The prototype of this species is characterized by an inability to listen and difficulty of understanding what is being said.
His words denigrate people, diminishing the problems these people are living.
Arrogance and sense of superiority reveal the low cultural level of the arrogant-ignorant.
But in addition to the low cultural heritage, what there is behind the arrogant-ignorant?
Who is aware of its value does not need to declare it.
Very often in the prototype lies a insecure about his social position and her own identity.
Usually inside the arrogant-ignorant, hides a sense of inferiority, emphasizing what he has.
The prototype can not admit his own limitations, trying to belittle the other person, without listening and without giving him a chance to talk.
Shot by Laura Tedeschi
Il prototipo di questa specie é caratterizzato da incapacitá di ascoltare e difficoltá di comprensione di ció che viene detto.
Le sue parole denigrano le persone e sminuiscono le problematiche che esse vivono.
Straffotenza e senso di superioritá rivelano il basso livello culturale dell'arrogante-ignorante.
Ma oltre allo scarso patrimonio culturale cosa c'é dietro all'arrogante-ignorante?
Chi é ralmente consapevole del proprio valore non ha bisogno di dichiararlo.
Molto spesso dentro al prototipo si cela un insicurezza sulla propria posizione sociale e sulla propria identitá.
Solitamente l'arrogante-ignorante nasconde un senso di inferioritá, esaltando quello che possiede o quello che si é conquistato. Il prototipo non riesce ad ammettere i propri limiti, nascondendosi dietro a frasi fatte e cercando di sminuire e non ascoltare l'interlocutore.
The last song os Sir Cyrano (Cyrano) - Francesco Guccini
Come on all ye, come on, my paint’d ladies all so prettie and snooty, come on, I can’t bear ye any more, my pen it will be driven into your boundless pride for with this brand o’ mine I can kill ye at my ease. Come on all ye, come on, ye all paltry poetasters, ye uselesse singers of this calamytous time ye fools who live on your spineless verses ye have gold and glory, yet ye are big nothings. Enjoy your success, ye fools, get the most out of it, ye certaynlie will not feare your sheepe-like audience, God only knoweth where ye flee to escape taxes so arrogant, as if ye were the tops of the class, hearken! I’m only a poore cadet o’ gascoyne but I swear I can’t stand those who have no dreams I won’t be taken in your nerve and tinselries and, to end my licence, no pardon and I touch ye, no pardon shall ye have and I touch ye! hearken! Let’s break it off, so come on ye alle, ye foole rabble-rousers, the leaders of our time, come on all canvassers and second-rate poolitickers, you alle cruel masters of false ceremonies, who have so often turn’d laissez-faire into art, come on, out with the truth and don’t cheat any longer, ye know that some one will burden all expenses In this most bless’d land ravaged by nonsense, I know I’m always wrong, but I don’t give a damne, displeasing is my pleasure, I love to be hated, with bullies and slyboots have I play’d my whole life, and, to end my licence, no pardon and I touch ye! No pardon shall ye have and I touch ye! But when I am alone, with my nose down to my feet, that walks ten yards befor’ me since I came to light, my anger it does abate, I remember with payne that heaven it forbade me the sweet dream of love, How many I did love, how many I did have, I don’t know, I lost them alle by my fault or by fate, but when I feel the burden of always being alone, I shut my door and write, writing’s my solace. And yet I feel, I do feel that life’s love it exists with no sin do I love, I am so sad yet I love, my Roxanne she’s so fair, but, alas! we’re so diff’rent I can’t talke with her, I'll speake with my verses! I'll speake with my verses! Come on all ye, vacuous people, let’s break it off right now, Ye priestes, who sell us alle the dreame of the other world, If there’s, as ye do say, a God in the endless heaven then look into your heart, ye’ve betrayed him! And ye material people, ye who never give up saying that God is dead and man is alone in this abysme, ye looke after your truth on the ground like swines, ye may keepe your acornes, but please leave me my winges, go back home, ye dwarfes, get out of my way, for mine immense rage I need ettins and giantes, I’ve never been caught in any reveal’d truth, and, to end my licence, no pardon and I touch ye! No pardon shall ye have and I touch ye! With my nose and my brande my enemies I do touch. But nowe in mine Life I cannot find my way, I should not give up and resign to my badness, thou only canst me save, thou only and I do write it. I do feel it must be a place in heaven or on earthe, where we any more won’t suffer and all it will be right, don’t laugh, I beg thee, don’t laughe att my wordes, for I am only a shadow, and thou art the sun, Roxanne! Yet I wat thou’rt not laughing, I wat, my sweetest lady, and I won’t hide my selfe under your balcony, for I do feel it right now, my pain’s not been in vain If you love me as I am, and I remain your servant, for ever yours, Cyrano!
We, who were playing hide and seek at all times.
We, who the roller skates had four wheels and stretched when the foot was growing.
We, who those of us who left the longest trail in the braking with the bike was the coolest.
We, who went on the bike in two.
We, who thought to had secrets.
We, who really had secrets.
We, who were doing a competition to see who chewing more chewing gum at the same time.
We, who adopted stray cats and dogs that we were never attacked any fatal disease although later, after have caressed them, we put our fingers in our mouth.
We, who did not know to read the fever thermometer.
We, who break off fever thermometers, and balls of mercury were wandering through the house.
We, who the Rubik's cube, we never finished, at least without cheating...
We, who exchanged with each other stickers before the lesson (and during and after)...
We, who with a willow branch did bow to feel like Orzowei.
We, who had the "secret place"with the "secret passage".
We, who in the meadows in the dark between the chirping of cicadas can still see the fireflies (and we did not know were the latest).
We, who sometimes quarreled.
We, who five minutes after it was all forgotten...
We, who "if you do this you are no longer my friend".
We, who the tape player ate the music cassette , and we had to rewind the tape with the pen.
We, who had the black and white TV.
We, who watched on TV "The little House on the Prairie " Even if this put sadness.
We, who looked at Christmas "Little Lord Fauntleroy", because it gave fixed on TV.
We, who laughed if a friend was laughing.
We, who our new shoes remained clean only an hour!
We, who are so excited for a kiss on the cheek.
We, who phoned in secret.
We, who did not have the mobil-phone to go talk in private on the terrace.
We, who write short messages on bits of paper to pass to the class partner.
We, who there was the Polaroid, and we waiting to saw the photo.
We, who when, pick up the photos from the photographer, were curious to see them.
Fotos by Laura Tedeschi - Asiago - Italy - December 2010
When my last day on earth will come, after my last glance at the world
I do not want any stone on my grave, for it too heavy would seem to me
Look for a tree, a young and strong tree, that’s the right stone for my grave,
I want to lie even after my death under that sky people say it’s of God.
And in winter, during the long rest, under my tree I will lie still alive
As if I were sleeping I’ll trustfully wait till I’ll awake one day or another
And in spring we’ll hear thousands of voices and that will be our rebirth
And I willl raise my fingers like boughs to that sky so full of mystery.
And in summer, if the wind does accept what ev’ry sprout is inviting to do
We’ll wave leaves like flags in the air and we shall sing songs of life
And so, together, we’ll live forever, but here on Earth, I and my tree
Always standing out in summer and winter against that sky people say it’s
Quando il mio ultimo giorno verrà dopo il mio ultimo sguardo sul mondo,
non voglio pietra su questo mio corpo, perchè pesante mi sembrerà.
Cercate un albero giovane e forte, quello sarà il posto mio;
voglio tornare anche dopo la morte sotto quel cielo che chiaman di Dio.
Ed in inverno nel lungo riposo, ancora vivo, alla pianta vicino,
come dormendo, starò fiducioso nel mio risveglio in un qualche mattino.
E a primavera, fra mille richiami, ancora vivi saremo di nuovo
e innalzerò le mie dita di rami verso quel cielo così misterioso.
Ed in estate, se il vento raccoglie l'invito fatto da ogni gemma fiorita,
sventoleremo bandiere di foglie e canteremo canzoni di vita.
E così, assieme, vivremo in eterno qua sulla terra, l'albero e io
sempre svettanti, in estate e in inverno contro quel cielo che dicon di Dio