This post is about the Italian peculiar case of ‘survival through cynicism’ (Italians & WWII.)
The next post will be about ‘survival through quality’ in times of economic globalization. A bit of a survival kit for any folk.
The following playful exchanges occurred at a London’s café where Richardus, the café owner, was present together with Chaerie (California,) Paul Costopoulos (Quebec) and others we’ll omit since not part of the theme selected.
Richardus (Britannia): “A breathless bolt, a high-pitched arrow of sound pierces the night and cleaves my skull.”
Man of Roma (Roma): “At times we don’t sleep well do we. Very similar we are, Britannia.”
Britannia: “We are. But also we have to keep watch for wild animals and itinerant males.”
Paul Costopoulos (his blog): “The primal scream can be such a relief… it does disturb, fleetingly, our bed companion.”
Cheri (her blog): “Have you tried opening your window at night to let the night sounds into the room?
Those in the spirit world might come in, deep in the dark of sleepless night, and rest with you.”
Britannia: “I shall listen for the sounds of the Klamath River.”
Roma: “I am eager to read about your spirits’ world Cherie… We all are at a phase in our life where we need that…. I envy your possibility of communicating with Mother Nature. Here we live only the life of the city people (see image below) surrounded by the works of man more than ‘the spirits’ world’. [or maybe ...]”
Then something happened. Cheri said she would visit me in Roma. Richard pulled out a Norman helmet. The silly male in me hence made me say:
Roma: “Richardus, what’s that helmet about? I have my gladius don’t forget.”
Roma: “And I know our apple of discord c’est Chaerie.
Elle vaut la peine de se battre. Mais soyez prudent. Les Italiens ne sont pas des lâches (cowards), ils sont indifférents, which is another thing entirely.
And Chaerie, elle vaut absolument la paine de ne pas être indifférents id est, she deserves absolute non indifference.
Hey, where’s my darn gauntlet? *He falls while looking for it and breaks his left leg*
Cheri: “Good jokes, Roma. I get it…Remember, I have been having lunch with a lusty Italian for years. Ahhh….I miss Joe so much.
Roma: “Joe a lusty Italian? Ah ah ah ah. Now I get it. You were so intelligent, beautiful, hyperborean, and he was Sicilian and all. Not surprising. Not surprising at all. I cannot blame him. May his soul rest in peace Cherie.”
Roma: Richardus, that lento played by the Quartetto Italiano, is that supposed to mean a requiem to my hopes regarding Cheri because you’ll kill me with your sword?
Wrong move man. I’ll explain why.
Battle of the Mediterranean. Reloaded
The beautiful Italian Royal Navy (Regia Marina) was defeated by the British Royal navy in the Mediterranean. Ok, the famous WW2 ‘battle of the Mediterranean’ – we lacked radar, proper fleet air arm (and fuel). OK. OK.
BUT, only a few years after that defeat two Mediterranean persons, my sister and my bro-in-law, got married.
Look into their eyes Britannicus Mensch. Do they look defeated?
How the hell is that, are they morally superior?
It’s just they don’t give a damn Richardus. Italians don’t give a damn.
[I call Italians 'Romans' in the title: nothing is more appropriate I believe ...]
Methinks a foolish chant is taking shape (may readers pardon me) …
Like a warm-fleshed woman
lying languidly on the Mediterranean,
Italy is there, motionless, statue-like.
The world folks may pass on her body …
(Oh yes! she says)
… from the German barbarians,
from Hitler TBBM
(The Big Big Maniac)
to the Allied Forces.
(Oh yeah yeah! she moans)
But, in her sluttish nature,
she will not pass, Britannicus.
She will stay, and survive.
And will continue to be beautiful
rising up eternally from her ashes.
“Why this folk is like that”
Mario TBM (the big moron) will ask.
MoR: “Oh Mario, I’m so surprised,
you should know better. ”
In any case they’re like that since they are:
[by now the English customers, shaking their heads in disapproval, turn to their drinks]
And an old post,
That Pride Which Actually is Blindness,
explains why we are all like Joe,
why we are all Sicilians (which is good).
While this one why we’re all
like Mario too a bit (less good )
[*Mario the deceiver rejoicing in silence (but biting his nails)*]
Britannia: “That lento, requiem or not, is gentle fulfilment for all, dear Giovanni. Let us relish it.”
Roma: “Of course, dear Richard, of course. Gentle fulfilment. Thank you for these two words.
A la prochaine, veramente, amico caro …”