Dedicated to Richard Villari, chairman of the Securities and Rai, Nicholas Latorre, Senator of the Republic, and a hundred other subjects.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Kate Playground Hardcore?
Professor
Yesterday I was invited to give a speech in Naples at a conference on urban safety organized by IBM. After the debate I was overlooking the hotel's splendid terrace of Monte San Francesco Corso Vittorio Emanuele and I looked at the city. The sea was strong and seemed to want to climb the hill, the cruise ships were in port. Seemed to overcome the dock as to get in traffic. The machines throbbing in the queue and the city seemed alive.
On the terrace I was approached by a university professor, who in turn had taken action. We introduced ourselves and we chatted. "Our Naples retains its beauty - she said, adding his eye - at least as seen from here. There are huge potential. You could do a lot for development. But it would take ideas, projects, dedication. A capable and honest leadership. A body of social reasons. It should be just above the rigor and respect for the rules. "
I listened with interest to the professor. I agree with him and I came home refreshed. There was still, in this city so intense and ungrammatical, someone who had the right tension.
In the evening, I tried to google the name of the professor. I wanted to learn more. I discovered that in the late eighties and nineties has been in politics. E 'state councilor.
I read the account of the teacher-assessor, an article in the Corriere della Sera (31 March 1993, pages 7, Constantine Muscau author): "... he received 10 pounds for every pound of waste, spesso tossici, "importati" dalla Toscana e da Vicenza da ditte in mano a camorristi che utilizzavano autorizzazioni illegali rilasciate dallo stesso assessore e che a loro volta riscuotevano 15 lire a chilo per versare la "monnezza" nelle discariche. Un fiume imponente di miliardi puliti dalle pattumiere a cielo aperto, se si pensa che ogni mese venivano scaricate almeno 1800 tonnellate di rifiuti (…) All' origine di questo nuovo filone di tangentopoli, le confessioni di un pentito della camorra. Secondo il pentito le discariche nel Napoletano e in provincia di Caserta erano controllate dai boss dei Casalesi, Francesco Bidognetti (latitante) e Francesco Schiavone (gia' detenuto). Ai Casalesi, l' ex assessore avrebbe concesso autorizzazioni illegittime di importare rifiuti in Campania: una prima volta concedendo permessi che spettavano alla Regione; in secondo luogo compilando moduli fasulli. I trasportatori della Toscana e di Vicenza avevano cosi' via libera dietro pagamento di 25 lire al chilo (10 per l' assessore)».
Sono rimasto basito.
Non so come si sia evoluta la vicenda processuale. Non so se le accuse siano o meno state dimostrate. L’articolo, peraltro, parlava di una parziale ammissione dell’assessore. Ma mi interessa poco a questo punto. Quello che mi ha colpito è che lo sguardo di quell’uomo, le sue parole, i suoi ragionamenti, mi sembravano limpidi. E qui capisco che Napoli è una città senza difese. Il bene e il male si mescolano e ti confondono. The blob that comes out is a treacherous swamp, where each movement risks of reeling. The social body is corrupt, the elites are corroded, the policy is eating its own tail, and what you feel unworthy lights of innocence and what you feel clean, in fact, it's dirty inside. That is the truly insidious moral decay of Naples. There were evil on one side and the good from another, and we each choose to play the game. And we would take responsibility, merit, guilt. The fact, however, is that there are no horizons, there are no certainties, there are no cardinal points.
There is no compass, and this explains the drift. 
Yesterday I was invited to give a speech in Naples at a conference on urban safety organized by IBM. After the debate I was overlooking the hotel's splendid terrace of Monte San Francesco Corso Vittorio Emanuele and I looked at the city. The sea was strong and seemed to want to climb the hill, the cruise ships were in port. Seemed to overcome the dock as to get in traffic. The machines throbbing in the queue and the city seemed alive.
On the terrace I was approached by a university professor, who in turn had taken action. We introduced ourselves and we chatted. "Our Naples retains its beauty - she said, adding his eye - at least as seen from here. There are huge potential. You could do a lot for development. But it would take ideas, projects, dedication. A capable and honest leadership. A body of social reasons. It should be just above the rigor and respect for the rules. "
I listened with interest to the professor. I agree with him and I came home refreshed. There was still, in this city so intense and ungrammatical, someone who had the right tension.
In the evening, I tried to google the name of the professor. I wanted to learn more. I discovered that in the late eighties and nineties has been in politics. E 'state councilor.
I read the account of the teacher-assessor, an article in the Corriere della Sera (31 March 1993, pages 7, Constantine Muscau author): "... he received 10 pounds for every pound of waste, spesso tossici, "importati" dalla Toscana e da Vicenza da ditte in mano a camorristi che utilizzavano autorizzazioni illegali rilasciate dallo stesso assessore e che a loro volta riscuotevano 15 lire a chilo per versare la "monnezza" nelle discariche. Un fiume imponente di miliardi puliti dalle pattumiere a cielo aperto, se si pensa che ogni mese venivano scaricate almeno 1800 tonnellate di rifiuti (…) All' origine di questo nuovo filone di tangentopoli, le confessioni di un pentito della camorra. Secondo il pentito le discariche nel Napoletano e in provincia di Caserta erano controllate dai boss dei Casalesi, Francesco Bidognetti (latitante) e Francesco Schiavone (gia' detenuto). Ai Casalesi, l' ex assessore avrebbe concesso autorizzazioni illegittime di importare rifiuti in Campania: una prima volta concedendo permessi che spettavano alla Regione; in secondo luogo compilando moduli fasulli. I trasportatori della Toscana e di Vicenza avevano cosi' via libera dietro pagamento di 25 lire al chilo (10 per l' assessore)».
Sono rimasto basito.
Non so come si sia evoluta la vicenda processuale. Non so se le accuse siano o meno state dimostrate. L’articolo, peraltro, parlava di una parziale ammissione dell’assessore. Ma mi interessa poco a questo punto. Quello che mi ha colpito è che lo sguardo di quell’uomo, le sue parole, i suoi ragionamenti, mi sembravano limpidi. E qui capisco che Napoli è una città senza difese. Il bene e il male si mescolano e ti confondono. The blob that comes out is a treacherous swamp, where each movement risks of reeling. The social body is corrupt, the elites are corroded, the policy is eating its own tail, and what you feel unworthy lights of innocence and what you feel clean, in fact, it's dirty inside. That is the truly insidious moral decay of Naples. There were evil on one side and the good from another, and we each choose to play the game. And we would take responsibility, merit, guilt. The fact, however, is that there are no horizons, there are no certainties, there are no cardinal points.
There is no compass, and this explains the drift.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
On Period Use Baby Wipes
Cancer heart
Ida was my aunt. One of those aunts that fry everything and always give you something to eat. An aunt-mother. He wore a delicatessen and an aroma of fresh bread.
Pacific was also my uncle. He was true to its name. Mite. Shadow. I've seen recently.
Another uncle was Salvador, minute carpenter who had calloused hands and a quiet shyness. I just saw him too.
Mr. John, but I saw him once: he was the father of a dear friend and gave me the feeling of a strong and protective man. A little 'as Dr. Vincent, who I had in front of the benches of the City Council a decade ago. Rifondazione I, An him. Clashes beautiful content. Knowing smile. Respect for those who still have a value.
Ida, Pacific, Salvatore, Giovanni, Vincenzo have two things in common.
The first is that, in one way or another, have crossed my path.
The second is that these days have died of cancer. In a few months. They found the monkey rank from a stomach ache. " I feel disturbed, I have stomach pain, I'm not going to eat today .
Three weeks later they were underground.
There are private emotions in these stories: memories, words and photographs. Then there are emotions widened: the fear that could happen to others, the horror of being consumed in a flash. Then there is a suggestion of all: the tumor in the area north of Naples. Liver and lungs, the worst. There are studies showing that in some areas of Campania, in recent years, cancer has exploded like an epidemic. Higher rates than elsewhere in Italy. But even these figures do not say it all, at least for Giugliano.
If in three months, I lost three uncles (young people, all under 70 years) and two acquaintances, with the same disease and the same, lightning, and so all grown up and Mugnano Marano, if the limited circle of my friends and family has such a high percentage of deaths with fulminant liver cancer and lung cancer, what is sucking in other families of this area?
would be interesting to go and comb through and analyze scientific data, new ones in recent years. If it is granted to someone to make a really serious test. Now we are deprived of the opportunity to engage in any reasoning on the subject of waste. If you say a word, you branded as irresponsible, if you say two, you're protecting your garden, if you say three, you have interest to be covered, if you say four, the system will send him newspaper reporter, if you say five , take you to the police station.
But the confusion remains. They have militarized sites for landfill, are asbestos and bury him militarily, have left whole pieces of territory to the Camorra crime and, allowed the purulent infection of the plot between myopic individual and collective the minimum payment of interests and big. The Camorra has bought land to put toxic paints in the north, the generals arrive today, open dumps on the same land, we deposited the same toxic paints, legalization, and we say "where were you?" Without explaining where were they, with the badges and tanks. The farmers, possibly the same people who protest today, the fields are irrigated with leachate and brought us fruit and vegetables at the table, selling trucks that run on reassuring for the countries and I'll break the illusion of authenticity. "I come from China, is our stuff," say the voices from the megaphone of treruote.
We, meanwhile, we count the dead. And die each
days of pain to stay here. Powerless. To consumers in a new tumor, that to heart. 
Ida was my aunt. One of those aunts that fry everything and always give you something to eat. An aunt-mother. He wore a delicatessen and an aroma of fresh bread.
Pacific was also my uncle. He was true to its name. Mite. Shadow. I've seen recently.
Another uncle was Salvador, minute carpenter who had calloused hands and a quiet shyness. I just saw him too.
Mr. John, but I saw him once: he was the father of a dear friend and gave me the feeling of a strong and protective man. A little 'as Dr. Vincent, who I had in front of the benches of the City Council a decade ago. Rifondazione I, An him. Clashes beautiful content. Knowing smile. Respect for those who still have a value.
Ida, Pacific, Salvatore, Giovanni, Vincenzo have two things in common.
The first is that, in one way or another, have crossed my path.
The second is that these days have died of cancer. In a few months. They found the monkey rank from a stomach ache. " I feel disturbed, I have stomach pain, I'm not going to eat today .
Three weeks later they were underground.
There are private emotions in these stories: memories, words and photographs. Then there are emotions widened: the fear that could happen to others, the horror of being consumed in a flash. Then there is a suggestion of all: the tumor in the area north of Naples. Liver and lungs, the worst. There are studies showing that in some areas of Campania, in recent years, cancer has exploded like an epidemic. Higher rates than elsewhere in Italy. But even these figures do not say it all, at least for Giugliano.
If in three months, I lost three uncles (young people, all under 70 years) and two acquaintances, with the same disease and the same, lightning, and so all grown up and Mugnano Marano, if the limited circle of my friends and family has such a high percentage of deaths with fulminant liver cancer and lung cancer, what is sucking in other families of this area?
would be interesting to go and comb through and analyze scientific data, new ones in recent years. If it is granted to someone to make a really serious test. Now we are deprived of the opportunity to engage in any reasoning on the subject of waste. If you say a word, you branded as irresponsible, if you say two, you're protecting your garden, if you say three, you have interest to be covered, if you say four, the system will send him newspaper reporter, if you say five , take you to the police station.
But the confusion remains. They have militarized sites for landfill, are asbestos and bury him militarily, have left whole pieces of territory to the Camorra crime and, allowed the purulent infection of the plot between myopic individual and collective the minimum payment of interests and big. The Camorra has bought land to put toxic paints in the north, the generals arrive today, open dumps on the same land, we deposited the same toxic paints, legalization, and we say "where were you?" Without explaining where were they, with the badges and tanks. The farmers, possibly the same people who protest today, the fields are irrigated with leachate and brought us fruit and vegetables at the table, selling trucks that run on reassuring for the countries and I'll break the illusion of authenticity. "I come from China, is our stuff," say the voices from the megaphone of treruote.
We, meanwhile, we count the dead. And die each
days of pain to stay here. Powerless. To consumers in a new tumor, that to heart.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
How Long For Results Of Mri Scan Cervical Cancer
Battery Chickens
few days ago I went to Capua. I made my way inside, one of landfills. I forded the circumvallazione and what I passed the junction of Casapesenna, Villa Literno I crossed, I deviated on purpose - extending - for San Cipriano d'Aversa, I touched Casal di Principe. Come back, I chose the coast. Castelvolturno, Ischitella, the swollen vein of Domitian.
I said to the police stop me. Or maybe the police. I shall check in the army.
Nothing. I have not met a single patrol anything. Manco a fireman (burning tires to ensure that there are, to hide the fireworks at ash and toxic paints).
I was expecting the spectacular response of the State in the field of war. I found the usual burning desert: that the field of dust, the houses low, those lumps of boys outside the circles to look around, the faces in the country bar, his eyes suddenly link you to understand who you are.
I found the usual, soft, air-blown. A
Casapesenna I stopped to take a coffee in a bar of course. I did look to me. I have served with a rough kindness. Someone has gone well to read the license plate, I saw from the bench. I did not do me no questions and they could have made. They are spun off.
The next evening I crossed the uneven wound that stretches between Melito and Secondigliano. Other climate: people, cars. Flocks of scooters to go around, to guard the entrances to the interior. Even here I have not seen divided, if not the hoodies and the writing NAPOLI which are now the uniform of "Guaglione and Mieze to VI." I read that in one of those alleys, at night, you can get some movement (I would not have passed), take out the guns and shoot at the knees of five children of 12, 13, 16.
(I wonder, however, what makes us children of twelve years, at midnight, in a circle of video poker and billiards. But these are trifles)
This morning I went to Market Poggioreale. Around the monumental cemetery of Naples were the barriers and a swarm of policemen. Two hundred yards away, a dozen illegal parking attendants who presided over a boulevard blocked by practicing price of one euro. In Caserta
I thought Maroni and The Russian, who after discussing for days if the facts of the Camorra are "gang war" or "civil war" have seen fit to leave, once again, the territory undefended and devoid of even minimal and symbolic presence of the state. Among
Melito Secondigliano and I thought of those establishment figures who run theaters for principals and reading Saviano like the Fifth Evangelist and then accept non-compliant rule a territory in which you do not even have title to turn freely on free roads. A
Poggioreale, I thought the legendary General Seeds: supercomandante local police of Naples, who took office a few weeks ago the cry of zero tolerance. Ruthless struggle to parking abuse. Two weeks, so long was the law. This morning the park go with the coffee brigades, kindly provided by the thermos from a lady who walked around the market with a carrellino dei viaggiatori della stazione, mettendoci sopra una bacinella con ghiaccio e bibite e tre scatole cave delle scarpe con ritz, patatine e cipster.
Tutto venduto a prezzo unico: due euro. Come in un film di Bellavista.
Guardo questa Napoli. La guardo tutta nella sua originale natura di area vasta che va dal mare al Matese. La guardo e poi leggo che il Governo ha fatto una sorta di legge speciale: chi deposita rifiuti ingombranti fuori posto - solo su questo territorio – rischia l’arresto e una pena detentiva da sei mesi a tre anni. «E’ la svolta», ha detto enfatico, sempre più telegenico, il prestigiatore Silvan Bertolaso.
Sorrido.
Mi chiedo chi farà rispettare questa legge. Mi chiedo chi la temerity. I wonder with what face can be an area where they shoot with impunity, breaks, destroys it, is robbery, he works in black, you steal, you sell the stolen then who is robbed, is falsified, it exerts a subtle , persistent, daily violence, talking about a new law that will shake the veins at the wrists to the citizens. For three days.
Then I think of this phrase of Tacitus: "The more corrupt a country is more and more ago."
And then I stop smiling and I think there is a political design. Years. A design to keep us here in the basement. To breed and then force our best young people to leave. To keep the worst and some old. Fueling this Italy uneven. We are the seedbed for the development of this country. We grow the talent but we play in series D. Who wants to play in the D series? None. The best they leave. If you did not live in the shit, he should not.
I think that's the plan: to build and maintain living conditions impossible, and force us to leave, one by one, on their terms, to feed their market and keep it alive, selecting, of course, on the titles and resistance, on values \u200b\u200band quality.
Naples must be unbearable and frightening, it must remain so. Why remain so - caught between fireworks, propaganda, global insecurity, poverty, degradation, claims that feed the empty - you would not feel the urge to go, at some point, go away.
The political plan is to use this land as farming, we are their battery chickens.
I said to the police stop me. Or maybe the police. I shall check in the army.
Nothing. I have not met a single patrol anything. Manco a fireman (burning tires to ensure that there are, to hide the fireworks at ash and toxic paints).
I was expecting the spectacular response of the State in the field of war. I found the usual burning desert: that the field of dust, the houses low, those lumps of boys outside the circles to look around, the faces in the country bar, his eyes suddenly link you to understand who you are.
I found the usual, soft, air-blown. A
Casapesenna I stopped to take a coffee in a bar of course. I did look to me. I have served with a rough kindness. Someone has gone well to read the license plate, I saw from the bench. I did not do me no questions and they could have made. They are spun off.
The next evening I crossed the uneven wound that stretches between Melito and Secondigliano. Other climate: people, cars. Flocks of scooters to go around, to guard the entrances to the interior. Even here I have not seen divided, if not the hoodies and the writing NAPOLI which are now the uniform of "Guaglione and Mieze to VI." I read that in one of those alleys, at night, you can get some movement (I would not have passed), take out the guns and shoot at the knees of five children of 12, 13, 16.
(I wonder, however, what makes us children of twelve years, at midnight, in a circle of video poker and billiards. But these are trifles)
This morning I went to Market Poggioreale. Around the monumental cemetery of Naples were the barriers and a swarm of policemen. Two hundred yards away, a dozen illegal parking attendants who presided over a boulevard blocked by practicing price of one euro. In Caserta
I thought Maroni and The Russian, who after discussing for days if the facts of the Camorra are "gang war" or "civil war" have seen fit to leave, once again, the territory undefended and devoid of even minimal and symbolic presence of the state. Among
Melito Secondigliano and I thought of those establishment figures who run theaters for principals and reading Saviano like the Fifth Evangelist and then accept non-compliant rule a territory in which you do not even have title to turn freely on free roads. A
Poggioreale, I thought the legendary General Seeds: supercomandante local police of Naples, who took office a few weeks ago the cry of zero tolerance. Ruthless struggle to parking abuse. Two weeks, so long was the law. This morning the park go with the coffee brigades, kindly provided by the thermos from a lady who walked around the market with a carrellino dei viaggiatori della stazione, mettendoci sopra una bacinella con ghiaccio e bibite e tre scatole cave delle scarpe con ritz, patatine e cipster.
Tutto venduto a prezzo unico: due euro. Come in un film di Bellavista.
Guardo questa Napoli. La guardo tutta nella sua originale natura di area vasta che va dal mare al Matese. La guardo e poi leggo che il Governo ha fatto una sorta di legge speciale: chi deposita rifiuti ingombranti fuori posto - solo su questo territorio – rischia l’arresto e una pena detentiva da sei mesi a tre anni. «E’ la svolta», ha detto enfatico, sempre più telegenico, il prestigiatore Silvan Bertolaso.
Sorrido.
Mi chiedo chi farà rispettare questa legge. Mi chiedo chi la temerity. I wonder with what face can be an area where they shoot with impunity, breaks, destroys it, is robbery, he works in black, you steal, you sell the stolen then who is robbed, is falsified, it exerts a subtle , persistent, daily violence, talking about a new law that will shake the veins at the wrists to the citizens. For three days.
Then I think of this phrase of Tacitus: "The more corrupt a country is more and more ago."
And then I stop smiling and I think there is a political design. Years. A design to keep us here in the basement. To breed and then force our best young people to leave. To keep the worst and some old. Fueling this Italy uneven. We are the seedbed for the development of this country. We grow the talent but we play in series D. Who wants to play in the D series? None. The best they leave. If you did not live in the shit, he should not.
I think that's the plan: to build and maintain living conditions impossible, and force us to leave, one by one, on their terms, to feed their market and keep it alive, selecting, of course, on the titles and resistance, on values \u200b\u200band quality.
Naples must be unbearable and frightening, it must remain so. Why remain so - caught between fireworks, propaganda, global insecurity, poverty, degradation, claims that feed the empty - you would not feel the urge to go, at some point, go away.
The political plan is to use this land as farming, we are their battery chickens.
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