The story of Mr Winningoes – 8


He cried, my old father, seeing the medals that I had conquered in the hot skies of Europe. With pride he told me that he knew of my heroic deeds, and now that his name, the glorious lineage of Winningoeses had been fully rehabilitated, he could happily die. I wished to him a very long life, leaving his medals as consolation of my not dilatory departure. My books, my studies attended me again, in the United States, for a new thrilling issue on the walk of truth.

Taking back to my searches I considered that I had to continue in a forced direction, if it were true, as it is true, that the brain of every living being contains, even though modified by the evolution, the original matrix of our existence.


I resolutely threw myself heart and soul into brain’s study. I felt that I had to create a super brain in order to be reproduced and form a race of super-men able to drive on the right direction this dregs of humanity that inhabits the world.

8. to be continued…


The story of Mr Winningoes – 7


Have a drink, please. It is cognac from Charente, one of the few things that I appreciate of French people.”

This way saying he poured some of that liquid in a short, carved wine glass, explaining  that a cognac, to be really good, has to leave, if slightly rotated, a thin layer of color inside the glass.

As soon as I had drunk, I immediately felt a comforting warmth. On the warm’s alcohol wave I thought that that man surely knew so much indeed about life. His theories, yet quiet abstruse to me, showed however a sort of suggestive charm.

– “You certainly know how has the second world war concluded” – said the man, who went on talking about the last phases of the war, mixing them with some personal circumstances and original points of view, totally different from official historical interpretation .

– “Excuse me , my friends, for detouring from the main path” – he returned to say taking back the main stream of his narration. -“After all, such problems, didn’t interest to me so much at the time, neither they interest to me today. I had to follow my life, and rather, the use of the atomic bombs in Japan made me understand, even more, the urgency of stopping mankind’s foolishness, under the risk of destroying the world and all its living forms. When I was dismissed, appointed as a real hero, I decided to go to pay a visit to my father. I still felt some grudge towards him and perhaps, I thought, I would  fling to him my medals,  which “his” king had given to me. But the memoirs of my happy infancy wound me in a veil of emotion and when I saw my father, old and tired, convicted on a wheels chair, I understood that was time to pass over and look at future.

7. to be continued…

The story of Mr Winningoes -6


From this premise I puzzled out  that the basic beliefs of the national socialist philosophy were correct: the humanity, in order to be saved, needed a superior race to be raised over the others for leading them to salvation. But German race could not certainly be the chosen one. The world needed a  novel race,  filled by goodness and love.

With a greater fury than before, I addressed all my energies against the hateful enemy: I challenged death ten, hundred, thousands of times, always defeating the adversary.

Little by little, I started perceiving  what role it was reserved to me in the history of the world and  the contours of my destiny assumed more and more its clean and precise outline.”

While pronouncing his last words Mr Winningoes, who had gradually been increasing his excitement during the narration, lifted up his right  forefinger, tensed as an accuser, and rotating a couple of times his eyes, he halted eventually with an insane expression of craziness depicted on his face. He remained for indefinite time with the lift forefinger, staring into space, with his muscles tended as if they  wanted to get out of standing. He seemed a statue of marble, immortalized in a grotesque pose. This sudden explosion of apparent madness came unexpected. Before we had the time to interact, however, the man seemed to recover himself. He looked around, lost and embarrassed and, grabbed a glass of water, voided all of it in a hit. The water seemed to calm the man. His eyes showed now a serene light and he looked like being almost absent, lost in his thoughts or perhaps looking for recomposing the interrupted line of his story. He pulled the refreshments trolley and picked up a crystal’s cruet filled of a golden colored liquid.

6. to be continued…

The story of Mr Winningoes – 5


After a brief but intense training I was assigned, as I had required myself, having the pre-requisite for it, to pilot’s hunting squads. Between whiles of my missions I had the opportunity to deeply analyze the causes of those disastrous events. I had been, it is true, in the years immediately preceding the war completely devoted to my studies, in a way that I could call purely scientific of the phenomena which stand at the base of the human life, but it was not certainly in the fore coming years of war that we had to seek its reasons and inmost causes. The roots of hate and evil sank their extreme appendixes in the most tangled and lavish meanders of human mind. These deleterious feelings, so inherent to human mind, were to be conceived like the principal causes of that huge bath of blood.

5. to be continued…

The story of Mr Winningoes – 4


The burst of the second world war caught me surprised on this walk of studies and searches.

Bitterly I was forced to consider that human beings pursued their premature end, rather than search for the truth.


But at that time I hadn’t yet understood that every human action, even the most iniquitous and bestial, has however its own reason to be done and for me, that war, would have been another fundamental step on the way of comprehension.


When Germany, violating the international agreements formerly undersigned, moved war to England, attacking London, I realized that the right moment had come for me to show that the Parnells loved to fight for freedom, under any flag and against whoever oppressed its exercise. I went to England and enlisted, as a volunteer,  in the Royal Air Force, despite I have to confess you that, after the betrayal of my father, I felt more Irish than English, also considering that in those days, as it is today, Ireland was divided in two parts, with a part still under the British dominion.

4. to be continued…

Aldo Moro il Professore – 5

Aldo Moro Il professore

Nel libro di Giorgio Balzoni c’è una rivelazione scioccante e terribile allo stesso tempo: la vita di Moro è stata sacrificata in nome delle pretese e dei machiavellismi di un agente americano della CIA. Un certo Pieczenek avrebbe convinto i politici democristiani a sostenere la tesi che le lettere dal carcere delle Brigate Rosse non fossero autentiche ma bensì scritte da aldo Moro  sotto dettatura oppure scritte in condizioni di subordinazione psicologica e come tali inaffidabili.

Questo perché agli USA della vita di Moro non importava un beato fico secco. Ciò che a Kissinger and company importava era che il progetto di imbarcare i comunisti nel governo, che Moro perseguiva sin dagli anni sessanta (da quando cioè aveva acconsentito all’allargamento delle maggioranze monocolori democristiane con l’ingersso dei socialisti), non si realizzasse. E la sua morte era l’ideale per questi spietati agenti e politicanti americani.

Ciò che mi scandalizza e sgomenta maggiormente, non è tanto l’atteggiamento degli americani (che fossero degli imperialisti cui premeva soltanto il controllo dello scacchiere europeo ci era noto sin da quando eravamo ragazzi); ma mi fa ancora fremere di rabbia e di indignazione il fatto che gli amici di Moro non seppero riconoscere in quelle lettere il loro collega deemocristiano, il suo spessore umano, il suo pensiero, così profondo e diverso da quello che Andreotti e i suoi amici ci hanno trasmesso.

5. continua…

The story of Mr Winningoes-3


I travelled at first through the United States and Canada, then I went to Australia and New Zealand. After I visited Europe, without never finding the courage to return to my country. Tired of the European Countries, among which I mostly liked Italy, I departed to India and finally, always curious of new lands, I went to Africa.


Neither women, neither alcohol, nor drugs not even the vices which I was devoted in those years succeeded in cancelling my bitter memoirs, until one day, while I was sojourning in Kenya, I fell ill, prey of strong fevers. Not a lot, then I gave, to live or die, but the Fate, had evidently planned  that I survived, so that the programs could be realized, whose I will have the honor and the pleasure to communicate to you. Revealed therefore from the illness, I returned to America aiming however to south, that I had not visited yet.


Going up again homeward, I stayed for a long time in Mexico, that not little fascinated me. By then,  I had satisfied my world’s curiosity, so I preferred to  take over again my studies, more assidously  than before. I was akin of all: medicine, biology, physics, mathematics, chemistry, hidden sciences, illusionism, magic arts, engineering, electronics, astrology, philosophy, astronomy, sociology, anthropology, theology, ethnology, history, juridical, economic and political sciences and every other thing attracted my mind curious of reaching new knowledge.

3. to be continued…