Frammenti...

Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
And as I climb into an empty bed
Oh well, enough said..
I know it's over, still I cling
I don't know where else I can go
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
See the sea wants to take me
The knife wants to slit me
Do you think you can help me?
Sad veiled bride, please be happy
Handsome groom, give her room
Loud, loutish lover, treat her kindly
though she needs you more than she loves you
And I know it's over, still I cling
I don't know where else I can go
I know it's over
And it never really began
But in my heart it was so real
And you even spoke to me and said:
"If you're so funny
then why are you on your own tonight?
And if you're so clever
then why are you on your own tonight?
If you're so very entertaining
then why are you on your own tonight?
If you're so very good-looking
Why do you sleep alone tonight?
I know
'Cause tonight is just like any other night
That's why you're on your own tonight
With your triumphs and your charms
While they're in each other's arms.."
It's so easy to laugh
It's so easy to hate
It takes strength to be gentle and kind
It's so easy to laugh
It's so easy to hate
It takes guts to be gentle and kind
Love is Natural and Real
But not for you, my love
Not tonight, my love
Love is Natural and Real
But not for such as you and I, my love

Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head

Take me out tonight
Where there's music and there's people
Who are young and alive
Driving in your car
I never, never want to go home
Because I haven't got one
Anymore

Take me out tonight
Because I want to see people
And I want to see lights
Driving in your car
Oh please, don't drop me home
Because it's not my home, it's their home
And I'm welcome no more

And if a double-decker bus
Crashes into us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine

Take me out tonight
Take me anywhere, I don't care..
And in the darkened underpass
I thought: 'Oh God, my chance has come at last!'
But then a strange fear gripped me
And I just couldn't ask

Take me out tonight
Oh take me anywhere, I don't care..
Driving in your car
I never, never want to go home
Because I haven't got one
Oh I haven't got one

And if a double-decker bus
Crashes into us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine

There is a light that never goes out

Everyday you must say:
"So how do I feel about my life?"
Anything is hard to find
When you will not open your eyes
When will you accept yourself?
I am sick and I am dull and I am plain
How dearly I'd love to get carried away
Oh but dreams have a knack of just not coming true
And time is against me now

Oh who and what to blame
Anything is hard to find
When you will not open your eyes
When will you accept yourself, for heaven’s sake?
Anything is hard to find
When you will not open your eyes

Everyday you must say
"Oh how do I feel about the past?"
Others conquered love but I ran
I sat in my room and I drew up a plan
Oh but plans can fall through as so often they do
And time is against me now

And there's no one left to blame
Tell me when will you
When will you accept your life?
The one that you hate
For anything is hard to find
When you will not open your eyes

Everyday you must say:
"Oh how do I feel about my shoes?"
They make me awkward and plain
How dearly I would love to kick with the fray
But I once had a dream and it never came true
And time is against me now
Time is against me now

And there's no one but yourself to blame
Anything is hard to find
When you will not open your eyes
Anything is hard to find, for heaven’s sake?

Anything is hard to find
When you will not open your eyes
When will you accept yourself?¹
When..?

Cercodiscrivereconbisturifreddisufotoparolebianchescarnificate

I am hated for loving

Perchè dovrei parlare? E, soprattutto. Perchè dovrei parlare con te. Che non sei nemmeno un essere vivente. O una sottospecie di questo. Sei peloso. Un tappetino peloso. Il problema è che mi hanno raccomandato (a voiva forza) di parlare con te. Non facendomi problemi di errori sintattici o grammaticali. Non ne ho voglia. La mia risposta. Sudicia e laconica come un tapeto. O infastidente come quella di un bambino affetto da nervosismi vari.
Non so nemmeno se devo mettermi seduto, in ginocchio, di spalle o come stia più comodo. Rimarrò probabilmente in piedi. Dovrei parlare ma mi vengono solo in mente libri che ho letto. Almeno. Pagine fitte e stampate e sfogliate. Quelle che fanno vento sulla faccia mentre pensi se acquistarlo, quel libro. Intanto guardo le righe che scorrono. Pardon. Le parole che, oramai penso, dovrebbero uscirmi. Fluenete-mente. Un orecchio fischia. Età+stress+ipertensione. Potrei provare ad immaginarti come un vecchietto freudiano in tonaca nera con microbottoni grigi, barba biancasemipelatoconocchialineri. Sarebbe la stessa cosa. Non mi viene nulla. Nemmeno quando ho fatto un giro per gli A.A.. Racconta la tua storia: vuoto e silenzio. Nemmeno tanto imbarazzante in fin dei conti, è bastato prendere la via della porta più vicina. In gergo credo si chiami sgattaiolare. Meglio i posti bui, dici? Quelli senza un emozione (questo sono io, ora)? No no no. Il buoi che si può fare per parlare senza vergogna. Come un lungo monologo fingendo di essere soli.
Allora. Sempre i miei problemi incipitari.
E' che.
No, ancora non va.
Alzare lo sguardo e vedere la mancanza di prospettive. In relazione a quello che si è scelto di fare anni fa. E allora. E allora. Andare avanti miscelando|mischiando l'irreale con il reale. Realtàefantasia. Ricorrere a banalismi per spiegare. Inventarsi vite di cartapesta, di gesso. Quelle che sulle braccia ti lasciano i segni. Che quando cerchi di riprendere a resporare ti ritrovi le mani impastate, di bianco se hai fortuna. La costante ricerca dei vuoti, i luoghi senza ombra che permettono di riposare per millisecondi. Ma quando devi pagare questo riposo. Via avanti a dire che tanto se ne esce con un soffio. Your confusion my illusion.

Fine prima parte.

immagino...

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(cit.)

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(cit.)

I'm on my way
Home sweet home

(cit.)

I miei tagli riescono ad andare avanti.

I miei colori li seguono come ruote sgonfie di biciclette di tempi andati.

Dove sono le nevi di un tempo?

Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?

Aspettano di sciogliersi su ghiacciai che scompaiono emotivamente.

Su selciati artificiali dove nessuno, lo sai già, potrà mai venire vicino.

ATOCCARTI.

Toccami.

Infila una mano dentro di me che ha il significato.

Il tocco.

Il mio racconto riesce ad avere il disgelo.

a valle avalle! a valle!

CORRE!!!!

Ma.
Chi c'è con un colino.

Con una bacinella.

Va bene anche la latta.
Il peltro.


Attento ad accogliermi.

A tirarmi su.

A farmi di smettere di sanguinare.

A darmi quei due punti di sutura non voluti.