These are two other favourites of mine: I love the double meanings! They are amazing because even though they were released in 1982, they are really like a summary of James Cameron's film!
Titanic
La prima classe costa mille lire,
la seconda cento, la terza dolore e spavento
e puzza di sudore dal boccaporto
e odore di mare morto.
Sior Capitano mi stia a sentire,
ho belle e pronte le mille lire,
in prima classe voglio viaggiare
su questo splendido mare.
Ci sta mia figlia che ha quindici anni ed a Parigi ha comprato un cappello,
se ci invitasse al suo tavolo a cena stasera come sarebbe bello.
E con l'orchestra che ci accompagna con questi nuovi ritmi americani,
saluteremo la Gran Bretagna col bicchiere tra le mani
e con il ghiaccio dentro al bicchiere faremo un brindisi tintinnante
a questo viaggio davvero mondiale, a questa luna gigante.
Ma chi l'ha detto che in terza classe,
che in terza classe si viaggia male,
questa cuccetta sembra un letto a due piazze,
ci si sta meglio che in ospedale.
A noi cafoni ci hanno sempre chiamati
ma qui ci trattano da signori,
che quando piove si può star dentro
ma col bel tempo veniamo fuori.
Su questo mare nero come il petrolio ad ammirare questa luna metallo
e quando suonano le sirene ci sembra quasi che canti il gallo.
Ci sembra quasi che il ghiaccio che abbiamo nel cuore piano piano
si vada a squagliare in mezzo al fumo di questo vapore di questa vacanza in alto mare.
E gira gira gira gira l'elica e gira gira che piove e nevica,
per noi ragazzi di terza classe che per non morire si va in America.
E il marconista sulla sua torre,
le lunghe dita celesti nell'aria,
riceveva messaggi d'auguri
per questa crociera straordinaria.
E trasmetteva saluti e speranze
in quasi tutte le lingue del mondo,
comunicava tra Vienna e Chicago
in poco meno di un secondo.
E la ragazza di prima classe, innamorata del proprio cappello,
quando la sera lo vide ballare lo trovò subito molto bello.
Forse per via di quegli occhi di ghiaccio così difficili da evitare,
pensò "Magari con un pò di coraggio, prima dell'arrivo mi farò baciare".
E com'è bella la vita stasera, tra l'amore che tira e un padre che predica,
per noi ragazze di prima classe che per sposarci si va in America,
per noi ragazze di prima classe che per sposarci si va in America.
Titanic
First class costs a thousand dollars
The second a hundred, the third pain and fright
And stink of sweat from the hatch
And smell of dead sea.
Captain, Sir, listen here,
I have the thousand dollars ready,
I want to travel in first class
On this splendid sea.
There is my daughter who bought a hat in Paris,
If you invited us to your table for dinner tonight it would be swell.
And with the orchestra playing for us with these new American rhythms,
We'll say goodbye to Great Britain with a glass in our hands.
And with the ice in the glass, will make a clinking toast
To this real worldwide trip, to this gigantic moon.
Who said that in third class,
In third class travelling is bad,
This bunkbed looks like a king size,
It's better than at the hospital.
They always called us peasants
But here they treat us like lords
That when it rains we can stay inside
But when it's sunny we come out.
On this sea, black as oil, admiring this metal moon
And when the sirens whistle it seems to us like the rooster is crowing.
It seems to us that the ice we have in our hearts
Is slowly starting to melt in the smoke of this steamship, of this high-sea vacation.
And the propeller spins and spins, it spins and spins, rain or shine
For us third-class boys who are going to America so as not to die.
And the wireless operator on his tower
His long, sky-blue fingers in the air
Was receiving best wishes messages
For this extraordinary cruise.
And he transmitted greetings and hopes
In almost all the languages in the world,
He communicated between Vienna and Chicago
In just less than a second.
And the first-class girl, in love with her hat,
When she saw him dance that night thought him at once very handsome.
Maybe because of those icy eyes, so hard to avoid,
She thought "Maybe with a little bit of courage, before we arrive, I will let him kiss me".
And how beautiful is life tonight, between love thriving and a priest preaching
For us first-class girls who go to America to get married,
For us first-class girls who go to America to get married.
I Muscoli Del Capitano
Guarda i muscoli del capitano, tutti di plastica e di metano.
Guardalo nella notte che viene, quanto sangue ha nelle vene.
Il capitano non tiene mai paura, dritto sul cassero,
fuma la pipa, in questa alba fresca e scura che rassomiglia un po' alla vita.
E poi il capitano, se vuole, si leva l'ancora dai pantaloni
e la getta nelle onde e chiama forte quando vuole qualcosa o qualcuno
c'è sempre uno che gli risponde.
Ma capitano non te lo volevo dire,
ma c'è in mezzo al mare una donna bianca,
così enorme, alla luce delle stelle,
così bella, che di guardarla uno non si stanca.
Questa nave fa duemila nodi, in mezzo ai ghiacci tropicali,
ed ha un motore di un milione di cavalli
che al posto degli zoccoli hanno le ali.
La nave è fulmine, torpedine, miccia,
scintillante bellezza, fosforo, fantasia, molecole d'acciaio,
pistone, rabbia, guerra lampo e poesia.
In questa notte elettrica e veloce, in questa croce di Novecento,
il futuro è una palla di cannone accesa e noi la stiamo quasi raggiungendo.
E il capitano dice al mozzo di bordo
"Giovanotto, io non vedo niente.
C'è solo un po' di nebbia che annuncia il sole.
Andiamo avanti tranquillamente".
The Captain's Muscles
Look at the captain's muscles, all of plastic and methane.
Look at him in the falling night, how much blood he has in his veins.
The captain is never afraid, standing straight on the quarterdeck,
He smokes his pipe, in this dawn, fresh and dark, that resembles life.
And then the captain, whenever he wants, pulls the anchor out of his pants
and throws it in the waves and calls loudly when he wants something or someone
There's always someone who answers him.
But captain, I didn't want to tell you,
But there's a white woman in the middle of the sea,
So huge, in the light of the stars,
So beautiful, that you never tire of looking at her.
This ship goes two thousand knots, amid the tropical icebergs,
and has an engine of one million horses
that have wings instead of hooves.
This ship is lightning, torpedo, fuse,
Shining beauty, phosphorus, fantasy, steel molecules,
Piston, anger, blitzkrieg and poetry.
In this night, electric and fast, in this crossing of Nienteen-hundred,
The future is a lit cannonball and we are almost reaching it.
And the captain tells the deckboy
"Young man, I don't see anything.
There's only a bit of fog announcing the sun.
Let's go on, nothing to worry".
16 August, 2009
Just Because Today I Feel A Bit Homesick
I am perfectly happy to be living in Australia, I believe I am one of the luckiest people in the world because I am living my dream, so I'm certainly not complaining and I have no intention to go back, but still... sometimes I do miss my country of origin, my family, my friends, my language, etc.
So, also because Bobby Long reminds me a bit of him, I'm going to post a song by my favourite Italian singer/songwriter, Francesco De Gregori (the translation can be found further below).
Generale
Generale, dietro la collina
ci sta la notte crucca e assassina,
e in mezzo al prato c'è una contadina,
curva sul tramonto sembra una bambina,
di cinquant'anni e di cinque figli,
venuti al mondo come conigli,
partiti al mondo come soldati
e non ancora tornati.
Generale, dietro la stazione
lo vedi il treno che portava al sole,
non fa più fermate neanche per pisciare,
si va dritti a casa senza più pensare,
che la guerra è bella anche se fa male,
che torneremo ancora a cantare
e a farci fare l'amore,
l'amore delle infermiere.
Generale, la guerra è finita,
il nemico è scappato, è vinto, è battuto,
dietro la collina non c'è più nessuno,
solo aghi di pino e silenzio e funghi
buoni da mangiare, buoni da seccare,
da farci il sugo quando è Natale,
quando i bambini piangono
e a dormire non ci vogliono andare.
Generale, queste cinque stelle,
queste cinque lacrime sulla mia pelle
che senso hanno dentro al rumore di questo treno,
che è mezzo vuoto e mezzo pieno
e va veloce verso il ritorno,
tra due minuti è quasi giorno,
è quasi casa, è quasi amore.
General, Sir
General, Sir, behind the hill
There is the night, German and murderous,
And amid the field there is a peasant,
Bent in the sunset, she looks like a little girl
Of fifty years and five sons,
Come into the world like rabbits,
Gone into the world as soldiers
And not yet returned.
General, Sir, behind the station
Do you see the train that led to the sun
It no longer stops over, not even to wee,
We go straight home, no longer thinking
That war is good even though it hurts,
That we will sing again
And make love,
Make love with the nurses.
General, Sir, the war is over,
The enemy has fled, it's defeated, it's beaten,
Behind the hill there is no one anymore
Only pine needles and silence and mushrooms
Good to eat, good to dry,
To make sauce when Christmas comes,
When children cry
And don't want to go to bed.
General, Sir, these five stars,
These five tears on my skin
What sense do they make in the noise of this train,
That is half empty and half full
And runs fast towards the return,
In two minutes it's almost day,
It's almost home, it's almost love.
*sniff*
So, also because Bobby Long reminds me a bit of him, I'm going to post a song by my favourite Italian singer/songwriter, Francesco De Gregori (the translation can be found further below).
Generale
Generale, dietro la collina
ci sta la notte crucca e assassina,
e in mezzo al prato c'è una contadina,
curva sul tramonto sembra una bambina,
di cinquant'anni e di cinque figli,
venuti al mondo come conigli,
partiti al mondo come soldati
e non ancora tornati.
Generale, dietro la stazione
lo vedi il treno che portava al sole,
non fa più fermate neanche per pisciare,
si va dritti a casa senza più pensare,
che la guerra è bella anche se fa male,
che torneremo ancora a cantare
e a farci fare l'amore,
l'amore delle infermiere.
Generale, la guerra è finita,
il nemico è scappato, è vinto, è battuto,
dietro la collina non c'è più nessuno,
solo aghi di pino e silenzio e funghi
buoni da mangiare, buoni da seccare,
da farci il sugo quando è Natale,
quando i bambini piangono
e a dormire non ci vogliono andare.
Generale, queste cinque stelle,
queste cinque lacrime sulla mia pelle
che senso hanno dentro al rumore di questo treno,
che è mezzo vuoto e mezzo pieno
e va veloce verso il ritorno,
tra due minuti è quasi giorno,
è quasi casa, è quasi amore.
General, Sir
General, Sir, behind the hill
There is the night, German and murderous,
And amid the field there is a peasant,
Bent in the sunset, she looks like a little girl
Of fifty years and five sons,
Come into the world like rabbits,
Gone into the world as soldiers
And not yet returned.
General, Sir, behind the station
Do you see the train that led to the sun
It no longer stops over, not even to wee,
We go straight home, no longer thinking
That war is good even though it hurts,
That we will sing again
And make love,
Make love with the nurses.
General, Sir, the war is over,
The enemy has fled, it's defeated, it's beaten,
Behind the hill there is no one anymore
Only pine needles and silence and mushrooms
Good to eat, good to dry,
To make sauce when Christmas comes,
When children cry
And don't want to go to bed.
General, Sir, these five stars,
These five tears on my skin
What sense do they make in the noise of this train,
That is half empty and half full
And runs fast towards the return,
In two minutes it's almost day,
It's almost home, it's almost love.
*sniff*
08 August, 2009
And Now, For Something Completely Different: My Case For Robert Pattinson As Rand al’Thor
One of my favourite book series is The Wheel Of Time by late author Robert Jordan. It’s a series that had reached 11 (yes, e-l-e-v-e-n) books when Robert Jordan died of amyloidosis, in 2007. Before he died, though, he managed, working literally until his last breath, to lay out the plot (and then some) for the conclusion of the series, which is currently being completed by Brandon Sanderson, a fellow author personally chosen by Robert Jordan’s wife (as well as editor) for this task. There will be three more books. That’s how much material Robert Jordan left.
It’s a great, epic tale, so detailed, so rich in cultures, landscapes, and twists that it gives Tolkien’s Lord Of The Rings a good run for its money. Robert Jordan’s passing was indeed a huge loss to the world.
If you like fantasy stories, and you have not yet done so, I recommend that you read this. Here is a link to the official website (beware of spoilers!): Dragonmount
Now, the first book in the series, The Eye Of The World, is apparently going to be made into a film, set for release in 2011, according to IMDB (read: it might never be done). There are no details yet on who will direct it, who will write the screenplay (please let it not be Melissa Rosenberg!), and let alone who will be cast for the main roles, so there’s sheer space for speculation.
That said, I am perfectly aware that it is highly unlikely that Rob will be chosen for this role (because he might be considered as too old, although Rand is in his early twenties, too, and I don’t expect Rob to look that much older next year, or even in a couple of years), or that he will even take into consideration getting involved (as something tells me it will be a very, *very* looooooong time before he gets himself caught in another “franchise”), BUT… a girl can still dream, so here goes.
First of all, here is a physical description of Rand al’Thor:
P. 3 – “An Empty Road” – Book 1, The Eye Of The World
“He was a head taller than his father, taller than anyone else in the district, and had little of Tam in him physically, except perhaps for a breadth of shoulder. Gray eyes and the reddish tinge to his hair came from his mother, so Tam said.”
From Wikipedia
“Rand has grey or blue (interchanging) eyes and a reddish tint to his blonde hair. He is about 6'5" or 6'6" (196-197 cm) (as described by Robert Jordan).”
Tall – check (OK, he is not 6’5”, but he definitely stands out)
Broad shoulders – check (come on, they are good enough, now that he’s buffed up a bit)
Grey/blue eyes – check
Reddish tint in blond hair – check
Rand’s character traits:
P. 9 – “An Empty Road” – Book 1, The Eye Of The World
“Like most Two Rivers folk, Rand had a strong stubborn streak.”
P. 42 – “The Peddler” – Book 1, The Eye Of The World
“At the best of times he was never very nimble with his tongue when talking to any of the village girls…”
Stubbornness – check (being a Taurus, he should be able to play stubborn pretty well… hee!)
Shyness – check (he is shy by nature and anyway, check out his portrayal of Salvador Dalì)
MAJOR SPOILERS!!!!
Development of the character throughout the story (from Wikipedia):
“Rand has changed a great deal from the boy who left Emond's Field two years ago. He has gone from the stubborn boy who refused to accept he was anything more than a simple sheepherder, to an iron-willed man who sometimes seems to have lost all trace of humanity. Having grown up with the belief that men should protect women, he has memorized the name of every woman who has died for him (at one point spending an entire night among the corpses in the aftermath of a major battle, Dumai's Wells, and then reciting the names to his best friend and right-hand man, Lord Perrin Aybara of the Two Rivers) and often berates himself with the list and the associated guilt. Many, of those around him, worry about his sanity; others (most notably the aforementioned Cadsuane and Sorilea) worry about his humanity. Also notable, he has developed claustrophobia due to events in Lord of Chaos, when he was trapped in a box by Aes Sedai sent by Elaida, taken out only to be beaten daily.”
So, it is a complex character with many facets and an endless range of emotions that I am sure Rob would be able to portray brilliantly (think The Bad Mother’s Handbook, Little Ashes, The Haunted Airman in order, as a progression of the character). The parts that I have highlighted are the reasons why I think it would be a character that Rob might like to play, especially when Rand starts swaying dangerously on the brink of insanity.
And if that's not reason enough, have a look at the emotional and expression range displayed in these shots:
.jpg)
It’s a great, epic tale, so detailed, so rich in cultures, landscapes, and twists that it gives Tolkien’s Lord Of The Rings a good run for its money. Robert Jordan’s passing was indeed a huge loss to the world.
If you like fantasy stories, and you have not yet done so, I recommend that you read this. Here is a link to the official website (beware of spoilers!): Dragonmount
Now, the first book in the series, The Eye Of The World, is apparently going to be made into a film, set for release in 2011, according to IMDB (read: it might never be done). There are no details yet on who will direct it, who will write the screenplay (please let it not be Melissa Rosenberg!), and let alone who will be cast for the main roles, so there’s sheer space for speculation.
That said, I am perfectly aware that it is highly unlikely that Rob will be chosen for this role (because he might be considered as too old, although Rand is in his early twenties, too, and I don’t expect Rob to look that much older next year, or even in a couple of years), or that he will even take into consideration getting involved (as something tells me it will be a very, *very* looooooong time before he gets himself caught in another “franchise”), BUT… a girl can still dream, so here goes.
First of all, here is a physical description of Rand al’Thor:
P. 3 – “An Empty Road” – Book 1, The Eye Of The World
“He was a head taller than his father, taller than anyone else in the district, and had little of Tam in him physically, except perhaps for a breadth of shoulder. Gray eyes and the reddish tinge to his hair came from his mother, so Tam said.”
From Wikipedia
“Rand has grey or blue (interchanging) eyes and a reddish tint to his blonde hair. He is about 6'5" or 6'6" (196-197 cm) (as described by Robert Jordan).”
Tall – check (OK, he is not 6’5”, but he definitely stands out)
Broad shoulders – check (come on, they are good enough, now that he’s buffed up a bit)
Grey/blue eyes – check
Reddish tint in blond hair – check
Rand’s character traits:
P. 9 – “An Empty Road” – Book 1, The Eye Of The World
“Like most Two Rivers folk, Rand had a strong stubborn streak.”
P. 42 – “The Peddler” – Book 1, The Eye Of The World
“At the best of times he was never very nimble with his tongue when talking to any of the village girls…”
Stubbornness – check (being a Taurus, he should be able to play stubborn pretty well… hee!)
Shyness – check (he is shy by nature and anyway, check out his portrayal of Salvador Dalì)
MAJOR SPOILERS!!!!
Development of the character throughout the story (from Wikipedia):
“Rand has changed a great deal from the boy who left Emond's Field two years ago. He has gone from the stubborn boy who refused to accept he was anything more than a simple sheepherder, to an iron-willed man who sometimes seems to have lost all trace of humanity. Having grown up with the belief that men should protect women, he has memorized the name of every woman who has died for him (at one point spending an entire night among the corpses in the aftermath of a major battle, Dumai's Wells, and then reciting the names to his best friend and right-hand man, Lord Perrin Aybara of the Two Rivers) and often berates himself with the list and the associated guilt. Many, of those around him, worry about his sanity; others (most notably the aforementioned Cadsuane and Sorilea) worry about his humanity. Also notable, he has developed claustrophobia due to events in Lord of Chaos, when he was trapped in a box by Aes Sedai sent by Elaida, taken out only to be beaten daily.”
So, it is a complex character with many facets and an endless range of emotions that I am sure Rob would be able to portray brilliantly (think The Bad Mother’s Handbook, Little Ashes, The Haunted Airman in order, as a progression of the character). The parts that I have highlighted are the reasons why I think it would be a character that Rob might like to play, especially when Rand starts swaying dangerously on the brink of insanity.
And if that's not reason enough, have a look at the emotional and expression range displayed in these shots:
Angry
Charming
Irritated
Interested
Baffled
Slightly crazy
Thoughtful
Mildly surprised
Intrigued
Worried
Happy
Exhausted
Mischievous
Ironic
Intense
Disappointed
Frustrated
Resignated
Desperate
Build: tall, lean, and fit
I know it will never happen, but there it is. That’s who I see as Rand al’Thor, when I read the books :).
Images taken from various websites (quite obviously Socialite Life), please contact me so that I can credit you, if it’s not evident… I honestly don’t remember where I got them from (I’m pretty sure Robsessed and Robert Pattinson Australia are among them :) ).
07 August, 2009
A Moment Of Pride For Italian Diplomacy... NOT!
Why… why did God provide this dimwit with a mouth??? Whyyyyy??? If He wanted a laugh I could have told Him a joke! Why did He have to inflict this plague on us???
Here’s the translation of Silvio Berlusconi’s latest feat. I am seriously wondering how it is possible that he’s not yet been hit by God’s lightning…
Here’s the original article from La Repubblica, one of the few newspapers who are still saying things as they are (and for that they get sued): http://www.repubblica.it/2009/07/sezioni/economia/eni-gas/turchia-berlusconi/turchia-berlusconi.html
A source in the Turkish government reveals what happened behind the scenes at the signing of the South Stream agreement
"The Premier (Me: read the Psychodwarf) called: he wanted to participate in the ceremony. Mr Putin and Mr Erdogan smiled” (Me: read they rolled on the floor laughing)
Berlusconi "hero" of the pipeline?
Turkey’s “surprise”
ISTANBUL – When the Italian president of the council (Me: that’s what we call the head of the government in Italy) Silvio Berlusconi defined the agreement signed yesterday between Turkey and Russia concerning the South Stream pipeline as a “great success of Italian diplomacy”, the government of Ankara was quite surprised. It was revealed by a source in Mr Erdogan’s government to Reuters, who today report on Mr Berlusconi’s “bizarre” intrusion into the signing ceremony.
The agreement between Moscow and Ankara to let the Russian pipeline pass under the Turkish waters in the Black Sea through to Europe had “already been achieved – the source tells Reuters - when the Turkish government received an unexpected last-minute request by Mr Berlusconi, who wanted to participate in the signing ceremony” between Russian premier Mr Vladimir Putin and Turkish premier Mr Tayyip Erdogan, in Ankara. The source adds that a “certain surprise” ensued when they realised that Mr Berlusconi wanted to claim the achieving of the agreement as his own personal success.
“It’s the kind of thing that might cause a diplomatic issue – the Turkish source says – but because it was Mr Berlusconi , it only made the two leader’s smile (Me: read “Oh, it’s only that Italian buffoon, don’t mind him”)”. Reuters also quotes the Italian government’s website reporting a statement according to which the South Stream project is “a personal success of the Italian prime minister”. According to the Turkish, it’s a real “exaggeration”.
(7th August 2009)
Good grief… wait until they get a whiff of that here...
Here’s the translation of Silvio Berlusconi’s latest feat. I am seriously wondering how it is possible that he’s not yet been hit by God’s lightning…
Here’s the original article from La Repubblica, one of the few newspapers who are still saying things as they are (and for that they get sued): http://www.repubblica.it/2009/07/sezioni/economia/eni-gas/turchia-berlusconi/turchia-berlusconi.html
A source in the Turkish government reveals what happened behind the scenes at the signing of the South Stream agreement
"The Premier (Me: read the Psychodwarf) called: he wanted to participate in the ceremony. Mr Putin and Mr Erdogan smiled” (Me: read they rolled on the floor laughing)
Berlusconi "hero" of the pipeline?
Turkey’s “surprise”
ISTANBUL – When the Italian president of the council (Me: that’s what we call the head of the government in Italy) Silvio Berlusconi defined the agreement signed yesterday between Turkey and Russia concerning the South Stream pipeline as a “great success of Italian diplomacy”, the government of Ankara was quite surprised. It was revealed by a source in Mr Erdogan’s government to Reuters, who today report on Mr Berlusconi’s “bizarre” intrusion into the signing ceremony.
The agreement between Moscow and Ankara to let the Russian pipeline pass under the Turkish waters in the Black Sea through to Europe had “already been achieved – the source tells Reuters - when the Turkish government received an unexpected last-minute request by Mr Berlusconi, who wanted to participate in the signing ceremony” between Russian premier Mr Vladimir Putin and Turkish premier Mr Tayyip Erdogan, in Ankara. The source adds that a “certain surprise” ensued when they realised that Mr Berlusconi wanted to claim the achieving of the agreement as his own personal success.
“It’s the kind of thing that might cause a diplomatic issue – the Turkish source says – but because it was Mr Berlusconi , it only made the two leader’s smile (Me: read “Oh, it’s only that Italian buffoon, don’t mind him”)”. Reuters also quotes the Italian government’s website reporting a statement according to which the South Stream project is “a personal success of the Italian prime minister”. According to the Turkish, it’s a real “exaggeration”.
(7th August 2009)
Good grief… wait until they get a whiff of that here...
14 June, 2009
It’s Official: Italy Has The Historical Memory Of A Goldfish
It’s happening again… the Brown Shirts are back. Anyone who has a minimum knowledge of European history in the last century can easily see where this is leading. How this is the next step in the establishment of a fascist dictatorship in Italy. Again. Because this is not simply a spontaneous, marginal movement: this has the blessing of the State itself, through the Berlusconi government (of course).
I honestly find it hard to believe my own eyes and ears, can’t believe it is indeed real… but it is. I can’t even begin to describe how gobsmacked, appalled and revolted I am. My own country. My own hometown! My own people! Un-fucking-believable. What’s next? A walled ghetto, like they did in Warsaw? Because we already have concentration camps, you know…
I am posting a translation I made of an article by Enrico Piovesana (http://www.peacereporter.net/). You will find a lot of my comments in brackets and italics. Some of them are to clarify what certain things mean to those who are not acquainted with Italian history and politics, some others are just because I can’t help but voice my opinion, sorry about that.
Here’s the link to the original article: http://it.peacereporter.net/articolo/16046/Arrivano+le+ronde+nere . Check out the pictures.
So, without further ado… this is what’s happening in Italy, not 70 years ago, but right now, today, 13th June, AD 2009.
The Black Patrols Are Coming
They will be introduced on 13th June in Milan. They are called “Italian National Guard”.
Interview with their founder, Gaetano Saya
Next Summer, unless anything unexpected happens, the volunteers of the Italian National Guard (ING) should begin patrolling the streets of Italian cities as an implementation of Berlusconi’s government bill on security (approved by the Chamber of Deputies last 14th May, now under examination by the Senate), which in Art. 3 (paragraphs 40-44) provides for the cooperation of “unarmed citizens’ associations” in guarding the territory (the so-called patrols).
They are former members of armed and police corps and common citizens, “patriots and nationalists”, ready to “serve our land and the Italian people”, performing watch duties “to strengthen security in urban centres”, but also “civil protection” and “promotion and spreading of Italian history, language and traditions with particular reference to the Roman Empire”.
They have a General Commander, the former colonel of Carabinieri (Me: a part of the Italian armed corps) Augusto Calzetta, from Massa Carrara, and a National President, young former Alpine (Me: another part of the Italian armed corps) Maurizio Correnti, from Turin (the city where their headquarters are also located: for now, there are operational branches in Sarzana, Reggio Calabria and Siracusa).
They wear a uniform: grey shirt (initially it was kaki) with a black belt and shoulder strap, black tie, grey trousers with a black side band, a grey beret or kepi with the symbol of ING: the Roman Empire eagle.
Their complete equipment includes a helmet, black military boots (Me: those with a steel point), leather gloves, and a big black metal electric torch (Me: and that could not easily turn into a potentially deadly weapon? Do they think we’re idiots?).
They wear a black band on their arm with the “sun wheel”, symbol of the Italian Nationalist Party (INP): the newborn political party behind the ING.
Members of the INP wear a uniform, as well: the same as the Italian National Guard’s. The political programme of INP, of statist and collectivist* inspiration, invokes, among other things, the death penalty for “usurers, exploiters, and petty politicians” (Me: read “whoever has a differing opinion from ours”); fighting “against the corrupting parliament system”; the creation of “a strong State central power” and of “union and professional chambers”; the right to citizenship and to access public offices “only for those with Italian blood”; stopping “any new migration of non-Italians”; the immediate, compulsory expulsion of “all non-Italians who migrated to Italy after 31st December 1977”; the banning of “newspapers that oppose community interests” (Me: read “those who call us to task”) and the abolition of all organisations and institutions “that exert a disintegrating influence on our national life” (Me: read “those who promote multiculturalism”).
Colonel Calzetta’s paramilitary forces and INP’s Grey Shirts will officially debut on 13th June in Milan, at number 5, via Chiaravalle, corner via Larga, on the occasion of the national convention of Gaetano Saya’s Italian Social Movement – National Right Wing (Me: i.e. ISM, what was left of the Fascist party after the war, duly cleaned-up and recycled). Saya, from his internet webpage, declares to be the “political inspirer” of the Italian National Guard.
Admirer of Berlusconi (Me: and that says it all) and fierce enemy of Mr Fini (Me: moderate right-wing leader of the National Alliance party, a splinter of ISM), Saya, who after the recent dismantlement of the National Alliance party has remained the sole depositary of Almirante’s (Me: former leader, now dead) ISM, is a former NATO secret agent, former “gladiator” (Me: “Gladius” was a stay-behind organisation, supported by the USA and NATO, that was secretly active throughout the cold war, between 1949 and 1990, it was suspected of being behind numerous terrorist attacks and subversive attempts that took place in Italy during that time, it was called the “strategy of tension”) tied to SISMI (Me: Italian secret services), who already in 2003 had tried to create a paramilitary group of “grey shirts” (the National Protection Units) and who in 2005 was arrested for the ominous affair concerning “parallel secret services” (the DSAS, Department of Strategic Anti-terrorism Studies, directed by Gaetano Saya and Riccardo Sindoca): a “band of swindlers” according to the then Minster of Internal Affairs, Mr Pisanu, which however turned out to have relations with the top ranks of the State’s security structure, in particular with military secret services.
PeaceReporter interviewed Gaetano Saya to understand something more about the Italian National Guard and the Italian Nationalist Party. This is what he told us.
Mr Saya, a brief digression before starting: how did the DSAS affair end?
The inquiry against me was started to throw smoke in people’s eyes, to turn the attention from true deviated secret services, those that were, and still are, under Marco Mancini, the then director of SISMI’s counter-espionnage. Right in the days of my arrest, in July 2005, Mancini and his associates were at serious risk, because of the Abu Omar kidnapping: it was the time when the head of the CIA station in Milan, Robert Seldon Lady, precipitously left our national territory to escape Italian justice. (Me: here’s a link that explains what happened: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imam_Rapito_affair )
The DSAS and I were used as scapegoats, I was the victim of a trap (Me: boo-freakin'-hoo), a conspiracy orchestrated by Mancini’s deviated agents, like journalist Renato Farina, agent “Birch”, who wrote on Libero (Me: an Italian right-wing newspaper) that I and the DSAS were involved in the kidnapping of Omar.
In 2006, after Mancini, Pollari, Pio Pompa, Tavaroli and Cirpiani got in trouble for the Abu Omar affair and the Telecom-SISMI scandal (Me: Telecom, the Italian main, formerly state-owned, telecom company was unlawfully intercepting calls and keeping tabs on “undesirables” and passing such information on to the SISMI), the persecution against me was no longer of use and therefore it ended up in nothing. Except I discovered, only a few days ago, that the Prosecuting Authority of Genoa requested the re-opening of the case. This time, these subversive magistrates and police forces, tied to the above-mentioned deviated secret services and supported by the left wing, but also by Gianfranco Fini, want to hit me in order to hit the Berlusconi government. The Prosecuting Authority of Turin had already tried, without succeeding, trying to criminalise the Italian National Guard in order to sink the government’s bill on security: a few days before its approval by the Chamber, the DIGOS (Me: stands for “General Investigations and Special Operations Division”, it’s part of the State Police) of Cuneo went to my son’s house accusing him of being a member of the ING and of illegally holding weapons. They hoped to cause an uproar. But the weapons were all legally owned, besides my son has nothing to do with the Italian National Guard. Now, after this waterhole by the Prosecuting Authority of Turin, that of Genoa is charging back against the DSAS…
Mr Saya, let’s come to the Italian National Guard. It looks very much like a fascist paramilitary group: the uniforms, the references to patriotism, the Roman Empire eagle…
This is all humbug! The Italian National Guard has nothing to do with fascism. I myself am not a fascist (Me: amazing how you sound like one). I am right-wing, I’m a conservative, a nationalist: call me as you wish, but I’m not a fascist. Had I lived in 1943 and had I seen the fascists gathering and shooting Italian citizens, I would have risen against them. I have just watched the film “Vincere” (Me: “Winning”), that gives a very negative vision of Mussolini and fascism, and I can tell you that I liked it very much. I consider myself as a faithful citizen, a defender of the 1948 Constitution, by which each member of the Italian National Guard must swear. I have always had a very good relationship with the government of Israel and their secret services (Me: OK… considering what’s happening there at the moment, I understand why): do you think that if I were a fascist the Israeli would work with me? About the uniforms, let me tell you: if they cause all this ruckus, maybe we will change them (Author’s note: after this interview, the kaki shirt was replaced by the grey shirt). (Me: right... because the real issue is the colour, here…)
The Roman Empire eagle? You have to be ignorant not to know that it’s a historical symbol of our motherland, visible on many monuments in Rome (Me: yes, especially those built in the 30s and 40s) and that it has nothing to do with fascism.
The Italian National Guard is a non-political association in which anyone that shares this initiative can partake: go figure that even some communists have become members, people from Massa Carrara.
I find that hard to believe. Our republican Constitution is founded on anti-fascism, but on the Italian National Guard’s Facebook group page, their National President, Maurizio Correnti, writes to his supporters: “Please, refrain from using “comrades”, etc., or anyway quotes and slogans typical of a different time. That said – Correnti points out – we absolutely don’t wish to declare ourselves anti-fascists, that must be very clear”. Something does not add up…
He wrote that, everyone is free to write what they think. In the Italian National Guard there are fascists and non-fascists.
However, you did write this on your personal internet webpage, last February, on the eve of the creation of the Italian National Guard. And I quote: “Thousands of foreign prostitutes with a police record and not expelled. Thousands of gipsies that commit thefts in total impunity. Millions of clandestine migrants walking unpunished around cities. Thousands of foreigners that sell drugs, steal, rape, kill. An 80% increase in strikes and public and private offices occupations. Hundreds of armed assaults against private property committed by foreigners. Attacks against State property. Group of young subversives acting outside the parliamentary limits. Deputies and Senators of the Republic instigating armed insurrection against the powers of the State, a Minister of Internal Affairs that is a self-declared secessionist. A countless number of political magazines and TV programmes inciting to revolt. Jesters and charlatans offending and scorning the Ministers and the Government (Me: that is a clear reference to Beppe Grillo, Marco Travaglio, Michele Santoro and Milena Gabanelli who are among the few who are trying to open people’s eyes about the current situation in Italy). The use of freedom threatens the established powers and authorities from all sides. (…) The people are underage, the Nation is ill; others have the task to heal and educate. We have the duty to repress, repression is our creed. Repression and Civilisation.” And again: “We want to clean up Italy from the corruption that nestles in it, we want to bring back the whole Nation to an iron discipline”. “The Right unsheathes its sword to cut the too many Gordian knots, that ensnare and sadden Italian life. We call the supreme God and the immortal Spirit of the thousands of dead as witnesses that one impulse drives us, one will gathers us, one thought arouses us: contributing to the greatness and salvation of our Motherland. Men of the Right throughout Italy, hold out your spirit and strength, we must win and with the help of God we will win!!!”. (Me: “Heil Hitler!”… I can almost hear it behind his words)
But those are only slogans that I think up here and there! (Me: is he serious???) Let’s clarify something: migrants are the least of our problems. They are not our target. If you really want to know, to us the true danger for Italy is represented by the secessionists of the Northern League (Me: another right-wing party, but with separatist aims, however they don’t disdain being in the “thieving Rome” government, when it suits them, and so much for coherence). They are indeed against the Constitution! They want to destroy our national unity, they continually offend the symbols of our motherland, create, unpunished, secessionist provisional governments, enlist people in the anti-constitutional Po Valley National Guard.
It’s these people that will have to face our Italian National Guard: if we see a Northern League member burning the Italian flag, we will have them arrested! (Me: “after beating them up to death with our ‘torches’”) The League should beware of where they go. It’s to oppose the Northern League in the next elections that we will run in the North with the Italian Nationalist Party.
The one that has the schwarze sonne, the black sun, as a symbol, which is used by so many neo-nazi groups? That sort of twelve-handed swastika, an ancient Germanic pagan symbol, adorning the floor in the main hall of Wewelsburg castle, the headquarters of SS?
Let’s not be silly! The sun wheel has no proven tie with Nazism, so much so that in Germany it’s not banned, while the swastika is, and it’s freely used as a commercial logo. This symbol, the property of which I own in Italy, is actually a Mayan magical symbol evoking power…
Excuse me for interrupting you, but I’m passionate about Mayan and Mesoamerican culture and I can guarantee you that in such peoples’ symbology there’s no trace of anything similar.
Of course there is! Search on Google under the words “hollow earth”! (Me: I checked, I didn’t find that symbol. If this guy is seriously into that stuff, though, he definitely has kangaroos in the attic. Here’s a link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hollow_Earth )
Let’s get back to the Italian National Party: can you tell us about it? We have understood, from the symbol and the uniforms, that it’s tied to the Italian National Guard. But how is it related to you and your ISM?
The Italian Nationalist Party, INP, will be officially created in Milan on 13th June, on the occasion of the Italian Social Movement–National Right Wing’s national convention. On that day, I will relinquish my presidency of ISM-National Right Wing to my wife, Maria Antonietta Cannizzaro (Me: and here comes nepotism, a really innovative, democratic concept), who has a good relationship with the head of the government (Me: i.e. Mr Berlusconi. Ah, well, how’s that for credentials? Now I feel reassured). Yours truly will then become president of the new Italian Nationalist Party, which in the next national political elections will run in the northern regions, where the tricolour flame (Me: the symbol of ISM) is not very strong, to oppose Italian nationalism against the Po Valley nationalism. In the central and southern regions, instead, ISM-National Right Wing will run with their historical symbol. Both, I hope, as allied of Berlusconi’s People of Freedom party: if anything prevents us from doing so, we’ll run alone.
Mr Saya, is it true that two thousand people are already enlisted in the Italian National Guard?
We have widely exceeded the two-thousand number of enrolments. Every day there’s a landslide of new ones, especially former police troopers (Me: what a surprise). I invite you to the convention on 13th June, to which we also invited President Berlusconi, so you will see with your own eyes: we have nothing to hide (Me: except the bodies).
Enrico Piovesana
Well… what more is there to say, except: I rest my case. And “the mother of idiots is always pregnant”.
* See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Collectivism
I honestly find it hard to believe my own eyes and ears, can’t believe it is indeed real… but it is. I can’t even begin to describe how gobsmacked, appalled and revolted I am. My own country. My own hometown! My own people! Un-fucking-believable. What’s next? A walled ghetto, like they did in Warsaw? Because we already have concentration camps, you know…
I am posting a translation I made of an article by Enrico Piovesana (http://www.peacereporter.net/). You will find a lot of my comments in brackets and italics. Some of them are to clarify what certain things mean to those who are not acquainted with Italian history and politics, some others are just because I can’t help but voice my opinion, sorry about that.
Here’s the link to the original article: http://it.peacereporter.net/articolo/16046/Arrivano+le+ronde+nere . Check out the pictures.
So, without further ado… this is what’s happening in Italy, not 70 years ago, but right now, today, 13th June, AD 2009.
The Black Patrols Are Coming
They will be introduced on 13th June in Milan. They are called “Italian National Guard”.
Interview with their founder, Gaetano Saya
Next Summer, unless anything unexpected happens, the volunteers of the Italian National Guard (ING) should begin patrolling the streets of Italian cities as an implementation of Berlusconi’s government bill on security (approved by the Chamber of Deputies last 14th May, now under examination by the Senate), which in Art. 3 (paragraphs 40-44) provides for the cooperation of “unarmed citizens’ associations” in guarding the territory (the so-called patrols).
They are former members of armed and police corps and common citizens, “patriots and nationalists”, ready to “serve our land and the Italian people”, performing watch duties “to strengthen security in urban centres”, but also “civil protection” and “promotion and spreading of Italian history, language and traditions with particular reference to the Roman Empire”.
They have a General Commander, the former colonel of Carabinieri (Me: a part of the Italian armed corps) Augusto Calzetta, from Massa Carrara, and a National President, young former Alpine (Me: another part of the Italian armed corps) Maurizio Correnti, from Turin (the city where their headquarters are also located: for now, there are operational branches in Sarzana, Reggio Calabria and Siracusa).
They wear a uniform: grey shirt (initially it was kaki) with a black belt and shoulder strap, black tie, grey trousers with a black side band, a grey beret or kepi with the symbol of ING: the Roman Empire eagle.
Their complete equipment includes a helmet, black military boots (Me: those with a steel point), leather gloves, and a big black metal electric torch (Me: and that could not easily turn into a potentially deadly weapon? Do they think we’re idiots?).
They wear a black band on their arm with the “sun wheel”, symbol of the Italian Nationalist Party (INP): the newborn political party behind the ING.
Members of the INP wear a uniform, as well: the same as the Italian National Guard’s. The political programme of INP, of statist and collectivist* inspiration, invokes, among other things, the death penalty for “usurers, exploiters, and petty politicians” (Me: read “whoever has a differing opinion from ours”); fighting “against the corrupting parliament system”; the creation of “a strong State central power” and of “union and professional chambers”; the right to citizenship and to access public offices “only for those with Italian blood”; stopping “any new migration of non-Italians”; the immediate, compulsory expulsion of “all non-Italians who migrated to Italy after 31st December 1977”; the banning of “newspapers that oppose community interests” (Me: read “those who call us to task”) and the abolition of all organisations and institutions “that exert a disintegrating influence on our national life” (Me: read “those who promote multiculturalism”).
Colonel Calzetta’s paramilitary forces and INP’s Grey Shirts will officially debut on 13th June in Milan, at number 5, via Chiaravalle, corner via Larga, on the occasion of the national convention of Gaetano Saya’s Italian Social Movement – National Right Wing (Me: i.e. ISM, what was left of the Fascist party after the war, duly cleaned-up and recycled). Saya, from his internet webpage, declares to be the “political inspirer” of the Italian National Guard.
Admirer of Berlusconi (Me: and that says it all) and fierce enemy of Mr Fini (Me: moderate right-wing leader of the National Alliance party, a splinter of ISM), Saya, who after the recent dismantlement of the National Alliance party has remained the sole depositary of Almirante’s (Me: former leader, now dead) ISM, is a former NATO secret agent, former “gladiator” (Me: “Gladius” was a stay-behind organisation, supported by the USA and NATO, that was secretly active throughout the cold war, between 1949 and 1990, it was suspected of being behind numerous terrorist attacks and subversive attempts that took place in Italy during that time, it was called the “strategy of tension”) tied to SISMI (Me: Italian secret services), who already in 2003 had tried to create a paramilitary group of “grey shirts” (the National Protection Units) and who in 2005 was arrested for the ominous affair concerning “parallel secret services” (the DSAS, Department of Strategic Anti-terrorism Studies, directed by Gaetano Saya and Riccardo Sindoca): a “band of swindlers” according to the then Minster of Internal Affairs, Mr Pisanu, which however turned out to have relations with the top ranks of the State’s security structure, in particular with military secret services.
PeaceReporter interviewed Gaetano Saya to understand something more about the Italian National Guard and the Italian Nationalist Party. This is what he told us.
Mr Saya, a brief digression before starting: how did the DSAS affair end?
The inquiry against me was started to throw smoke in people’s eyes, to turn the attention from true deviated secret services, those that were, and still are, under Marco Mancini, the then director of SISMI’s counter-espionnage. Right in the days of my arrest, in July 2005, Mancini and his associates were at serious risk, because of the Abu Omar kidnapping: it was the time when the head of the CIA station in Milan, Robert Seldon Lady, precipitously left our national territory to escape Italian justice. (Me: here’s a link that explains what happened: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imam_Rapito_affair )
The DSAS and I were used as scapegoats, I was the victim of a trap (Me: boo-freakin'-hoo), a conspiracy orchestrated by Mancini’s deviated agents, like journalist Renato Farina, agent “Birch”, who wrote on Libero (Me: an Italian right-wing newspaper) that I and the DSAS were involved in the kidnapping of Omar.
In 2006, after Mancini, Pollari, Pio Pompa, Tavaroli and Cirpiani got in trouble for the Abu Omar affair and the Telecom-SISMI scandal (Me: Telecom, the Italian main, formerly state-owned, telecom company was unlawfully intercepting calls and keeping tabs on “undesirables” and passing such information on to the SISMI), the persecution against me was no longer of use and therefore it ended up in nothing. Except I discovered, only a few days ago, that the Prosecuting Authority of Genoa requested the re-opening of the case. This time, these subversive magistrates and police forces, tied to the above-mentioned deviated secret services and supported by the left wing, but also by Gianfranco Fini, want to hit me in order to hit the Berlusconi government. The Prosecuting Authority of Turin had already tried, without succeeding, trying to criminalise the Italian National Guard in order to sink the government’s bill on security: a few days before its approval by the Chamber, the DIGOS (Me: stands for “General Investigations and Special Operations Division”, it’s part of the State Police) of Cuneo went to my son’s house accusing him of being a member of the ING and of illegally holding weapons. They hoped to cause an uproar. But the weapons were all legally owned, besides my son has nothing to do with the Italian National Guard. Now, after this waterhole by the Prosecuting Authority of Turin, that of Genoa is charging back against the DSAS…
Mr Saya, let’s come to the Italian National Guard. It looks very much like a fascist paramilitary group: the uniforms, the references to patriotism, the Roman Empire eagle…
This is all humbug! The Italian National Guard has nothing to do with fascism. I myself am not a fascist (Me: amazing how you sound like one). I am right-wing, I’m a conservative, a nationalist: call me as you wish, but I’m not a fascist. Had I lived in 1943 and had I seen the fascists gathering and shooting Italian citizens, I would have risen against them. I have just watched the film “Vincere” (Me: “Winning”), that gives a very negative vision of Mussolini and fascism, and I can tell you that I liked it very much. I consider myself as a faithful citizen, a defender of the 1948 Constitution, by which each member of the Italian National Guard must swear. I have always had a very good relationship with the government of Israel and their secret services (Me: OK… considering what’s happening there at the moment, I understand why): do you think that if I were a fascist the Israeli would work with me? About the uniforms, let me tell you: if they cause all this ruckus, maybe we will change them (Author’s note: after this interview, the kaki shirt was replaced by the grey shirt). (Me: right... because the real issue is the colour, here…)
The Roman Empire eagle? You have to be ignorant not to know that it’s a historical symbol of our motherland, visible on many monuments in Rome (Me: yes, especially those built in the 30s and 40s) and that it has nothing to do with fascism.
The Italian National Guard is a non-political association in which anyone that shares this initiative can partake: go figure that even some communists have become members, people from Massa Carrara.
I find that hard to believe. Our republican Constitution is founded on anti-fascism, but on the Italian National Guard’s Facebook group page, their National President, Maurizio Correnti, writes to his supporters: “Please, refrain from using “comrades”, etc., or anyway quotes and slogans typical of a different time. That said – Correnti points out – we absolutely don’t wish to declare ourselves anti-fascists, that must be very clear”. Something does not add up…
He wrote that, everyone is free to write what they think. In the Italian National Guard there are fascists and non-fascists.
However, you did write this on your personal internet webpage, last February, on the eve of the creation of the Italian National Guard. And I quote: “Thousands of foreign prostitutes with a police record and not expelled. Thousands of gipsies that commit thefts in total impunity. Millions of clandestine migrants walking unpunished around cities. Thousands of foreigners that sell drugs, steal, rape, kill. An 80% increase in strikes and public and private offices occupations. Hundreds of armed assaults against private property committed by foreigners. Attacks against State property. Group of young subversives acting outside the parliamentary limits. Deputies and Senators of the Republic instigating armed insurrection against the powers of the State, a Minister of Internal Affairs that is a self-declared secessionist. A countless number of political magazines and TV programmes inciting to revolt. Jesters and charlatans offending and scorning the Ministers and the Government (Me: that is a clear reference to Beppe Grillo, Marco Travaglio, Michele Santoro and Milena Gabanelli who are among the few who are trying to open people’s eyes about the current situation in Italy). The use of freedom threatens the established powers and authorities from all sides. (…) The people are underage, the Nation is ill; others have the task to heal and educate. We have the duty to repress, repression is our creed. Repression and Civilisation.” And again: “We want to clean up Italy from the corruption that nestles in it, we want to bring back the whole Nation to an iron discipline”. “The Right unsheathes its sword to cut the too many Gordian knots, that ensnare and sadden Italian life. We call the supreme God and the immortal Spirit of the thousands of dead as witnesses that one impulse drives us, one will gathers us, one thought arouses us: contributing to the greatness and salvation of our Motherland. Men of the Right throughout Italy, hold out your spirit and strength, we must win and with the help of God we will win!!!”. (Me: “Heil Hitler!”… I can almost hear it behind his words)
But those are only slogans that I think up here and there! (Me: is he serious???) Let’s clarify something: migrants are the least of our problems. They are not our target. If you really want to know, to us the true danger for Italy is represented by the secessionists of the Northern League (Me: another right-wing party, but with separatist aims, however they don’t disdain being in the “thieving Rome” government, when it suits them, and so much for coherence). They are indeed against the Constitution! They want to destroy our national unity, they continually offend the symbols of our motherland, create, unpunished, secessionist provisional governments, enlist people in the anti-constitutional Po Valley National Guard.
It’s these people that will have to face our Italian National Guard: if we see a Northern League member burning the Italian flag, we will have them arrested! (Me: “after beating them up to death with our ‘torches’”) The League should beware of where they go. It’s to oppose the Northern League in the next elections that we will run in the North with the Italian Nationalist Party.
The one that has the schwarze sonne, the black sun, as a symbol, which is used by so many neo-nazi groups? That sort of twelve-handed swastika, an ancient Germanic pagan symbol, adorning the floor in the main hall of Wewelsburg castle, the headquarters of SS?
Let’s not be silly! The sun wheel has no proven tie with Nazism, so much so that in Germany it’s not banned, while the swastika is, and it’s freely used as a commercial logo. This symbol, the property of which I own in Italy, is actually a Mayan magical symbol evoking power…
Excuse me for interrupting you, but I’m passionate about Mayan and Mesoamerican culture and I can guarantee you that in such peoples’ symbology there’s no trace of anything similar.
Of course there is! Search on Google under the words “hollow earth”! (Me: I checked, I didn’t find that symbol. If this guy is seriously into that stuff, though, he definitely has kangaroos in the attic. Here’s a link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hollow_Earth )
Let’s get back to the Italian National Party: can you tell us about it? We have understood, from the symbol and the uniforms, that it’s tied to the Italian National Guard. But how is it related to you and your ISM?
The Italian Nationalist Party, INP, will be officially created in Milan on 13th June, on the occasion of the Italian Social Movement–National Right Wing’s national convention. On that day, I will relinquish my presidency of ISM-National Right Wing to my wife, Maria Antonietta Cannizzaro (Me: and here comes nepotism, a really innovative, democratic concept), who has a good relationship with the head of the government (Me: i.e. Mr Berlusconi. Ah, well, how’s that for credentials? Now I feel reassured). Yours truly will then become president of the new Italian Nationalist Party, which in the next national political elections will run in the northern regions, where the tricolour flame (Me: the symbol of ISM) is not very strong, to oppose Italian nationalism against the Po Valley nationalism. In the central and southern regions, instead, ISM-National Right Wing will run with their historical symbol. Both, I hope, as allied of Berlusconi’s People of Freedom party: if anything prevents us from doing so, we’ll run alone.
Mr Saya, is it true that two thousand people are already enlisted in the Italian National Guard?
We have widely exceeded the two-thousand number of enrolments. Every day there’s a landslide of new ones, especially former police troopers (Me: what a surprise). I invite you to the convention on 13th June, to which we also invited President Berlusconi, so you will see with your own eyes: we have nothing to hide (Me: except the bodies).
Enrico Piovesana
Well… what more is there to say, except: I rest my case. And “the mother of idiots is always pregnant”.
* See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Collectivism
26 April, 2009
OK, Confession Time
This is for Sparsely Kate/Mel: I hope what I’m going to say will be of some comfort to you, my friend.
I have been in a very similar situation as you found yourself in with your daughter, when I was 8 (I just realised how very eventful a year that one was for me!). I was the perpetrator, of course.
I don’t remember exactly the lead-up to the idea of stealing, I just remember my childhood friend Cristina, her brother Luigino and I sitting on their balcony and plotting to steal a bottle of perfume for our Barbie dolls, the next time we would go to Standa (a famous Italian supermarket, equivalent to K-Mart or Target, but they also have a food department).
In my defence, I can only say that the idea never came from me, that I remember clearly: it was Cristina that suggested it. I was never taught by my parents that stealing was right, quite the opposite, whereas I am pretty sure that Cristina and Luigino must have learned that from their mother (my mother told me years later that Marisa, Cristina’s mother, actually had a habit of doing just that).
Anyway, the day came when we all went to Standa with Marisa. We children went around the aisles until we found the perfume department with all those pretty little bottles.
I wish I could say that I was shitting my pants the whole time, but truth is I don’t remember how I felt, then. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I don’t remember if I felt excited, scared, or ashamed. I don’t think I felt smug about it, though.
I picked up one of the bottles and held it tight to my chest, stealing glances at it every now and then (quite the cunning, nonchalant, dissimulating thief I was! Right.). Cristina and Luigino had got their bottles, too, but I think they must have put them back down, because when we got to the counter, I was the only one who was caught red-handed, when the lady asked if Marisa was also paying for what I was holding to my chest.
I wonder to this day that I did not have a heart attack, right there and then. But it was certainly then that I did start to feel it, the sudden, overwhelming shame.
I don’t remember much after that, I don’t remember if the perfume bottle was taken from me or if I gave it back of my own free will. I don’t remember the way home, except for Marisa repeating all along how I should be ashamed of myself (of course Marisa never got to know that her own daughter was the mastermind behind all this, and that she and Luigino were as guilty as I was at least, because I never said a word about them). There was no need for that, because I do remember how indeed ashamed I was and the fear of what my parents would say… or do. I thought that since I had not died on the spot, my parents would make sure to put a remedy to that.
So, when we got home, Marisa told everything to my mum. And there were other people present.
What hurt me the most was that, irony of all ironies, and shame of all shames, Cristina’s mother got to be the self-righteous, outraged parent, while my mother, who has always been a pillar of integrity, got to be the ashamed one, the one who had failed at teaching me values, exposed in front of other people, too.
My mother told my father and I waited for the sword to fall on my head, but they never laid a hand on me to punish me for what I did. They just stressed how disappointed they were in me and that I had hurt them very much.
That was enough for me. I never did it again, did not even ever think in my wildest dreams of doing it again. And to this day I haven’t. It turns out that my parents did indeed do a good job with me (even if I say so myself!), as I do like what I have become: an honest person, for whom integrity and ethics are the most important things. Certainly, that episode was a good lesson to be learned.
So, I think you have done a great job with your daughter, in that occasion: make her face the consequences of her actions was the best thing you could ever do. I am sure she will learn the lesson, as I did, and she will grow up to be an honest, trustworthy young lady. Chin up.
And here’s some more Rob for you. He will make it all better ;)!
I have been in a very similar situation as you found yourself in with your daughter, when I was 8 (I just realised how very eventful a year that one was for me!). I was the perpetrator, of course.
I don’t remember exactly the lead-up to the idea of stealing, I just remember my childhood friend Cristina, her brother Luigino and I sitting on their balcony and plotting to steal a bottle of perfume for our Barbie dolls, the next time we would go to Standa (a famous Italian supermarket, equivalent to K-Mart or Target, but they also have a food department).
In my defence, I can only say that the idea never came from me, that I remember clearly: it was Cristina that suggested it. I was never taught by my parents that stealing was right, quite the opposite, whereas I am pretty sure that Cristina and Luigino must have learned that from their mother (my mother told me years later that Marisa, Cristina’s mother, actually had a habit of doing just that).
Anyway, the day came when we all went to Standa with Marisa. We children went around the aisles until we found the perfume department with all those pretty little bottles.
I wish I could say that I was shitting my pants the whole time, but truth is I don’t remember how I felt, then. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I don’t remember if I felt excited, scared, or ashamed. I don’t think I felt smug about it, though.
I picked up one of the bottles and held it tight to my chest, stealing glances at it every now and then (quite the cunning, nonchalant, dissimulating thief I was! Right.). Cristina and Luigino had got their bottles, too, but I think they must have put them back down, because when we got to the counter, I was the only one who was caught red-handed, when the lady asked if Marisa was also paying for what I was holding to my chest.
I wonder to this day that I did not have a heart attack, right there and then. But it was certainly then that I did start to feel it, the sudden, overwhelming shame.
I don’t remember much after that, I don’t remember if the perfume bottle was taken from me or if I gave it back of my own free will. I don’t remember the way home, except for Marisa repeating all along how I should be ashamed of myself (of course Marisa never got to know that her own daughter was the mastermind behind all this, and that she and Luigino were as guilty as I was at least, because I never said a word about them). There was no need for that, because I do remember how indeed ashamed I was and the fear of what my parents would say… or do. I thought that since I had not died on the spot, my parents would make sure to put a remedy to that.
So, when we got home, Marisa told everything to my mum. And there were other people present.
What hurt me the most was that, irony of all ironies, and shame of all shames, Cristina’s mother got to be the self-righteous, outraged parent, while my mother, who has always been a pillar of integrity, got to be the ashamed one, the one who had failed at teaching me values, exposed in front of other people, too.
My mother told my father and I waited for the sword to fall on my head, but they never laid a hand on me to punish me for what I did. They just stressed how disappointed they were in me and that I had hurt them very much.
That was enough for me. I never did it again, did not even ever think in my wildest dreams of doing it again. And to this day I haven’t. It turns out that my parents did indeed do a good job with me (even if I say so myself!), as I do like what I have become: an honest person, for whom integrity and ethics are the most important things. Certainly, that episode was a good lesson to be learned.
So, I think you have done a great job with your daughter, in that occasion: make her face the consequences of her actions was the best thing you could ever do. I am sure she will learn the lesson, as I did, and she will grow up to be an honest, trustworthy young lady. Chin up.
And here’s some more Rob for you. He will make it all better ;)!
18 April, 2009
I Have Discovered "Memes"
OK, I'll bite and steal this "meme" from Sparsely Kate (thanks!), who stole it from Judd .
So, here goes:
1. What is your current obsession?
The delightful Mr Robert Pattinson... he is just so... *hangs head in shame, speechless*
2. What’s a good coffee place?
Coffee makes my hands shake. Better chocolate, so Max Brenner in Sydney, Cesare's in Pavia, Italy, the best hot chocolate ever: so thick your spoon stands up straight in it. To die for (and one of the few things I miss).
3. Who was the last person that you hugged?
My friend Annette, who is in a really bad spot at the moment and I am very, very worried about her.
4. Do you nap a lot?
Not as much as I should.
5. Tonight, what’s for dinner?
Forgot to take a steak out of the freezer, of course, so... leftover dips from my night in with Annette, yesterday? Can't be bothered to cook... OK, OK, if I can work up the mood, maybe a cheese-and-bacon risotto.
6. What was the last thing that you bought?
Internet: Little Ashes (pre-ordered, does that count?); Real Life: sushi for lunch, at Sushiroll, Eastgardens, after watching Inkheart at Hoyts.
7. What is your favorite weather?
Sunny, maybe some nice-looking clouds to spice up the sky.
8. Tell us something about one blogger who you think will play this week?
Can I have another question? The only blogger I know has already played (see at the top of this post).
9. If you were given a free house that was full furnished, where in the world would you like it to be?
No brainer: Sydney, Australia. When do I get the keys :D?
10. Name three things that you could not live without.
My family/friends, my sanity, reading.
11. What would you like in your hands right now?
I better not say, lest I sound horribly pathetic (but see Question 1 for a hint).
12. What’s one of your guilty pleasures?
See Question 1. I know, I sound single-minded on top of horribly pathetic, but what kind of obsession would it be, otherwise?
13. What would you change or eliminate about yourself?
Change: my nose and legs. Eliminate: hair, from my neck down.
14. As a child, what type of career did you want?
When I was 8 I wanted to be an egyptologist.
15. What are you missing right now?
A companion (boyfriend is too big a word).
16. What are you currently reading?
Inkheart by Cornelia Kunze and Charles Dickens's David Copperfield.
17. What do you fear the most?
Losing my sanity. Too late? Haha. Hilarious.
18. What’s the best movie that you’ve seen recently?
Comedy: The Boat That Rocked. Drama/Thriller: The Uninvited.
19. What’s your favorite book from the past year?
The Twilight Series, what else?
20. Is there a comfort food from your childhood that you still enjoy?
Never had comfort food as a child, that I can remember. I think my comfort food now is sushi.
So, here goes:
1. What is your current obsession?
The delightful Mr Robert Pattinson... he is just so... *hangs head in shame, speechless*
2. What’s a good coffee place?
Coffee makes my hands shake. Better chocolate, so Max Brenner in Sydney, Cesare's in Pavia, Italy, the best hot chocolate ever: so thick your spoon stands up straight in it. To die for (and one of the few things I miss).
3. Who was the last person that you hugged?
My friend Annette, who is in a really bad spot at the moment and I am very, very worried about her.
4. Do you nap a lot?
Not as much as I should.
5. Tonight, what’s for dinner?
Forgot to take a steak out of the freezer, of course, so... leftover dips from my night in with Annette, yesterday? Can't be bothered to cook... OK, OK, if I can work up the mood, maybe a cheese-and-bacon risotto.
6. What was the last thing that you bought?
Internet: Little Ashes (pre-ordered, does that count?); Real Life: sushi for lunch, at Sushiroll, Eastgardens, after watching Inkheart at Hoyts.
7. What is your favorite weather?
Sunny, maybe some nice-looking clouds to spice up the sky.
8. Tell us something about one blogger who you think will play this week?
Can I have another question? The only blogger I know has already played (see at the top of this post).
9. If you were given a free house that was full furnished, where in the world would you like it to be?
No brainer: Sydney, Australia. When do I get the keys :D?
10. Name three things that you could not live without.
My family/friends, my sanity, reading.
11. What would you like in your hands right now?
I better not say, lest I sound horribly pathetic (but see Question 1 for a hint).
12. What’s one of your guilty pleasures?
See Question 1. I know, I sound single-minded on top of horribly pathetic, but what kind of obsession would it be, otherwise?
13. What would you change or eliminate about yourself?
Change: my nose and legs. Eliminate: hair, from my neck down.
14. As a child, what type of career did you want?
When I was 8 I wanted to be an egyptologist.
15. What are you missing right now?
A companion (boyfriend is too big a word).
16. What are you currently reading?
Inkheart by Cornelia Kunze and Charles Dickens's David Copperfield.
17. What do you fear the most?
Losing my sanity. Too late? Haha. Hilarious.
18. What’s the best movie that you’ve seen recently?
Comedy: The Boat That Rocked. Drama/Thriller: The Uninvited.
19. What’s your favorite book from the past year?
The Twilight Series, what else?
20. Is there a comfort food from your childhood that you still enjoy?
Never had comfort food as a child, that I can remember. I think my comfort food now is sushi.
03 February, 2009
See No Evil, Hear No Evil
Well, well, well… whaddya know… I am always amazed when I realise how blinded I am by my feelings about people, sometimes. I just can’t see any wrong-doing in them, until it’s so blatant that it smacks me right in the face. And then, there is no denying it. And there is no coming back.
So, I went to Naomi’s place, last Wednesday, to confront her about what happened on New Year’s Eve. Of course, it didn’t go according to my plan to be calm and collected. Of course, there was screaming and crying (I cry when I get emotional, whether it’s for positive or negative reasons), but the gist of it is that Naomi rejected any responsibility, did not provide any apology whatsoever and proceeded in manipulating events and facts to her own advantage, trying to shift the focus from her behaviour to me, my principles and how I lead my life. Trying to dump what happened on my shoulders, saying it was my problem that I was hurt, not hers, that I shouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. Sure, if I hadn’t given a damn about her, I wouldn’t have been so hurt. She said she felt under pressure from me. Yes because, you see, unlike her (not!), I have this overbearing presence and there’s no way she could have freely expressed her opinion with me. Right. For the record, I don’t recall any instance when she has refrained to express her views with me. The interesting thing is that this is the kind of stuff she said of another friend she had and that she lost, Robyn.
She said I treated her like she was my boyfriend. When I retorted that I treated her like she was part of my family, she said that was exactly the problem.
Ah. Too bad that over the last three hears, she, not I, was the one who would tell to anyone who would listen how we were like family, how we were like sisters. So: as long as I pay for her, as long as I’m there to pick up her pieces, then I am family. As soon as it is time to show some consideration, or even simple manners and respect, then I am not deserving of that, as I am not family. A little too convenient, I reckon.
And that’s when I stopped arguing, because what was the point? I took note of what she had just said and understood that there was nothing I could say or do to make her see. So I sat back and watched her. I really watched her. And I saw everything. How she was bending everything that has happened in the three years of our friendship to justify herself. How she was trying time and again to make me feel bad, like I was at fault, like I had to change. How in denial of herself she is. She said that she has always felt forced to fit my “narrow paths” and that I should see a counsellor. She said she was free and I was in a cage. Yes, she is free to spiral down in a pit of alcohol, destitution and lack of self-respect, jumping from one stranger to the next, exposing herself to all sorts of diseases, alienating anything and anyone good that happens in her life, because she is an artiste, you see, and she’d rather starve than give up wine and cigarettes, or roll her sleeves up and do what’s necessary to support herself like everybody else. She can keep that “freedom”.
I could have been really nasty to her, throwing all that to her face, telling her what her other so-called “close friend” says about her behind her back, the mildest word being “slut”. Making her see the shackles she has forged for her hands and feet, made of booze, constant dependence from other people for her own daily survival, and need of any man’s attention to feel validated. It would have been so easy… but why should I have done that? She is already on the brink of an abyss, daily destroying her life with her own hands, I certainly will not be the one who pushes her over the edge.
Some may argue that what happened on New Year’s Eve is not enough to break a friendship over… and, true, that specific case is not… but truth is that it’s been piling up since the beginning. It’s not the first time she has behaved like that, but I was blinded, as I said, and didn’t consciously make the connection (I probably did connect the two things subconsciously, or I wouldn’t have been so hurt, I guess), I own that as my mistake…
The irony is that she brought it up again herself, to corroborate her position… I had completely forgotten about it! The very first time it happened, when I was only newly come from Italy and did not have my bearings very well, yet. We went out to a hotel… and she disappeared to follow a guy she liked to another hotel, leaving me there on my own with people I did not know, did not understand very well, in a place I was not familiar with, not knowing where she had gone to or how to get there. I finally managed to find her again, only because I was lucky enough that one of my neighbours happened to work as a bouncer at that first hotel and he could direct me to where she had probably gone, but not before I was completely distressed and disoriented.
She has no understanding of the fact that looking out for each other is what friends do. That you cannot drop friends like that and then expect them to be there for you again, when you need them. That is why she has never had any real female close friends before me, why she has lost my friendship now, and why she probably won’t have any close female friends in the future.
Now I can see the pattern, and certainly I don’t want to expose myself to it again, as it is bound to happen again, since she doesn’t see how her behaviour is utterly disrespectful, uncaring, and unacceptable.
So I’ll just pull out and since she feels she doesn’t owe me an apology, I don’t feel I owe her an explanation for doing so.
I don’t know… maybe we are both blinded, me by my feelings, she by her denial. At least, I occasionally get to see… but I’m not sure how good that is, as the pain is certainly excruciating. However, I’ve been through worse and come out to the other side, stronger. This is like fresh water on my skin, in comparison.
One thing I have finally understood and must commit to memory for future reference: I must learn to really observe people’s behaviour, unbiased by my affection for them, to hear what they are really saying behind their words, be detached enough to distinguish between the façade and what’s behind the curtains… and see when they match and when they don’t. Especially when they don’t.
So, I went to Naomi’s place, last Wednesday, to confront her about what happened on New Year’s Eve. Of course, it didn’t go according to my plan to be calm and collected. Of course, there was screaming and crying (I cry when I get emotional, whether it’s for positive or negative reasons), but the gist of it is that Naomi rejected any responsibility, did not provide any apology whatsoever and proceeded in manipulating events and facts to her own advantage, trying to shift the focus from her behaviour to me, my principles and how I lead my life. Trying to dump what happened on my shoulders, saying it was my problem that I was hurt, not hers, that I shouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. Sure, if I hadn’t given a damn about her, I wouldn’t have been so hurt. She said she felt under pressure from me. Yes because, you see, unlike her (not!), I have this overbearing presence and there’s no way she could have freely expressed her opinion with me. Right. For the record, I don’t recall any instance when she has refrained to express her views with me. The interesting thing is that this is the kind of stuff she said of another friend she had and that she lost, Robyn.
She said I treated her like she was my boyfriend. When I retorted that I treated her like she was part of my family, she said that was exactly the problem.
Ah. Too bad that over the last three hears, she, not I, was the one who would tell to anyone who would listen how we were like family, how we were like sisters. So: as long as I pay for her, as long as I’m there to pick up her pieces, then I am family. As soon as it is time to show some consideration, or even simple manners and respect, then I am not deserving of that, as I am not family. A little too convenient, I reckon.
And that’s when I stopped arguing, because what was the point? I took note of what she had just said and understood that there was nothing I could say or do to make her see. So I sat back and watched her. I really watched her. And I saw everything. How she was bending everything that has happened in the three years of our friendship to justify herself. How she was trying time and again to make me feel bad, like I was at fault, like I had to change. How in denial of herself she is. She said that she has always felt forced to fit my “narrow paths” and that I should see a counsellor. She said she was free and I was in a cage. Yes, she is free to spiral down in a pit of alcohol, destitution and lack of self-respect, jumping from one stranger to the next, exposing herself to all sorts of diseases, alienating anything and anyone good that happens in her life, because she is an artiste, you see, and she’d rather starve than give up wine and cigarettes, or roll her sleeves up and do what’s necessary to support herself like everybody else. She can keep that “freedom”.
I could have been really nasty to her, throwing all that to her face, telling her what her other so-called “close friend” says about her behind her back, the mildest word being “slut”. Making her see the shackles she has forged for her hands and feet, made of booze, constant dependence from other people for her own daily survival, and need of any man’s attention to feel validated. It would have been so easy… but why should I have done that? She is already on the brink of an abyss, daily destroying her life with her own hands, I certainly will not be the one who pushes her over the edge.
Some may argue that what happened on New Year’s Eve is not enough to break a friendship over… and, true, that specific case is not… but truth is that it’s been piling up since the beginning. It’s not the first time she has behaved like that, but I was blinded, as I said, and didn’t consciously make the connection (I probably did connect the two things subconsciously, or I wouldn’t have been so hurt, I guess), I own that as my mistake…
The irony is that she brought it up again herself, to corroborate her position… I had completely forgotten about it! The very first time it happened, when I was only newly come from Italy and did not have my bearings very well, yet. We went out to a hotel… and she disappeared to follow a guy she liked to another hotel, leaving me there on my own with people I did not know, did not understand very well, in a place I was not familiar with, not knowing where she had gone to or how to get there. I finally managed to find her again, only because I was lucky enough that one of my neighbours happened to work as a bouncer at that first hotel and he could direct me to where she had probably gone, but not before I was completely distressed and disoriented.
She has no understanding of the fact that looking out for each other is what friends do. That you cannot drop friends like that and then expect them to be there for you again, when you need them. That is why she has never had any real female close friends before me, why she has lost my friendship now, and why she probably won’t have any close female friends in the future.
Now I can see the pattern, and certainly I don’t want to expose myself to it again, as it is bound to happen again, since she doesn’t see how her behaviour is utterly disrespectful, uncaring, and unacceptable.
So I’ll just pull out and since she feels she doesn’t owe me an apology, I don’t feel I owe her an explanation for doing so.
I don’t know… maybe we are both blinded, me by my feelings, she by her denial. At least, I occasionally get to see… but I’m not sure how good that is, as the pain is certainly excruciating. However, I’ve been through worse and come out to the other side, stronger. This is like fresh water on my skin, in comparison.
One thing I have finally understood and must commit to memory for future reference: I must learn to really observe people’s behaviour, unbiased by my affection for them, to hear what they are really saying behind their words, be detached enough to distinguish between the façade and what’s behind the curtains… and see when they match and when they don’t. Especially when they don’t.
14 January, 2009
Anno Nuovo, Vita Nuova
...which in Italian means "New Year, New Life"... it's amazing how things you thought of as "established" can change in a matter of seconds: a word not said, a moment of carelessness is enough to irreparably end a three-year friendship.
OK, a bit of background, I can just imagine the puzzled look on your face. First of all, who am I? Basically... nobody! I guess I am someone for my now globe-scattered family... and in my own mind, but outside that I am virtually invisible, and I don't mind. Why, then, start a blog? I reckon it's my need, sometimes, to just throw thoughts into the Universe, in the hope to make sense out of them, clear my mind, analyse options and possibilities.
My life so far has been eventful… in bouts. I was born in Italy, happy childhood, loving family. Can’t complain, really. Loved going to school.
Then, between age 11 and 21 things have started going downhill for a while. My father got sick, we didn’t know what it was. He went through a plethora of examinations and tests and nothing would come up.
In between all this, at age 16 I decided two things: that I would become a translator and that I would move to Australia.
Finally, it turned out that my father’s illness was all in his head: he was affected by paranoid schizophrenia.
He jumped from the building where he was working, eight months after my cousin, aged 20, had died of a hepatitis-A-infected blood transfusion (and that was what had actually already killed my father, way before he hit the pavement head first).
I was angry for many years, but I think I got over it, eventually. I came to the conclusion that it was not his fault. Actually, I believe it was not really my father who jumped from the top of that building. It was a completely different person, because he was not himself. Therefore, it had to be someone else. Maybe, if I repeat it to myself another gazillion times, I will really convince myself... OK, sometimes I still have some spurts of bitterness... so there.
Anyway, just after my father’s death, I got my diploma as a translator: goal number one was achieved.
A few years of glum, suffering, struggling ensued. My life on hold, working, working, working to help Mum (and I don't regret it or am complaining about it).
It was a trip to America that saved me, I think. At the beginning, though, I was happily spiralling down a rather different kind of trip: an “I can’t do it” trip. Then, I don’t know how or why, a light went up in my brain and I realised I was making a fundamental mistake: I kept on saying I couldn’t go to America… but I wasn’t even trying. I wasn’t even looking at my bank account to see if I could do it.
It was a revelation: I was risking becoming like my father, who gave up his dreams for a mistaken sense of duty, and I bet that was what drove him down March Hare Road.
So I finally checked my bank account and, lo and behold… the money I needed was right there! Who would have thought?!
I went to Austin, Texas, had loads of fun, came back and thought… if I did this, I can move to Australia, too!
Another few years of uneventful work work work followed, until I had enough money to finally go visit Australia… and find out if I was a March Hare, too, or if there was really something there for me.
There was. Took me three more years of hard work and patience and biting the bullet, trying to smell a hint of Sydney between the smoggy particles of Milan's air, but I made it: goal number two was achieved. And here I am.
I’ve been in Australia for more than three years, now, I have a good job that I love (although I’m not translating anymore... guess translation fulfilled its purpose in getting me here), I live on my own (impossible dream in Italy), I might be able to actually buy a home within this year… I’ve made and lost friends, the most recent on New Years’ Eve… and here we come full circle.
As I was saying, it’s amazing how things can change in a second, after months, years of “established routine”… people who were there are gone in a second, death, sea change, words said, or in this case, a word of consideration that was not said.
Makes you think “what is a friend, really?” What makes the difference between an acquaintance and a friend? Is a friend a real friend if she dumps you on New Year’s Eve, without so much as a word of apology, after you have paid for her dinner because she is constantly broke, to sleep with a man she barely knows? Or is that just an acquaintance? Is this a kind of “friend” I want to have around in my life? Is this kind of behaviour enough to end a friendship?
The jury is still deliberating.
OK, a bit of background, I can just imagine the puzzled look on your face. First of all, who am I? Basically... nobody! I guess I am someone for my now globe-scattered family... and in my own mind, but outside that I am virtually invisible, and I don't mind. Why, then, start a blog? I reckon it's my need, sometimes, to just throw thoughts into the Universe, in the hope to make sense out of them, clear my mind, analyse options and possibilities.
My life so far has been eventful… in bouts. I was born in Italy, happy childhood, loving family. Can’t complain, really. Loved going to school.
Then, between age 11 and 21 things have started going downhill for a while. My father got sick, we didn’t know what it was. He went through a plethora of examinations and tests and nothing would come up.
In between all this, at age 16 I decided two things: that I would become a translator and that I would move to Australia.
Finally, it turned out that my father’s illness was all in his head: he was affected by paranoid schizophrenia.
He jumped from the building where he was working, eight months after my cousin, aged 20, had died of a hepatitis-A-infected blood transfusion (and that was what had actually already killed my father, way before he hit the pavement head first).
I was angry for many years, but I think I got over it, eventually. I came to the conclusion that it was not his fault. Actually, I believe it was not really my father who jumped from the top of that building. It was a completely different person, because he was not himself. Therefore, it had to be someone else. Maybe, if I repeat it to myself another gazillion times, I will really convince myself... OK, sometimes I still have some spurts of bitterness... so there.
Anyway, just after my father’s death, I got my diploma as a translator: goal number one was achieved.
A few years of glum, suffering, struggling ensued. My life on hold, working, working, working to help Mum (and I don't regret it or am complaining about it).
It was a trip to America that saved me, I think. At the beginning, though, I was happily spiralling down a rather different kind of trip: an “I can’t do it” trip. Then, I don’t know how or why, a light went up in my brain and I realised I was making a fundamental mistake: I kept on saying I couldn’t go to America… but I wasn’t even trying. I wasn’t even looking at my bank account to see if I could do it.
It was a revelation: I was risking becoming like my father, who gave up his dreams for a mistaken sense of duty, and I bet that was what drove him down March Hare Road.
So I finally checked my bank account and, lo and behold… the money I needed was right there! Who would have thought?!
I went to Austin, Texas, had loads of fun, came back and thought… if I did this, I can move to Australia, too!
Another few years of uneventful work work work followed, until I had enough money to finally go visit Australia… and find out if I was a March Hare, too, or if there was really something there for me.
There was. Took me three more years of hard work and patience and biting the bullet, trying to smell a hint of Sydney between the smoggy particles of Milan's air, but I made it: goal number two was achieved. And here I am.
I’ve been in Australia for more than three years, now, I have a good job that I love (although I’m not translating anymore... guess translation fulfilled its purpose in getting me here), I live on my own (impossible dream in Italy), I might be able to actually buy a home within this year… I’ve made and lost friends, the most recent on New Years’ Eve… and here we come full circle.
As I was saying, it’s amazing how things can change in a second, after months, years of “established routine”… people who were there are gone in a second, death, sea change, words said, or in this case, a word of consideration that was not said.
Makes you think “what is a friend, really?” What makes the difference between an acquaintance and a friend? Is a friend a real friend if she dumps you on New Year’s Eve, without so much as a word of apology, after you have paid for her dinner because she is constantly broke, to sleep with a man she barely knows? Or is that just an acquaintance? Is this a kind of “friend” I want to have around in my life? Is this kind of behaviour enough to end a friendship?
The jury is still deliberating.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
