#vella (unity)
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It seems as though things don't really stay dull when you hang out with Virgo...
#✩~UNITY!#virgo capri#yo'ga malison#simon blackwell#paro paratti#vella hutches#oc#oc artwork#art post
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Daily Scripture Text:
"For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them." - Matthew 18:20
Commentary:
Matthew 18:20 offers a powerful reminder of Jesus' promise to be present whenever believers gather in His name. This verse underscores the importance of community and fellowship among Christians. The presence of Jesus in our midst brings unity, strength, and encouragement. Whether in worship, prayer, or mutual support, gathering together in Jesus' name invites His presence and power into our lives. Matthew 18:20 encourages us to prioritize fellowship and to cherish the assurance of Christ's presence among us.
Questions:
How does Matthew 18:20 influence your understanding of the importance of Christian fellowship?
2. Reflect on a time when you felt the presence of Jesus in a gathering of believers. How did it impact you?
3. In what ways can you cultivate a deeper sense of community and fellowship with other believers?
4. How can you intentionally gather with others in Jesus' name to experience His presence and encouragement?
Exercise:
Plan a time to gather with fellow believers for prayer, worship, or Bible study. Reflect on Matthew 18:20 and invite Jesus' presence into your midst.
Additional Reading:
Explore the theme of fellowship further by reading Hebrews 10:24-25 and reflecting on the importance of encouraging one another in the faith.
Prayer:
Heavenly Father, thank you for the promise of Your presence when we gather in Jesus' name, as stated in Matthew 18:20. Help us to value and seek out fellowship with other believers. May we experience Your presence and power in our gatherings, drawing strength and encouragement from one another. Guide us to build strong, supportive communities that honor You. In Jesus' name, Amen.
#GatherInHisName#Matthew1820#ChristianFellowship#PresenceOfJesus#UnityInChrist#FaithCommunity#Encouragement#WorshipTogether#PrayTogether#BibleStudy#FaithInAction#SupportiveCommunity#StrengthInUnity#BelieversTogether#ChristInOurMidst#christianity#christian faith#bible scripture#christianlife#jesus christ#bible verse#faith in jesus#christian living#christian life#christian blog#daily devotionals#daily scripture#dailydevotion#daily bible verse#daily bible study
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« First [sic] wife of Francesco Crispi. With him, she conspired for the sake of the unity of the Homeland. With him, she took part in the legendary Expedition of the Thousands. Sole woman in the immortal legion, she became its heroine. She enjoyed Mazzini’s trust and Garibaldi’s friendship. An example for Italian women of male patriotic virtues and gentle domestic virtues.»
Epitaph of Rose Montmasson, carved on her tombstone in Verano Cemetery, Rome [my translation]
Rose (also known as Rosalie and, more commonly in Italy, Rosalia) Montmasson was born on January 12th 1823 in Saint-Jorioz, a small village in the Haute-Savoie region, at that time still part of the Kingdom of Sardinia. She was fourth of five children and her parents, Gaspard and Jacqueline Pathoud, were humble farmers. As a child, Rose helped her parents both at home and in the fields, and received a simple education, she learnt to write, read and do maths.
In 1840, the death of her mother, aggravated the already unstable economic conditions of the family, forcing Rose to move to the more economically vibrant Torino in search of a job. Starting 1849, she worked as an ironer and, through her job, she met the Sicilian patriot and lawyer, Francesco Crispi (1818-1901). His first wife, Rosina D’Angelo, had died in 1839 due to complications in childbirth, after two short years of marriage. The baby, Tommaso, died a couple of hours later and, five months later, mother and son were followed by 2-years old Giuseppa, Francesco and Rosina’s first child. Following his wife and children’s deaths, Crispi became romantically involved with a Felicita Vella (called Ciuzza), with whom he fathered a son, Tommaso. Because of his liberal and democratic ideas as well as his active participation in the Sicilian revolution of 1848, Francesco Crispi had been forced to exile and his first destination was Piedmont.
Having met because Rose used to iron Francesco’s shirts, they started living together in 1850. Unfortunately, their cohabitation was soon disturbed when Felicita Vella moved into the same neighbourhood. Indeed, the scorned woman started harassing the couple, arriving to report Rose for mistreating young Tommaso.
Following the failed anti-Austrian uprising of 1853 in Milan, Crispi was once again forced to exile. He reached Genova and, from there, he sailed for Malta, where he was joined by Rose. On December 27th 1854 the two got married. Since, for the nth time, Francesco was compelled to abandon his asylum, they didn’t have enough time to plan the wedding and couldn’t, in that short time, provide the necessary documents. Because of this, no priest was willing to celebrate the wedding, until they convinced (for a fee) a wanderer Jesuit, Luigi Marchetti, to perform the ceremony. Only later, it would turn out Marchetti (who was also a patriot) had been previously interdicted and suspended a divinis, and this would later bear tragic consequences for Rose.
Three days later, Crispi sailed for London, while Rose stayed in La Valletta, waiting for the act of marriage to be registered in the parish of St. Publius and for the notary’s endorsement of the certificate. She then set out to join her husband in England, stopping at Saint-Jorioz to announce to her family she had finally got married (her father and siblings didn’t approve of her living together with a man who wasn’t her husband). At the beginning of 1855, she was finally in London. In the British capital, Rose navigated between befriending many of the fellow Sicilian exiles and patriots (like Giuseppe Mazzini) and taking care of her husband. As Tina Scalia (daughter of a couple of those refugees) would put it: to Rose wifely love consisted in being for Crispi “a cook, a laundress, and an errand girl”. Her devotion for her husband and his cause went beyond her household chores. The brave woman put her own life in danger by acting as a connection between Mazzini and his followers in France and elsewhere. She secretly conveyed his messages, plans and instructions, hiding the papers in haunches of game and smuggling them past customs officers and gendarmes. In 1856 the Crispis moved to Paris, and there Rose devoted herself to the logistical coordination of the Italian clandestine network. She didn’t even neglect to look after Francesco’s recently orphaned nephew, Felice Caratozzolo (son of Anna Serafina Crispi, also called Marianna), who had just reached Paris at the wish of his uncle, who wanted to provide the teen with a better future. Because of Francesco’s frequent trips, Rose found herself often alone. Felice proved to be an unruly kid, with no respect for rules and who didn’t acknowledge his aunt’s authority. At some point he even left the house and came back only when his uncle returned from his trip, and managed to convince his nephew to come back home. Luckily for Rose, her partner took her side when Marianna Crispi (who clearly only got her son’s side of her story) wrote his brother a letter lamenting her son’s mistreatment at the hands of Rose. Francesco answered that his wife took by heart the idea of taking care of Felice as he was her own child, spurring him to study and behave. Moreover, since she loved and feared her husband, she would have never done something which would have enraged him like mistreating Felice. As for Francesco, he regretted never having hit his nephew as it would have done him good.
In 1858, the Crispis, together with young Felice, had to leave France since Francesco had been suspected to be in league with Felice Orsini (the Italian patriot who had tried unsuccessfully to assassinate Napoleon III the year prior). They went back to London where he got again in touch with Mazzini. 1859 marked a turning point in Crispi’s patriotic experience. The Kingdom of Sardinia, together with Napoleon III’s France, had defeated the Austrian Empire. The Austrians had ceded Lombardy to France, whom, in turn, passed it to Sardinia. The year after Sardinia had exploited the situation and annexed the Duchy of Tuscany, the Duchy of Parma, the Duchy of Modena and Reggio, and the Papal Legations. Nice and Savoy were ceded to France as compensation for assisting the Sardinians. The outcome of the Second Italian War of Independence had suggested Crispi that, unlike what Mazzini (and Crispi with him) had advocated, perhaps Italy’s future was monarchic rather than republican.
From London the Crispi couple moved to Torino and Genova. In July 1859, Crispi reached Messina incognito, convinced that he could arrange an anti-Borbonic revolt with the support of the Sicilian mazziniani. The uprising (planned for October 4th) was delayed indefinitely. This convinced Crispi that a future revolt in Sicily needed the support of the population rather than committees and that a military expedition was fundamental to back up the insurrection.
In order to plan this uprising, in March 1860, Rose embarked on a steamboat headed for Messina to get in touch with Sicilian patriots Rosolino Pilo and Giovanni Corrao. She reached Malta to meet with fellow patriots Nicolò Fabrizi and Giorgio Tamajo with whom she exchanged information and letters she took with her when she returned to Genova.
Two months later, Rose embarked on the steamboat Piemonte headed once again for Sicily, the only (official) female member of the Expedition of the Thousand. Her husband had been against her participation, while Garibaldi, despite the initial veto, had given his consent (“Come then, if it pleases you. However bear it in your mind that you’re putting yourself in great risk and peril, and I won’t answer to it”). In Sicily, armed with a gun, she risked her life to fight in Marsala, Calatafimi and Palermo. She also helped tend to the injured soldiers, quickly becoming a familiar and dear figure. The Sicilians quickly renamed her Rosalia, after St. Rosalia, the much beloved saint patron of Palermo, and with this name, she would be remembered.
If Rose thought the desired and fought for the Unification of Italy in 1861 would mark the beginning of a much happier and more secure future, she quickly realized how wrong she was. The only one who benefited from it was her husband. The couple moved back to Torino and then Firenze, where they spent their last period of relative happiness. In 1861 Francesco was elected deputy of the Parliament of the newborn Kingdom of Italy (and would later become one of its Prime Ministers) and quickly turned his back on his republican ideal becoming a staunch monarchist. Rose (as well as many of his old friends) must have seen it as a betrayal and it must have made their relationship even rockier. Crispi didn’t just betray her in terms of shared political ideals, but also in more personal terms. He had various flirts with women much younger than his wife and even fathered illegitimate children with them. He reached his worst in 1878 when, after repudiating Rose (claiming their Maltese marriage was irregular), he married Filomena (Lina) Barbagallo, with whom he had a child five years prior. This caused such an uproar (and the accusation of bigamy) that, during a public event, Queen Margherita refused to shake his hand. As it came to light the fact that brother Luigi Marchetti, who had performed the wedding ceremony, had been interdicted and thus Rose and Francesco’s marriage was null.
The betrayed woman moved to a modest house in Rome, where the couple had previously moved when the city was declared Capital of the Kingdom in 1871, and the whole court had moved there.
Rose spent the last part of her life in financial hardship, economically helped by her friends. Through common friends, Agostino Bertani and Giorgio Tamajo, she reached an agreement with her former husband, who agreed to pay her a life annuity. When Crispi died in 1901, Rose (as a former Garibaldina) was offered a meagre Royal pension, who allowed her to live her last couple years in semi poverty.
Rose Montmasson died in Rome on November 10th 1904 after suffering from a stroke. She was 81. Since she couldn’t afford it, she was buried in a simple grave, freely granted by the Campo Verano Cemetery. According to her wishes, she was dressed up with a red shirt (symbol of the Thousands), and her medals were displayed on a pillow placed before her coffin. Her funeral (a secular ceremony) was attended by many Garibaldini, and people she had personally helped during the Expedition, but no representative (except from Senator Francesco Cucchi, who had personally known her during the Sicilian adventure) of the Nation she had helped made.
Sources
- CASALINI Fabio, Rosalia Montmasson, l’unica donna tra i Mille di Garibaldi
- FERRI Marco, Rosalia Montmasson;
- ODDO Giacomo, I mille di Marsala: scene rivoluzionarie;
- PAGLIUSO Antonio, Rosalia Montmasson: la Storia dell’unica Donna tra i Mille di Garibaldi;
- PALADINO Francesco, Crispi, Francesco;
- PALAMENGHI CRISPI Giulio, Rose Montmasson;
- Rosalia Montmasson;
- Rose Montmasson Crispi;
- ZAZZERI Angelica, Montmasson, Rosalie
#historicwomendaily#women#history#women in history#historical women#rose montmasson#francesco crispi#giuseppe garibaldi#spedizione dei mille#contemporary sicily#people of sicily#women of sicily#myedit#historyedit
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A Court of Snow and Blood by Vivienne Sack on Kindle Vella
The High Lord of Winter Court approached my father to buy my hand in our unity ceremony, vitera. After our ceremony, I was sent to the market. When I came back, there was fresh blood in the snow. I stepped into the house to see another man attacking the High Lord. I recognized Summer Court's High Lord instantly. Which High Lord will remain standing, and what will that mean for my future and the Court?
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New Post has been published on https://www.tempi-dispari.it/2022/11/08/imaginary-place-nuovo-album-di-paolo-recchia/
“Imaginary place” nuovo album di Paolo Recchia
Il 4 novembre esce “Imaginary place” il nuovo album di Paolo Recchia, sassofonista jazz (alto e soprano) di grande sensibilità, dal timbro caldo e in grado di emozionare già al primo ascolto. La continua ricerca del suono, di una propria voce timbrica quale segno distintivo, ha raggiunto in questo nuovo prodotto discografico ancora più spessore e maturità artistica.
Paolo Recchia, per la quinta uscita discografica a suo nome, firmata dalla neonata etichetta Birdbox Records, si presenta con un quartetto composto da musicisti superlativi ormai riconosciuti dalla stampa e dal pubblico del jazz: il pianista Luca Mannutza, il contrabbassista Giuseppe Romagnoli e il batterista Nicola Angelucci. Registrato a Città della Pieve, nel teatro degli Avvalloranti, grazie alla collaborazione con Nightingale Studios di Lorenzo Vella e Città della Pieve Promotion.
“Imaginary place” accoglie l’ascoltatore in un luogo immaginario, uno spazio fantasioso dove le idee musicali dei membri della band, si intrecciano e creano un nuovo terreno comune, unendo la tradizione jazz con elementi contemporanei in una sintesi personale. Album generoso realizzato da musicisti legati da una sincera amicizia e uniti da una profonda intesa musicale, maturata nel tempo, concerto dopo concerto. Registrato in presa diretta, in teatro sfruttando il riverbero naturale, con microfoni “vintage” per ottenere un suono di insieme il più possibile naturale e rotondo.
Il lavoro è composto da materiale originale, da standard della tradizione jazzistica e brani di autori contemporanei. Alcune di queste composizioni appartengono a musicisti che hanno avuto un’influenza diretta sul modo di suonare di Paolo Recchia e sono fonte di ispirazione sotto il profilo armonico, melodico e ritmico.
Il contraltista Paolo Recchia è uno degli artisti jazz più apprezzati della scena italiana. Negli anni ha dimostrato una crescita professionale costante che gli ha portato riconoscimenti nazionali ed internazionali. La ricerca del suo “suono”, di una propria voce timbrica quale segno distintivo, è ad oggi riconoscibile. Lirismo, swing e timbro caldo, sono le caratteristiche fondamentali di questo artista dalla grande sensibilità musicale.
Paolo Recchia si è esibito come leader, guest e sideman in Festival e Jazz Club della scena italiana e negli Stati Uniti d’America, Cina, Francia, Romania, Germania, Inghilterra, Olanda, Serbia, Svizzera, Turchia, Russia insieme a Dado Moroni, Joel Frahm, Alex Sipiagin, Luca Mannutza, Andy Gravish, Roy Hargrove, Jeremy Pelt, Rick Margitza, Stephane Belmondo, Flavio Boltro, Fabrizio Bosso, Peter Bernstein, David Kikoski, Mark Sherman, Sam Yahel, Johannes Weidenmueller, Marco Panascia, Andrea Pozza, Claudio Filippini, Pat Bianchi, Frank Avitabile, Michel Rosciglione, Alain Jean-Marie, Aldo Bassi, Roberto Gatto, Pietro Tonolo, Giovanni Tommaso, Lorenzo Tucci, Sam Yahel, Johannes Weidenmueller, Kengo Nakamura e molti altri.
Track List
Work (Thelonious Monk) 7:27
Fear of Roaming (Seamus Blake) 08:08
Too Marvelous for Words (Richard Whiting) 05:58
Wee (Denzil Best) 07:26
Emmanina (Paolo Recchia) 07:25
Zhivago (Kurt Rosenwinkel) 08:22
All Rise (Ben Van Gelder) 06:39
Esc (Luca Mannutza) 08:59
Line Up
Paolo Recchia: sax alto
Luca Mannutza: pianoforte
Giuseppe Romagnoli: contrabbasso
Nicola Angelucci: batteria
Credits:
Recorded at Teatro degli Avvaloranti, Città della Pieve (PG)
September 7-8th 2020
Recording Engineer: Matteo Spinazzè Savaris
Mixing Engineer: Lorenzo Vella
Mastering Engineer: Bob Katz
Artwork: Nerina Fernandez
Backstage photography: Nightingale Studios, Palombara Sabina (RM)
Discografia:
“Introducing Paolo Recchia featuring Dado Moroni” (Via Veneto Jazz distribuzione EMI MUSIC, 2008);
“Ari’s Desire” (2011);
“Three for Getz” (Albòre Jazz, 2013);
“Peace Hotel” (Albòre Jazz, 2015);
“Imaginary place (Birdbox Records, 2022)
Contatti:
Info per radio, stampa e TV: [email protected]
Stefania Schintu: +39 347 0082416
Album acquistabile direttamente dallo shop della label
Sito web Label: Birdbox Records
Pagina artista/Label: Paolo Recchia – Birdbox Records
Shop cd Imaginary place: Imaginary place – cd
Shop Master Tape Imaginary place: Imaginary place – Master Tape
Shop Video concerto Imaginary place: Imaginary place – video recording
Youtube Birdbox Records
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Ferrajoli: «Salvini fa un uso demagogico del diritto. Il suo è populismo penale»
Il caso Sea Watch. «Il ministro sta promuovendo un abbassamento del senso morale a livello di massa. Sta ricostruendo le basi ideologiche del razzismo», intervista al filosofo del diritto
Luigi Ferrajoli, Salvini ha sostenuto che Carola Rackete è una «pirata», dunque una «nemica dell’umanità», e per questo una «criminale». Che senso ha attribuire questa definizione a chi salva i migranti in mare per senso di dovere verso l’umanità?
Sono tutte insensatezze gravissime. Sul piano giuridico non ci sono dubbi. Carola Rackete non ha commesso nessun reato, come ha stabilito il giudice delle indagini preliminari Alessandra Vella. Ha agito nell’adempimento di un dovere: portare in salvo le persone salvate, imposto dal diritto del mare e comunque in stato di necessità. Semmai sono le autorità italiane che per 17 giorni si sono rese responsabili del reato di omissione di soccorso. Francamente è intollerabile che Salvini chiami «criminale» una persona appena prosciolta senza incorrere nel reato di ingiuria. Fatto per cui spero che Carola vorrà querelarlo. Ma, a questo punto, la questione giuridica è secondaria.
Perché?
Questi “sovranisti” stanno distruggendo l’onorabilità dell’Italia che fino a qualche anno fa si era distinta, con Mare Nostrum, per avere salvato 150 mila persone nel Mediterraneo. Oggi il loro comportamento è assolutamente illegittimo perché viola tutte le norme del diritto del mare, oltre la nostra Costituzione, e deturpa l’identità civile del nostro paese. Non è solo una violazione dei diritti fondamentali ma la distruzione dei presupposti sociali della convivenza civile. La costruzione del consenso sulla disumanità e l’immoralità ha un effetto distruttivo sulla democrazia.
Qual è la loro strategia?
Costruire la percezione degli altri come nemici solo perché stranieri, poveri e disperati. Su questa base hanno ottenuto un consenso di massa per le politiche securitarie. Tutto questo in un paese che è tra i più sicuri al mondo. Nel 2017 gli omicidi sono stati 357, di cui ben 123, purtroppo, femminicidi dei quali la politica neppure parla. Gli omicidi erano circa 1.500 solo nei primi anni Novanta.
Ritiene che sia solo responsabilità di questo governo?
Nient’affatto. Salvini non ha inventato nulla, ha solo proseguito le politiche contro gli immigrati e la costruzione dell’emergenza del precedente ministro Minniti e degli altri governi europei. Ci sono però gravissime differenze.
Quali sono?
Il carattere criminogeno delle leggi in tema di sicurezza. Il primo decreto sicurezza di Salvini ha soppresso di fatto il permesso di soggiorno per motivi umanitari ed espulso migliaia di richiedenti asilo e rifugiati dai centri di accoglienza. Una misura stupidamente persecutoria con la quale persone integrate sono state trasformate in persone illegali e virtualmente devianti. Senza dimenticare l’estensione dei presupposti della legittima difesa. La soppressione del requisito della proporzionalità tra difesa e offesa potrebbe portare all’aumento anche da noi del numero delle morti violente com’è accaduto negli Stati uniti.
Vede un parallelo tra il governo Conte e Trump nelle politiche sull’immigrazione?
Lo stesso Salvini non lo nasconde. La differenza con le politiche dei Minniti o dei Macron è questa: se prima in Italia la violazione dei diritti umani era occultata, ora è sbandierata come fonte del consenso. Salvini sta promuovendo un abbassamento del senso morale a livello di massa. Non si limita a interpretare la xenofobia, la alimenta. La sua politica sta ricostruendo le basi ideologiche del razzismo.
Come definisce questo uso del diritto?
È il populismo penale. Consiste nell’uso demagogico e congiunturale del diritto penale diretto ad alimentare la paura con misure tanto anti-garantiste quanto inefficaci alla prevenzione della criminalità.
I governanti di Italia, Francia e Germania dovrebbero essere perseguiti per avere deciso di sacrificare la vita dei migranti in difficoltà nel Mediterraneo. Lo ha sostenuto un rapporto legale depositato alla Corte penale internazionale che parla di 40 mila vittime di reati di competenza del tribunale negli ultimi tre anni. Lei ha definito questi atti «crimini di sistema». Che cosa sono?
I crimini di sistema sono violazioni massicce del diritto internazionale e dei diritti fondamentali. Non sono reati perché non sono imputabili alla responsabilità di singole persone, ma a interi sistemi economici e politici. Ciò non toglie che siano violazioni gravissime dei diritti stabiliti in tutte le carte costituzionali e internazionali. Sono politiche criminali, che provocano ogni anno decine di migliaia di morti, oltre all’apartheid mondiale di due miliardi di persone. Verrà un giorno in cui questi atti saranno ricordati come crimini, e non potremo dire non sapevamo, perché sappiamo tutto. Dei campi di concentramento in Libia, dei naufragi, della fuga causata dai cambiamenti climatici, dalla fame e dalle crisi economiche prodotte dalle politiche del capitalismo di rapina.
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Something In The Air, il nuovo album natalizio di Armando Cacciato.
Da oggi sarà disponibile il nuovo disco di Armando Cacciato, Something In The Air.
Dodici brani tra i quali due originali (la già conosciuta A Christmas Dream, nel remaster 2020 e Hopeful Sunset, scritta da Angelo Vella, cantautore di origini siciliane conosciuto a Francoforte (Germania).
Una raccolta dunque di cover internazionali di svariato genere, suonate e cantate con artisti siciliani di grande spessore (Cristian Falzone Peppe Sferrazza Roberto Puccio Salvatore Scarantino Simona Malandrino Evelyn Leone Franco Siracusa Cristiano Bruccoleri Salvo Caruso Angelo Piazza Agata Aquilina Emanuele Di Bella Maurizio La Monacab Angelo Vella Federico Gucciardo Marco Vicari Kelly Moncado Diego Mantione Pino Bruno Salvatore Cani).
Attraverso l'acquisto dell'album si contribuirà alla raccolta fondi per l'emergenza COVID, che sarà destinata all' Anvvfc Canicattì.
Sponsor ufficiale dell'iniziativa ENERGIA ITALIA., che ha aderito immediatamente al progetto contribuendo alle spese di produzione.
“Dal primo giorno di lockdown siamo stati catapultati in uno scenario a tutti sconosciuto, anche a chi, come noi, vive in emergenza e ne ha viste di tutti i colori. Terremoti, alluvioni... ma questa è diversa. C'è bisogno dell'aiuto di tutti e soprattutto di tanto buon senso e regole da impartire ai nostri cari nonni e bambini. Noi come ANVVFC Canicattì (Associazione Nazionale Vigili del Fuoco in Congedo) continueremo, grazie anche a questa iniziativa, a dare il nostro aiuto incondizionato alla popolazione”. Questo il commento del presidente Regionale dell Associazione Massimiliano Buttelli.
Armando, produttore discografico oggi in veste di interprete, non è nuovo a queste iniziative. Già nel 2014 in una edizione di A Christmas Dream (festival natalizio che eredita il nome dall’omonimo brano) raccolse, insieme agli Artisti Uniti Circuiti Sonori, delle somme per agevolare l’associazione Pro Congo Luiza.
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Il disco è acquistabile online sul sito Circuiti Sonori. Le copie fisiche saranno disponibili a partire dal 15 Dicembre.
LINK PER L’ACQUISTO:
https://www.circuitisonori.com/armandocacciato
Regalati un’emozione.
#armandocacciato#circuitisonori#music#musician#pop#song#musiclife#musica#drums#instamusic#procovid#COVID#annvvfc#energia Italia
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Malaita leaders express support to Choiseul, Western colleagues
Malaitan MPs from the Democratic Coalition Government for Advancement (DCGA) yesterday, handed ‘Tafuliaes’ to the Prime Minister, his family and to the Government MPs from Choiseul and other constituencies in the Western Solomon region.
This is in relation to the recent video that was shared via Facebook containing offensive language targeting the Prime Minister and his family.
Speaking on behalf of the Malaita MPs, Member of Parliament for East Malaita and Deputy Prime Minister, Hon. Manasseh Maelanga stated that the purpose of the ceremony was to express to the Prime Minister, his family and other Government MPs from Choiseul and Western regional constituencies, their utmost respect and continuous support to the leader of the DCGA and colleague MPs.
Hon. Maelanga stated that what happened is not what anyone will expect, and that “we wish to show that we regret that it happened and therefore in respect to our traditional values, we wish to show that the act does not represent anyone but the person himself.”
He said that as Malaitan MPs serving under the DCGA “we also wished to express our full commitment to continue to serve under the DCGA to move this country forward.”
He further stated that the occasion is also to express their deepest concern for the unfortunate circumstance regarding the publication and dissemination of the video.
Hon. Maelanga also took the opportunity to speak out against the use of social media to show disrespect and abuse to other fellow citizens.
“Such action is strongly condemned as it does not reflect our traditional and Christian values of which our families, communities and this country strongly hold,” he said.
In response, Prime Minister Hon. Manasseh Sogavare acknowledged the statements made by Hon. Maelanga.
Hon. Sogavare stated that “Solomon Islands is a country that has its foundation on the pillars of our traditional values, the church and good governance, and the occasion depicts our stronghold to these pillars.”
The Prime Minister also thanked his colleague MPs for the gesture shown to him and his family.
Minister for Public Service and MP for North Vella La Vela Hon. Frederick Koloqeto, Minister for Home Affairs and MP for Shortland Islands, Hon. Chris Laore and Minister for Finance and Treasury and MP for South Choiseul Hon. Harry Kuma who also received a ‘Tafuliae’ expressed their gratitude for the gesture expressed by their colleagues.
A majority of MPs from Malaita constituencies are part of the DCGA government.
Chairman of Government Caucus Hon. Namson Tran and his deputy Hon. Jackson Fiulaua were also present to witness the ceremony.
The DCGA is committed to the delivery of ongoing and prospective policy priorities in the interests of peace, national stability, economic advancement and political unity.
MP for East Malaita Hon. Maelanga presents strings of the traditional shell money to MP for Shortland Islands Hon. Chris Laore.
Read the full article
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The Malta Independent leads with a picture of George Vella’s swearing in as the new president, and his pledge to bring unity.
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Broken Age Fanfic part 1 (subtitle: new beginnings)
Currently working on a Broken Age fanfic. It’s pretty long, so it’ll go beneath a readmore. I tried to keep it in the spirit of the game, with puzzles and humor, and what I hope is consistent canon. Not sure if they’re making a sequel ever, but until then, here’s my conclusion.
Shay stepped out of the conference room and sighed, his whole upper body sagging down, as if he was deflating. The hallway was empty. He only had as much time as he would have plausibly spent in the bathroom, so he pulled out his phone.
He flipped open the hexagonal clamshell and was greeted by a smiling face.
“What’s happening, Shay? Are you having a good day?”
“Put me through to Vella.”
“Aw,” the phone cried in a warbly voice. “You’re always calling Vella. You know who you haven’t called in a while? Curtis. You haven’t called Curtis in a while. I bet he misses you,” the phone sang.
Shay gave the phone a deadpan stare.
“I’ll call Vella,” the phone muttered.
Vella pulled out her clamshell phone she got from Shellmound. Its case was an actual clamshell, and it smelled faintly of fish. She wasn’t sure why she used it, but she never did get around to using a new one.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Hi, Shay. How are delegations going?”
“They’re going.” Vella could tell from the way his voice trailed off that “going” might have been too generous a word.
“Well, you can’t expect the negotiations between the Lorunans and the other countries to go perfectly smooth at first,” said Vella.
“But it’s so boring,” Shay whined. “They’re just talking in circles. Neither side is willing to compromise.”
“You’re the one that signed up to be an ambassador,” said Vella, rolling her eyes.
“Anyway, what are you doing,” said Shay. “Baking a cake?”
Vella scoffed.
“I do a lot more than bake cakes, you know,” said Vella. She certainly wasn’t going to admit that she had just finished decorating a three-layer cake less than an hour ago.
“All right,” said Shay. “Well, what are you doing now?”
“I’m heading to a place,” said Vella. The forest at the end of the road was coming into view now. Plumes of chimney smoke rose from the middle. “Woodburr, have you heard of it?”
“I think so…isn’t Curtis from there? Why are you going to a middle-of-nowhere place like that?”
“Let’s just say,” said Vella in a playful voice, “I’m hunting for a wolf.”
“Wait, you mean Marek?” Shay cried, but Vella had already hung up.
Shay groaned and put his phone away.
It was quiet.
Shay turned around and saw the Thrush Master towering over him.
“Hello, child.”
Shay straightened himself up, standing as tall as he could.
“The meeting is still going on,” said Shay.
The Thrush Master laughed.
“Ah, yes. The unity of Loruna and the badlands. The undoing of everything we’ve worked for in the name of peace, in the name of progress and cooperation. But not everyone is so happy with this forced accord. With this unexpected…reversal.”
“Gee, I couldn’t tell.”
The Thrush Master raised an eyebrow.
“You misunderstand me. A bit of bad blood—in moderation,” he muttered, “can be a good thing. A necessary evil, if you will. Blood, genes, life must be able to adapt, or else it will cease to be. And that which fails is the farthest thing from perfect. Although, The First might prefer to wipe the slate clean, to start over. Most of us would not prefer that.”
The veins stood out on the Thrush Master’s head crest.
Shay narrowed his eyes and tried to look for any trace of a lie, but the Thrush Master’s expression was flat.
“And what? What’s the point of telling me?”
The Thrush Master held his arms behind his back and looked down at Shay, studying him.
“You have demonstrated a certain…judgment, the kind we have always been looking for. I do not think it would be unwise to trust you. Take this.”
The Thrush Master produced a package from the folds of his robes. It was book shaped.
“Uh…” said Shay.
“The other three volumes elude me, but I managed to obtain the second. I trust you will appreciate its worth and decipher its mysteries. Now, I must be going. And I believe you have a meeting to return to?”
Shay stifled his retort. He was pretty late coming back to his meeting.
He walked back down the hallway, but right outside the door, looked down at his parcel. He opened the bag it was in and removed the book.
Bunny Tutu and the Poison Mushrooms, it said on the cover.
“Let me know when you want another stack, sweetie,” said the mayor, pouring a flood of maple syrup onto Vella’s second stack of pancakes.
“Thanks,” said Vella. She watched the syrup ooze through the thick stack of pancakes. She was already full after the second pancake in the first stack. “So, anyway, about the wolf that moved into town—”
“Oh, yes, quite the talk,” said Mayor Margo. She was stout and burly, dressed in denim and plaid, and had round, rosy cheeks. “He went and hid in the Moss Shed.” She shrugged and made a noise. “No way to get in there. Who knows how he did.” Her cheery expression dimmed. “More importantly, you aren’t looking to cause any trouble, are you?”
“What do you mean?” Vella cut another bite out of her pancakes and ate it. It was really was quite good, especially the fresh maple syrup. She could always appreciate good sweets.
“Just the way you’re dressed, sweetie.”
Vella was wearing a red cape with a red hood. She was aware how that looked when someone was looking for a wolf. She shrugged herself.
“Don’t worry,” she said between chewing. “Can’t see why there’d be any problems.”
There was a problem.
The Moss Shed was a huge rock covered in moss, just as its name suggested. Only it wasn’t a rock. It was metal beneath the green growth, and there was a clear set of metal doors secured shut at the base. Only Vella could see the moss broken at the seams…as if it had been opened recently.
There were no handles, no keyholes, nothing.
“Another puzzle,” Vella grumbled.
Vella checked her pockets.
First, she pulled out her trusty knife. She tried jamming it in between the spot where the doors met, trying to wedge them open, or something.
“Hey, toots, do I look like a crowbar,” shouted the knife. The tiny little face on the hilt was frowning with its eyebrows furrowed.
“Sorry,” said Vella. She put him away and went back to thinking.
The only other things in her pockets were her cell phone, her pastry bag (just in case there was a cake that needed decorating), and an embroidered hand towel (always handy, something you should never leave home without).
Maybe she was looking at it wrong. If Marek got in there, then there had to be a way in. She seriously doubted he forced the doors open. So she tried prying her attention away from the doors and looking elsewhere along the Moss Shed. To the left there was nothing. She climbed to the top of it, and aside from a clear view of the rest of Woodburr and all its little log cabins, she didn’t see much. However, after climbing back down her foot slipped on a patch of moss, causing her to almost fall.
She dusted herself off and got her bearings back. A couple feet to the right of the doors was a patch of moss with her footprint still pressed into it. She touched the moss and noticed it was loose.
“All right, here’s your chance to shine,” she said to her knife.
“Let me at em’,” he growled. Vella sawed through the patch of moss and let it fall to the ground in one big clump. Behind the clump was a control panel of some sort, with blocky red buttons and black and yellow lines outlining it.
“So that’s how he did it.” She put her hands on her hips. “Now let’s see…” Vella tried pushing a few buttons at random, then stood back. A little light flared red and a horn blared repeatedly.
“Incorrect password,” intoned a robotic voice. “Two attempts remaining.”
Vella grumbled.
“I’m not going to figure out that password, and I’ll probably never make it in if I mess up again. So, I guess that leaves force again.”
Vella inspected the control panel again. There seemed to be screws at each of the corners. She took out her knife again.
“What are you trying to pull?”
“I don’t have a screwdriver, so work with me here.”
“I don’t like this,” he said. But he didn’t say any more while Vella fiddled with each screw and let them each drop to the ground.
Once the panel was detached, it only hung by a cord of wires, revealing a little bit inside the machinery of the Moss Shed.
“I probably won’t get through there unless I’m a mouse, but I bet if something were to wreak havoc in there it would open up.” She thought. “Or at least do something.”
Her cloak flapped as she turned around and headed back to town, still pondering.
“Howdy, what can I do you for?” The general store owner was a skinny lad with a bushy beard that almost hid his cheery grin. “The name’s Woodford.”
“What can you tell me about the Moss Shed?”
“Oh, it’s that metal shed covered with moss on the outskirts of town.” Woodford shrugged. “It’s a local sight.”
Perhaps another conversation track would work better.
“What kind of things do you sell here?”
Woodford’s face lit up.
“Why, we sell everything from Woodburr’s famous maple syrup, to lumber supplies, to any handy household goods.”
Vella cupped her chin in her hand.
“I don’t suppose you sell remote controlled bombs, do you?”
Woodford laughed.
“Why would we sell those? We just sell plastic explosives.”
“Oh,” said Vella. She looked down at her feet, then looked around the store at the supplies on the shelves. Looking sideways she asked, “Can you…sell me some?”
“Are you nuts,” shouted Woodford, banging his hands on the counter. “I can’t just sell any old girl plastic explosives…unless she had a way to carry it. Geeze, how would you even deliver it?”
“What would I carry it in,” Vella muttered to herself. How she would use it was another question she was even less prepared for.
She had an idea.
“Put some in here,” she said. She offered Woodford her pastry bag.
Back at the Moss Shed, she went back to the control panel, equipped with her pastry bag. The waxed cloth bag was bulging with plastic explosive. She inserted the metal nozzle of the pastry bag deep into the recesses of the space behind the control panel. She squeezed the bag, gently at first, then harder to force out more of the toothpasty explosive material.
When she was done, she stuffed the bag, nozzle and all, into the hole, poked the detonator in, and ran a good distance away.
The Moss Shed was a speck in the distance when she had gone far enough. She pushed the little button on her little remote.
There was a roaring explosion and a rush of wind followed by a shower of debris kicked up.
When she approached again there was a funny smell from the explosive—the control panel was a smoldering heap of wreckage—and a musty smell emanating from the open metal doors, and the dark corridor that led underground.
Vella pulled her cloak tight, raised her hood over her hair, and descended into the darkness.
Little Bunny Tutu had built the prettiest garden for himself, and had filled it with all the best of each kind of vegetable. But Bunny Tutu was worried about dirty varmints that might come to mess it all up. So the first thing Bunny Tutu did was build a big wall around his garden.
Shay was lying on his back on the couch, holding the book above him. He groaned and turned to the next page.
Bunny Tutu’s very special garden was safe behind the big wall he built. However, Bunny Tutu decided it wasn’t enough. Looking over the walls of his garden, Bunny Tutu kept an eye out for dirty varmints. Suddenly, Bunny Tutu had an idea.
Shay turned the page. The book was illustrated, with pictures that were clearly drawn for children, and possibly drawn by children.
Little Bunny Tutu was full of mischief. Leaving the safety of his garden, Bunny Tutu snuck out into the bad lands and into the gardens of the dirty varmints. It was night time when Bunny Tutu did his work. He dug little holes and put little pieces of poison mushrooms inside. 23 little holes, and 23 pieces of poison mushroom later, and he was done.
Chuckling to himself after a job well done, Bunny Tutu snuck away and returned to his garden to tend to it.
Little Bunny Tutu wasn’t worried anymore. If anything ever happened, and if the dirty varmints ever got past his walls, the poison mushrooms would sprout in the other gardens. Bunny Tutu went to sleep—another brilliant plan completed—tucked into bed, and looked forward to the next bright day.
Shay slapped the book shut. He turned the skinny book over and looked at the “2” printed on its narrow spine. He groaned again, louder this time. He had read the book five times already, and he still didn’t understand what the point was. The Thrushmaster didn’t seem the joking type. There had to be something in the book, something he didn’t get yet.
“What do you mean, you stupid book?” Shay stared at the cover of the book, at Bunny Tutu. He looked so…weird. He was hardly a bunny. He had big, floppy ears covered in pink fur, and a rabbit’s head, but wore a gray suit and had brown, flesh-colored hands. It gave the impression that it was just a person wearing a half-hearted rabbit costume.
Shay rolled over and sat up on the couch. He had spent hours rereading, researching, thinking, anything to try and figure out the book.
“I don’t even have time for this,” he muttered. Tomorrow, he would have to go back into work, and dozens of countries were still petitioning to speak with Loruna. He’d already been in at least twenty or thirty meetings so far and…
“Wait,” he breathed.
Snatching the book, he flipped to the pages where Bunny Tutu was planting the poison mushrooms in the varmints’ gardens.
23 little holes, and 23 pieces of poison mushroom later—
Shay’s eyes widened. The light book felt very heavy all of a sudden.
Work would have to wait.
Shay had finished his breakfast—eggs and bacon, no more cereal, he was fifteen-years-old, an adult!—and was in his room, packing his things, when his mom and dad decided to help.
“Where are you going,” his mother asked, her round hairdo bobbing side-to-side while she moved through his drawers, picking out clothes for him.
“I might head to Sugar Bunting first,” said Shay. He was deciding between which gadgets would most come in handy for whatever happened. “But I’ll probably head to other places, maybe Meriloft and Ice Vista after that.”
23 holes and 23 pieces of poison mushroom. The numbers had to mean something. The numbers stood out. There was a second reason the numbers meant something, but that was covered in a dark shroud in his mind, but the first reason had to be…the number of countries. 23, at least. If not the other three volumes of the book that the Thrushmaster alluded to, then maybe he’d find those poison mushrooms that were buried. It filled Shay with an energy as he packed his toothbrush and laptop into his backpack…but also with a heavy dread. Would he be ready when he found what he was looking for?
“An extra three scarves then,” his mother chirped. She was taking it rather well, Shay thought. There wasn’t a word of protest about him taking a vacation from his job and leaving on his trip.
Shay puffed himself up and smiled. That must have meant that they were finally trusting him, as an adult.
“I got enough meal bars to last you a week, son,” his dad called from the kitchen.
“Thanks dad.” He wasn’t exactly planning on roughing it in the woods, but it helped to be prepared.
His mother grunted as she stuffed the last of his clothes into his bulging backpack and zipped it shut.
“Here you go,” she said. “Now, I had this made for you, although I hope you won’t need it.” She pulled out a plastic band and secured it to his wrist. It was like a smart watch, except instead of a flat face it had a ping pong ball-sized glass ball attached to it.
“What is it,” asked Shay.
The Overmother’s radiant sun head popped up into the glass bulb, beaming up at him.
“It’s a communicator, sweetie,” the head in the glass ball said, at the same time as his mother speaking into a communicator on her wrist. “It also doubles as a computer terminal, allowing me to interact with various hardware, and control various systems. As long as they’re compatible.”
“Wow,” said Shay. “I didn’t think that far ahead.”
“You’re all set, sweetie.” His mom came over and gave him a tight hug. “Now, just let me and your father pack, and we’ll be ready to go.”
“Wait,” said Shay. “We?”
“We can’t let you go off by yourself,” his mother laughed. She glided out the door and to her room.
“No,” he wailed softly. “I was going to be an adult…”
His father crept into his room, looking back once over his shoulder.
“Here are the keys to the hovercycle. I’ll keep your mother distracted while you leave the house.”
“Dad…” Shay almost had tears in his eyes.
“Go out there, son. I have a feeling that whatever you’re going to do is a very important job. A job fit for an adult.”
“Dad.” Shay squeezed his father.
“Get going,” his father wheezed.
Shay let go, adjusted his backpack, and snuck off.
Vella climbed down the steps of the Moss Shed. She slid her hand along the smooth wall for guidance, her footsteps echoing in the darkness.
The bottom of the stairs had a path revealed by dim, red lights. She followed it, keeping an eye out for surprises.
She noticed traces of long, black hair on the ground.
“Marek,” she muttered.
Following the traces of hair, she headed down hallways lit by dim red lights, past locked doors and dusty, shut down computer panels. The traces of hair forked off in two different directions.
To the left was a hallway leading to a larger corridor, but in front of her was a bit of hair sitting in front of a door that wasn’t completely closed.
She decided to check on the door first, since it was closer.
She was glad the door didn’t make any noise as she slowly eased it open.
“Aha,” she shouted, as she flicked on the lights. But no one was there.
She explored the room a bit, although there wasn’t much to explore: a desk with a computer on it, some dusty, old file cabinets, bizarre warning signs on the walls. There was something next to the computer, though. It was a some sort of scanning machine and printer hooked up to the computer, with a thin book lying open on the scanner face.
Vella picked up the book and looked at the pages it was opened to. It had childish drawings of some sort of weird bunny man. He seemed to be working on some sort of paper Mache project. She clapped the book shut and read the title on the spine: Bunny Tutu and the Brilliant Monster Plan, along with a number: 3.
She stowed the book away and went back to explore the other path.
It led to a great, cavernous room, with some great shadow looming in the center.
“There has to be a light switch,” she muttered. After some searching along the wall, she found a big switch she cranked on.
“What…” Vella had so much she wanted to say that she was speechless.
In the center of the room was an enormous orb of metal plates strung up with wires. In a stencil font was a huge #12.
Vella felt herself shrink. She felt like she wanted to run away, but that no matter how far she ran it wouldn’t be far enough, so she just stood paralyzed with fear.
The giant metal sphere looked like a bomb.
***
“Welcome to Ice Vista, traveler!”
The man who greeted Shay as he got off his hoverbike was wearing a black and white parka. He looked like a penguin.
Shay wasn’t familiar with Ice Vista—they must have been latecomers to the delegations.
“So…you guys…” Shay looked around. Everyone was wearing some variation of the black and white parka, children waddling around playing, old people crouched around a fishing hole in the ice. The actual penguins waddling around just seemed liked miniature versions of the villagers. “Worship penguins,” Shay hazarded in a faltering voice.
“Ho ho ho,” laughed the man. “Don’t be silly. Everyone here in Ice Vista just likes penguins a lot. Care for some penguin jerky?”
“I thought you liked penguins,” said Shay. The man’s mittened hand was an inch away from his face, clutching a piece of withered meat.
“We also like eating them.”
“How are things going, sweetie?” Overmom’s sunny face appeared in the little orb on Shay’s wrist, smiling her sunniest smile.
“Well, I came here looking for old Loruna tech, and all I’ve found so far is,” Shay surveyed the igloos and bustling villagers of Ice Vista, “less high tech. If there’s anything that old, it’s probably buried under the ice, and I wouldn’t know where to start.”
Overmom hummed in thought.
“The villager fish under the ice, right? You should ask around. The people are more familiar with the area than you are, and I’m sure they’d be glad to help.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Shay, recalling how easily complete strangers tended to drop their problems and help him with his, which is to say, not.
“If things get really tough, I can be right over to help you in a jiffy—”
“Whoops, someone’s calling me! I have to go! I love you, bye!”
The Overmom’s response was clipped short as Shay clicked shut the transmission and her face vanished in the wrist bulb.
Shay walked back to the middle of the village to get his bearings.
In the center of the town was an igloo restaurant with a sign that read “Raul’s Bistro” and beneath it, “Coming Soon: Organic Vegan Cuisine.”
There were two people in Raul’s Bistro, each hunched over a steaming bowl scooping spoonfuls of pungent goop into their mouths.
“What can I get you,” said Raul. Although dressed for the cold, he had opted out of the penguin parka most of the other villagers wore for layers of stylish scarves and sweaters with a plaid apron on top.
“The usual,” Shay said. He always wanted to try that.
“You’ve never been here,” Raul countered.
“Okay, then. I’ll have...” there wasn’t much variety between either of the other patrons and their identical bowls of slop. “What she’s having?”
“Oh.” Raul turned around. With his back to Shay, he let out a loud and drawn out sigh. Raul turned around again. “One bowl of blubber and penguin stew?”
“Um…” Shay considered his options. “Can you tell me about your vegan cuisine?”
“Since you asked, we have a delicious red vinaigrette garden salad made with only the freshest, locally grown greens. Vegan, organic, GMO-free, and organic. Coming soon!”
“How soon,” asked Shay.
“As soon as I get some locally grown greens. Have you taken a look around? Not many plants grow on the tundra. Until they do, I’ll be melting blubber in that old stew cauldron until I wither and die.” Raul jerked a thumb toward the massive black iron cauldron hanging over the fire, it’s heavy lid rattling under the bubbling blubber broth.
“Well…good luck with that.”
Shay went back out into the town square. Raul’s food conundrum wasn’t going to help him discover Loruna ruins.
Signposts led to the fishing holes. His mom’s advice was to ask the fisher people who knew the place best.
Shay crunched his way through the snow to a signpost in the town square: “Penguin Fields” towards the left and “Fishing Holes” pointing toward the right.
The fishing holes were deserted this time of day, say for a pair of squat women in penguin parkas sitting next to each other, fishing the same hole. They seemed frozen in place, but their wrinkled faces were set into expressions somewhere past boredom into acceptance.
“Excuse me,” said Shay.
“Hm.” The fishwife didn’t move, but her grunt had a positive tone.
“I was wondering if you’ve seen any weird technology under the ice. Stuff that looks out of place…”
The other fishwife pointed a mitten behind her.
“Look in the old grotto, but don’t look too closely.”
“Thanks…” Shay wasn’t sure what that second part meant, but he was glad for some simple instructions for once.
A way away from the fishing holes was a deserted area and a sizeable opening in the ice. It was murky beneath the icy blue water, but it looked deep. It probably housed the grotto the old woman was talking about. Shay took off his back pack and browsed through the contents of his inventory.
His mom and dad might have expected him to be stranded on a deserted island instead of travelling from village to village. He had fruit and granola nutrition bars for emergency rations, the multitool his dad packed for him, more spare clothes and knitted scarves than he knew what to do with, polymer weave rope, and even a spacesuit, in case he was about to flung into space at a moment’s notice.
Fortunately, that last item was a nice save, since he needed a wetsuit if he was going to consider dipping into freezing water, and a space suit did the trick in a pinch.
The bulky spacesuit fit over his normal clothes, and the glass (it wasn’t glass, some sort of advanced plastic, but whatever) dome snapped on neatly.
He jumped into the pool with a splash and began awkwardly paddling down. A flashlight beam in the suit’s collar flicked on lighting his way. There was clearly something underground, a metal panel a dozen or so feet down, some blocky writing he couldn’t make out…
Something passed across his vision. His arms were pinned to his side. His legs were gripped and his arms yanked upward. He was spun around and saw a huge metal starfish grabbing him, each articulated limb grabbing one of his. A green eye glowed like an angry alarm, and the top arm of the starfish slammed down on his head.
The blow rang on his helmet with a dull thud. Then Shay found himself rushing upward, spun around again, then flying through the air and back onto the snow.
Shay groaned. He opened his eyes to the cloudless sky, and eventually got to his feet and changed out of his suit.
Shay tramped back to the fishwives.
“You guys forgot to mention a horrible robotic ocean guardian in the grotto.”
The fishwives both shrugged.
“Never told us you were going down there.”
“Not too smart, are you?”
Shay gritted his teeth. It was better not to get on people’s bad side, though, especially when he was still asking for help.
“I don’t suppose you two have any experience fighting monsters?”
“We just fish.”
“Of course, if you’re fishing for something big, you’re going to need a big lure.”
“Starfish aren’t fish. They’re echinoderms,” said one of the fishwives.
“It’s not a fish,” shouted Shay. “It’s a big, metal…”
The last item Shay had to work with was his hoverbike. Shay went and brought it back to the fishing holes.
“Fancy tech you got there, kid. Why are you taking it apart?”
“I am making,” said Shay, unwinding some wires, “an electromagnet!”
“Fancy, that” said one of the fishwives, apparently more interested in her line not getting any bites.
“I’m glad you asked,” said Shay, unclicking a big blocky component from inside his bike. “Using copper wire, stripped with my trusty multitool (“Don’t mention it,” chirped the various tiny voices of his multitool”), and this bike battery,” he said holding up the blocky component, “I can use the power of science to defeat a robot. Pretty fancy, I know, but I am an official Junior Science Master Graduate of Child-Friendly Good Boy Science Experiments.”
“Where’s your core?”
“Huh?” That didn’t sound like a compliment to Shay.
“A strong current, from your battery, copper wire, but where’s your iron core.”
“You’ll especially need a big core if you’re planning to reel in that beast.”
“But where am I going to find—” Shay had another idea.
Shay didn’t bother going straight to Raul’s restaurant. Raul had a solid iron cauldron, but he doubted he’d give it up without anything in exchange.
He decided to head to Penguin Fields to see if any locals knew anything about where to find some greens.
Penguin fields were densely populated…with penguins. Two foot birds squawking up a cacophony and waddling around. There was a tall penguin in the crowd, or at least person wearing a penguin suit.
“Hey there,” said Shay, trying to avoid stepping on any penguins. “There wouldn’t happen to be kale or any leafy greens growing around here, would there?”
The penguin person sighed. “You’ve been talking to Raul? He’s delusional if he thinks he thinks his salad business is going to take off. No one wants that stuff either. Doesn’t fill you up.”
“Right…but say someone wanted to find some local greens anyway?”
The penguin person scratched their chin.
“Look around, do you see anything growing up here? On the other hand, if you were a penguin, you’d be able to swim underneath the ice floes and snack on some iceberg lettuce.
Shay crouched down on the ice and brushed away the snowfall. The ice was mostly opaque, but there were hints of green orbs underneath the ice sheet.
“Easy, just pull out my multitool, “Shay plunged his saw knife into the ice and began sawing. He sawed a large hole into the ice floe, planning on lifting it out and plucking the lettuce heads. He sawed a big hole, a few yards long, iceberg lettuce barely visible underneath. “Now to lift the ice floe.”
Shay squatted and dug his fingers into the crack. He heaved, straining his burning muscles, as the ice floe barely budged.
“Okay, that didn’t work. And these penguins aren’t helping!” The ice was heavy enough, and the penguins walking on the end he was trying to lift didn’t help.
“Maybe Raul will loan me his pot on partial credit?”
“How’s it going,” asked Raul.
“I found a bunch of iceberg lettuce.”
“Iceberg lettuce,” Raul shrieked in delight, tossing aside his stew bowl.
“It’s under the ice.”
“Oh…” Raul’s smile sank into a heavy frown. “Well, thanks for letting me know,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“I’ll get that lettuce,” said Shay waving his hands. “It’s just hard on an empty stomach, you know?”
Raul ladled a big bowl of steaming stew into a bowl.
“Eat your fill.” He handed the bowl to Shay. He leaned in for an urgent whisper. “The future of organic vegan cuisine is depending on you.”
Shay made his way back to Penguin fields with his bowl of stew in his hands. The penguins were squawking and crowding around him, but he was tall enough not to let them reach it.
“Let’s give this a shot.” Shay poured the fish stew on the opposite end of the ice he cut out from the lettuce. As the thick stew splashed onto the ice, the penguins mobbed onto the spot, bending down to lap up the stew. The flow sank deep, but the penguins didn’t seem to notice.
Wasting no time, Shay went over to the other end and got his grip again. Bracing his muscles (which weren’t that small, right?), Shay lifted, and found the ice floe actually being lifted. The floe was lifted up at an extreme angle, and Shay, in a moment of panic, ran with it and guided the floe higher and higher until it was standing upright 90 degrees, then then flipped it on its back. The ice fell with a huge splash, and the feeding penguins were nowhere to be seen.
“They’re probably fine,” said Shay. He rubbed his arm. “I mean, they’re penguins, right?”
What was more appealing at the moment were the exposed iceberg lettuce heads, roots buried in the underside, now the overside of the ice. Shay gather two big armfuls of the vegetables and walked back to Raul’s.
“All natural cuisine has a future!” Raul fell to his knees in tears. “I have greens, dressing, and a topping.” His eyes shot open. “A topping?” His voice rose in terror. “How could I not have any toppings?” He grapped shay by the lapels of his coat. “Please, my savior, you have to have a topping of some kind on you? Dried fruit, croutons or grains?”
“I have…” Shay turned around and scrounged through his backpack. “Say?” Shay pulled out his nutrition bars and unwrapped them in the empty stew bowl. He crunched them up by hand and turned around to present it to Raul. “Ta da! Crumbled granola and dried fruit, all natural and organic and, um, food.”
“Genius,” roared Raul. Raul turned around. “Out, all of you! There’s the door! Drop that disgusting slop and come back when we’re a real bistro.”
“Say,” said Shay. I don’t suppose you need that cauldron anymore?”
“Take it! You don’t cook salad in a cauldron. We’re living in the future!”
Shay was back at the Fishing Holes assembling his electromagnet.
“Got a core, did you,” said one of the fishwives.
“Yep,” said Shay. He was wrapping the copper wire around the cleaned-out cauldron, connecting it to the battery he placed inside the cauldron.
“How are you going to seal the cauldron from water,” asked a fishwife.
“My dad’s patented hull sealant,” Shay announced, applying the last of the glue before pressing the lid down firmly.
“Now how are you going to turn it on,” asked the other fishwife.
“The remote starter for my hoverbike,” Shay answered.
“Mighty reckless of you to take apart your fancy bike for this fishing trip.”
“A lot’s at stake,” said Shay, setting his mouth firm. “I need to find out what’s down there.” Last of all, Shay tied the rope to the lid of the cauldron and lugged the whole thing over to the grotto.
Shay stared down into the pool. He couldn’t see the starfish, but he knew it was down there.
He pushed the electromagnet into the water and watched it sink fast, dragging the rope with it until Shay grabbed it.
Shay waited. It was hard to tell if it was getting close, but now was as good a time as any. He clicked the remote of his bike and he heard the buzz of the electromagnet turn on, followed by the loud clank of the robot slam into the magnet.
Shay grinned.
“Now to reel it in.” The cauldron was heavy, but the robot wasn’t as heavy as he expected.
The green eye blazed with rage, but the starfish was helpless stuck to the magnet, and now dragged onto the ice.
“Time to take a nap, buddy.” Shay pulled out his multitool and unscrewed a panel on the robot. It was certainly Loruna technology, even if it was bizarrely outdated. Shay flipped a switch and the green eye faded. “All right, now it’s time to go see what’s down there.”
Bunny Tutu’s garden needed dirt. His garden had the nicest seeds, the freshest water, and Bunny Tutu built a neat hedge and had a dozen and a half of the shiniest tools to start gardening, but he needed rich dirt to plant his seeds in. Uh oh!
The bad lands full of bad people had plenty of good dirt (all they really had was dirt), but how would he sneak over and carry a barrow back to his garden?
If he asked or offered to trade, the mean varmints would know about his garden (his garden was a secret.
If he tried to fight them (they were mean, but all a bunch of wimps), they would hide their dirt, or throw it away to spite him.
Bunny Tutu was clever, so instead, he came up with a clever idea. Bunny Tutu sent his helpers out with wheelbarrows, but disguised them as scary monsters. He told his friends to use their meanest voices and tell the varmints to hand them some dirt, if they know what’s good for them.
Bunny Tutu’s plan worked so well, even he was surprised. The varmints started competing to give him their favorite dirt.
Vella slammed the thin book shut (it didn’t make an impressive noise, since the hardcovers were thinner than the sparse, illustrated pages). Vella slid Bunny Tutu and the Brilliant Monster Plan back into her satchel. The glowing number on the ceiling console told her the shuttle pod would be arriving at its destination in less than seven minutes. After Vella saw the…bomb, she could have gone back and warned the others, but another stray tuft of fur led to a small station with a miniature train car. It was far sleeker and nicer looking than any train car she had ever seen, and it was clear that it only went back and forth to one destination. The only question was where, but Vella was about to find out.
A pleasant, robotic voice informed Vella that she had arrived at Terminal 4, as the train glided to a silent stop.
Vella got off and explored the station. There wasn’t much there, but a door leading out. The door led to another series of hallways—she found another vast chamber with a huge, spherical bomb, this one labelled “4”—and a few other rooms, mirroring the facility she was just in.
“So this is number four and I was just at twelve?” Vella kept her voice down, although there was no one around to hear here, the dim emergency lights felt like they were hiding something. “There must be at least twelve of these places, but why didn’t I go to number 13 or 11?” The only other room worth noticing was a room with a door labeled “Data Management.” There was a computer console with a dead screen and a dusty chair sprawled on the ground like a mummified corpse. The computer console beneath the screen projector had a neat hole where a large piece was clearly removed. The side of a console had a nasty hole in the side where it looked like someone took a hammer and smashed it in a few times, and then a few more for good measure.
Vella’s mouth made a hard line. She didn’t need to look for any traces of wolf hair to guess who made this fresh wreck and made off with what was probably a memory block.
Vella pulled her hood up tight.
“He’s got to be out there.” The facility exit/entrance was the same too, leading Vella out into the bright of day, although it wasn’t the brightness she was expecting.
The golden glint made Vella squint. The exit was on a high ridge overlooking a golden and bejeweled city, and the sky wasn’t the sky, but the roof of a huge cavern, lit by a blinding fake sun that seemed to be crawling along a big railing track. Climbing further down the ridge she was able to align the angle a big sign near the edge of town: “Welcome to Baublegilt.”
Vella almost tripped from starring at all the gold-plated buildings in town. It looked like a normal mining town with shops and workers traveling around, but even the sweatiest miners hefted solid gold picks over their shoulders and had cloth of silver and gold clothing. The baker’s storefront sign was circled with rubies and sapphires, and the goldsmith’s storefront was…well, covered in gold and jewels, but the other stuff was pretty unusual.
“If anyone will know this place, it’ll be a goldsmith.”
The inside of the shop displayed racks of diamond-studded silver bracelets, electrum chains, a fortune in rings crowned with walnut-sized gems, and more. There was a counter leading to a workshop in the back. An old woman dressed in a drab grey frock came out and adjusted her spectacles.
“Hello, ma’am. Can you tell me about Baublegilt?”
The old lady sniffed. She tittered briefly, then waved a hand.
“Here I thought it was someone important,” she said.
“Excuse me,” demanded Vella, balling his fists and rising up. “That’s pretty rich coming from someone in a gold town dressed—”
“Dressed in the fanciest fashions available,” the woman cut in. “See these rings?” The old lady put her hand in front of Vella’s face so fast that Vella almost swung and clobbered her. The old lady rotated her hand, “Genuine sandstone glass set in pure tin.” Her hand had at least six of them on. Her other hand snatched at a chain necklace around her neck and held it out, “Lead and zinc links, crowning, this is not gold, a genuine pyrite crystal.”
“Uh…” was all Vella was able to manage.
“So you see, I am far too rich to be wasting my time with someone who won’t make me richer. Now, go buy yourself a mushroom pie or whatever it is you commoners eat. The goldsmith flipped Vella a gold coin the size of a cookie. “Ta ta,” she said, disappearing behind the counter and back into her workshop.
Vella left holding a coin that was worth hundreds of times everything that rude goldsmith was wearing, assuming this was home or anywhere else that made sense.
Vella went to the baker’s shop, a place she at least assumed would make sense.
“New here,” asked the friendly baker behind the counter. Aside from some gold dust flecked on the a few loaves of bread, everything looked pretty standard for a bakery, aside from a solid gold rolling pin Vella spied in the back near the oven.
“What can I get for this,” asked Vella. She held up the huge coin.
“A mushroom bun,” said the baker with a wide smile. “Mushrooms are pretty cheap, since we don’t have to import them. Or…” Vella wasn’t getting her hopes up, “your pick of my day-old bread.”
That was that, then. Vella could at least ask some questions to this guy.
“Tell me about this place. I just kind of…wandered down here.”
“Oh, we just mine and craft goods out of the local ore and stone. The stuff we dig up isn’t super valuable, but we have plenty of it, and we import fresh produce and fancier metals for the fancier folk.
“I see…” Vella remembered the goldsmith flaunting her tin and lead like it was silver and gold. “Have you seen any suspicious people around here?”
“Besides you? I’m kidding! If anyone important came by the guildmasters would know about them. Might be they’ll be inviting them to their annual banquet.”
“Can you tell me more about this banquet?”
“I’d rather not think about it, said the baker, scratching the back of his head. This might be my last year catering for it if I don’t make a desert that’s sweeter than last year’s. But the shipment of apples at the fruit stand are scrawny and overpriced. Don’t think they’ll go for a mushroom cake. Do you?”
“As a baker…” Vella didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Sometimes you should try branching out,” she shrugged.
“Ah, no problem, little lady.”
Vella left with nothing but her coin to her name, besides her knife, hand towel, and cell phone—“No reception down here, of course.” The other street lined with more golden buildings passed an alley. She checked it. A shadow flickered. There was a clatter and a rustle. Her red cape flapped as she rushed to the source of the noise. A silver trash can was on its side, spilling garbage. In the trash was a tall wolf mask and the remains of Marek’s fursuit.
The wearer was nowhere to be seen. She ruffled through his suit, but turned up nothing. But there was a crack in the cobblestones nearby. She pulled out her knife, but put it away as soon as it started complaining, “For the last time, I am NOT a crowbar.”
She tried prying open the latch with her fingers, but it barely budged. The last thing she had on hand was the coin she had just gotten. She wedged the big coin in the crack and pried as hard as she could. The cobblestone budged, but that’s it. The coin bent in half. “Dumb gold,” Vella growled. She gave it one more try and succeeded in snapping the coin in half. “Well, now I have two coins, sort of.”
She got back up and left the alley. If Marek was hiding in town, then that had to mean there was something he still wanted here. The artificial sun was setting, reaching the end of its track. After a brief pause, the lights shifted and the color dimmed to resemble a crescent moon.
“Something about that sun and moon look awfully familiar…” Memories of Shay’s ship exploded into her head. “Of course!” There was the facility located on a cliffside above, but below…she just had to find the place the controlled the artificial lighting. “Hall of Day and Night” read another sign, leading to a blocky cement structure on top of a hill. The outside looked modern, with token gold plating, but the top was a crystal pyramidal structure like the Dead Eye God from Shellmound, and Vella knew what that was.
Vella sprinted up to the entrance, but despite the workers coming and going, she was stopped by two burly guards in gold and silver filigree.
“Halt, only authorized staff and guests allowed for the banquet!”
“Who is invited,” asked Vella.
One of the guards shrugged.
“Guildmasters of the Minter’s Guild, Goldsmiths’ Guild, Merchant’s Guild…you know. Bigwigs with lead in their pockets.”
“Are you with catering?” The other guard pointed with her truncheon at her clothes underneath her red cape. “What kind of desert are they having? We get the leftovers, you know.”
The other guard shushed and nudged her hard.
“It’s…a surprise,” said Vella.
Vella left the guards at the gate, left town, then hiked back up the ridge to Facility 4#. The tram that brought her to Baublegilt was still waiting, and she could get back to Woodburr in a flash.
As the tram zipped back in the other direction, Vella had another hour to spend thinking. Of course, the building that gave them light and made their lives possible underground was where the town leaders were holding their big stupid banquet. But then again, this might have been her only chance to infiltrate and snoop around the place, when a big party of people were already going to be there. All she needed was a disguise. Or maybe two.
Vella arrived in Woodburr’s facility and made her way back to the village’s general store.
“It’s you again,” said the plaid-clad vendor brightly. “I hope it’s not plastic explosives you’re looking for, because you bought my last stock. Plenty of other goods, though.”
Vella fished in her pocket and felt each half of the cookie-sized coin. She took out one half.
“How much maple syrup will this get me?”
“The store owner leaned in close to inspect the coin.
“One.”
“One what?”
“One keg,” he shouted. “I haven’t seen that much gold in one place in years! Hold on a second.” He came back wheeling a keg of syrup.
It was a barrel big enough to hide a person in.
“And here’s your change.” The shopkeeper heaved a sack onto the counter that jangled. “I hope you like pennies,” he said with a shrug.
“Um,” said Vella, having been paid at her family’s bakery with pennies before. Then a flash went off in her head. “On second thought, thanks for the pennies,” she said, picking up a copper coin from the bag.
Vella went back into town with her penny sack tied to her belt, rolling her syrup keg on the ground. One of the log cabins in town had to have a seamstress, and she found one by the sign outside.
There was a woman mending a pair of trousers under a noisy sewing machine.
“What do you need, sweetie?”
“I need a sort of dress…”
“What kind of dress? I don’t do anything fancy.”
It was hard to explain, and Vella didn’t want to explain her whole mission from the beginning.
“I need a…costume for…an event I’m going to.”
The seamstress stopped sewing and scooted her stool closer. She leaned close to Vella and asked in a conspiratorial whisper. She grinned.
“Do you need an outfit for…cosplay?”
“Excuse me?”
The woman beamed.
“I know what you kids are about! Why, my son Joshua is into those cartoons too.”
“Mooooom, they’re nooooot cartoooons,” groaned a loud voice from upstairs.
“What do you want to make a dress out of,” she asked Vella, ignoring her son’s cry.
Something reliable and sturdy came to mind.
“How about this,” said Vella, removing her red hood.
“But it’s such a nice cloak. Still, it’s nice fabric. It’ll make a short dress, though, knee-length, maybe.”
“That’s fine. I need to look flashy. Speaking of…” Vella pulled out her sack of pennies. “Can you sew these onto the dress, like sequins?”
“Huh,” said the woman, raising an eyebrow at the pennies. “I guess those characters do have some weird outfits. Still, sequins have holes in them. How else am I going to sew them on?”
Vella wandered around the shop in thought. She went over to the sewing machine and inspected it.
“This basically punches holes in fabric, right?”
“My sewing needle can’t poke holes in pennies, sweetie.”
But Vella had an idea what could.
She pulled out her knife.
“Listen, you like stabbing, right?”
“Ha, almost as much as I like slashing, sweetheart!”
“How do you think you match up against one of these?” She held a penny in front of the knife and rotated it in front of the knife’s little face.
“Those things wouldn’t stand a chance,” he said with a sneer.
“Here’s your chance to prove it!”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
A spool a thread was nearby, allowing Vella to tightly tie the knife to the needle, upside down.
“Excuse me,” Vella said to the seamstress, who politely let Vella take her seat. Vella pulled out a test penny and placed it beneath the knife. She placed a foot on the pedal and the knife rocketed up and down.
“Hold on a second!”
The penny was torn up in the center.
“Maybe a light tap this time…”
Placing another penny beneath the knife, Vella gave a quick tap on the pedal, letting the knife shoot up and down once. She picked up a penny and noted a clean groove cut out from the center.
“Pretty clever, dear,” breathed the seamstress. “You can let me take care of the rest of those. And I’ll fix up your dress in no time. Now, about payment…”
“Will this cover it,” said Vella, handing over the other half of her coin.
The seamstress’s eyes grew huge.
“And then some! I’ll finish it right away, a rush job. Why, I can buy a new workbench, some new records, and even some toys for Joshua.”
“Mooooom,” cried Joshua from upstairs. “They’re not tooooys! They’re figurines!”
Vella rode the tram to Baublegilt sitting across from her keg of syrup. It was easy rolling it through the facility, tricky keeping control while rolling it downhill, and easy rolling it up to the baker’s shop.
“I heard you needed some help baking!” Vella was in open baker’s garb, standing heroically with a hand on her hip and the other on her giant barrel of maple syrup.
“Is that filled with apples,” asked the baker, killing the mood.
“Better,” said Vella attempting to salvage the mood. “Have you ever made a maple syrup cake with maple syrup frosting?” Vella smirked and raised an eyebrow.
“No!” The baker smirked and raised an eyebrow back.
“Should I just do it for you?” Vella’s smirk was strained now.
“I wouldn’t mind if you did, to be honest!”
She would have been more irritated, but Vella was back in her element now.
Vella spent the next hour mixing cake batter, making frosting, preparing the pan, heating the oven, every little thing that made her think of home and not in a giant golden cave hundreds of miles who-knows-where. The dough was easy—flour, eggs, butter, spices, and her maple syrup were on hand. The cake went into the oven in no time, leaving her plenty of time to reduce some of the maple syrup into maple sugar to mix into the cake frosting. The baker’s tools were limited—he was clearly more of a pie person—but when the cake came out of the oven and cooled on the stove, she managed to apply the frosting as smooth as polished marble, and add a few artistic flourishes on the fringes.
“I’ve never seen a cake that nice,” breathed the baker. “How can I ever repay you?”
“Let me cater for you at the banquet. And…” She scanned the baking room. “Can I have your rolling pin?” It was solid gold. It might come in handy later. She certainly would have felt guilty spending it anywhere, since it was bigger than a gold ingot and probably worth more than a place like Woodburr.
“No problem! And take that old thing. I needed to get a new one anyway.”
Half the day had gone by, but Vella still had another errand to finish.
“I’ll be back for the cake. Just give me a couple hours.”
The seamstress was still working when Vella got back, but the dress looked done.
“Give me a second. Just one last coin…here we go.” She held up the dress for Vella to admire. It jangled lightly. It had a simple skirt, and a simple, sleeveless top, but the red stood out, and the hundreds of pennies were polished and dazzling. “I hope I made it right. I got your measurements, but try it on.”
Vella unzipped the back (one of her specifications was that it would be easy to take on and off) and put it on over her casual baking clothes (her other specification). It fit fine. She felt a bit flashy—the last time she wore a dress this flashy, she was escaping a certain monster—but unlike a lot of things in that situation, she was on the hunt, and the skirt was short and loose enough to leave her legs free. She unzipped the dressed and folded it up back in her satchel.
“Don’t forget your funny little knife too.”
“I can’t thank you enough. I…” she couldn’t tell them about Marek, her mission, the horrible things in that Bunny Tutu book. “I’ll make sure everything’s goes fine!”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine, sweetie. And I’ll be here if you ever need anything else in Woodburr.”
“Me too,” called Joshua. “Unless I’m busy,” he added.
It was difficult wheeling two dollies at once, but Vella finally made it back to The Hall of Night and Day. The guards looked her over. She was in her baking gear, uncovered by her red hood, and wheeling a dolly with the keg of leftover syrup, and a dolly with the huge, tan and brown maple syrup cake. They both grinned.
“The back entrance is that way.”
Her dress was folded up in her satchel. Serving staff wheeling a tasty desert didn’t have to be on a guest list.
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di PIERO PACCHIAROTTI ♦
International Tour Film Festival dal 9 al 13 ottobre: grandi numeri e ospiti favolosi, il connubio per un successo unico e cinque giorni sensazionali a Civitavecchia.
Quest’anno si contano ben 3600 opere iscritte da 110 nazioni, come ha evidenziato dalla prima serata – e prima ancora nella Conferenza Stampa del 3 ottobre a Roma presso la sede FUIS – il Presidente dell’International Tour Film Festival Piero Pacchiarotti; esattamente il doppio rispetto alla precedente edizione.
Numeri davvero sorprendenti per non parlare delle peculiarità della kermesse: sette sezioni in gara di cui due riservate ai giovani ed un “vincente assoluto”, il premio della critica; due workshop, molte presentazioni di libri a tema, un meeting sulla costituzione e molto altro si è svolto in queste 5 giornate.
Il ruolo della madrina della manifestazione è stato ricoperto da Ester Vinci, poliedrica attrice di numerose fiction tra cui Squadra Antimafia; l’edizione corrente ha visto l’apertura ufficiale con Simone Gallo ed Anastasia Vasilyeva (conduttori della prima serata) mentre il ruolo del presentatore della serata finale è andato all’attore Roberto Luigi Mauri; accanto a lui sul palco la conduttrice Angela Achilli.
La prima serata è iniziata con l’inaugurazione della mostra fotografica “Cinema e Mito” e le lambrette storiche della collezione di Silvestro Guida, passando dalle fasce di Miss Civitavecchia Elegance di Gloria Salipante e Miss Castelli Romani, per giungere alle note musicali dei cantanti Armando Caforio e Kumiko Yoshii, Roberta Manovelli e Sergio Grech dell’Ass.ne l’Arte del Canto; il film d’apertura è stato invece Il Signor Diavolo, opera ultima di Pupi Avati che vede fra gli attori Andrea Roncato il quale è stato premiato nella sera del 9 ottobre per i suoi favolosi 40 anni di carriera. Gli altri premi della prima serata che sono stati assegnati sono il Fashion Award a Daniela Poggi – che ha scelto a sorpresa di chiamare dal pubblico e di dividere il suo momento sul palco con un’attrice che ha preso enormemente a cuore, la giovane e bravissima Giulia Todaro con la quale sta lavorando attualmente su un set – e lo Special Award allo Chef Bruno Brunori che durante il giorno aveva incontrato i ragazzi dell’istituto alberghiero.
Giovedì 10 serata dedicata ai diritti umani ed al problema del razzismo, con la proiezione di Skin, di Guy Nattiv, fresco premio Oscar 2019 e di Caina alla presenza del regista e dall’attrice principale, rispettivamente Stefano e Luisa Amatucci.
Venerdì 11 ottobre dopo l’inaugurazione della mostra fotografica “Cinema e Mito”, si è svolta la serata come sempre presso La Cittadella della Musica con due premi di prestigio previsti: uno è andato a Maria Grazia Nazzari e l’altro a Nicola Vizzini.
Sabato 12 serata interamente dedicata ai talenti locali con il Festival del Mare, videoclip musicali inediti di altissima qualità grazie alla sapiente regia di Pietro Giorgetti, presentata dalla coppia Floriana Gigli e Gino Florio, vinta da Giuseppe Scaglione.
Domenica 13 ottobre si è svolta, infine, la premiazione di tutte le opere vincenti (vd. allegato) davanti ad un parterre internazionali con registi provenienti da Russia, Spagna, Croazia, Singapore, è così via; è stato consegnato il premio alla carriera a Gennaro Cannavacciuolo. Tra i nomi che occupavano le poltrone in prima fila, tanto per citarne i principali, i registi Christian Marazziti e Daniele Falleri, la regista Donatella Baglivo, le attrici Marilu’ De Nicola e Paola Lavini veterani amici del Festival; il sindaco di Civitavecchia Ernesto Tedesco, l’On. Alessandro Battilocchio, la fashion stylist e marketing manager di Como Monica Gabetta Tosetti – che ha curato l’outfit del presentatore Roberto – con la collega amica e professionista Laura Sonvico; e ancora l’artista Alexandra Del Bene responsabile della realizzazione dei premi e moltissimi altri.
Durante le giornate del festival oltre ai film in concorso si sono tenuti workshop attoriali con Simona Tartaglia; presentazioni libri con personaggi come Pino Scaccia, Raffaella Lanzetta e Manuela Del Zompo. Infine interventi nelle scuole per ricordare personaggi come Mario Monicelli a dieci anni dalla scomparsa e Leonardo Da Vinci.
Si ringraziano le Istituzioni, lo Staff , gli Sponsor, i partners dell’ITFF e tutti coloro che hanno collaborato. Tra le persone che hanno preso parte alla macchina organizzativa di quest’ultima edizione gli storici Francesco Capuano e Andrea Donato; i fotografi Carlo Piersanti, Giuseppe Andidero, Nicoletta Morici e Fabio Finco; i videomaker Cosimo Ricciolino e Benedetta Donsante.
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PIERO PACCHIAROTTI
Presidente ITFF Piero Pacchiarotti; Direttore Artistico Luc Toutounghi; Direttore del Festival Sonia Signoracci
Ufficio stampa Roberta Nardi.
Sito ufficiale: www.internationaltourfilmfest.it/
Di seguito l’elenco delle OPERE PREMIATE – 8^ EDIZIONE ITFF 2019
ITFF MIGLIOR FICTION 2019
Мама (Mother) di Vasiliy Kiselev (Russia)
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ITFF MIGLIOR DOCUMENTARIO 2019
La fiaba perduta di Cristian Natoli e Giulio Gattuso (Italia)
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ITFF MIGLIOR ANIMAZIONE 2019
The goodqueue di Roger Giménez (Spagna)
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ITFF MIGLIOR VIDEO DI PROMOZIONE TURISTICA 2019
RabskaFjera – MedievalSummer Festival
di SanjinBadurina (Croazia)
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ITFF MIGLIOR LUNGOMETRAGGIO ITALIANO 2019
Segretarie – Una vita per il cinema
di Raffaele Ragoe Daniela Masciale
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ITFF PREMIO DELLA CRITICA E VINCITORE ASSOLUTO DEL FESTIVAL
Be Kind
di Sabrina Paravicini e Nino Monteleone (Italia)
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ITFF MENZIONE SPECIALE
Switch di Andrea Vella e Martina Vacca
Laboratorio Cinematografico di Santa Marinella
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ITFF – VIDEOVERSI (sezione Adulti) 1^ Classificato a:
Il cappotto verde di Fabio Lucarelli
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ITFF – VIDEOVERSI (sezione Adulti) 2^ Classificato a:
Haiku n.2 di Paolo Di Luca
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ITFF – VIDEOVERSI (sezione Adulti) 3^ Classificato a:
Io vedo con il cuore di Silvia Giampà
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ITFF – VIDEOVERSI (Sezione giovani) 1^ Classificato
Assenza di Maria Laura Marino
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ITFF – VIDEOVERSI (Sezione giovani) 2^ Classificato
Amico Mio di Elisa Corti
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ITFF – VIDEOVERSI (Sezione giovani) 3^ Classificato
Sognatore straniero di Alessia Malinconici
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ITFF CITTADINI D’EUROPA – 1^ Classificata a:
La giovane Unione Europea, Lei, la sua storia, il suo futuro
di Maria Rosaria Raucci e Alessandra Ommeniello – ISISS Terra Di Lavoro – Caserta
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ITFF CITTADINI D’EUROPA 2^ Classificata a
Uniti a sostegno della legalità di Veridiana Cassarisi
IIS Via dell’Immacolata 47 – Civitavecchia
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ITFF CITTADINI D’EUROPA 3^ Classificata a:
Cittadini d’Europa di Angela Pernice
IIS Vespucci – ColomboLivorno
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ITFF CITTADINI D’EUROPA – Menzione Speciale a:
Ride – Liberi di muoverci di Silvia Luciani
Istituto Comprensivo Enrico Fermi di Macerata
International Tour Film Festival dal 9 al 13 ottobre: grandi numeri e ospiti favolosi di PIERO PACCHIAROTTI ♦ International Tour Film Festival dal 9 al 13 ottobre: grandi numeri e ospiti favolosi, il connubio per un successo unico e cinque giorni sensazionali a Civitavecchia.
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#tbt Angie en Valencia #filter #hefe #multi #photo #me #snapchat #pretty #family #unity #spain❤️ #amarillo #rojo #ig #espagne🇪🇸 #feliz #valenciano #orange #europa #daily #kind #dairy #love #diario #luv (à Ciutat Vella)
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Africa Day celebrations at Joburg Theatre
Mahube after HIFA 2017 – Photo by Ezekiel Mutasa
Joburg Theatre and the Department of Arts and Culture present Africa/Youth Day celebrations at Joburg and Soweto Theatres on 26, 27 May and 13, 14 June.
Fifty-four years ago, the Organisation of African Unity was launched and gave rise to the day that is commemorated as Africa Day, and 41 years ago the world-famous ’76 uprising changed the face of South Africa.
To celebrate these notable days, Joburg City Theatres, in partnership with the Department of Arts and Culture, have invited the continent on a trans-African journey that celebrates African musicians and writers. The vision of the African Union is that of “an integrated, prosperous and peaceful Africa, driven by its own citizens and representing a dynamic force in the global arena”.
“Africa Day is an opportunity for South Africans to reconnect and commit to a better Africa for all. Song, dance and dialogue have throughout history proven to assist in change and unity,” Says Joburg City Theatres CEO Ms. Xoliswa Nduneni-Ngema
Featuring globally lauded musicians and literary scholars, this year’s Africa and Youth Day celebrations promise not only to entertain, but also to feature platforms for important reflection, focus and dialogue on issues facing Africa, its diaspora and beyond. From featuring one of the best drummers living in the world today, to African writers proving the pen’s might over the sword, to a Festival of world-class music, dance, word and song mastery.
Music Programme:
Paco Séry & the African Beat: Multi-Grammy award-winning legendary drummer Paco Séry will be joined by a highly-acclaimed ensemble of international African musicians, who are each renowned in their own right. Paco Séry (Ivory Coast), band leader and known to some as the best living drummer in the world, has performed with the likes of Jaco Pastorus, Joe Zawinul, Nina Simone to Marvin Gaye. Etienne Mbappé, a world-class bass player from Cameroon, who boasts of having played with and alongside Manu Dibango, Robben Ford, Ray Charles, John McLaughlin and Bill Evans. Aly Keita from Mali who specializes in traditional instruments including the balafon. Cheick Tidiane Seck (keyboard) also from Mali is an arranger and composer who has written for and played with Fela Kuti, Mory Kanté, Salif Keita, and Youssou N’Dour. Danny Marta (guitar), from France, as well as Nicholas Vella (keyboard) from Italy concludes the star-studded affair.
Hope Masike of Mahube – Photo by Ezekiel Mutasa
Mahube is a African collective led by acclaimed composer and saxophonist Steve Dyer (SA) and supported by renowned African musicians Hope Masike (Zimbabwe) a talented singer, dancer and Mbira player; Xixel Langa a dynamic singer and dancer that hails from Mozambique; named the Standard Bank Young Artist for Jazz in 2016, Siya Makuzeni (SA) is a trombone player, vocalist, lyricist and songwriter well-known for her uniquely experimental, edgy yet pure intonation, and Zimbabwean/SA award-winning guitarist and producer Louis Mhlanga.
Nathi Mankayi to perform at Africa Day Celebrations at Joburg Theatre
Nathi is a South African singer-songwriter and artist. He shot to limelight upon the release of his critically acclaimed song titled “Nomvula” off his triple-platinum debut studio album ‘Buyelekhaya’. Originally from the rural Eastern Cape, Nathi has overcome all odds to become a major star in the African continent.
The Parlotones
The Parlotones are a South African indie rock band from Johannesburg. They have released 8 studio albums and are one of South Africa’s best-selling music artists of all time, enjoying multi-platinum success. They have won 9 South African Music Awards, and, in 2009, were the first South African band to headline at the Coca-Cola Dome. The band has received international acclaim and toured with the likes of Coldplay, Starsailor, Ash, The Wombats, Snow Patrol and Blue October.
Literature, Poetry and Dialogue:
Claudia Rankine is a poet, essayist, playwright and the editor of several anthologies. Her most recent work, the book-length poem, Citizen: An American Lyric won the 2014 Los Angeles Times Book Award, the 2015 National Book Critics Circle Award in Poetry and was the first book in the award’s history to be nominated in both poetry and criticism. Citizen uses poetry, essay, cultural criticism, and visual images, to explore what it means to be an American citizen in a “post-racial” society. Last year, Rankine announced that she would use the money from her recently bestowed MacArthur “Genius” Grant (US$ 625 000) to help establish the Racial Imaginary Institute in Manhattan, a project where artists will present talks, read essays, host podcasts, and exhibit work focused on race, race relations and the creative imagination.
Music programme: Africa Month Festival
Joburg Theatre – The Mandela stage
Friday 26 May
Paco Séry and the African Beat (West Africa/Paris)
Nathi (SA)
Time: 20:00
Tickets: R120
Saturday 27 May
Mahube (Zim/SA/Moz)
Paco Séry and the African Beat (West Africa/Paris)
The Parlotones (SA)
Time: 20:00
Tickets: R150
Literature Programme (Free to the public)
Please RSVP to: [email protected] or [email protected].
Refreshments and snacks will be provided before the talks and workshops.
Masterclass Workshop with Claudia Rankine. The importance of writing; unpacking the racial imagination and going beyond.
Joburg Theatre, Space.com
Tuesday 13 June at 14:00
Panel Discussion: What is A Decolonised Africa? Young Writers’ Perspectives.
Panellists still to be confirmed.
Joburg Theatre, Space.com
Tuesday 13 June at 18:30
Talk by Claudia Rankine: Deconstructing Culture, Race and Privilege: Black Lives Matter
Soweto, Soweto Theatre
Wednesday 14 June at 18:30
Transport: Free transport will be provided from Joburg Theatre, Braamfontein, to Soweto Theatre and back. The booking of transport is essential as well as RSVP’s for seats at the talk.
Africa Day celebrations at Joburg Theatre was originally published on Artsvark
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