bLOGBOOK - The ox

A special section dedicated to special people and special memories. A book might not be enough, but collecting some words doesn't hurts

Chapter 3: Davide

Don't call him Davide. He is and he always will "the ox". Once a nickname is given, it is forever, and Davide doesn't make exception. Most of the people believe "the ox" comes from Davide's body size, not properly a thin one. It was Davide himself to explain the origin of his nickname: it come from the Chicago Bulls sweatshirt he was used to wear at the highschool. Apparently one day the gym teacher told him "you!, you with that ox, come here!" From that moment on, he became "the ox". And he still is "the ox".

When I met him he was already known for his nickname, of course. He introduced himself by his name just because customs and habits require so, but it was clear since the beginning such a name would never have been used. "ox-box, it rhymes" became soon the main way to refer to Davide and his capacity of drinking. He was able to assume huge quantities of alcohol. He could empty boxes of beer alone. That's why "ox-box". His origins don't lie: the inhabitants of the region he comes from are famous to be inveterate drinkers. With the right people reach the bottom is not a problem. On the contrary, it is the only possible option on the table. In each sense.

He has always been a great drinking buddy, this is undeniable. As well is undeniable that he was always with me in every important moment of my life. Considering we met when we both were university students, the important moments have been nothing but bloody stupid things, the kind of things you do when you are 20 years old and totally absorbed by the lightness of being. That kind of things you share with the people you know you will conserve for the rest of life. It was the age of irresponsibility, to put it other and simpler words, and Davide was there. He was comfortable in that world that he always acted with the declared goal of not having responsibilities. So he became the first (and perhaps) Chief non-Executive Officer in the world. Yes, a unique boss in leaving to other people the burden of taking decisions.

bLOGBOOK - Impressions from a sea town

 Back to Oostende


Sea towns are always magical. No matter where the urban centres are: although seas are never the same, they always create a unique atmosphere. That is true even for Oostende, certainly not one of the best cities in Belgium. 
Modern, perhaps too modern for the eyes. And empty. "For sale" and "for rent" notices are put up and down the town. Where are the people in Oostende? Seamen spend most of their time far from the mainland, but they make port, soon or late. So what? Maybe once demolitions and constructions will be over, the place will finally have its face. For the time being, Oostende appears to visitors as a huge construction site. In the harbour, in the city centre, in suburbs, along the seafront: works are everywhere in progress. Cranes and modern buildings make Oostende unattractive, compared to the rest of the country. But here the city opted for a different choice, compared to the rest of the kingdom.

Like the whole Belgium, Oostende was harshly hit during the II world war. It was hit even more harshly than other parts, as the town was razed to the ground. It paid the price of the strategic position on the North Sea coast and its advantages as a harbour. Like all strategic economic centres, Oostende became since the beginning of the hostilities a priority target. Instead of restoring the original town, it was decided to create a new one to symbolise a new life for Oostende. Now the new Oostende is still in search for an identity, but the waves, the saltiness, and seagalls with their chirps are still there. Oostende was and still is a sea town.

bLOGBOOK - Spotted in Brussels

(Archive image. Click to enlarge)

bLOGBOOK - Dream a little dream of her

She was there. In my dreams, of course. She was standing in front of the window, enjoying the sun light filtering through the curtains. She couldn't see me, having her back to me. But I had the impression she knew I was there in the room, right in that moment. Or maybe she only expected I was coming, as I expected to find the person I was looking for. But the person I was searching was not her, and she was there. I couldn't be mistaken, and I wasn't. I recognised immediately her figure. I moved only a few step forward, without saying anything. The soft carpet down on the floor made no possible to produce footsteps, but she perceived my presence and she turned around. She was exactly as I could remember, maybe even beautiful. She was dressed in beige, encased in a nice, simple but elegant suit of the kind she used to wear. She was holding a cat in her arms, caressing it gently as the pet was her own child.
«I told you I wanted one. Look how cute is this cat. Isn't it so cute?»
That was all she said. She didn't added anything, neither did I. She remained there silently, caressing the cat and showing proudly the animal. She didn't look at me. She had never done. I tried to see her moves, but nothing happened. She was immersed in thoughts as I was lost in dreams. I perfectly knew I was living in a dream, but in that moment I said myself not to awake. Sometimes love can be silent, and I was loving that silence. Then she turned around again, coming back to stand in front of the window enjoying the sun light filtering through the curtains with her cat in her arms. It was there, in that precise moment I realised nightmares can be terribly cruel because terribly sweet.
«Well», I said. «Unless you have anything to tell me, it's time to go. I have someone to look for».
I didn't get replies. She had her back to me, and I couldn't look in her eyes for a last time.
«So... Goodbye»
I entered in silence and I left in silence. That bright, white room, was perhaps the darkest experience of my imaginary universe. I still had no idea who I had to find, but I had to restart my research.
«I have to get someone», I repeated myself. That someone wasn't her.

bLOGBOOK - The scapegoat

A special section dedicated to special people and special memories. A book might not be enough, but collecting some words doesn't hurts

Chapter 2: Paola 

The scapegoat is an ancient and mythological figure, but in modern times scapegoat refers to someone who is unfairly blamed by others for problems. She is our scapegoat just because of that. Nicknames have always uncertain origins, and in this sense she is not an exception. Probably she started to be called "scapegoat" after that famous night, when her former boyfriend started to scream against her in the middle of a party, apparently with no real practical reasons. I think everything started that night. From that night - a night still living in our minds - she officially became the scapegoat. I met Paola well before that night, when she was still a secondary school. I started to deal with her only after that period, once both of us went to the university. I guess it had just question of time: our small towns are truly small, and very very close each other, so it was logic and natural we found together after all. I started to remember Paola as a restless girl, always in movement and constantly in searching of some experience. Somebody could call al that will to live, and it wouldn't be wrong. Everything was supposed to be something to discover and to share. OK, she's not an easy person (it's she who repeats to be «grumpy», and I have to say I can't deny), but she always liked being with other people. Among Paola's skills there is that one of socialization. Left alone in an empty room she could easily find the way to socialise with ants. Of course at last she will find the way to get out of there, too. But this another story. But her very particular special power is finding a parking. With her leaving the car somewhere is never a problem. If I think that I probably have a super-hero for friend and that the same person is known as "scapegoat", I can't avoid thinking how unfair life can be. But that's life, and in particular a scapegoat life.

bLOGBOOK - The man with the suitcase

A special section dedicated to special people and special memories. A book might not be enough, but collecting some words doesn't hurts

 Chapter 1: Frank

He was said "the man with the suitcase", and not without reason I would say. He was always somewhere around the world, and every time he finally set foot at home, it was just for changing cloths and leaving again. Even when he remained in his native continent, he was used to move from a place to another. Maybe "gipsy" could be the right way to refer to him, but of course "the man with the suitcase" well describes the person we are talking about. Despite he has a name, as every person has, he's constantly called for his surname. Now, the fact his surname means "blind" was often the reason for several nick-names or very funny situation. I remember when he went to pay visit to my office. Unfortunately that day I was out, chasing who knows which news. And I can remember our editorial assistant informing telling me that a person came stating to be a friend of mine, a person whose name was difficult to remember. «I think he didn't use his name. I think he said his name was Scarred» 
«Was the name "Blind"?»
 We always laugh about at any occasion. And here we come to our problem, to our Hamletic doubt: are we going to meet, one day? In some how, once the only problem was him and his travelling. That made difficult to meet. But it's also true that today all of us are men with a suitcase, displaced in a world where living is getting more and more complicated. But this is another story, and maybe some one will tell in the future. There are many moments I could recall, but right now what I have in mind was our last night together. Let explain, otherwise somebody could misunderstand. He had to join people in Rome. After having spent a day with us, he had to get into the car and driving in order to say goodbye to other folks. He asked me to go. I remember I didn't feel like, and he had to insist before I decided to get into that car. Now I think I didn't really had any idea of the situation, as usually happens to me. We listened to the music. It was an Italian singer, someone I never considered one of my favourite music makers. Today I listened to an old album from another Italian singer, the same LP we decided to play in a private concert night. I still have to understand if there are any pictures of that night...

bLOGBOOK - Spotted in Brussels

(click to enlarge)

bLOGBOOK - The Laughing Stock, n°2 year III

Good evening, folks. Or good night. Or whatever you prefer... Anyway, hello to all of you.
They asked me to write. It's long time you don't send us one of your e-mail, they told me. In somehow I was called for sending update, basically. What I do, what I meet, what I plan and so on. All this sounds weird completely. First of all I've never had a lot to talk about and, secondly, It's really out of ordinary life asking for e-mail in social media time. A lot of people simply don't like be in a mailing list, others simply don't like spending time in reading texts in English, others don't want to use e-mail channel any more for communication. Digital evolution, laziness, research for face-to-face mailing exchange: whatever the reason could be, my collective messages are generally ignored. Officially there are readers, although answers never come. Despite all that there still someone who asks for my mail. I love my friends because of their humour, and I guess some of them love make irony and kidding me any time they can. Anyway, here I am. Honestly right now I have nothing really interesting to write about. Still waiting for something hoping it could soon happen: that's the mood I live in. Of course I'm trying to find what I could define "an exit strategy", but that time has not come yet. Hopefully future will reserve surprises, but at the moment I prefer to see how the events will develop before giving further details on my business. With regard to my health affairs, three stitches will restrict my movements until the first week of May. I will not enter into detail, but I would never recommend no one travelling with stitches in the back. In such conditions dealing with baggages becomes impossible, as well as a lot of small daily activities. No way, I have to keep calm and carry on, and so I will.

bLOGBOOK - Dinant

Dinant

Dinant, land of music, history, and tradition. French village of Givet is twenty kilometres from here, the well known abbey of Cinay only fifteen: Dinant is on the Belgian beer route, and at the same time on the way to France. This city is crossroads, and for centuries peoples have met here. Holy Roman Empire, France, the United Kingdom of the Netherlands, France, Belgium, Germany: Dinant has been part of different countries, it has been theatre of war many and many times. The city finished also under the Austrian empire control, for a while. Here war is still a painful wound. Dinant is where Germany started to fight in Belgium during the first world war: immediately after the occupation of Luxembourg, German troops invaded the kingdom and after few days they arrived in Dinant. There the United Kingdom and France fought in defence of Belgium (neutral). German troops needed ten days to defeat enemies: the 24th of August 1914 Dinant was just a series of ruins. Germans burnt the city (nearly two thirds of the buildings existing at that time), killing 674 civilians in response of alleged killing of German soldiers by the citizens. Monuments, statues, plaques remembering that moment are in every part of the city, still deeply battle-scarred. Still today it is possible to find a plaque commemorating the place where Charles de Gaulle, at that time an infantry lieutenant, was wounded during the Battle of Dinant.

bLOGBOOK - Santiago de Compostela

Santiago de Compostela

English translation from my article written in 2008

«If you don't see Santiago under the rain, you can't say to have really visited it». Sergio and Paola explain me what maybe is the true characteristic of the city, while it shines in the sunlight with all its magnificence. «In the morning there is usually a thin layer of mist that envelopes the city together with a very fine drizzle falling silently, that kind of rain which makes you totally wet without you even realise». The extraordinary splendid day deprives me of this peculiar feature of the city, known for being one of the most important pilgrimage site for Christendom. Santiago de Compostela is a meeting point: history, culture, traditions, people and peoples have been converging here since centuries and centuries ago. For everybody Santiago is a Christianity sight-symbol, whose roots sink strong and vigorous. However Santiago de Compostela, commonly known as Santiago, is also one of the main places where it is possible discover the many faces of Spain and those of Santiago region, the region of Galicia. «Galicia is primarily a land of Celtic origins», says proudly Sergio in a very brief historical summary where is possible to search out part of the independentist spirit of this region. Of course, behind this Galician push for independence lie economic reasons. «Here we produce electricity through wind turbines, and the central government of Madrid has the right to decide how to use our electricity», complains Sergio. «Madrid forces us to pay taxes for our domestic use of the electricity produced by us». In short, here people feel different and robbed, too. «Anyway, we are not for violence, we are not like ETA», is keen to stress Sergio. «We are for dialogue and peaceful resolution of issues».

bLOGBOOK - My (second) Belgian accommodation

Video available on thepressedworld youtube channel

bLOGBOOK - Special thought

See you Francesco...

bLOGBOOK - The Laughing Stock, n° 1 year III

 Good evening. Or good night. Or whatever... Anyway, hello folks!
I start feeling a light sore throat. Nothing new, it was only question of time, especially when everybody is sick. But it was not from here I wanted to start. There are a lot of think to talk about and I had to do it starting from my sore throat: what a poor fantasy man am I? Of course not an original one. Is there anything more ordinary than talking about health? Maybe the weather. It's cold here in Brussels. There was some snow, not so many days ago. But why am I writing all that? Oh  yes, I needed to free the brain from thoughts. I still don't feel like writing, communicating, working, going out, meeting people... What do I feel like, then? Good question. I don't know. I don't feel like searching for another job, that's something I know for sure. But the point there are no many alternatives, which means I have no choice. So I had to put again my hands to applications, and it's nothing but the beginning. Last month I was not even able to cover the cost of the rent: Jesus, I need an exit strategy. Ok: health, weather, work. Is all there what I can say? Come on, let's say something about myself. I still have a life after all. Ok, maybe not one of the best, but still a life. Still life. Ah, forget about these stupid word games. I'll spend my Easter holidays in Brussels, but the week before I'm supposed to be in Prague. I clarified I'm supposed to be because they already change the departure time. Let's keep our fingers crossed... Unfortunately I won't join my friend in Bratislava. There were no flights at last, not that kind of connections I need, and by bus it would even worse. No way, I'll miss you guys. I'll have to listen to your reports, and I'm ready to bet would be really funny.

bLOGBOOK - After-effects

Yesterday night evaluation and after-effects:

- 7 (or 8?) beer drunk;
- 2 bumps;
- 1 leg hurt;
- 1 little injury;
- neck hurt;

It appears clear I've to quit doing certain stuff!

bLOGBOOK - Spotted in Brussels

bLOGBOOK - The Laughing Stock

Good evening. Or good night. Or whatever... Anyway, hello folks!
Wow! I didn't expect posting something on this blog could be so difficult, but here we are. I find difficulties to write and to update these web pages. And that's not because I've a life, a real life. On the contrary I've not. I would just find some time late in the evening, but it's not the case. Maybe it's because of winter, with its cold and its long days of darkness, maybe it's because of tiredness, but I don't feel like doing anything. Maybe it could be the relocation... What a hell! Maybe it's because of all these things together, who knows? Or, yeah, I'm simply too tired to do anything. That's not a nice mood at all. Everything appears to be wrong, spare time is just a dream to dream, and not only it. How long had I to expect for having time to go to the doctor? It doesn't matter, the point is if there no chance for cure so something doesn't work. Work. How many editor in chief do I have? Too much. During the week end my mobile has been switched off, at last. What about this fragment of freedom? Nothing special. Sleeping, having a coffee in a bar, a little walk along the Christmas stands. No thoughts. Here is what I need: a clean and empty mind. Recharge batteries and delete memory, now I know what ask to Santa Klaus. And then... Well, then I look for a new beginning.
What was I looking for on Google? Damn! I still forget things. My mind is giving up. Meaningless crying crisis, sleeplessness, memories black-out: the situation is worse than foreseen. I find myself swearing because I don't find what I've put in my pockets few minute before, I prepare coffee I never drink once the machine is off. Someone asked me why I'm not writing any more, and the answer is simply I don't feel like. I find it hard and tiring. I feel empty, and I know it doesn't make sense since few lines above I declared I want my mind empty. I feel overloaded in term of stress and thought, but totally empty in term of motivations, plans, perspectives. Nervous breakdown and a principle of depression? Is that my diagnosis? I don't want to think about. What I want is just my basin full of hot water before another week starts. Another week. Ok, another week and for twenty days everything will be over...

bLOGBOOK - Love

About love

«I love you»
«I... I love you, too. But... Well, I love you as a friend»
Language changes, story never does.

bLOGBOOK - Work in progress

It's cold. It's impossible to get used to every thing. After three years I still found myself unprepared to this weather. Weather. A friend of mine always repeats when you talk about weather is because there's anything else to talk about. I've to say he's right. Even if after three years things to be told should be a lot. No, to be honest there's not too much to tell. OK, I'm here in my new accommodation, and that sounds new. Move from a place to another was not easy at all, especially for a person without a car. I don't remember how many times I had to take the tram in order to transfer all my stuff from a house to another. I spent strange days. Changes are always shocks, and having a new place where live of course is a change, and it is a radical one. New spaces, new district, new shops, new faces, new distances. Everything is going to changes: habits and, as a consequence, life. Life. If there is still a life, or something to be called in this way. Still life. Get up, work, go out early in the morning and came back home late in the evening. Every single day. On Saturday let's work at home. On Sunday let's pray... God? No! Let's pray the mobile phone doesn't ring. All that only to can survive. It's impossible to can accept everything. But, of course, given the situation and this crazy time I know it's not possible to complain.

bLOGBOOK - New York city

New York city

Road overflowed by cars, side walks overcrowded of people. Traffic noise and human buzz: the sound of the city. Despite the sun, streets are enlightened by the multicolour banners and signs fixed everywhere. In the air fragrances of melted asphalt and garbage, replaced sometimes by the smell produced by hot dogs sellers at the corner of the street. New York city is amazing. Messy and agitated, but in this environment the so called "big apple" is rational and logic. The urban organisation in blocks makes easy to move within the city. Fifth avenue, 43th street west, 45th street east... Streets have not name, but numbers. There are simply map reference point. Everything is perfectly organised in Cartesian plan. Of course in New York city there are Madison Square, Times square, Broadway, but all these destinations lies in the precise urban net. Skyscrapers, glass buildings and few level houses stand together conferring a curious and unique dimension. The New York public library, the second library in the U.S. after that one of the federal Congress, stands out. Its classic style is included in a space made by high buildings and modern towers. And in the back Braynt park is a lovely surprise: an oasis of relax and pleasure, a place where have a break before coming back to the city life. Between Broadway and Times Square New York never sleeps. Shows, musicals, concerts, drinks: welcome to the night life! In "Stardust" is possible to experience a typical N.Y. dimension. In this restaurant waiters and waitresses serve and work singing. Here Broadway talent scout come to find people for shows and musicals, putting under contract people from the service staff. All around people in mask try to sell a picture with superheroes and cartoon characters. Hello Kitty, Mickey Mouse, Daisy, Iron man, Spider man... All these people live in Times Square, every day. With them people in costume promote the musical or the show of the day. And at every corner, blacks selling ticket for panoramic view of the city and night bus tour. Wow. New York city gives the idea everything can happen, and in somehow it does.

bLOGBOOK

Tonsil plaques, antibiotic, car accidents, doctors and hospitals. No bad for holiday. I just had time to destroy a car (fortunately not a new one) and to discover to be sick in the middle of summer time, and - of course- in the middle of vacation time. And that's only the beginning. So I really don't know what to expect for the rest of holidays. I hope to have already left the past behind in order to can think just from the present to go on. I cut my hair off, and the same I did with the little beard I use to leave grow on my face. I'm another man. Another person? I would say no. Well, I have no a car anymore so my lifestyle terribly change, but having to deal with unexpected illnesses there's not too much to do. God save the doctor, and may the doctor be always with us.