#Fiumicino Roma

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fiumicino 2024

[seaismydrug]

Che belle vibes ✨

[storiearcheostorie]

Mostre / Gli Etruschi? A Fiumicino accolgono i viaggiatori: tre sculture esposte agli arrivi del Terminal 1

Mostre / Gli Etruschi? A Fiumicino accolgono i viaggiatori: tre sculture esposte agli arrivi del Terminal 1

Mario Galloni L’arte etrusca “atterra” a Fiumicino. Presso l’Aeroporto Leonardo da Vinci è stata inaugurata l’esposizione di tre opere straordinarie appartenenti al Museo Nazionale Etrusco di Villa Giulia, grazie alla collaborazione con Aeroporti di Roma e la Direzione Generale Musei. Le sculture sono collocate nella zona Arrivi del Terminal 1, dove potranno essere ammirate ogni giorno da…

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA Il Messaggero di Oggi mercoledì, 04 dicembre 2024

[svenja-s-s-w]

Fiumicino '22 🇮🇹✨️

[repost. originally posted on my Instagram in March 2023]

[theseshipsshallsail]

Summary:

By tacit agreement, they’d shelved the more sensitive subjects their thirty minute journey from Roma Termini; postponing grim reality with a wide array of desultory chitchat. The magazines he’ll read on the plane, for example. The meals he’ll be obliged to eat. The inescapable jet lag that’s bound to knock him for six. Denial is grief’s distractor - or so his beloved bubbe used to say - yet such advice itself proves futile as Fiumicino’s glass façade renders him breathless; the gaping wound in Oliver’s torso bleeding ribbons atop the sun-baked parking lot.

“Are you sure you have your passport?”

Elio’s voice is unnervingly blank as he stares out the window of their idling shuttle bus; the lean muscles of his jaw bunched in solemn contrast to the quick-bitten nails tap-tap-tapping his star of David. It’s not the first time he’s asked - nor, Oliver suspects, is he truly heeding his response - but forcing a smile to his frozen features he pats his leather holdall regardless; acutely aware of his livewire knee jerking in the narrow space between them. 

By tacit agreement, they’d shelved the more sensitive subjects their thirty minute journey from Roma Termini; postponing grim reality with a wide array of desultory chitchat. The magazines he’ll read on the plane, for example. The meals he’ll be obliged to eat. The inescapable jet lag that’s bound to knock him for six. Denial is grief’s distractor - or so his beloved bubbe used to say - yet such advice itself proves futile as Fiumicino’s glass façade renders him breathless; the gaping wound in Oliver’s torso bleeding ribbons atop the sun-baked parking lot. 

It’s all a bit of a blur after that, with Elio offering sporadic translations as they navigate the bustling concourse; both fists jammed in the pockets of his jeans ‘til they’re done checking his bags. Oliver yearns to soothe his pain. To gather him close and never let go. But like a fool, he’s allowed a physical gulf to fester, also. There's no comfort in this phoney shield - no healing from something not properly expressed - and crushed by the weight of their self-imposed exile he’s suddenly struck by the macabre notion their last, frantic kiss at the Pensione Barrett could indeed be just that.

Their last.

And the standard by which all others fall short.

“You’re staring,” Elio mutters, mouth flattened to a hard line, and Oliver’s plagued by indecision as his tell-tale heart beats for the want of another. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, half-embarrassed and completely unmoored. “I shouldn’t -”

“Anch’io...” Shuffling his feet, Elio tugs at Billowy’s sleeves where he’s rucked them up to his elbows. “Does it bother you?” A pause. “That I’m wearing it?”

No.

And yes. 

Though not in the way he might expect.

The possessive thrill of seeing Elio in his clothes triggers something primal, but given the circumstances, Oliver swallows thickly, a vicious ache rising in his chest as he curses the cards they’ve been dealt. 

“What’s mine is yours,” he says eventually, earning a brittle scoff, and the next thing he knows he’s grasping Elio’s wrist like a goddamn lifeline: towing him through the airport pandemonia to the nearest restroom because fuck what anyone else thinks of them.

By some small miracle the long row of cubicles are empty, so Oliver makes a beeline for the furthest stall; throwing the lock then kissing him fiercely, crowding him into the graffiti-covered partition. It comes across too confident when he’s teetering on the brink, but Elio’s body is warm and familiar as he commits each frenzied movement to memory; piecing them back together as Plato envisioned, headless of the one p.m direct flight still waiting to rip them apart.

“I keep telling myself you’re going to change your mind,” Elio whispers, pressing his forehead to the crook of Oliver’s neck. “I keep thinking you’re going to stay.” He doesn’t sound angry. Or even accusatory. Yet the abject resignation in his slumped demeanour strikes a harrowing chord. “Only you’re not, are you,” he continues roughly: less a question than a statement. “When that gate opens -”

“Elio…”

“- you’re just going.”

Unhunching slightly, he clutches the dark-green material of Oliver’s Oxford: a weary Atlas braving the eternal struggle. His palm kneads his shoulder the exact same manner Oliver’s did that afternoon on the tennis court, and the churning of his stomach increases exponentially as Elio lets slip the occasional sniffle over the ancient ceiling fan. 

Is it better to speak or die, echoes from the recent past.

You’re hurting me, follows right after.

Scenes from their San Clemente summer play like an old home movie, and the truth is irrefutable as Oliver takes him in his arms; his lover, his soulmate, the sun he’s orbited from the very start.

“Hey…” he murmurs, rocking him gently. “Hey... it’s okay. This isn’t over, yeah? You won’t lose me. Not if I can help it.” There’s a promise beneath his words - an outlandish certainty, likewise - and Oliver hopes with everything he has that Elio hears it also. “I’ll phone. We’ll write. There’s the book tour in the spring…”

Mere crumbs, he’ll admit, to the banquet on which they’re versed, and Elio’s eyes hide nothing as he chews his bottom lip, hands dropping limply to settle at his sides. “Do you have any idea?” he asks then, sans the raw urgency of before. “How glad I am we found each other? How happy I am you came?”

Oliver inhales sharply - allowing himself a choked-up sob - and as a broad, Italian accent booms from the overhead speaker it’s all he can do to hold on tighter: the salty sting of mingled tears bitter upon his tongue.

[raffaeleitlodeo]

Quello che è accaduto al calciatore belga Stephane Omeonga a Fiumicino su un aereo diretto da Roma a Tel Aviv è un fatto gravissimo che necessita di chiarimenti.

Il racconto che lo stesso calciatore ha fatto in un post sui social disegna uno scenario inquietante.

Presenteremo un’interpellanza parlamentare perché non può bastare la laconica dichiarazione di ‘persona sgradita a Israele’.

Cosa vuol dire? Che una persona può essere ammanettata dalle nostre forze dell’ordine su un aereo in territorio italiano, trascinata via a forza, tenuta in stato di fermo e denunciata senza nessun motivo apparente, se non un ipotetico diktat israeliano?

Omeonga che ha trascorsi anche in diversi club italiani gioca attualmente nella serie B israeliana con il Bnei Sakhnin, come può essere sgradito in Israele?

C’entra il fatto che il club è un esempio di integrazione senza distinzioni né in campo né sugli spalti tra ebrei e arabo-israeliani?

C’entra il colore della pelle di Omeonga, come lo stesso calciatore ha denunciato?

Troppe domande che necessitano di risposte chiare e non di giustificazioni vaghe e fumose. Vogliamo che siano rese in parlamento. Peppe De Cristofaro, Facebook

[ran-orimoto]

[ Incredible how I will always forget to keep up with my crossposting (?) on Ao3 and Tumblr. I promise you I love you all and you are important to me. It’s just my brain wandering and jumping from a distraction to the following one and so forth. You’re not the problem.

By the way, this is the first one-shot of the year, so I welcomed your request with open arms, fighting against my cringe feelings. I love my Junzumi fankids, they are so important to me and they are *cough* my precious grandchildren. So, like other people say, I should snap out of my silly obsessions and write about them as well, without fear, embarassment.

Now that I have said this uselss stuff, let’s dive into things that matter. Junzumi are in their early fourties here and it’s an Izumi-centered one-shot, set years and years after she manages to open her restaurant in Venice, her Brezzo Petalo. She has received a great news but one that also will place her in front of a hard decision, especially now that her life has completely changed and her dreams have as well in their nature.

To a year full of Junzumi! ]

• Il vento fa solo pisolini •

“È tardi, Tesoro.”

She turned to the pink trail of perfume, to the cloudy halo veiling a pair of brown eyes trying finding her in that colourful mist. She felt so alienated from the whole world at a touch impregnated with a sense of urgence. It came from upwards and gave a delicate yet firm shove on her shoulders, so she could part from a chilly iron bar she had been holding onto for almost half an hour.

Nevertheless, she found it so hard to detach herself from there, her eyes from the bustling sight of people going back and forth and blending in a mosaic of different dialects. She was so annoyed by them, but she wanted to stay there, wait for them to go away one after the other and clear out the panorama stretching outside. A view made of nothingness and everything at the same time. Kilometers of heath and that was it.

But…

But…

But it was Fiumicino, part of Roma, part of her.

“ Izumi…Faremo arrabbiare Papà , se non ci sbrighiamo. Forza.”

The red-haired woman reached out again, this time piercing the smoky candy floss hovering in the air, swabs floating around mother and daughter and being noticed only by the latter. Due to the fact Izumi was feeling so ensnared by the sight of those slowly ascending to the celing, -hopefully, the child considered, to the sky too,- her dangling hand allowed itself to be caught more easily than it had the rest of that whole morning. It was no wonder the woman couldn’t help releasing an exhausted sigh when the success of her attempts finally arrived so unexpectedly.

Behind her hasty march, Izumi deeply sighed as well, which made her grow disgruntled and, most of all, extremely puzzled about the behaviour of her body. She could remember she had stayed up all night because she had had trouble falling asleep, as thrilled and restless as she was. She had also chosen her outfit after having almost thrown her entire wardrobe out of the boxes the clothes had been put in, - obviously driving her mother crazy and making her loudly yell despite the presence of the movers-. After all, not every girl on Earth, at the age of ten, has got the chance to start a new exciting life abroad, in the country they were born in but one they could barely recall: picking a special outfit was a must in that occasion and her choice had fallen on one giving her the appearance of the main heroine from a novel who is ready to set on a grand adventure, -large sun hat with a huge ribbon resembling the ears of a cat from a frontal perspective included-.

New house, new neighbourhood, new city, new breathtaking experiences, new classmates and friends: what else could she have ever asked to elicit the fluttering of her heart? To push her to run to the gate, so fast she imagined her feet leaving the ground, her trolley, her mother, her father in the horizon waiting for them with a shaking of his head, in contrast to his amused grin.

Maybe I don’t want to go, She gasped, but not because of that usual pressure of emptiness that will dominate your stomach whenever a plane takes off. It was because of a certain realization, of the fact it had just dawned on her she had already read that story way too many times.

And only during the first one she had happened to be an enthusiastic and, most of all, oblivious ten-year-old.

XXX

The day before she had received the best news of her life and yet…And yet there was she, sitting at the kitchen table, pensive, waiting for Junpei to come from their youngest’s bedroom.

It was early afternoon, the kids and him had just finished having lunch and she had just returned from the restaurant in a noisy hurry, right at the same time he was putting the children to sleep for their sacred nap hour.

“Give me five minutes,” He had winked at her on the stairs, his thumb on display with confidence, as if she had joined him backstage to plant a good luck kiss on his cheek.

Maybe she should have wished him buona fortuna for real, judging from those five minutes that became ten and then fifteen. Still, as strangled by her deep sighs as she was, she wasn’t paying that much attention to the speed of the running clock hanging on the wall. It was spinning continuously just like those nagging thoughts of hers that had been marching in her mind since that morning, since the first second her eyes had opened and met the ceiling.

“Uh, today has been hard, but there is nothing, I say nothing, a wizard can’t do!”

Junpei finally barged downstairs with his rumbling enthusiasm and a silly twirling dance.

She was already expecting him to approach her and pull her on her feet, but that correct prediction didn’t help her keep herself from striking a forced and fake smile at him. While he was holding a hand of hers and rocking it, pronouncing a bizarre formula he was clearly inventing on the spot, she couldn’t help feeling annoyed, even disgruntled.

Therefore, eventually, at the sight of a little pin shaped as a graceful lillac star appearing on her palm from nowhere, she could only stare at it with a grimace, an imaginary, too sweet smell dominating her nostrils.

“I-I…” Junpei blinked, but didn’t show any sign of disappointment, somehow. He mostly looked surprised about her behaviour, which still made her chest drown in a lake of guilt as that obviously wasn’t the right reaction to a present. “Have you talked to that dude?”

“Yes, I have,” She nodded, averting her gaze. Her fingers flew onto her forehead, pressing themselves against its shifting skin. Of course, when someone has got a fantastic announcement to make, they won’t frown and feel so emaciated, but Izumi was, especially now that she was standing in front of pots of honey and their shiny glass. “He told me he wants me to go to Tokyo.”

“But this is the best day ever, Cara !” She had also foreseen the way his arms would extend forward to encircle her waist and lift her. As soon as she felt his big hug warmly conveying his excitement from her back to her whole body, she began wishing his clumsy movements could throw her out of the window, into the misty sky, far from her problems, from the upsetting emotions she was going to pour on that dear person of her life.

But she had to tell him and she was sure he would understand. He would, like always, because he was aware in her life she was the only one who knew what was the best choice for her. He would often give her precious advices, but he had never demanded her to follow them, take them in consideration, and she appreciated that so much.

“Maybe it would have been, if I had told him I will go.”

But the fact was that in that matter she wasn’t only making personal decisions.

“Oh.”

Agreeing to inherit a restaurant in Japan, take her, no, their Brezzo Petalo to a completely different world would have consequences involving their whole family, which she couldn’t allow to happen.

Junpei gently accompanied her to the floor again, his mouth opened and his brown irises pulsing with perplexity.

“I thought over his offer and I think it’s better if things stay the way they are.”

“Even if we are talking about your dream?”

“Even if…” At the sound of his blunt question, she struggled to find the right words to use and preferred to sit again. She was glad Junpei did the same, placing himself at the opposite end of the table, eye to eye with her and her vacillating…Lie.

The kitchen was an important place to her, to them. It was the area of the house they had painted of that soft violet she loved; that corner they had firstly shared in two, successively in five, -six if they didn’t want to ignore their cat-, that niche that had been trusted with their recollections made of laughters and tears. If she turned, she would find herself chuckling at all the drawings the children had hanged on the fridge, the sign of green Kou had permanently engraved near to the dishwasher, the pink butterfly sticker Ran had attached onto a chair, the train toy Toto had begged Junpei to put on the kitchen hood like an ordinary knick-knack.

If she was going to go through that conversation, there wouldn’t be any other room in which that was supposed to happen.

“Izumi, are you really sure this is what you want?” She hadn’t realized her orbs had really escaped onto each of those details of her beloved surroundings, led by petals of a fragrant breeze. She did only when the beats of her heart found an echo in his serious yet tender voice. “If it is, I will be fine with that, of course, but it’s just that…It’s just that you have wanted this for years, since we were in university. This is your chance to do that: to spread the colours and joy of your food with your own wind. Do you remember? You chose to call the restaurant Brezzo Petalo in honour of Fairymon.”

“I do, but I’ve realized I can do that by staying here, meeting tourists, attending to events abroad when I’m invited to them. It’s enough, it really is.”

Her tone had become way too loud for a house hosting three dormant children, so she regained her composure, also exploiting that mute moment to give some pats on her blonde bob, some caresses down her locks: it seemed the whirlwind infuriating in her bosom had managed to disastrously mess up her hair.

“I see…I guess I can say the wind has settled, can I?” Junpei absently commented while contemplating her waving gestures with affectionate enchantment. She had no doubts on Earth only her husband could relax in awe, in the middle of such a big chaos developing before his spheres.

“ Mamma !”

The only being that could quickly distract him from her gorgeous figure couldn’t be anyone else but a smaller, -more capricious, vainer, much more pigheaded-, version of her.

“Mimì-Chan, you told me you would sleep if I told you that story!” Now Izumi was the one growing agape after having assisted to that astounding scene: was he really scolding her over a skipped nap? This was so new to her and she found it hard not to smirk, amused.

“You didn’t tell me how it ends, though,” The kid started swinging back and forth, her arms partly hidden behind her fucsia overall, her green eyes almost seeming to be enlarging to look more innocent than a deer’s. “I can’t fall asleep without knowing how a story ends, Papà. You are unfair.”

“Ehh, in truth I would get so frustrated as well…” He nodded, bringing his index on his lips and looking up, before finding a solution with a cheerful and large grin. “I will reveal you that tonight, then!”

Izumi raised an eyebrow at him, at how fast he could change his mind after having been manipulated by their naughty gremlin. Why do I keep on fooling myself…, She shook her head in an attack of fond exasperation, their chattering continuing in the background.

“Su , Ran. What is it? You arrived here and called for me, not for Papà.”

“Oh,right,” She froze with her arms raised in the man’s direction, making his blissed expression fall when she suddenly ignored his splayed ones. “I want to wash my hair, so I was looking for the hairdryer. Where is it?”

“You aren’t allowed to use the hairdryer. And your hair is fine: you washed it yesterday. Of course it is!”

“It’s not true,” She pouted, crossing her arms with indignation and searching for a support in Junpei. “My hair looks like the fur on the head of the baby camel from the zoo, isn’t it true, Papà? All sloppy and ruffled.”

“Wh-What? Why would I say something so despicable about your beautiful hair?”

“Because she’s right.”

Junpei jumped on his chair and almost fell off it: a stout boy, who was sporting a nest of dark blonde strands and orbs matching his in colour and liveliness, had attempted to whisper in his ear, but had failed because of his hiccuping laughters.

“Why are you two not tired today? Not enough school?” The man muttered, feeling like a poor, unfortunate soul having been just caught by the storm. Both Izumi and him were in desperate need for an umbrella!

Actually, the kids jumped in another bursting argument, even worse, more tumultuous than the one they had had the evening before. Junpei and Izumi had no sibilings, so they weren’t used to those dynamics at all. With nostalgia, Junpei often liked comparing the bickerings between Kou and Ran with the ones that would happen between Izumi and Takuya in the past, with the difference that the Izumi from the new generation was younger and shorter than its Takuya. Nevertheless, the fights still felt so similar to him and to Izumi too, though she would get a bit embarassed about admitting it.

“Instead, your hair will soon receive visits from birds!”

“I love birds, so I wouldn’t care! Try again!”

“Well…A-A whole tree will grow on your head and you will become more stupid than you are now. Pirla !”

“Now, you two…” Izumi stood up and dragged Ran away from her brother. Her puffy cheeks had been washed by a visible red, the shade of those who were aware they had already been cornered at the beginning of a fight.

“ Basta , Koujirou e Miranda, ” Junpei reticently completed her warning and the kids fell tacit at once. Because when the thunder roared, it meant it was better to find a good shelter below which to hide and from which to look at the wuthering sky.

In silence.

Absolute silence.

At least, until that minute of initial scare passed and some brave traveller dared to challenge the might of unbridled natural forces, maybe to check if it was still raining.

“Look what you did! It’s late! ” Thus, Ran melted the stillness with a scowling glance she gave at the clock. “It’s late! I have to wash my hair for the lesson!

“Again, Ran?” Izumi gave a playful slap on the girl’s tense shoulders, helping them sag along with the general mood of the room. “And it’s still half past two, mia Fatina stupidina.”

“Please, Mamma! Perfavore! I need to wash my hair to look good at lesson! Mami…?”

Izumi plunged her chin in that meadow of sunrays, losing herself in the scenario of the ever flowing time, of all those important things their kids had come to find, love and would lose like that. Due to her.

There was no way…There was no way…

“Listen,” She felt the impelling need to speak to clear her hoarse throat. “I promise I will make your hair look splendid in your chignon, if you try sleeping a bit. We won’t need to wash it.”

“Really?” Ran started marching on the spot. “And how will you do that?”

“What questions! Of course , with a pinch of magic!”

Despite her jovial answer, the girl seemed less convinced than before, so hesitant and suspicious.

“But you aren’t Papà.”

“I lent Mamma a bit of magic dust long time ago!” Junpei intruded in the conversation with an improvised melody.

“What?!” Kou pulled his tongue out and put his hands on his hips, pouring every single drop of his skepticism on his father. “If you can really use magic, give some to me too!”

“Maybe we will talk about it, when your grades at maths improve.”

The kid threw his tongue out of his mouth again, in utter disgust this time.

“I will need to find Doraemon or something similar to become good at that. And I will also ask him to show me your high grades from when you were my age”.

Junpei’s pallor got fortunately shadowed by Izumi delicately pushing Ran ,and now Kou too, in the direction of the living room. She didn’t seem too shocked when she found their youngest, Tomoki, sitting on the stairs with a bored fashion, ears of wheat lazily dozing against the wood railing. Who would manage to sleep with that ruckus coming from downstairs?

“You three. In your beds. Now,” She clapped her hands making the trio grumble, displeased.

“If Mamma wants me to take a nap, I will,” Resigned, Kou shrugged while suffocating a huff: he wanted to look like a well-mannered kid in front of her, after having disappointed her with his insults and teasing. “Mamma always says I will score more goals if I have my daily nap. No matter I’m nine and I’m a man now.”

Like that, after a fleeting hug, he brought himself on the stairs, followed by the little Tomoki who could only yawn and rub his drowsy emeralds. All of a sudden, though, Kou stopped, and looked back at his sister who didn’t seem that willing to leave yet.

“ Scusa, Ran ,” He said, scratching his strands because of a spike of abashment that made him rapidly flee, not caring about checking what the girl’s response had been or hearing his mother commending him.

“Ran, you promised…” Swiftly, Izumi’s focus took a nosedive on the remaining child.

“Will you really comb my hair and make me look splendid with magic?” Ran pressed, still not completely persuaded about what the woman had told her in the kitchen.

“If you go napping, the magic will work even better,” She snapped her fingers, wishing she could be as skilled as Junpei in that field of jokes and play pretend.

That was the reason why she was glad he decided to collaborate with her once more that day…By adding a theatrical aura to her speech.

“I’ll give her even more of that dust, if you are not convinced. Here, look,” She didn’t immediately recognize the identity of what he had found in some cupboard, but whatever it was, it ended up on her face and made her sneeze.

“ Davvero ! I will really look like a fairy princess today, then!” Ran squealed while hopping on the carpet, the motley butterflies printed on her overall seeming to be fluttering in harmony with her heart. “La Maestra Chiaki will be so impressed! Sogni d’oro, Mamma e Papà”.

And up she went, at a faster speed than her brothers, reaching her bedroom in less than a minute.

“She won’t close her eyes even for a second, I assure you,” Junpei commented, standing still in front of the stairs as if he was expecting the petite blonde to show up again, sooner than soon.

“ Really, Junpei? Saffron powder?” Izumi spat those minuscule granules that had attached themselves to her palate and glared at him, even when he promptly provided her with a handkerchief he took out from one of his many pockets.

“Oh c’mon, now you should have understood kids don’t need to see you flying like Peter Pan to believe you can take a stroll on stars at nights. You will see your chignon will turn a little camel into a little swan. Trust me.”

He had never lost that eccentric way to babble about such weird suff. Indeed, it had been worsening day after day, since that far past moment he volunteered to help her at the restaurant in his own style . Apparently, playing the role of a temporary waiter had never been that satisfying to him, so he decided to become the entertainer of the Brezzo Petalo; the saviour of the bored kids huffing at the tables ; the funny, friendly, always grinning man in a big apron, who would come up with something different everytime he was in Milan and could give a hand to the chef.

She had eventually got his same disease by dint of peeking out from the counter and watching his magical shows, listening to his whimsical tales about men turning stars on thanks to special, suspended light switches; curious cats studying from musical sheets below sparkling nights…

“So, have you found this pin on the Moon?” She hadn’t forgot about his present. She had just let it rest in a warm place on her chest, where it had been patiently waiting for her genuine appreciation.

“On Venus, in truth!” He exclaimed while straightening his back, as if he could give more emphasis to that answer by acting like some comical, plastered toy soldier. Until his well-know awkwardness got the best of his intents, at least. “Which is…Which happened to be…A shop forgotten by the world behind the Duomo. I’ve also bought one for Ran. It looks like a butterfly and I think I will give it to her as a lucky charm.”

“You can’t really resist the temptation to spoil her everytime you go out, hm?”

“I…I…I know what it means to stand on a stage, tremble in front of your audience. I want her to go there without too much anxiety, have something to look at that can make her feel only excitement and determination.”

Without adding anything for that instant, she grabbed his hand and beckoned him to join her on the sofa. She was aware he had noticed hers was sweaty and slightly unstable, but she couldn’t find a single puff of air around her that could allow her to speak. She had inhaled and was keeping them all inside her shaken spirit, allowing them to pinch her vocal chords like if they were harp strings. There was nothing else but a melody in there; an ambiguous one wanting to tell too many different stories at the same time and being unable to do so for a while. It needed the right notes. She needed the right words.

“I think the wind settled when we decided to have three kids,” She started, after an undefined interval spent looking at each other with a mix emotions. He was a bit confused yet he was prepared to discover what the missing puzzle pieces were. From experience, he had learnt Izumi liked opening up gradually, step by step, like shy gusts occasionally sneaking among the leaves of a tree, singing a very slow lullaby to the man having a snooze below it. Unlike when it came to him, she didn’t need a person by her side, a stubborn one extrapolating confessions from her throat. She only needed someone who was patient enough to wait for her to make up her mind, sit next to them and release whatever she wanted to get free of. Out of blue. “I can’t. We can’t, Junpei. They have got a life here, things and people they are affectionate to. Kou has got his football practice, Toto that trains museum he loves going to so much, Ran…”

“Ballet.”

“Not only that!” He risked to fall backwards because of the impetus laced with her desire to correct him. She wished that energy could have soaked her facial traits as well but, on the other hand, her eyebrows unfortunately started twitching, her lips searched for an intimate contact between their two sides, her orbs filled with a sea of contrasting emotions. “She loves ballet so much. She has so much fun with it and she’s also getting better at the twirls and all that stuff. It’s her passion. What kind of mother would I be if I clipped her wings like that?”

“Izumi…”

“When I lived in Roma, I used to go to rhythmic gymnastics lessons.”

“This is a news to me,” He encouraged her to continue like that, attempting to keep himself from slipping closer and hugging her, as she took the lid off the sealed jar.

“Well, it never bothered me. It never did until I got a daughter who could turn a sport into a dream someday. Who knows? Mine wasn’t a dream, but I did enjoy my time in there. In all modesty, I was also pretty talented.”

“This, instead, doesn’t surprise me in the least,” It was becoming even harder to restrain himself from cradling her in his embrace, but he endured because she wasn’t quite done yet. She would have slapped him with her usual “ Flatterer ”, if that hadn’t been the case.

“I don’t want Ran to give up on ballet because of me.”

“She wouldn’t, Izumi. If you decided to go further in this, we would look for a good school for her in Japan. The best one. Japanese ballet dancers exist: Chiaki is an example, isn’t she?”

He gasped when her following question broke in a row of segments. Izumi abruptly lowered her head and the wavering fist on her thigh clenched the pin he had given her.

“And what if…What if…I went further in this…? What if…They couldn’t make new friends in Japan or, even worse, got isolated from everyone? Just like…”

She might be tripping on the last shred of her externation, but he was certain it wasn’t necessary for him to press her to go on. She didn’t have to force herself to take herself there , either. It was enough.

The brief rest of his spheres and the sigh generated by who knew what kind of vision represented the ending of his enormous feat.

“We will be fine. They will, and do you know why? Because if you hadn’t moved back to Japan, I would have never met a blonde girl wandering in a station all alone, driving me crazy and making me want to follow her in a dangerous place of fantasy. If it is what is supposed to happen, us returning there so you can achieve a life dream, I feel…No, I know they would find something special there too, just like it happened to us. Trus-“

She abandoned herself in his chest without complaints, her arms stretching as far as they could go to cover his large frame with her whole thankfulness. He pressed her heart against his so vehemently she grew convinced she could transfuse the dream, the nightmare of what felt like hundred nights in some ventricle of its’.

And maybe she really managed to do that, judging from how tighter the hug suddenly got; from how his rotund cheek squished against her boiling ear and wet her ear like a solitary drop of rain.

“I honestly thought it had already done when you married me.”

“What?”

“The wind settling. Hadn’t it already done that when you married me?”

“It absolutely hadn’t,” At first she reluctantly stirred, but as soon as she met his lucid honey, she found the warmth she didn’t want to leave back. Indeed, it was an even more powerful one, engulfing her like the duvet of a bed. “ Because I desperately wanted to divorce you on our honeymoon, when you ate all the chocolate you found in the hotel. A whole plate of chocolate in a day!”

“They just were seven and were so small. It’s not that serious. The bread I ate on the plane made me gag. I needed something tasty in my mouth and I didn’t want to wait any longer”.

“Okay, fine, I won’t carry around this grudge any more, then,” Winking, her eye itched because of a salty feeling lying on its base. “ I will forgive you after years.”

“G-Grazie, Cara”.

“Prego, Caro.”

They blinked at each other. One, two times. The amount of rain still sleeping in the clouds above them finally woke up and began falling on lovely slopes.

Starete bene, The yawning wind in her spirit reassured her, before opening its wings and taking off.

The wind never settles. It just takes naps.

XXX

Italian notes~

• È tardi, Tesoro: It’s late, Dear

• Fiumicino is Roma’s airport but it’s also the name of this big suburb of its’.

• Izumi…Faremo arrabbiare Papà , se non ci sbrighiamo. Forza : Izumi, we will make Dad angry if we don’t hurry. C’mon.

• Buona fortuna: Good luck.

• Basta: enough

• Mia fatina stupidina: My little silly fairy (affectionate XD)

• Scusa: Sorry

• Maestra is our Miss/Sensei XD

• Sogni d’oro is used when we want to wish someone a good sleep. Literally it is “Golden slumbers (?)”

• Starete bene: You will be fine

[rebelandoutlawrock]

Mia madre a quarant'anni era vedova, io a meno di sette ero già orfano di padre. Io il quinto di sei fratelli e mia madre mi ha viziato. Mi ha trattato subito da grande e mi ha insegnato l'educazione più con i proverbi e con i detti in romanesco che con la teoria o le parole. Da piccolo lei, invece di raccontarmi le favole di cappuccetto rosso o dei sette nani che non mi piacevano, mi raccontava le storie e le imprese del Marchese del Grillo. Io infatti ne conosco qualcuna più del famoso film.

Senti questa!

Dunque c'era una volta er Marchese der Grillo...

Ecco una delle tante storie che mi raccontava mia madre. Non la cercate nel film capolavoro del grande Alberto Sordi perchè no, là non c'è.

Una notte raccolse sulla sua carrozza, uno dei tanti ubriaconi, che all'epoca era facile trovare sparsi quà e là per tutta Roma fuori da bettole cantine e osterie varie. E come sempre aiutato dal suo fedele servitore Riccio' (che tra le altre cose era ed è di Fiumicino) lo condussero nella sua enorme sala giochi dove tra tutte le cose vi era posta un grande botte alla cui apertura ci si arrivava salendo la scaletta posta alla base. Lui fece salire prima ed entrarvi poi l'ubriacone che non si rese subito conto, che la botte era colma non di acqua, e neanche di vino, bensì di cacca. Quando realizzò dove si era immerso era troppo tardi, davanti a lui si trovò il Marchese, che, con una sciabola in mano iniziò a tirare dei fendenti in orizzontale che per la paura, costringevano il malcapitato ubriacone, ad immergersi del tutto. Beh, proprio malcapitato alla fine non era stato perchè come riconosciuto da tutti e per la fama di cui godeva il suo divertimento lo pagava caro e come a tutti quelli che lo avevano preceduto il Marchese faceva fare una doccia purificatrice e profumata, gli faceva preparare e servire poi un pasto da Re e infine liquidarlo non prima di aver elargito lui una grande ricompensa in danaro.

=marchesedelgrilloproverbiedettiromaneschi=

Lo scherzo al Papa per esempio ed il confronto con lui, insegna che sono tutti corruttibili e tutti peccatori clero e Papa compresi. Ci aggiungeva sempre la frase: fa quello che dicono non quello che fanno. E quanti proverbi! Chi va co' lo zoppo impara a zoppica'. Chi lascia la via vecchia per la nuova, sa quello che lascia ma nun sa quello che trova. Ma vabbè mi fermo qui, potrei scriverne a non finire. A dieci anni poi, per diplomarmi io ho dovuto lasciarla e ho vissuto con una sorella e la sua famiglia lontano da Fiumicino. Io, l'ho amata molto mia madre e ancora oggi la ringrazio.

#artrochelefavoledecappuccettorosso!🤍

lan ✍️

[curiositasmundi]

[...]

Vanunu nel 1986 decise di rivelare al mondo che sì, è vero che Israele possiede l’arma nucleare, che sotto la centrale sperduta del deserto del Negev dove lui si recava ogni giorno a lavorare si trovava una fabbrica con plutonio sufficiente per produrre 200 armi atomiche. Erano stati i francesi negli anni 50 a confidare ad Israele i segreti militari dell’atomo ma la tacita convezione era di non dirlo pubblicamente. Anche se tutto il mondo lo ha sempre saputo.Dunque Vanunu, dopo un tormentato esame di auto-coscienza, prese accordi con il Sunday Times di Londra dove si recò per essere intervistato sulle sue preziose informazioni, proprio mentre le spie del Mossad seguivano i suoi movimenti. Perché non lo fermarono prima: ormai era fatta, fermare una rotativa non è come oggi buttare le copie di un giornale già stampato (come fa Molinari)… e poi un po’ di pubblicità non guasta mai poi. Lo lasciarono fare, dunque, e poi chiesero all’allora capo del governo di sua Maestà (era la Thatcher) se la disturbasse una operazione per rapire il loro tecnico. La signora di ferro rispose che non se ne parlava proprio, che non voleva grane in casa sua, si rivolgessero agli italiani che erano più laschi.

Fu così che i servizi di Tel Aviv architettarono un piano incredibile con il benestare delle autorità di Roma (allora a capo del governo era Bettino Craxi): fecero adescare l’ingenuo Mordecai da una bionda di nome Cindy che lo invitò a passare con lei un paio di giorni nella città eterna. Candidamente perso negli occhi dell’avvenente spia, Vanunu partì, trovando gli israeliani ai piedi dell’aereo sulla pista di Fiumicino. Messo in una macchina venne rapito e rispedito in Israele. Se fosse solo una spy-story sarebbe avvincente ma non è così. Iniziò il suo dramma: incarcerato in una prigione di massima sicurezza é stato rinchiuso in un lungo, totale isolamento, rilasciato dopo diciotto anni ma mai uomo libero perché sottoposto a crudeli regole: senza passaporto, con il divieto di avvicinarsi a meno di 500 metri da un porto o da un aeroporto, dalle ambasciate o dalle auto del corpo diplomatico o di incontrare un cittadino straniero senza autorizzazione.

Insomma, si aprirono per Mordecai le porte dell’inferno con una persecuzione vendicativa senza fine, metodo che oggi vediamo applicato su larga scala tra le strade di Gaza. Vanunu non è stato solo: come per Assange, fondatore di Weakileaks che ha rivelato come la santa alleanza occidentale fa le sue guerre di dominio, un largo movimento di solidarietà lo sostenne, chiedendo la sua liberazione e il disarmo dell’area mediterranea. Egli non agì per interesse personale né si offrì al mercato spionistico: la sua fu una scelta etica che poneva il mondo di fronte ai rischi della proliferazione nucleare.

[...]

[crazy-so-na-sega]

tre vetrate originali di Giotto, provenienti dalla chiesa di Santa Croce a Firenze, del XIV secolo.

"Grazie alla nuova collocazione nella cornice della nuova Pazza del Terminal 1 potranno essere ammirate nei prossimi mesi da milioni di passeggeri in partenza e in arrivo per destinazioni nazionali, europee e intercontinentali".

rimpiango il fatto che Goering non ci abbia portato via tutto...maledetti.

[storiearcheostorie]

Fiumicino, il Conventino di Sant'Ippolito torna a risplendere

Il complesso monumentale all'Isola Sacra sorge su una basilica paleocristiana del IV secolo. Restaurati la torre campanaria romanica e il dipinto che raffigura il martirio di Sant'Ippolito, patrono della città.

Il complesso monumentale all’Isola Sacra sorge su una basilica paleocristiana del IV secolo. Restaurati la torre campanaria romanica e il dipinto che raffigura il martirio di Sant’Ippolito, patrono della città. La torre campanaria (foto MiC) Sono stati presentati a Fiumicino, al Complesso monumentale di Sant’Ippolito all’Isola Sacra, gli interventi di restauro effettuati al Conventino di…

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA Il Tempo di Oggi giovedì, 14 novembre 2024

[gcorvetti]

Un nuovo orizzonte.

In realtà vecchio visto che ci siamo trasferiti in questa casa nel 1979 e anche se l'appartamento ha subito modifiche dal quel periodo resta sempre uguale, ho notato che la vegetazione sul retro è più rigogliosa, il manto del piazzale è sgretolato, ma poco importa perché il sole è caldo e l'aria tiepida in questa prima mattina sicula.

Il viaggio è andato bene, partenza alle 2:30 di notte con l'ultimo autobus per essere in anticipo, larghissimo, per prendere il primo aereo da Tallinn a Riga, mezz'ora di volo, poi un paio di ore d'attesa e volo per Roma direi fantastico perché sembrava più un autobus che un aereo, turbolenza zero e ho potuto dormire un pò nelle 3 ore di volo, le hostess stupende, bellissime e gentilissime. Ma arrivato a Fiumicino è iniziata la stanchezza, la fame e andando in giro per i vari posti di ristoro mi sono accorto dei prezzi assurdi e gonfiati in maniera spropositata, alla fine ho preso una focaccia crudo di Parma, rucola e mozzarella e una bottiglia d'acqua da mezzo litro alla modica cifra di 10,40€, un furto. Poi sono andato a prendere un caffè espresso 1,50€ e ho detto al cassiere che pensavo almeno 3€, mi ha risposto "No, un caffè non può costare così tanto" e io "mentre una piadina cotto e mozzarella 8€ si?", va bè abbiamo chiuso quasi subito questa polemica gli ho dato un pò di mancia perché è giusto premiare il buon lavoro, il caffè era spettacolare, e la simpatia. Poi mi sono avviato al gate per aspettare l'imbarco, non c'era un posto a sedere, allora mi sono fatto un giro nonostante i dolori alle gambe, non è strano perché in realtà non mi muovevo quasi niente, alle spalle perché lo zaino pesava un pò e tenerlo tutto il giorno mi ha anche grattato la pelle, fatto sta che quando è iniziato l'imbarco mi sono messo a parlare e scherzare con alcune persone e le hostess di terra simpaticissime, cosa che ho fatto anche in aereo con questi concittadini, penso della mia età, con cui dividevo i posti in aereo che era pieno a tappo a differenza degli altri due.

Siamo comunque arrivati con mezz'ora di ritardo, ma col sorriso, e all'uscita c'era Spock che mi aspettava, lo sapevo che mi sarebbe venuto a prendere nonostante il fine settimana di festeggiamento per l'anniversario matrimoniale, voleva farmi una sorpresa ma alla fine lo sa che sono uno che calcola le cose e ci sarei arrivato quindi mi ha semplicemente scritto, prima dell'imbarco, ci vediamo fra un'ora, mi dispiace che ha dovuto aspettare. Ieri sera poi ho aspettato mia sorella e le nipoti per un saluto e quattro chiacchiere, fatto la doccia e sono andato a letto presto ero cotto. Oggi in questo primo giorno catanese ho disfatto la valigia e preso possesso della mia vecchia scrivania, un pò situazione lacrimuccia, quante ore ho passato su sto legno a studiare, c'ho anche trombato una volta con una mia compagna di classe che era venuta a studiare da me :D hahahahha, adesso ho posizionato la mia musicworkstation, magari vi mando una foto più avanti. Va bè, adesso la mamma mi ha fatto il pranzo, vecchie riminiscenze, devo andare a fare una spesa perché non c'è niente di commestibile per me, solo roba piena di conservanti e niente frutta, poi varie cose tipo lo zucchero ultra raffinato non esiste che lo uso e altre piccole cose che in effetti loro non mangiano perché non hanno tempo o perché non sono in linea con la mia idea di vita anti-consumistica.

Dalla Trinacria è tutto alla prossima.

[paoloxl]

Renato Biagetti, giovane attivista del centro sociale Acrobax di Roma, viene ucciso in un agguato fascista. Ha appena 26 anni ed è appena uscito da una festa reggae sul litorale romano di Focene.

Chi lo ha ucciso lo ha aggredito con un coltello, ferendo anche altre due persone. “Una banale rissa tra balordi” diranno alcuni. Un’aggressione in cui, invece, l’ideologia fascista sembra permeare quelle 8 coltellate, stando al profilo degli aggressori. Il processo ha evidenziato gravi lacune nelle indagini.

“Chi ha ucciso Renato è sceso da una macchina grigia con il coltello in mano. E ha mirato direttamente al petto. Poi ha ferito chi era con lui. La sua ragazza e l’amico di sempre. Erano le cinque del mattino di domenica. Renato Biagetti aveva 26 anni ed era stato a un concerto reggae sul litorale romano, a Focene, una frazione di Fiumicino…Renato era un compagno, dei tanti che si riconoscono nelle attività del Laboratorio occupato che una volta era il Cinodromo di Ponte Marconi.

Renato  era diventato da poco ingegnere faceva il tecnico del suono, la musica era la sua passione. Insieme a Laura la sua ragazza e l’amico Paolo era andato ad ascoltare un concerto di musica reggae a Focene, sul litorale romano.

I tre frequentavano attivamente il centro sociale Acrobax di Roma. Parole come intolleranza e razzismo, non sono nel loro vocabolario. Loro hanno altri valori, ma per questo sono stati puniti. Finito il concerto i tre si avviano verso casa, Laura va prendere la macchina, Renato e Paolo la aspettano. Una macchina grigia si avvicina e si ferma vicino a loro, a bordo ci sono due ragazzi, 17 e 19 anni, “E’ finita la festa? Allora che cazzo state a fa qui? Andatevene a Roma! ”. Un breve diverbio ed è in quel momento che la vita di Renato finisce. (In realtà morirà in ospedale qualche ora dopo) Nelle intenzioni del suo assassino c’era la volontà di uccidere. I due giovani scendono dalla macchina, uno è Vittorio Emiliani, figlio di un carabiniere, ha in mano ha un coltello, pochi secondi dopo si avventa su Renato: 8 coltellate, una alla coscia, le altre al petto di cui due al cuore.

L’autopsia riporterà che la causa della morte è da attribuirsi alle coltellate al cuore “inflitte con estrema violenza tanto da lasciare il segno dell’elsa del coltello” sul corpo di Renato. Nell’aggressione vengono feriti anche Laura e Paolo che riceve una coltellata alla schiena. Vittorio Emiliani al processo patteggia: 15 anni per omicidio volontario…”

[pettirosso1959]

L'analisi da un punto di vista storico è inappuntabile. . Ma non è un concetto complicato da capire. . Gli arabi del luogo hanno perso due guerre mondiali : la prima facendo parte dell'Impero Ottomano; la seconda da attivi alleati della Germania nazista (con la 13esima divisione «Handschar» delle Waffen-SS; qui raffigurata in due rare immagini mentre prega rivolta verso La Mecca durante l'addestramento). . C'è una Risoluzione ONU (che mai nessuno cita), la 181 del 29 novembre 1947 che prevede l'istituzione di due Stati separati , respinta in blocco dagli arabi locali, e quindi allora applicata unilateralmente solo dagli ebrei. . Ci sono QUATTRO guerre di aggressione degli Stati arabi confinanti al neonato Stato di Israele: '48 , '56 , '67 e '73 , tutte perse dagli arabi, che hanno perso anche i territori del Golan , della Cisgiordania , di Gaza e del Sinai (poi restituito all'Egitto in cambio del riconoscimento e della pace). . Ci sono 50 anni di atti terroristici messi in atto dagli arabi (poi proclamatisi palestinesi con Arafat) messi in atto prima dai fedayn , poi dall'Olp , poi da Al Fatah e infine da Hamas e Hezbollah , atti terroristici perpetrati anche all'estero : Monaco '72 , Fiumicino '73 e '85 , Entebbe '76 , Roma '82 , Achille Lauro '85 , solo per citarne alcuni. . Vi risulta che la Gran Bretagna abbia mai restituito l'Ulster all'Irlanda, o le Malvinas all'Argentina ?!? Vi risulta che la Cina abbia mai restituito il Tibet ai suoi monaci ?!? Vi risulta che la ex Jugoslavia ci abbia mai restituito l'Istria e la Dalmazia o la Grecia il Dodecaneso?!? Vi risulta che gli Usa abbiano mai restituito l'Alaska alla Russia , la California o il Texas al Messico, la Louisiana alla Francia, o abbia mai restituito ai nativi indiani/pellerossa i territori che appartenevano loro ?!? . Vi risulta che i musulmani abbiano mai restituito ai precedenti abitanti , intere nazioni conquistate convertendo a fil di spada intere popolazioni ?!? . Quindi , considerato tutto , anche il fatto che nonostante diaspore , pogrom, olocausti e tutto il resto , considerato che nella regione in oggetto ci sono comunque sempre state presenze di ebrei: perché mai ora gli ebrei e Israele dovrebbero ritirarsi e scomparire, o immolarsi lasciandosi sopraffare da qualcuno che fa della loro distruzione e scomparsa l'unica ragione di vita? . In base a quale concetto , a quale motivazione , dovrebbero cessare di difendersi e di reagire ad un infinito stillicidio di attacchi , fino a farsi annullare?