The MIT and the disobedience award


«The Media Lab Disobedience Award seeks to highlight effective, responsible, ethical disobedience across disciplines (scientific research, civil rights, freedom of speech, human rights, and the freedom to innovate, for example). Disobedience Award objectives are to build awareness and support of disobedience-robust work being done around the world and to promote role models for younger people. With this award, we will honor work that impacts society in positive ways and is consistent with a set of key principles, including non-violence, creativity, courage, and responsibility for one’s actions. The award will go to a living person or group engaged in what we believe is extraordinary disobedience for the benefit of society. We’re seeking both expected and unexpected and unexpected nominees.»

REF: https://www.media.mit.edu/posts/disobedience-award/

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On the abolition of all political parties…


SIMONE WEIL AND THE ABOLITION OF ALL POLITICAL PARTIES. This question appears certainly to a great number of people when observing our tormented world. Corruption, impunity, wars, terrorism, exponentially increased poverty and, to culminate, the promise of a more complex and dangerous world, with an uncertain end for humanity. But citizens, in general, are confused with the idea of Democracy, truly believing that this political regime is the best among the worst. However, what we observe worldwide, from Venezuela to modern and rich “democracies”, like the US, and Europe, is the danger of renewed wars and a general incompetence in ruling an unbalanced world, with an increased gap between the poor and the 1% of inconceivably rich. Simone Weil (3 February 1909 – 24 August 1943) was a French philosopher, mystic, and political activist. She engaged in the political activities, concerned about the working classes. Weil was among the very few that discussed face-to-face with the Red Army founder, Léon Trotsky, arguing against Trotsky, by writings, and in person, that the élite communist bureaucrats could be just as oppressive as the worst capitalists. As we know it, she was right… Reading her book entitled “On the abolition of all political parties” is presently obligatory since the humans face an unprecedented risk of financial, social, and cultural collapse. I quote: «There are three of these: 1. A political party is a machine to generate collective passions. 2. A political party is an organization designed to exert collective pressure upon the minds of all its individual members. 3. The first objective and also the ultimate goal of any political party is its own growth, without limit. Because of these three characteristics, every party is totalitarian – potentially, and by aspiration. If one party is not actually totalitarian, it is simply because those parties that surround it are no less so. These three characteristics are factual truths – evident to anyone who has ever had anything to do with the every-day activities of political parties. As to the third: it is a particular instance of the phenomenon which always occurs whenever thinking individuals are dominated by a collective structure – a reversal of the relationship between ends and means.»

REF: http://www.spaziofilosofico.it/en/numero-09/4243/note-sulla-soppressione-dei-partititi-politici-simone-weil-beppe-grillo-e-alfred-n-whitehead/Weil

Budapest


Some people say that Time is a healer, but it depends on each one perspective. You can be wounded a second time. I am a living proof that this may happen. And not every city are good for people looking for love, but Budapest certainly is. Just to give some weight to my statement I suggest you the reading of the novel entitled “Budapest”. The author is the famous Brazilian singer and writer, Chico Buarque de Hollanda. Brazilians, despite being citizens in one of the most politically chaotic countries, they have practically all the paradise corners on Earth. So, this is my humble contribution to the legend…

Széll Kálmán tér, formerly Moszkva tér, i. e., Moscow Square. It is one of the city’s busiest transport interchanges. The central metro station. A crowd crossed the plaza in a busy mood. He have met her a few years before. Well, to be more accurate in Time, twelve years before when he was a Visiting Professor at Eötvös Loránd University, the largest university in Hungary. Now, at his middle age, he returned to give a selected number of talks at Eötvös on political philosophy, and the Department gave to him one apartment contiguous to the apartment where once she lived as a student. Where their passionate relationship had started. That coincidence triggered all memories back again, even if they exchanged only a few letters since that time.

He pulled out from his coat a small piece of paper with straight handwritten instructions, left by her during the previous day in the mailbox. «Take the train at Moskvá Tér in direction of Hösök tere. We meet there».

He took the deep steep descent with the escalator toward the caves of Pest. In the platform, several clocks displayed with rigor the exact time of arrival of the train. With a midst of roar and speed, the train headed to Hösök tere. He was afraid to be in delay, knowing that she was displeased by late arrivals. When he reached the destination, she was already there, near the exit of the underground.

– Just in time! I’m surprised… – she said, with a smile on her face enchanted with deep blue eyes, luminous pink skin, and a blonde hair. “She looks like an angel”, he told himself.

– And you look gorgeous!… – He replied, doing his best to be at her level, a penetrating mind, eager to discover the arcane side of life.

– Oh, you are a gentleman. Thank you … – she clearly appreciated the compliment – See? This is Heroes Square, in front the Andrássy Avenue and this semi circular pillared colonnade is the Millenium Monument, displaying the statues of our kings and leaders that fought for our freedom.

– Oh, you are proud of your country! – He exclaimed, amused, looking deep into her blue eyes.

– Aren’t you of yours? … – she stopped with a gentle interrogation on her face and a melodious tone of voice.

– Not really! … – he replied bluntly.

They visited the nearby museums that surround the Heroes Square, the Museum of Fine Arts, and the Kunsthalle. After the visits, they started silently walking down Andrássy út. This is a magnificent avenue of Budapest with typical buildings of Eastern Europe, certainly enduring in the memory of the refined traveler.

-Are you still fond of your wife? She asked suddenly with a naughty voice while gazing at the majestic buildings.

-How can we define passion? If we like someone, if we are attached to someone, is that passion? – He attempted to defend himself, like in a political cause.

-You are weak… You live with someone that doesn’t love you, that probably even doesn’t make love with you as often as you desire, and you are fond of her. Shame on you! – she riposted.

-And you? Are you now fond of someone? – He tried to divert the focus of the conversation.

-My passion is Life. I am not looking for nothing else but a lover, someone who makes love with me – she stated with a clear voice and no vacillations, looking straight up into the avenue – A lover, a really good lover, is all I want. All the rest has no importance. You guys are all the same.

They continued walking a few more meters in silence until he felt a need to speak.

-You should know that I loved you a lot. You should know it.

-Yeah, yeah. And why you avoided me when I needed you, when I request your company when I begged for your support. So many times. You, big Professor! …

-I am not a “big” Professor, you know that.

-Of course, I know. I surpassed you! I have a better position than you now in my university. It was all about, wasn’t it? You were so occupied with your career in Academia, with your stupid wife that didn’t love you.In a certain way, it is true what you say now. But I made a judgment error. Life is not about a career, it is about love. And, “at my age” – he stressed intentionally, with a gentle smile on his face – I realized that love is the most important in life, nothing else matters…

-In a certain way, it is true what you say now. But I made a judgment error. Life is not about a career, it is about love. And, “at my age” – he stressed intentionally, with a gentle smile on his face – I realized that love is the most important in life, nothing else matters…

-And … “Never opened myself this way, Life is ours, we live it our way, all these words I don’t just say, and nothing else matters” – she sang the old song of Metallica.

-See? I knew you loved that heavy metal band. We still share something – he completed the phrase, looking to that beautiful face and erotic body with a deep desire to make love with her, again, after all these years.

-What? … – she stopped looking straight at him with a kind of feeling, intuition. You still love me?!

-Of course.

She stopped in front of Franz Liszt apartment and proposed to visit what is now a museum. The old lifter was broken and they had to descend the stairs. They descend in silence, again, until she stopped at a corner of the staircase. She undresses the blouse showing her breasts with her typical candid look gazing on him. He took her to the dark corner kissing her lips, neck, and breast with delicacy. He was sure to love that girl, a lot younger than himself.

-Do you still love me? – he asked while kissing, touching her, trying to undress her mini-skirt.

But she was enjoying the moment, just that moment that she waited for so long, with luxury and detachment, not responding to him, however.Do you still love me? …

-Do you still love me? …

-No, I don’t love you anymore – she finally replied, gazing at him with a detached feeling, while he looked at her, surprised, with a profound sadness engraved in his soul.

Then, she pushed him away gently and started to dress again, button-up slowly that white shirt that she often wears without a bra. They descend again the stairs, and he looked at her while she walked away.

Walking in the streets of Babylon


Babylon is a marvel of our times with beautiful gardens and temples, crossed by the Euphrates river and carefully defended by canals through which people from all the world can enter the city by many gates at disposal. Finally, I was there for the first time in my trading of timber, after a long and tiresome journey in a caravan from my hometown, Sardis.

I was walking along Marduk Street on my way to the Market when I saw a beautiful woman who I have seen before when traveling across the Royal Road and coming from Sardis, my hometown in Asia Minor. She crossed to a straight transversal street and attracted like a magnet, I went back looking to where she was heading. Her pose and fine traits were outstanding, I may say with certainty. Maybe she was a lost princess, possibly from distant lands of Anatolia, I told to myself.

– I saw you before when traveling across Ecbatana – I told her at the moment I finally reached her, with my voice trembling.

The woman was surprised but with fine manners started to excuse herself for not noticing me before.

– It’s me that ask your pardon, beautiful princess. I was on my way to the Market where I hope to sell some gold coins. And you, where are you going if it is not being too audacious to ask.

– I was looking at the Market, too, but these small streets seem so full of life…and I got lost inside their meanders.

– No doubt…May I join you? – With a gentle smile, she accepted.

They walked along the narrow streets inside the Imperial city when they found some people gathered around a squared table, like a chess game that instead of pawns, queens and kings, had naked statues of female and male. The game was simple, each player chooses the statue and another player had his/her choice, and they touched each statue, feeling an unusual shivering. He was surprised for the libertine context around and the woman becomes genuinely embarrassed. Then, as if she were a sinner, she told him: «I need to leave to the Temple…»

They continued to walk again together and further down the corner, two women were apparently playing with each other, the youngest holding the oldest by the back, by the cheeks, having their bodies static but after a short while the youngest start forcing the cheeks in a clearly painful way and then the oldest start saying, «Stop, my daughter, you are hurting me» and the youngest replied, aloud, «Why did you spend my money in the lotteries! Why??».

Then, already near the big Temple were the Princess were supposed to stay, several clay figures of blazing woman holding their hands over their chest were being sold, and the seller was repeatedly telling what anyone foreigner would say in respect for the Lord, that ‘I am, and there is no one else besides me.’ I was attentive to all my surrounding, a habitude I developed as a necessary condition of a successful young trader when I heard two old women telling to each other in a conspiracy mood: «See? In this Temple, priestess indulges in sex from behind **…»

Finally, while we walked silently towards the entrance of the Temple I become aware that I could possess the heart of this princess provided had more time to build a true and respectful friendship with her. Then, she stopped, looked at me, and said in a mood of confession: «I know that my redeemer liveth». Then, I held softly her hand and, maiden-like, I returned: «You will come in my dreams».

Now, I live with this insane thought tormenting me all along my longest and loneliest journeys crossing the most beautiful desertic lands of the Earth, because in my pure soul of a simple citizen of Sardis I knew that Babylon corrupted me.

** During Roman times the expression “coitus a tergo” was used.

babylon

 

 

The Gatekeepers and the Blockade of Science


I was born in an epoch where science was highly respected because it saves lives, it gives to our lives comfort and quality, and with cybernetics, there was a general feeling the day of liberating humans from mechanical and under-human activities would be over. But what we see nowadays is a situation where it is relatively easy to publish mainstream science, publish papers that delve on the sex of the angels, measure numerous parameters in complex systems with no theoretical explanation, the abuse (i.e.,, without attempting to understand and explain) of numerical simulators to reproduce complex natural and artificial artefacts. By another side, every work that attempts to introduce new concepts, because they may lead ultimately to a change of the social, these works are despised, not allowed to appear in mainstream journals. This situation should be discussed among scientists, because since the beginning of science, science was always in trouble, because every effort of the human mind to uncover the great mysteries of life and the universe is not welcomed,probably, by a sector f society, powerful and privileged, that wanted since the beginning of times, a lot of slaves to have a free and available workforce.  Thet’s why it exists, most probably, the “gatekeepers”, a class of people that ensures that no radical idea enters in the society, putting in peril, a status quo that is based on medieval ideas of power, but is not serving the progress of civilization, that does not even follow the idea of the great philosophers humanity have the fortune to produce. One of those class of gatekeepers is the political class. That’s why they are a social class; to gain money while serving 1% of the human population that got their richness from corruption and taxation.

REF: https://www.utwente.nl/en/bms/communication-theories/sorted-by-cluster/Media%2C%20Culture%20and%20Society/gatekeeping/gatekeeper1

L’écume des jours


Walking along the streets of the city, he realized that since a long while she hadn’t called him back, as she used to do before. The cold air from the mountains and the gray lights from the Sun perpetuated his feeling of loneliness. He was in his mid-fifties and his wife, much younger, left him for that same reason. He was too old for her. Until then, he had a total and exclusive relationship with her. He loved the nonchalant way she walked, when he caught sight of her in the distance, from his office at the Department of Literature, just before the lesson she attended. His Lessons. One day, she went to his tutorial class, and while he discussed the philosophy behind English drama, he was thrilled to see her look back at him with intensity, while slowly unbuttoning the coat. The reminiscence, L’écume des jours, as we might say, were frequently in his mind, trying to understand the reason why she left him so early (he thought).

“We must leave before separation happens…It is the classic move, everybody knows.” Oh, so many times he saw that strange look when a woman wants, wishes to abandon her lover.

“Catherine, let me in!” he whispered with his trembling voice while attempting to unlock the door with his cold hands. She opened the door, one more time, and then splashed some water on his face, laid him on the bed, undressing him slowly, warming his nude body with her nude body. And in a faint, insatiable voice, he begs her “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me”. What he thought to be unbreakable bonds, were in fact, miracles of the existence.

Chronicles from Lisbon: Fatima


Fatima Saturday was uncommonly hot and I decided to go to Fatima for personal reasons. I didn’t want to ask God anything as if for asking and protecting God would exist – somewhere or in our minds. I went there because the last time I went there it was thirty years ago with one girl friend who I loved so much, and now I know that she left me for that same reason. As anything is about love, there I was: on the right spot. If God exists, and possibly exist, but as we never saw Him, unless in certain peculiar moments or states of spirit, most possibly He exists in a different form than we think. So, there I was in the middle of a multitude coming from different parts of the world, notified by the different languages I heard, mostly Italian, Spanish and Polish. Being there, I bought a candle in an attempt to wire me to Him through fire. But no, I couldn’t put the candle gently on a holder, everybody in the crowd received harsh orders to throw the candle to the pyre, and I couldn’t even approach it because the temperature reminded me the Hell. Then, I went to the mess, but couldn’t enter inside the Church, full of lost souls like mine. Lost and tired from this temple now converted into an open market. Then I returned to Lisbon, but I was decided anyhow to attend the mess, I was badly needing, I feel myself a God hunter, someone who wants to believe, and in truth, many times miracles saved my life, so He must exist, but I want to know why He passes our entire lives hidden, feeding unnecessary doubts. I want to know if God is our craziest invention, an invention that justifies wars, or an invention that gives a sense of family life. So, as I said, I went to the local mess in my neighborhood. The priest looked at me (or it seemed to me) with curiosity and start the homily about priesthood and noble professions. That our lives on Earth are a priesthood, that life is a sacrifice dedicated to others and society, that above all it is love the most important value, that God expresses Himself to us through Love. Then, the mess ended and the priest with his acolyte left through the central alley, and when walking with dignity accompanied by the old organ and spiritual songs, a blond young woman in colorful dress called him aside and whisper with a smile some words to him, and then he continued the way, but now with a more joyous and bright expression on his face. A middle aged couple was by my side and I heard the man whispering to his wife: “And she said: at eleven, in my house”…

Giordono Bruno and our vision of the universe


Considering that planet Earth is not anymore at the center and that the Sun is at the center, why not, inquired Giordano Bruno, why not to go further than Copernicus in our inquiring, that is, to imagine a universe infinite where the solar system would be one among thousand others. This question raised by Bruno generated a revolution in our knowledge because the entire horizon that made our culture was destroyed suddenly. Because, for Giordano Bruno, the smallest of the beings and the greatest celestial body had the same weight in the new vision of the universe.

bruno_statue

Socrates and the intellectual combat


Socrates represents the paradigmatic figure of the imprisoned philosopher, like so many others for whom life and intellectual commitment are indissociable. And for that reason paid with their own life. For Michel Foucault Socrates embodies the “courage of truth” and for Bertolt Brecht, in The socratesLife of Galilee, “Thinking is one of the greatest pleasures of the human race.” But from the beginning, thinking is a dangerous activity, for the political and religious powers, feeling threatened by those that interrogate unceasingly and having in their nature the eagerness of knowing without limits.

In this painting, Socrates is surrounded by his followers, sentenced to die by drinking poison hemlock.

 

State terrorism and their strategy of tension…


Swiss historian Dr. Daniele Ganser, author of the seminal book NATO’s Secret Armies: Operation GLADIO and Terrorism in Western Europe.

«But by the early 1960s – under the pressures of anti-communist politicking and flirtations with the Far Right – some of these groups began to morph into something more sinister, linking up with extreme right-wingers who carried out acts of false-flag terrorism, harassment of left-wing parties and coups d’état.

But was this morphing simply an unforeseen consequence of the unaccountability and instability of the network itself? Or was it, at least in part, engineered by the very Anglo-American establishment which gave birth to the project in the first place? And to what extent, therefore, can such acts of terror be seen as manifestations of ‘the strategy of tension’, carried out by the State against its own citizens for the purposes of control at home and geopolitical gain abroad? (We also discuss: Operation Northwoods, the so-called War on Terror, 9/11 and the recent Charlie Hebdo attacks.)»

http://www.globalresearch.ca/natos-secret-armies-operation-gladio-and-the-strategy-of-tension/5500132gladio-nato-false-flag-terrorist-operations