Bernard Jan's Blog - Posts Tagged "death"

Of Life, Death, Aliens and Zombies by Dario Cannizzaro

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Dario Cannizzaro is a 35-year-old writer from Naples who managed to mislead me with the title of his collected stories Of Life, Death, Aliens and Zombies and a completely black cover of his book outlined with red images of a syringe, stars, planet Saturn, a cross, a profile of a woman, a naked female body, a hand digging out its way through earth, a spaceship, a pierced heart, and a cloud dialogue with xxx in it. My mind was sidetracked into believing that I will be reading gory, horror stories of aliens, zombies, death celebrated and life taken, so I embraced myself for this dark and short journey.

I was so wrong. And I wouldn't put a blame for it on Dario Cannizzaro for choosing this title and Vico for “lending his design talent” for this book cover. Actually, now when I reflect on everything that I've read in nine stories on 104 pages (Preface, Thank you and Bio & Contacts pages included), they are rather logical and smartly chosen. Only my dark and twisted mind has been looking forward to the rivers of blood and aliens and zombies hunting down the remaining surviving specimens of mankind!

Cannizzaro's stories are indeed stories about life, death, alien and zombies. They are stories about everyday life as we know it, life as it could be if things went slightly different (e.g. zombies walking among us, Pope admitting that aliens are gods we have been worshiping since the dawn of mankind), life and death that continue its perpetual circle despite the fact that aliens are watching us and we don't care much about it after the first initial shock of finding the truth that is out there, or that zombies are our new neighbors even though we do not see or hear them so we carry on with our daily life, normal as it can be under the new circumstances.

Cannizzaro's stories are also stories about love, passion and sex. In some we can so vividly taste the smells, fragrances and the bloodstream of Italy, in others we are faced with our own basic instincts, aspirations, cravings, hopes, dreams and memories. Some of them are not even two pages long, while others are a more complex and maybe even more demanding reading. All of them, though, are carefully written with Cannizzaro's beautiful style and meticulously chosen words and sentences.

Three of my favorite stories are Yet Another Zombie Apocalypse, The Best Place to Plan a Mass Shooting and The Announcement. If that describes me as an aspiring and sometimes misunderstood author who is scared shitless of zombies and hopes for aliens to come to his rescue, so be it. This is who I am. But these stories carry the weight of a deeper truth and hypothetical and yet not-so-alien reality, if we only allow ourselves to think outside the box we have been put and locked into.

There is one particular story I wanted to mention at the end and I am sure there is a good reason why the author saved it to end his first book of collected stories with it as well. Impurita is the most complex and in-depth story of them all, but what truly separates it and places it on a special pedestal is the beauty and love with which it is written, a strong and deep emotion and the poetry in every sentence through which it speaks to us. Would calling it a literary masterpiece be an exaggeration? I hope you will be able to tell me that after you read it.

BJ
www.bernardjan.com



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Dead Men Naked by Dario Cannizzaro

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


In my first review of Cannizzaro's work (a collection of stories titled Of Life, Death, Aliens and Zombies) I wrote: Three of my favorite stories are Yet Another Zombie Apocalypse, The Best Place to Plan a Mass Shooting and The Announcement. These stories carry the weight of a deeper truth and hypothetical and yet not-so-alien reality, if we only allow ourselves to think outside the box we have been put and locked into. There is one particular story (...) Impurita (...) the most complex and in-depth story of them all, but what truly separates it and places it on a special pedestal is the beauty and love with which it is written, a strong and deep emotion and the poetry in every sentence through which it speaks to us. Would calling it a literary masterpiece be an exaggeration?

Dario's new book and his first novel Dead Men Naked is a literary masterpiece. It is of no importance what other people say and with how many stars they rate it. No stars and no other opinion and review can alter the feeling and sensation I experienced while reading it.

I am not a person who flirts with occult and otherworldly. I also don't think often about death despite my occasional suicidal thoughts and moments when meeting death would be a welcome hideaway and oasis of nirvana and nonexistence from the everyday monsters of the world of the living.

The way Dario Cannizzaro flirts with it in his Dead Men Naked makes me want to reconsider it, even though for a brief random and non-regular moments. Without restraint and holding back, Dead Men Naked is an open buddying and intellectual lovemaking with the Grim Reaper and ghosts of our departed loved ones.

I bet you’ll never forget your first real friend, and for me that was Neil — my first true friend and probably the only one. I missed him in my bones and in my gut. It was a physical feeling, a ghostly limbic resonance with something that wasn’t there anymore.

It is an ode to death which celebrates life and poetry on every page, a detailed and intimate portrait of who we are while stepping over the threshold of the unknown, our becoming into something else or nothing, the ultimate cognition of what we are so desperate to find out while blooming with life but are unable to do so.

There are no secrets to the dead, as after this life they still exist, and known to them is the exit from this stage of fools; alas, everyone will join in this secret eventually, in his own personal way; but a great death takes a life of preparation.

Beautifully portrayed characters are just our guides through this unusually sensual, emotional and deep story. Everything is subordinated to a strong mixed feeling of dying and staying alive, of meeting and escaping the inevitable. I am at the lack of words and abundant with tears of strong impressions, and if I keep saying more, I will only ruin the whole experience. Therefore I will say only this: Dario, you nailed it!

Under the bird’s wings are Neil, Mallory, and Angelene. All of them naked. We’re under the stars, in what looks like an ancient Roman arena. The moon is shining and the clouds are broken and remade by the wind in an endless dance.
Who are you gonna save? the bird declares.
All of them, I reply.
No, you won’t, because you cannot save anyone but you.
The bird flaps his wings once, twice. The air coming from them throws me to the ground. Angelene and Mallory and Neil turn into skeletons and their bones shine like constellations.

Bernard Jan
www.bernardjan.com

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Bernard Jan

I absorb into my memory your big, yellow-green and somewhat tired eyes, knowing that a little longer, a little bit longer, and their flame will disappear. Although they will still be open, they will no longer watch me, nor will I see them. Never again....

How much longer will I miss you? How much longer I will love you?

If there is forever, then forever it is.

A World Without Color is a story of my one and only cat Marcel. As true as life can be.

If you ever felt and loved deeply, this is the story for you. A memoir of everything you experience if you are not afraid to love unconditionally, completely.

Those of you with your own stories will understand what I am saying. Those of you who are still considering or have just started to write their stories, don't be afraid to love. Spread it and embrace everything that comes with it. Because then it is real.

Please buy my book A World Without Color on Amazon or subscribe to my blog Muse to download it for free. Let's remember Marcel together. Thank you.

In Memoriam
Marcel
April 19, 2006 – April 19, 2018

The dream refuses to give me forgiveness. I won't be granted mercy. I stay awake in agony while minutes tick by into the future.

Bernard Jan
www.bernardjan.com

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Bernard Jan

Thirteen is my lucky number. But not when it’s the number of the years I’ve been missing you. Not when I go through life without you. My brother, my friend, my everything.

My heart is full and empty, of memories and sadness. Despite losing you, I’m a rich man, thanks to you.

You are not here anymore but your monument is still standing. As long as I stand, and maybe even a little longer. Thanks to everyone who reads about you and loved you.

A World Without Color is your home now. This is where we live, love.

Thank you for everything.

My thoughts come rushing back like raging currents of mountain rivers that do not stop for anything or anyone. Hurrying with a roar to their finish line, completely self-sufficient. Each word I make immortal here must be engraved with the dedication of a blind stonemason who, just by sense of touch and guided by indestructible faith, creates from the shapeless mass a work which present generations, but also those who come after, will admire. Those who are alive today, and their children who are just born, setting the foundation for new generations. This is our written monument and I snuggle up against it, blinded by the pain inflicted upon me by every minute that takes us into the future. The future is what I want to avoid at any cost, selfishly keeping the present so these moments last as long as possible. Not thinking about you and the relief it will bring you. We are both on the road of no return. Do you think so too? Do you also feel at least a fraction of regret we will part soon, with no guarantee and no promise that, in the blink of an eye or the distant future, we might meet each other again? Tell me, dearest....


In Memoriam
Marcel
April 19, 2006 – April 19, 2019


Please read our story on Amazon.

BJ
www.bernardjan.com

Bernard Jan

I still remember you. And the day we parted. I will never forget the moment my heart turned into ashes.

And the pain. And agony. And sorrow for the days we won’t share, ever again.

It’s painful to even think about it. But it’s a comfort knowing we had each other. And love we shared that I still feel for you.

You spread love and good vibrations wherever you appear as you have all these fourteen years and nine months. I don’t know about you, but if someone gives us as much time as a gift, it won’t be enough for me. On second thoughts, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. Thanks to you I could survive the dementia, illness and death of my grandmother, who vegetated for years before she found her deserved peace. Thanks to you I managed to cope every day with atrocious images of animals raised and slaughtered for human consumption, massacred in laboratory experiments, skinned for their fur... or those unwanted and discarded before they were run over on the roads. You were one of them too—discarded. Unwanted. One of those sentenced to death immediately after birth. Luck has smiled on you in the end. If I’m to be honest, luck favored us. Many times I thought: if it wasn’t for you, this family might have already gone to hell. But you keep us together. As the gravity of the home planet holds its satellites, not allowing them to wander into the universe of the unknown.

I hope many of my readers and fans will read your story. Because you deserve it. Because your life was not in vain, you were the best gift I could have hoped for from this life.

Thank you for everything.


In Memoriam
Marcel
April 19, 2006–April 19, 2020


A World Without Color, the true story of the last three days we spent together, is still on Amazon as an eBook and paperback. Waiting for the world to know about you.

BJ
www.bernardjan.com

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Bernard Jan

I don’t care about the dates and numbers anymore. They have less and less importance as I am growing older. Other things are becoming priorities. But I won’t forget the day you left us. I will remember that date as long as there is a spark of sanity left in me.

I miss you, Marcel.

***

The more I get into the depth of your character and dive into the sea of kindness with which you abound, the harder for me is everything I have done to sin against you. Everything I denied you.

Forgive me.

Forgive me. It was a beautiful day last week. I think it was Friday. The sun warmed like no other day of the year. There was a pleasant wind, and the scents of flowers and sprouted grass rose from the ground. I thought I would pick fresh green grass for you as soon as it grew a little more. I thought I’d surprise you with this gift. But I will never give it to you, love, and that makes me feel like garbage. If I had known. If I had only sensed—if I had wanted to admit to myself!—you could have tasted the first grass of this spring, no matter how short and unripe its leaves were. But I was a coward and ran from reality! I stole from you the last touch of just-awakened nature, because not even the trees had fully bloomed yet.

***

In Memoriam

Marcel

April 19, 2006–April 19, 2020


A World Without Color, the true story of our last three days together, still lives on Amazon as an eBook and paperback. Waiting for the world to read about you.

BJ
www.bernardjan.com

Follow me on Twitter.


Bernard Jan

Another challenging year, another months, days, hours, and minutes and you were not here with me, and you never will be. And I needed you. Because these past twelve months were hard. Sometimes very hard. And I couldn’t hold you in my arms to find comfort in you.

It is selfish thinking, but everything about you is painted selfish. You were my world, nothing less than that.

***

Yesterday we had a serious talk with Saša about the possibility of putting you down. We have not talked to you about that, but somehow I feel you foresee it, that you have exposed us and that nothing remains hidden from you. You read all around you like X-rays, and stoically, calmly, and gracefully handle what is coming. I wish I could be brave like you and look death in the face with equal force and dignity. The hopelessness of your nonexistence, which covers me like a magician’s cloak, prevents me from that. Stealing me, stealing you. I do not agree to such a deal! As long as there is a fire in you for one more battle, as long as you do not say it’s over.

***

In Memoriam
Marcel
April 19, 2006–April 19, 2024


Please continue reading our true story, A World Without Color, as an eBook or a paperback.

Thank you.

BJ
bernardjan.com

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A World Without Color: A True Story of the Last Three Days with my Cat