last moon

Monday, February 26, 2018

Manifesto for Panracial Rights

There is nowdays a great movement of people from the most poor regions of the world to Europe and the other western countries. The European states, facing the worst crisis after 1929, seem to be not able to manage what seems to represent an unstoppable exodus. These moving people, escaping famine and wars, are searching a better chance of life for themselves and for their sons.
The European citizens, mostly those paying the high price of the crisis, in terms of unemployment and cut of  public services, don't want these mass of desperates from Asia and Africa occupying their spaces in their towns, consequently diminishing the resources already scarce because of the crisis.
I wonder who owns the most valuable right between those who have firstly occupied the European lands and who secondly comes in search of fortune.
The question might seem rethoric and the answer quiet easy to be done. But , on the contrary, I find hard to debate the matter, above all if I try to look at it with a gaze of proof, avoiding a selfish a narrow minded approach.
Since long time ago, ethnic groups, countersigned by common uses and language, have started conquering lands, fencing them whith enforced borders and calling them states. So the earth now is fractioned in to 190 states, more and less, which one with its own laws, flags and soldiers, the most numerous, the most powerful.   Talking about natural rights and from a point of view not merely nationalist are we sure that each of these state has the right to close its borders to the arriving people and to push them off?
I mean: it's really so pacific and clear that Africa belongs to Africans, China to Chinese and America to Americans?
And what kind of right behold the single states of Europe to declare themselves owners of the lands their ancestrals have conquered centuries ago may be taking them off from the former inhabitants? What if we start reasoning about the earth belonging indinstinctly to the all humanhood ?

I have worked the following principles:
1. The earth belongs to all human kind indistinctly and pro quota;
2. The human groupes who have closed portions of land, sea and sky, whatever they have called them, are running those territories on behalf of the whole humanity;
3. Hence every man born on the earth has the same rights and same duties anywhere on the earth no matter who is ruling the territory where he's standing;
4. Every man born on the earth has the right to move and to stay anywhere on the earth no matter who is in charge in those lands, or seas or skies he wants to move to or stay;
5. Every man has the right to be able to exercise the previous rights and therefore he must be welcomed and nurtured for a reasonable time until he is able to work and legally obtain his own livelihood or move to another place;
6. Every man, anywhere he lives, is compelled to respect the rules, the customs and the laws generally observed by the sedentary population who inhabits the territories he moves to ;
7. All the natural resources, wherever they might be set, belong to the whole manhood, no matter who temporarily is exploiting them.

1. to be continued...

Sunday, February 11, 2018

Memoirs of London - 17

Another distinguished member of  the group was "Old Jerry", one who boasted of having left a leg in what battle I did not know well and proudly displayed numerous decorations of the British Imperial Wars of which he had taken part. He always greeted me happily and was the only one who always drank but good brand of whiskey.

One day, after I had not seen him around for a while, he told me that he had escaped from the "shelter", where some of his relatives had him locked up. He told they  had stolen all his  money and did not even leave him a small amount for a drop of wiskey and hence, as long as he lived, he wanted to live free to do what he wanted, after so many had seen and survived from; and significantly touching the prosthesis, limping but cheerful, he reached his companions who already called him from the benches in front, foretasting  in the throat a sip of good branded whiskey.

More mysterious was instead "Colby", a Welsh still distinguished guy, despite his  vagabond life was going on  for several years. It was said of him that he was in the service of the "Metropolitan Police". One morning a band of the "Salvation Army" passed through the square, with great sounds of trumpets, drums and songs praising the Queen, the national heroes, God Almighty and Divine Mercy, with the chiefs leading the march in high uniform, strutting as general, and in the queue the women volunteers,  with an angelic and inspired face, with the hair gathered in a cap, like so many nuns and the chest of drawers hanging on the neck with the inscription "thank you".

Colby had noticed the arrival of the Salvation Army just as he made his way to his favorite benches in the center of the square. It must have seemed risky to expose him to the square, because, like a hunted prey he took  refuge inside the room, hiding  behind the ice cream machine. Not seen, from there, he made gestures to the  joyous and glorious  parade, moving the index and the middle fingers of the right hand from the bottom upwards and then crossing them by way of an oath and pronouncing outrageous and unrepeatable phrases in their  regards.

 - "The last time they put their hands on me" - he told me as soon as he saw the danger escaped - "they even tried  to convince me that milk is better than my slop; but I told them, you know, I'm tired of being imposed and I do not want to be redeemed by them! Furthermore those kind of generals in the front are a bunch of sexual maniacs and the women on the rear do not even serve to suck my cock! "

17. to be continued...

Sunday, January 14, 2018

The last journey - 1

The General Executive Governement of the Universal Political Organisation (known simply as UPO since it was created in 2049, after the dissolution of the United Nations Organisation) had to meet at two o'clock in the afternoon (Indian Time).
The fifty members which held, on turn, the most important organ of the international organisation, were going to meet in order to debate whether let the greatest human spaceship in all the history leave for the orbitant Martian station or procrastinate the journey to another,  future date.
Of course was not decisive the vote, for the decision needed also to get  the assent in the General Assembley by the majority of the two hundred states members left (not considering hencefor the vote of the fity sitting already in the GEG) but yet it was fundamental  to get this first pass.
Timath Ghan was in charge as the first aide of the Indian Premier, the state hosting the great event.
It was up to him to check that anything were all right in the great adunancy room.
There were two opposite faction in the GEG as well as in the General Assembly: the remainers and the leavers.But none cuold predict which one was going to win.
His Country belonged to leavers.
The planet was too much polluted and too much crowded to be saved. The best minds had to go to colonize the space and there create a new habitat for the new generations to come afterwards.
The Earth had  almost ten billions of inhabitants.
 India alone counted almost two billions.
But the decision was not to be taken only on the base of the inhabitants but each Country had just one vote, provided that at least 75% of the population represented was in agreemnt with the decision to be taken.
1. to be continued...

Sunday, December 31, 2017

The same old story

I think that UK is living, in these times of Brexit, the same crisis which passed forty years ago, when Maggie Thatcher took the power.
Like at those times, UK is experimenting a difficult passage from an open society, capable to accept from abroad all  the best contributes which can come, to a scared misure which risks to transform the Country in a less cultural pole for art and intellectual minds.
 I've always been very fond of the English skill of hosting people from all over the world.
I've admired and been fascinated by the way England has been able to allow anybody in search of freedom and democracy to stay in the Country.
And now, with Brexit, I feel that all this will be more difficult (I hope, nevertheless, it won't be over). I realize there are two opposite souls in England: one opened and one closed.
Which one  is going to win the challenge?

Friday, December 29, 2017

Memoirs of London - 16


There were, all around Leicester Square so many public places, each one with its own peculiarities. For example the "Cafe Paris" behind his seeming normality, kept a secret known only to a small circle. It was frequented by old and rich women in search of gigolò or any handsome young man in order to forget for a few hours, their loneliness and their time, perhaps ran  too quickly; or "The worm", a meeting place for gays and lesbians; the "Cokney Pride", where was played  the  traditional London’s music. 
Just in front of my pitch used to gather  a group of tramps.  They sat very often in a circle on the benches, right in the middle of the square.   The benches were set all around  a circular flowerbed in  care to Mary, a girl with no age, brown skin and black hair, stained teeth partially broken on the front. As  a young woman she had been a maid at Buckingham Palace and had been sacked for his drinking  or stealing; or perhaps because of an unwanted pregnancy; her friends called her "Queen Mary" or simply "Queen". With her I had more frequent contact, for  she was fond of ice cream.  I presented one cone to her, from time to time. Afterwards I knew many of them. Each one with his own story.

Miss Rambling, an elderly paralyzed lady who juggled with her wheelchair in London traffic, better than a gymkhana champion, was the only to be  strictly abstemious.

 The others guys and girls, including Mary, were all heavy drinkers. They drank alcohol in place and more than any other liquid drink, including water and milk. However, not everyone had reached the terminal stage of alcoholism.

Max, for example, was sloping slowly but inexorably on the verge of addiction. It was increasingly difficult for him to "hook" in  the Cafè Paris, from which he portrayed his only source of income.
As a young man, as shown by some of his youthful photos he proudly showed, he resembled Clark Gable and of his original beauty only remained in his face a distant halo, distinguished by black mustache, still well-groomed and thin, on a  vaguely sensual lip. But when he was in  group with the tramps, with a bristly beard on his reddish cheeks and crumpled clothes, he looked more like the shadow of himself than that of the American celluloid myth he had looked like in his youth.

 Max had played at the races, one by one, all the properties inherited from his family. He often talked to me about horse racing and sometimes, in the transportation of his story, he said with rage that he would succeed on  redeeming at least one country house in Wales, where he would finally retire for a quiet and sweet old age.

The others, for the most part, were however much more battered and unkempt. Hair without care, black face, of that black that only the road can give; always dirty and torn clothes; beltless trousers  and laceless shoes, signs of their frequent go to and  from places of forced hospitalization, if not from the Royal English Prisons.

They always had the inevitable bottle of liquor or wine in their hands or pockets, or, in the lean periods, a concoction they called "sloppy drink", or more simply "slop" of which I could never understand exactly which ingredients it was made of.

"A Stuff" - Joe,  an ex-boxer,  once told me,  - "that when you drink it, it kills you kindly".

16. to be continued...

Tuesday, December 26, 2017

Memoirs of London - 15


Chapter Three 
Leicester Square 

In the  morning, right in that day,  when all the white collars and secretaries in London were already at work, as previously agreed, I called  the Office to find out what would have been my place of work. Lucky gave me a hand: Jim, the guy who led a great selling point had forfeited the day before and that  made  vacant the position he occupied in one of the most important squares around the West End. 

When I got to the shop in Leicester Square I introduced myself to  an  Eastern Arab manager whose  name was Ibrahim.  He gave  a careless glance at my badge and  showed me my positon the back of the store, where I found the machine "Carpigiani", the milk to make the ice-cream, the  cones and some chocolate bars they called flakes to be served as "optionals" squeezed in the cream on top of the ice cream cone.
 In addition I had provided, right next to the ice cream machine, a dispenser with two trays, one for the orange juice and the other for the lemonade that I made it myself with running water and concentrated juice.
 Taken up position at the front of the store and, proud in my white apron, I began my new adventure of ice cream seller  in the Brian Brook Company.
Leicester Square is a square not far from Piccadilly Circus. You get access from there through  two short but commercially important streets: Coventry Street and New Coventry Street.
In the way to the wide  Trafalgar Square, instead, heading south, all  around the National Gallery, in a street called St Martin,  there is another special category of street's traders: the itinerant painters!

Students from the Academy of fine arts in London and from  the High  Artistic schools around the world, amateurs, skilful men  in the art of painting and portraiture; young emerging artists and old decayed artists; aspiring artists or assumed, all converge in this corner of London to offering passers-by the result of their inspiration onto canvas, for a fee that can range from a few pounds for a portrait or a caricature done right there, to much more  expensive  portraits in different  styles and subjects, with the hope  to leave to his descendants  maybe the equivalent of a Van Gogh. Although few tourists, to be honest, had the courage and the business acumen to invest and bet on the pictorial talent of those strangers, anonymous exhibitors;  and not least, it is certain that everyone, including the merely curious, breathed some fresh air authentically Bohemian because, beyond the artistic value of those painters not sedentary, passers-by were to appreciate the skill, ease and freedom with which they expressed in their art their existential anxieties, actual or alleged that they were.   In the more immediate vicinity of Leicester Square there are plenty of  box offices, theaters, pubs, discos, restaurants, clubs, bars and nightspots, bureaux de change and clothing stores; the latter, mostly, are the property of Indian and Pakistani traders, open seven days a week, from nine in the morning until late at night. The presence of several offices of the change machine was a safe attestation of cosmopolitan  London especially for the attraction made to foreigner visitors by this place.
.. to be continued...

Sunday, December 10, 2017

London for ever - 10

I’ve  recently been to  an important conference which took place in London in the premises of the Royal  Law Society.
It was organized by an important International Law Firm called SLIG, founded by the three Gaglione Brothers (Alessandro, Giuseppe and Roberto) who are  skillful lawyers both in Italy and in Egland and Wales (as a matter of fact they practise in London  as Solicitors and in Rome as Lawyers in a high degree of expertise ).
It was about being solicitors in England and Wales today and what presumably it could be after Brexit. It was really  very thrilling for me to meet a lot of lawyers coming from so many different towns in Italy and lawyers who practise in London as Solicitors or under different labels (but still in the juridical field).
Though I’m already in my sixties I’m still able to dream. And to be a solicitor in London is one of my dreams.
In the afternoon there was even a space for us to pose some question to three English solicitors come to show us what Brexit might change in the legal profession for Italian lawyers in England and Wales. The scenario they drew up wasn’t not all catastrophic, though surely remains a certain degree of uncertainty.
I was tempted to take the  word just to say how I’m sad of the Brexit (though I respect the democratic expression of British voters; we could even say a lot about the way the 2016 June’s  referendum was held and what kind of negative, external forces influenced the voters, but I still respect the road our British friends are taking to drive their Country out of EU, saving the Unity of the Kingdom and doing the best for themselves).
I’m not neutral as the Solicitors Regulation Association are. I’ve already said that I wanted UK staying in the E.U. because I believe that British are essential part of the European brotherhood I’m fond of.
That's why I say London is for ever.
after the Conference The SLIG Firm had a suprise for all of us: they brought all around London in a free tour in a wonderful, original  Router Master double deck red bus.
I want to thank Alessandro Gaglione and his brothers also for this final present.
That's why I still think London is for ever.

10. to be continued…