so young patient, I read that a thirteen girl from Congo who had a ovary removed, at 27 years old became a mother thanks to her transplanted ovarian tissue. A journey, a story. 14 years long... Once upon a time there was you. Mother, no. Not then. Not a hope, perhaps a dream. Certainly a possibility. Those you keep there, between hands folds, which everyone knows and claims to read better than you. Ignoring what you will still write. That is where I died. That is where I was born. Among what the conceited book tells. And what you, my beloved reader, will hope. I have traveled, since then I have traveled. With a solitary memory overhead. A single page. Enclosed in a verse. Filled by only one face. A teenager, with the skin watered by wrong tears. Because that is the most humanly mistaken script. The one that destroys bridges to other lives. Which are not you. That is where I died. That is wher

Stories and News No. 760 Last night in Accra, Ghana, a terrible explosion and an equally terrible fire in a service station caused a massacre of people who tried to escape the terrible torrential rains that flooded the streets. At least 200 dead... Once upon a time there were the natural resources. Yes, those. No, no, I am not speaking of the normal stuff. The virgin water, I know. Life pregnant ground and clear air, I see. But I said other stuff. The special one. The one we live for. The one we die for. We are here. Do not bother, we come. Because only the rest of us may come to you. To bring gifts. That is The White Side Santa Claus Theorem , a necessary condition, never enough. From above, coming down with the bag, means party and colors, smiles and quiet days for everybody . On the contrary, even climbing with the bag over your shoulder and a thick beard on your face, we will not buy anything from you, because you have nothing to give us . Riches, sure. I und

Stories and News No. 759 Once upon a time there was a table. A large table, all set for supper. Tablecloth and plates, glasses and cutlery. And diners. Many diners, many more than they seem . Oh come on, let us look at the whole thing, at least here. Let us start from the dish of the day. As the night. That is just one. A beautiful tray, longer than wide. Size, let us say human. In measure, never feelings or something like that. The name of the dish? Well, you do, the name does not matter, the words you might use to call what is daily broken in pieces by sly drunken jaws make no difference. It hurt, there is no doubt. However, as an ancient as anonymous proverb from savannah said: ‘In nature only prey knows the real taste of the pain’. ‘Spaghetti with migrants’, ‘Tagliatelle with clandestines’ and ‘Pizza four strangers’. Nevertheless, the menu is well-known. That is there, every day, cooked or raw, torn on the tables so many times as to become traditional dish, as t

Stories and News No. 758 I read that, since we have 14 survivors and 40 bodies recovered, there are still 400 people missing in the Yangtze River in Hubei province, China. 400 people . Four hundred . I read in the 'little paragraph' on the bottom left. Kept space for the terrible sinking of the cruise ship. I read, I read even more. And, perhaps, I understand... Once upon a time there was a news. A news as many. Really, nothing extraordinary. Poor her, poor them. Living between those words. Maybe forever. Because their history is all there, for those who are too much hurry to look down. Read as well as ‘where the valuable life’s scraps end up’. The news as many, nothing exceptional, poor her, poor them, concerned a handful of human beings’ fate. A handful, yes. Yes, human beings. Because the miniscule lives, although grouped by love or bad luck, are squeezable in the palm of your hand without any effort. They are small. Or, perhaps, your hand is too lar

Stories and News No. 757 In those days, when the Republican Nebraska has abolished the death penalty, Paula Cooper , the US youngest death row inmate for the murder of an elderly teacher, has died . She was the sixteen years old girl who saw her death sentence commuted to 60 years and then 28 for good behavior, thanks to a significant international support. She committed suicide after two years of freedom ... Once upon a time there were ‘those who were right’. They still are. By the way, we all are. Because everyone, deeply down, thinks to be right.   Those who now reproach that death was what she then deserved. The woman who once was a teenager. Yes, teenager, but still murderess. And when you was it at the time, so you will be forever. Both teenager. And murderess. You might to image redemptive futures and compensation of an unexpected virtuous act. Guilt is guilt. Even if it was a still warm blood on your hands, or screaming sadistic ghost inside the pillow. It