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La carta del gatto

The Parliament

One cat

Two votes

The 30 Members of the Parliament of the People create a buzzing sound in the small hall. It seems a bunch of bees working on building a wall of honey. No more honey, though, but only a huge wall, a solid wall built long ago all around the small nation. As a new trend, all nations started getting smaller and smaller, before realising that the problem it would be one day or another the “vital space”. They are like a crazy cat which jumped inside a small box and now doesn’t know how to get out.

<<Dling-dling-dling!>>

A small silver bell call to order everyone.

<<Ladies and Gentlemen, members of the Parlament, colleagues women and men, please silence. I will give the floor to the Minister of Infrastructures and Quiet Living, Mr. Arnoldo Svanzoni. Please.>>

Arnoldo Svanzoni

The imposing figure of the ex boxer Arnoldo Svanzoni stands in the centre of the room. All newspapers places their microphones, it’s all live. It’s an important moment, the first time after the Champion got “Full Authority” over the Parliament that someone dare to speak. As a result, the Parliament is getting less and less useful, as it was a public library for teenagers only.

<<Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m here standing in front of you today to solve a problem. We already have to fight against terroristic attacks and a poor state of the world economy. As I said, I’m here with a solution. I was one of the first advocating the construction of the Mighty Walls raised around our beloved Motherland. The same walls we celebrate today, with the Day of Independency. Again, I was the first promoter of racial laws and new regulations against refugees and terrorists. I did what I did with sole purpose of serving our beloved Motherland. That said, today in front of you is not a member of the Parliament, but a simple family man. We have to take into consideration the possibility that, as People’s Police attested, these aliens are coming from the future. A future attested around 100 years from now at the most. We must reconsider our position, because statistically there is a high possibility that the so- called aliens would be nothing less than our sons, daughters, nephews and nieces.>>

<<Dling-dling-dling!>>

The bell rings trying to calm down the drooling members of the Parliament and the press. How dare you! All these months of propaganda speaking about aliens and this guy comes with this idea. Unconceivable!

<<Dling- dling -dliiiiiiiing!>>

<<Ladies and gentlemen, please try to calm down. We’re in a Parliament’s room, for Champ’s sake!>>

The Cat

La carta del gatto
Go back to the future_The Parliament_The cat

On the empty chair of the Champ seats a fatty cat. When the Champ is occupied, being photographed as a puppet or out for personal reasons like today, the only allowed to seat there is his cat.

<<The solution, and here comes the end of my speech ladies and gentlemen, would be easy. We should put a net under the aliens landing points, in order to save up to 90% of them. Thank you for your attention.>>

<<Dling- dling- dliiiiiiiiing!>>

<<Ladies, gentlemen! You will scare the cat!>>

Hearing this, the whole room turned to the Champ’s chair, terrorised. If the cat would leave the chair, scared by them, something terrible would happen. The cat moves his eyes from one to another, like he knows exactly what kind of power he holds.

Princess Babu

<<Mrs. Babu, it’s your turn to speak.>>

<<Thank you Woman- Chief of the Parliament of the People. I have few questions for Mr. Svanzoni, and whole rhetorical. Why we should help those people? We have to do it because they’re human being? But they’re not, they’re aliens. We should probably help them ’cause they’re escaping from hunger? Sure, my family escaped from hunger long time ago, and they came to this beautiful Country. However, those were different times.>>

The dark figure of Princess Babu seems to be a whole with the mahogany wood used to cover the Parliament of the People.

<<There were times in which it wasn’t necessary to build a wall in the sea and we could speak about human beings and not alien scum falling from the sky. I heard some of you saying they are like us, they share our DNA, so I will ask you another rhetorical question: whom amongst you did fall in this beautiful country from the sky?>>

<<Driiiiin- driiiiin-driiiinnn!>>

<<Please, please silence! Let Mrs. Babu end her speech.>>

<<Thanks, Mrs. Chief of the Parliament. I have something to say to whoever thinks on treating them as sisters or brothers: go back to your country! Some people escape from hunger, from poverty or even from the heat. And we have to give something tolet those beasts eat and drink? No, let’s just shoot them! Thank you, I’m done.>>

The cat licks a paw, while the Master of Ceremonies of the Parliament pets him with a velvet glove.

First vote

<<Well, thanks Mrs. Babu. Let’s vote. We have the first motion to be voted, tabled by Mr. Svanzoni, about the construction of a safe net under the landing point. The second motion to be voted, tabled by Mrs. Babu, is about the shooting of survived aliens in the streets, starting today.>>

<<Driiiiin- driiiiiin- driiiinnn.>>

<<Please, start voting for motion number one.>>

On the black display on the back of the room appears a number of lights, almost all with the same colour.

<<Well, the results for Mr. Svanzoni is 30 votes against 1. Motion rejected. Mr. Svanzoni, I kindly ask you to pledge for forgiveness to the room and then leave the Parliament accordingly.>>

Arnold Svanzoni, the ex boxer, keeps his eyes down, while asking for forgiveness to the Parliament.

<<Dear members of the Parliament, I ask for your forgiveness. I ask you to forgive me for my irreverence and I hope you’ll let me come back here in this holy place. Goodbye.>>

<<Driiiiin- driiiiiiin- driiiiinnnn.>>

<<All right, then. Now please let’s vote the second motion.>>

The second vote

The black display this time doesn’t look like it did before. There are lights of two different colours.

<<The vote shows a draw, 15 against 15. Let’s proceed with a second vote.>>

<<Driiiiin- driiiiin- driiiiin.>>

And this time again it seems a draw. Probably the fact that the Champ isn’t here today gave them some courage.

<<Ladies and gentlemen, deputy of the People, the vote seems to be in a deadlock, with a second draw. Following the New Regulation, the final decision is up to the People’s Champion or his substitute. Mr. Master of the Ceremonies, please bring the cat on stage for the vote.>>

The Master of Ceremonies takes the cat in his velvet gloves, descends the stairs and place the black feline in the centre of the room.

<<Well, Master. Proceed now blindfolding the cat.>>

The cat, chosen for his absolute docility, seems even liking the red hook the Master places over the ears and face. Then, the Master takes two small bells from the pocket, a red and a green one. He seats few meters from the cat, knees down and…

<<Driiiiinnn—Driiinnn.>>

Tries the first bell.

<<Driiiiiinnn—Driiinnn.>>

Tries the second bell.

To be fair, the sounds have to be exactly the same. So to avoid an impartial decision from the cat.

The cat is seated, blindfolded, and it seems ignoring the two bells. Nothing is written about the possibility that the cat would choose to ignore the bells.

<<Driiiiinnn—Driiinnn.>>

<<Driiiiinnn—Driiinnn.>>

Finally, the cat raises the small blindfolded head and starts walking towards the bells.

A step, then two

<<Driiiiinnn—Driiinnn.>>

<<Driiiiinnn—Driiinnn.>>

Then three, then four

The destiny of men and women is all in this bored cat walking. This feline will decide if it will be legal to shoot to the surviving aliens in the streets. Therefore, this cat- choice will give a chance to other men and women to practice the use of their guns, slaughtering aliens in the streets.

Then five, six. He’s almost there.

<<Driiiiinnn—Driiinnn.>>

<<Driiiiinnn—Driiinnn.>>

There is still hope?

Then seven, eight

And the dance is over.

<<Driiiiinnn—Driiinnn.>>

<<Driiiiinnn—Driiinnn.>>

… It continues…

You didn’t read the first three parts and now you’re watching at it thoughtful?  Click here.

You want to read just the last part? Click here.

The story is written by Daniele Frau and he has all the rights over its reproductions. The illustrations are original and made by Gabriele Manca (DMQ productions) which has all the rights over them.

Vuoi leggerla in italiano? Clicca qui.

Il Capo_The Champ

The Champ

An enemy

We shouldn’t at least… check before?

To check… check what?

I mean… to be sure that behind the explosions…

Shush!

But…

I said shush and I meant it. They can hear you, you know? They must be them behind the attacks. What do you want to check?

Sure, sure, you’re right. I was just saying because I wasn’t… anyways, here he comes the Champ. Hopefully he will carry some news.

The People’s Champ, with his fatty figure enters in the room as he was simply a shadow. A shadow with the unmistakable smell of roast beef and the usual, ever present, smile tattooed under his nose.

Good morning, everyone!

He starts his scene, shaking hands, say hi to everyone. Trying to ignore the tension inside the room. A concern, a fear that sneaks, until it’s too big and fill the whole room as it was a kind of gel or putrefying liquid.

The Champ, a nice person

No, don’t judge him too early. The cheery behaviour, the capacity of never forgetting a name, it’s all a marketing strategy. That smile could be the last one you can see before drawing inside a tank full of liquid concrete. No, he hasn’t been always bad. Before, he was just a fatty guy with a kind face. Shaking hands, though, he learned how to survive, how to lead, and then he always increased his power.

Power, power

At first, he could’t bear the punishments against the adversaries. But then, he started enjoying it. Now he clap his hand happily, almost hysterical, watching the eyes red for fear of his enemies tortured. Innocent rabbits, they watched that hysterical smile right before dying in agony.

Oh, to be honest he never personally killed or tortured anyone. His hands are smooth and clean, the hands of whom never has to work his entire life. Even though his motto is:

Always on the side of workers, always on the side of Justice

Cannibal justice


Besides that, those same squishy hands changed the system once and for all. Torture, then death penalty came back in the everyday vocabulary. Then, the coup de teatre. The prisoners, a huge cost for the collectivity, became the main source of proteins for the other inmates after they die. A whole new way of administer justice: cannibalism. Why throw away such a tender meat?

No, the prisoners didn’t deserve much more than be served as a meal to the other inmates.

And still the number of crimes rises, and no one could see any reasonable solution ahead. So they took the extreme decision: they put the whole community under the umbrella of fear.

We make our own luck

The first one arrived as a matter of luck, but then seen how the population got scared, they replicated it. A small explosion on open air in the countryside as a starter, good to scare only few solitary cows. But it was enough for the newspapers:

And if instead the cows there were people?

And if there were women and children?

On page 23 the 3d graphic of the explosion, if it happened in the city and killed a hundred of people.


The fear started to be as real as the new 3D graphics imagined by disturbed illustrators.

My dear friends

The Head continued now, showing happily his grin.

Il Capo_The Champ
Il Capo_The Champ

We are dealing with one of the worst crisis scenario our amazing nation ever had in his history. One of the most difficult situation our Action Government had ever dealt with. But we’ve found the landing point. All of them.

Landing point! You’d really considered falling for 30 meters to the ground a landing? A fall, a deadly fall, that is the reality. The Head continues:

We put in jail the people that was helping them survive the impact. They will finish their days in jail, eating one each other. This is what the enemies of the nation deserve!

His hollow eyes, inside the fluffy cheeks, started moving from one person to the other in the room. Happy, cheered, as this for him was just a part of a game. A game he wrote, personally.

And what about the explosions?

A shy voice, one of the secretaries speaks.

The explosions? We will stop them, sure!

The voice took courage and asks one more question.

And how your Majesty think is going to happen?

As we always did. We will find the responsible of this abominable acts and we will rip them, and then they will eat them alive. I think it should be enough to discourage other attempts.

Oh, Champ! Your ideas are alway so… original!

Well, thanks. Gentlemen, for today is enough. Tomorrow you will vote for the new regulations. One will come from majority and one from opposition, vote accordingly. I won’t be present at the vote. As you know, tomorrow is the day of Independence and I will be with my family.

Independence day!

If the came up with the name Isolation Day instead, it would have made much more sense. The holiday was there to remind everyone about the day, few years before, when the last wall was completed. Before they started with a wall in the South, against the invasion of poor and terrorists, but wasn’t enough.

They continued with the East wall, against the invasion of communists and pedophiles. After few years, they completed the one on the West, with no reason at all. Last but not least, they built the North wall, the last one, against “Super Powers that invade us and control us”.

The Head-of-the-State leaves now the room, carrying his smile and thinking about the reason of his life, his small nephew Victoria.

… It continues…

You didn’t read the first two parts and now you’re watching it thoughtful? Click here.

Do you want to read just the previous one? Click here.

The story is written by Daniele Frau and he has all the rights over its reproductions. The illustrations are original and made by Gabriele Manca (DMQ productions) which has all the rights over them.

Vuoi leggerla in italiano? Clicca qui.

Un guanto perduto_a missing glove

Present

A glove, aliens

Calm down.

The one that follows isn’t a true story, it cannot be for many reasons. One of those reasons is the fact that, if the story was real, I would be dreaming right now. And I cannot think I’m just sleeping.


Let’s skip me, then. Well, after all, the only grammar I know it’s the one I learned watching the big speech of small politicians. The only words I know are those I listened in the small squares populated by elderly people. Those words were stretched, slow, able to cover them from the sun as well as the rain.

Falling down


This small fantasy story started with a man falling down from the sky, followed by many others. Shadows of men, women, children were falling down, recorded by cameras, pure entertainment. The pain of giving birth, the fall of a meteorite, along with an heart attack have in common one thing: they can easily be turned into fiction, and fiction is business. No one eager to stop for a second, trying to understand what’s going on.


On all this, a glove


Let’s go back a bit, use your legs, your arms or your finger. Point it, walk through it, just don’t miss the contact with your past. Only the past will get you through the future.

Cold


Cold has a season in which it decides, thanks to a star and an inclined sphere, to beat the street. Half of the humans in a city, during this beating season, decides to stay at home, coughing. The other half, the strongest, runs over stairs, in the cars and in the sidewalks.


On the steps, in the automobiles, on the footpath, everybody slips. Someone slips in a different way, in a frozen sleep with a long beard, and close the eyes without opening them again. Under the stairs you can see an undefined number of human beings without any future. Wrong choices? Yes, maybe. A wild, lavish life? Sure, why not?

Whatever were their mistakes, it seems so cruel to see them disappear under a blanket of carton, in the cold. That was the reason that lead the People’s Champ to the creation of the Happiness Patrols. That is, groups of citizens ready to put some colours on this sad grey lives.


What could you expect? The civilisations that first divided good from bad grains, the ones that really work out, they crave for a zero. Someone they can add to the average, better if they are coloured, happy zeros.


So, we were saying, in the middle of a cold winter the sun set up. Just light, no warm was coming from it, reflecting from the closed windows sidewalks and coloured stairways. The morning air was clear, crossed by dark coats and sleepy glances.


Anyways, we were speaking about a glove

Un guanto perduto_a missing glove
Un guanto perduto_a missing glove


A woman, first. She left from her square called home and passing through big and small doors, keys and locks, until she was finally out in the air. In her pocket, as always, two accessories used to warm up your hands. One of those things, for unclear reasons, decided to jump from the pocket and go somewhere else. Free to go around the world, alone.
It’s too late, when the woman noticed the missing gloves.

No, better losing an arm, then arriving late at the cubicle. After few steps in the cold planet, though, she looked at her bare hand, suspicious. A blue, grey hand? For sure not as pink as always was. She searched fast in her purse, to finally find a bill. A banknote ready to be burned for a taxi ride. A way as any other to warm up a bit, in a white car.


The taxi driver looked weird


She said later to the police the burning-banknotes-woman.


He was looking a me, worried. I thought that was uniquely due to inexperience.


The taxi driver turned and turned, less and less secure behind the wheel.


He didn’t speak at all, not even a small sound, as he was in apnoea. As he wasn’t even human.


All this was added by the woman-with-only-one-glove speaking to a journalist of the “Belly of the People”, a local newspaper.


A last turn and the taxi slowly stopped in front of the Trustful Bank, workplace of the cold woman.


Few frozen steps, some non-gloved hand shakes and finally the cubicle.
Outside, ready to ruin a pacific day in that place-non- place, an explosion. A car crash, an accident, you would say.


Bum


But no, it was something else, louder. An explosion capable of reducing the mirrored- grey front of the building in small geometric shapes each one not bigger than a nail.


This was the only information people had, when started going in the street. A white taxi was burning.


A terrorist, a terrorist.


Started shouting people in the street. Then louder, on the net, so then all the rectangles of the city- nation mirrored the information in big letters:


A TERRORIST


Few hours passed and the panic was viral. The People’s Champ stepped out of the balcony, with his famous reassuring smile.


In the street the silence fell. Anyways, it was long time the silence wasn’t much of a choice anymore, but a style of communication. When you live in terror, there is not much else to do then stay quite. The only sound you could listen was the buzzing of the helicopters, searching the clouds.


Servants


Stated the Champ, waiting until the echo was ready to come back, passing over the heads and ears of the people.


Our Glorious Country is today under attack


A smile, still reassuring, even after a small murmur.


But we’re not afraid of them! Africans, Indians, communist, homosexuals, southerner, they didn’t scare us before. And we have solid walls to protect us!


A spontaneous applause started as it was called. As if there was somewhere a sign:


APPLAUSE


As if that was just a variety show.


Brothers and sisters, our walls cannot be high enough, this time. The enemy is coming from the sky and it’s ready to invade us!


The murmur was now a buzzing, a prayer man- helicopter, or an immense cat furring inside a box.


From the future?


Danger?


From the sky?


Those were the most original phrases you could have heard there.
The Champ continued, putting a halt to that murmur.


Comrades, we don’t have North or South, East or West to be afraid of anymore. This time the danger is way more concrete. However, we have to calm down, everybody. It wasn’t a terroristic attack.


In the people, down the balcony, a sudden sigh of relief. And all the gazes were for the Champ, full of hope.


That was only an accident, caused by a clandestine. An alien.


The buzz of the people, the murmur became a bit hysterical, now.
Let’s make another step behind, now. If you’re intelligent enough, you would be wondering how the situation started getting so bad. In the communication era closing ourselves inside walls doesn’t seem a wise option.

The red button

You’re intelligent, right, but you didn’t see the red button. That red button, always shiny and ready to be pushed in case of need. The button of fear. With that, you can create people worried about invasions, epidemics or terrorising them about a crazy man with a bomb. No, not a usual bomb, but one of those bombs that can get rid of trees, rivers and even clouds.

A change


First, this change didn’t happen overnight, in a drastic way. More like a metamorphosis, with the same force generated by the grass growing. A quite, slow change that first replaced the ruling class with something really close to the stomach of the people.

So close to that common stomach that was vomited. A ruling lump needed a leader, anyway, and there he was: the Champion People was waiting for. A buffoon, a functional analphabetic idiot, but successful and always always smily.


See, this is the kind of modern man always feels comfortable if surrounded by a crowd clamouring for him. He learned how to fan the flames, and the crowd loved it and followed him in the fire. Obviously, without an enemy or a scapegoat, he would had just found himself blowing in the air, with no fire.

Many started to be seen as metastasis, new problems, enemies of the people. Many, again, started their journey into the dungeons or under the sharp knives of the buffoon. Apparently, now, he was again without any flammable part to fan to. No more metastasis to cut, no more dead leaves to be burned.


But all in all, this explosion wasn’t so bad for him. That’s the reason why he was keeping his famous smile on. Slowly, all the man from the future survived were found and arrested. Some of them, more photogenic than the others, were invited even on some show as attractions.


So, Mr. Alien, where are you actually coming from?


The dirty blond hair presenter asked.


We’re coming from the future and we’re j-just escaping.


This frightened middle-age man answered stuttering.


And why you don’t want to live in your own future anymore?


You… you finished it off. There was n-nothing for us, only war and destruction.


There, there. Last question: how do you answer to whom is asking you to go back to your future?


I answer that we are your nephews and nieces, sons and daughters of your sons and daughters. We’re not aliens!


All right, Mr. Alien. The time’s up, good night and good luck.
A smily applause escort him out of sight, introducing the man of the moment. A man capable of the impossible, eating ten big sandwiches at once.


Slowly, the newspapers started new titles:


How to recognise and neutralise a future being


New kit agains aliens


More and more explosions started to scare the population. The terrorist was always a man of the future, not well identified. The opposition tried to resit, throwing some drop of water on the fire:


We don’t have any substantial proof that the explosions are due to some future immigrants or are connected to any terroristic purposes. Even the taxi explosion is still under investigation. In the meantime we find dutiful to help this people in need.


The press was waiting only for that. They started calling them bloodsuckers. Neither white nor Arabic, black or asiatic, they were new mixed being coming from the sky.


As always happens, the first law was calling them illegal. That was the first step, and they ignored the fact that if you start calling illegal the clouds you won’t automatically stop the rain. The so-called alien rains continued, and the population started helping them as they could.

They placed mattresses and pillows in order to save some lives. To stop somehow the massacre. Then, the Government made new laws and people got scared to be part of the massacre. It’s so easy to be exchanged for an alien. Shortly, the consequence was that mattresses and pillows disappeared.


The so called aliens, as they wanted to disobey the laws, continued to come from the sky. Shortly, heaps of bodies began to raise, and some of the aliens could save themselves just falling on one of those big piles. People started to comment it coldly, as it was something far, far away:


They were asking for it


Finally they got it, they don’t have to come


We have laws and the laws must be followed


The massacre was going on 24/7 every day for months. In the streets you could see men and women covered with mud and blood, walking in shock in the streets. Those were the survivors.


Here is where our story really starts.


Or, maybe, it finishes.

… it continues…

You didn’t read the first part and now you’re watching it thoughtful? Click here.

The story is written by Daniele Frau and he has all the rights over its reproductions. The illustrations are original and made by Gabriele Manca (DMQ productions) which has all the rights over them.

Vuoi leggerla in italiano? Clicca qui.

La caduta_gli alieni

Go back to the future

Aliens

Now, that I’m falling down from the clouds, only now I understand the meaning of the air. It’s not just a shape, is a shape of life, alive. When it wants to, it can be the wind that flows and escape from your open hands outside a car window.

Cold

It finds its space under the door, in the houses or it can be a current of wind in the den when the trains live. When it’s cold let people get closer and closer, in love hugs, while when it’s hot make the humans wet and distant, but already in love.

Gentle

The air can be gentle, but only if it decides to be gentle. Otherwise, sometimes it stumbles, distracted on some mountain and then down rumbles and rumbles, mixing up since it becomes a cone of destruction.

I can feel it, right now, freezing cold, cutting my face, moving my ears. Under me I can see a land, light in colour inked with blood. A lot of blood. Bodies over bodies, a stack of eyes- hands- hairs- legs. Over me, I know there are other flies- man ready to follow me in this deadly hug.

Flies

Their shadows are small points that mix one into the other down on the cleaning, projected by the light of an unaware sun. I feel now the air getting warmer, the earth closer.

La caduta_gli alieni
La caduta, gli alieni.

I would do it the same, if I’d know is a trap?

Yes,I think so.

I’m closer, now, I can see a writing:

Go Back to the future.

Too late, I think while I’m dissolving.

——————————————————————————————————————–

Villa Clichy

<<Welcome to Villa Clichy, I’m Vanessa and I’m here today as your personal guide. I will be your reference point during your stay here in this amazing Villa. Let’s start with a brief historical overview. Please, follow me. The wing of the house in which we’re walking right now is quite old. Recently a family member of the People’s Champ resided here, and even in the past a French King famous for his furniture decided to spend some time here. Probably he even played on this amazing pool table and had some rest in these comfortable plastic seats.>>

<<Madame?>>

<<Yes, dear?>>

<<It’s true that you can see the aliens everyone is speaking about, from here?>>

<<Arthur!>>

<<No, madame, let him speak, please. Children are curious and everybody is speaking about this every single day. Right, let’s move forward, let’s stay on the current events. Yes, dear Arthur, if you look right now from the windows you can see them falling. If I have to be complete sincere with you, they’re a genuine attraction right now. We’re fully booked the whole year. At the beginning they were saying to have a wish when you see an alien dropping, but now I don’t have enough wishes.>>

<<Ah, Ah, that’s a good one. Thanks Vanessa. Arthur, what do you say?>>

<<Than you, miss.>>

<<Oh, you’re such an educated angel. Thank you for your question, dear Arthur.>>

<<Sorry, Vanessa. I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness, but since we’ve touched the topic…>>

<<Tell me, Mr. Capra.>>

<<On the agency flyer we read about an hunting post.>>

<<Yes, that’s true Mr. Capra. You will find a station for hunters just two km away from the Villa. There you’ll find a colleague ready to give you all the instructions and an alien- hunting kit. If you’ve never shot any aliens before, let me give you an advice. Start shooting the big ones, so you will practice a bit. Later on you’ll be able to shoot smaller aliens.>>

<<I’m so sorry, Vanessa, but I have to ask. Even though it will sound stupid, but… they will suffer?>>

<<Well, no Mrs. Capra. Your husband and the others will be placed far away from the fall, there’s no danger.>>

<<Oh, sure it will be. My question was about the aliens. Do you think they will suffer, Vanessa?>>

<<Ah, ah! This question does only give you credit, madam. Look, I’m not a doctor and I never studied medicine, but I read that there are scientific proof attesting the complete lack of human feelings on the alien.>>

<<Oh, thanks. You have no idea how this makes me feel more relieved. You know, I’m a believer.>>

<<Me too, madam, me too. I’m a huge devout, as our People’s Champ>>

<<And what about the stack? Do you think the smell will reach the Villa?>>

<<Oh, that’s another good question, Mrs. Capra. I cannot hide from you the fact that, when the Villa is upwind, you probably would feel a bit of the smell. Don’t worry, though. The Government started with a separate collection for the aliens, and the house have an automatic deodorant system. You won’t feel anything. Now you must excuse me, but I really have to go, my children come out of the school soon.>>

<<Yes, of course, Vanessa. We can contact you any time?>>

<<Any time, there’s no small problem for me. Oh, and… good hunting!>>

<<Ah, ah! Have a good day, Vanessa!>>

<<Bye!>>

Continue reading here.

The story is written by Daniele Frau and he has all the rights over its reproductions. The illustrations are original and made by Gabriele Manca (DMQ productions) which has all the rights over them.

You can read the story in Italian as well, have a look!

create! Gabriele Manca gives some tips about how to make masks

Creation

Create!

How to make a mask

Dear teenager, why do you come through all this article? Do you want to know what an artist think about when is about to create a mask? Well then, you’re in the wrong place. We’re trying to sell some mask here, but for people which is not going to show up only for Halloween, if you know what I mean. However, if you do that face expression, ok. We’re going to tell you some techniques, but for the rest just type on your search bar how to create a mask, or start study a language, it’s never too late or too bad (it would be really late or really bad just if you start speaking Klingdon, probably).

Down The Mask Gabriele Manca

Down the mask

–read in italian–

Down the mask, dear G.

Short chat in III acts with Gabriele Manca

First Act

Ok, you’re probably here as a friend. I can possibly imagine you either as a friend or a curious young Internet surfer searching for “how to make a mask“. Anyways, not that it matters. What is really important here is the existence in this world of rare people as Gabriele Manca, as well as his favourite animal, the amazing Elephant. Born in the last Century (Gabriele, not the elephant), it seems having a problem with his re incarnating. It happened already twice and he’s not even dead once! This story is half an interview with Gabriele and half my own fantasy. Feel free to understand which is which. But speaking about witch, let’s see who’s behind the mask. Literally.

Gabriele Manca (quello sopra l'albero)

Gabriele Manca (the one over the tree)

First Life

Designer, art lover. He decide to call himself The Herald of the Arts. It sound quite strong, right? ‘Cause you just don’t know him. Yet. Anyhow, this Herald have one enourmous giant dream: the Extinction. The secondary and most likely achievable goal is to get better and better, everyday. It’s not what artists suppose to do, though?

Second Life

gabriele al palo

Gabriele and his pole

However, we just pass through his first life easy, in few lines. That’s mainly ’cause Gabriele has a natural skill as designer. So, when you think he’s going to accept this challenge as everyone else, it’s when you get wrong. He decided to jump from creating new worlds, to work as a performer in this one first. His life started again, this time with clowns, new spaces, countries without sun and poles. In one of this poles Gabriele took his degree, at Codart, Rotterdam. Funny enough, you’re probably thinking that most of this story is fantasy. Nein, that’s all true.

Inspiration

Start with the concept that if you need to make a table, an iPhone or a mask, you need a concept. Usually people write this concept, as me. I know people that need to speak about their idea to everyone, so they can really think about the concept. Gabriele? He’s in a third group, called designer- thinker. So called not ’cause as us he’s drawing misshapen heads in a notebook while at the phone. He’s making a freaking Da Vinci Gioconda from her finger perspective, the guy! And this just to remember he needs to buy bread for dinner.

Different cultures

If you know Gabriele you must know his love for Arts, cultures and miths. And languages, recently. The greater the difficulty, alien, distant, unknown stories, the greater is the interest in this shaved head. In this way this same head started making masks after masks, with all different styles. What we should expect from a guy whose thesis was “The role of Mask in circus_excursus about mask from dawn of time until today” for his degree? Nope, not a serial killer. Not this time. He can be really pissed, but most of the time is pacific.

–continue in the next article–

flying in Frankfurt

All you need is dust

…read the first part

As simple as dust

My idea is simple as the dust. It let me think about how fantasy and reality are connected, even though for very different purposes. The magic dust allows people to fly in a book and at the same time stop children attempting the same in reality for their own good. It’s the most romantic way to the nowadays “this is a fictional character, don’t try it at home”. So the next question I asked myself was: we really need the dust, as adults? The “dust formulae” it’s useful only for imaginative children, or it’s true for imaginative adult as well?

flying is natural

The dust of Peter Pan

A new point of view: the dust

What we always have seen in Peter

Peter Pan is the simple guy from our infancy which, as Barrie the creator stated “never grow”. For more than one century we used him as a metaphor for all the modern fears and to explain the “never grow” desire, alias fear of death. Peter, with his strong attitude, his fearless and also his phrase “To die will be an awfully big adventure” is not quite a reflexion of the fat lazy TV watcher in which we all are going to be transformed one day or another. Peter Pan is a strong character, created by his writer apparently mostly for family reason.

So… What else?