Requiem
Prendete la vostra lista.Immaginaria/reale/incompleta che sia.Prendetela sulla A.Cancellate.Riflettete.Non li conoscete, ma qualche vincolo metafisico, irreale, dal profilo minaccioso e, perché no, a suo modo languido e sensuale vi lega loro.
Storie di impiegati.A volte neanche di quelli.Di gente che vive con molto ma necessita di poco.La tua stupida coupè non saprà mai regalarti la stessa emozione di lei che sorride, il riverbero del sole, accecante ma così intenso e possente, che le illumina l'azzurro spesso opaco dei suoi occhi, il nulla intorno a voi, solo l'incessante andirivieni di un'onda mai doma, il tepore avvolgente di una sabbia incontaminata, lei che vi sorride e non può smettere di farlo.Non è solo gratificazione.Un qualcosa di indefinibile, seppur così spesso talmente ben definito da altri, in altra maniera, che ci pare comoda questa scappatoia.Vigliacchi anche nell'ora più dolce.Il vostro destino.
Vigliacchi perché?Figli indesiderati del progresso?Invasori di club notturni?Voi non avete il ritmo.E sarà certo inutile piangersi addosso nelle sere di tarda estate, sarà vano stappare, brindare mestamente alle sorti dei vostri progetti morti, sepolti sul nascere.Una mancanza grave, siete collocati al di là del cerchio magico/economico/amoroso che domina e impera sulla fragilità in posa del vostro sembrarvi vivi.Non coinvolgetemi.La regola è questa.Non sarò mai uno di voi.
Voi siete onestamente gretti, sudici, specchio di una società in declino, disposta ad elevarvi, e ripeto, ad elevarvi, a schiavi.La cosa pare sortisca un effetto positivo tra i miasmi di una monotonia meccanizzata.Vi siete creati come gli altri hanno creato voi.
Non ricordo più quella immagine.Mi intrigava, anche se non mi era concesso, e dall'altro lato del tempio anche voi paventavate un certo stupore.Non mi aspettavo che vi stregasse.Non siete in grado, vigliacchi, di farlo!Non la ricordo, e la cosa è terribilmente frustrante.
Sapete, un tempo ero come voi.Uscivo trafelato per rincorrere il tram (sempre il tram), arrivavo tardi, me ne dispiacevo, trovavo conforto/ulteriori motivi di disperazione nei piccoli rituali che fanno di voi uomini.Anche se mi ripugna definirvi così.Rammento l'odore del latte lasciato bruciare sul fuoco, delle cicche che avevo dimenticato di eliminare al mattino, della vita che scorre lenta sullo stesso binario.Ricordo che potevo comunicare.Grande conquista, quella.
Può uno come me rimpiangere l'inferno domestico dal quale proviene?Non lo può.Me la proposero come promozione.Era un periodo difficile, pareva che il mondo avesse designato me come prossima vittima, con il gusto e il ghigno che i carnefici trovano in ogni situazione, nei film come nei tribunali terreni/ultraterreni.Si usciva, tra noi.Si conduceva con una lentezza snervante la propria barca a remi in un porto fatiscente, ma dalla considerevole pensione, e non si era infelici.Era scritto nel patrimonio genetico di tutti noi che avremmo ripercorso le orme di nostro padre, e di suo padre prima di lui, con le simili fattezze ma con una dignità sotto i tacchi.D'altra parte, i nostri nonni non possedevano i mirabolanti macchinari tecnologici che consentono tutto a tutti.Ora puoi parlare con Sidney quando vuoi!Purtroppo a Sidney non conosco nessuno.Vabbè, lo compro comunque.
In fondo non me la passo male.Vi giudico e vi terrorizzo, in nome della nostra decennale amicizia, in nome del personale odio verso la normalità.Quante volte mi avete offerto un tetto, quando pioveva e di tornare a casa parlavano solo le fantasie meno affidabili?Quante un dono, quante un occhiolino, quante una stretta di mano, quante una prova della nostra unione instabile?
Più alti incarichi spettavano a me.Non potevo certo rimanere con voi, e marcire con voi in un altro ospizio dal nome inquietante, farmi seppellire accanto a voi, magari insieme a un mazzo di carte, a un fiore, qualcosa che ricordasse la nostra senectute trascorsa placidamente insieme.Questo di voi odio.Siete statici.Lo sapete già, ve l'ho detto.Non riuscirete mai ad eguagliarmi.Era scritto da qualche parte, forse nelle vostre culle ospedaliere, che avrei vinto.
Vi prego, per l'ultima volta.
Raccontatemi di lei.
Elenco tracce e testi
03 The First Big Weekend (04:52)
So that was the first big weekend of the summer...
Starts Thursday as usual with the canteen quiz and again no-one wins the big cash prize.
Later I do my sound Bloke routine by approaching Gina's new boyfriend to say that he shouldn't feel that there's any animosity between us and then I even go and make peace with her Shouldn't have bothered.
Then on Friday night we went through to the Arches...
There was only one car going so some of us had to get the train. We got through quite late. Then we went to a pub to take the gear.
There was no problems getting in - we saw some others waiting down the front of the queue so we skipped in.
It was a good night - everyone was nutted and I ended up dancing with some blonde girl.
I thought she had been quite pretty until last night when Matthew informed me that she had, in fact, been a pig.
When the club finished we wandered the streets for a while until we got to this 24-hour cafe.
I didn't like the look of it so we left and got a taxi back to Morag's flat.
I couldn't sleep so I sat about drinking someone else's strawberry tonic wine and tried to keep everyone else up.
Then at ten o'clock in the morning we went downstairs to buy some drink. We had intended to watch the football in the afternoon but we'd passed out by then and slept right through it, awaking to find that England had won two-nil.
Then we went to get the train home and had a few in the Station bar.
We had some stuff left from the previous night's supplies so when we got home we decided to go down to John's indie disco.
Same story as Friday - lots of hugging, lots of dancing etc. etc.
I couldn't sleep again so went to the park to look at the toon, taking a detour through the playpark.
To get in we had to climb over a ten foot steel fence, which resulted in severe bruising of our hands, legs and groins, but we had a good laugh on the stuff, especially the tube-slide, which probably doubles up as a urinal for drunk teens.
Then we walked through the woods to have a look at the toon. Big disappointment, but the mist on the lake was cool.
Sunday afternoon we go up to John's with a lot of beer in time to watch the Simpsons - it was a really good episode about love always ending in tragedy except, of course, for Marge and Homer. It was quite moving at the end and to tell you the truth my eyes were a bit damp.
Then we watched these young girls in swimsuits have a water fight in the street.
We went up to the pub about ten.
It was busy for a Sunday night, lots of people we know, including my first ever girlfriend who I still find very attractive, quite frankly, but I didn't really speak to her
She's probably still a bitch, anyway.
Her friend Gillian was there, I had a chat with her, she was still quite pleasant.
At the same time I watched Malcolm make some terrible attempt to try and chat up a girl we know called Jo. He made some remark about her skirt that was barely there the previous night or something.
I couldn't sleep again that night, thanks to some seriously disturbing nightmares...Matthew says I should cut down on the cheese.
"Went out for the weekend, it lasted for ever, high with our friends it's officially summer".
I got some sleep eventually on Monday afternoon.
It was a beautiful day, and later that evening Malcolm introduced me to the power of Merrydown - ⌦㔲㬰1.79 a litre, 8.2% - mmmm.....
Judith and Laura came round later and we sat in my back garden and drank.
Then Matthew came round and we went up the town.
It's officially summer.
08 (Afternoon) Soaps (03:54)
Sit by me silently and brush my beard. No mess to mop up from the bed today. Will we sit next door and watch the soaps? We've nothing to do and we've nothing to say. Oh, when you go... Recently, we've been somewhat volatile, and last night it starts with that Joan Osbourne song. I hate it anyway, but you made it worse. I know why you laughed and you should know you were wrong. Oh, when you go... Bird number one taught me I shouldn't trust, that's why I find unfounded doubts abound. But number two proved that with none, we've nothing. And now I'm only happy when you're not around. Oh, when you go...
09 Rocket, Take Your Turn (05:40)
Have a look in the fridge and see what he's got. Get in the bath and I'll tell you the lot. We're grown men, we should be respectable. But to fuck with that, lets make a spectacle. Keep climbing, you'll see everything. Twice round the block, it's ok say anything. We hide in toilets, we hide in a corner. But it's not over yet, so someone please warn her. I could try anything when I feel like this. With part-time friends that I could never miss. Spill the gossip, you know it's always topical. From where we sit tonight the city's tropical. Works begun, the taxi's late. I should feel like a hippy but all I feel is hate. Let them say what they want, they could never make it stick. 'Cause everyone takes a turn at being a dick.
12 The Shy Retirer (04:02)
another bloated disco, another sniff of romance i'll forget
we promised to ourselves before we came out we'd do something we regret
these people are your friends
this cunted circus never ends
i won't remember anything you say
i lost my social skills a while ago but no i feel them coming back
my eyes were rolling when we met and now they are preparing for attack
i want to fall in love tonight and form the perfect unbreakable bond
you can be my teenage jenny agutter, swimming naked in a pond
you know i'm always moanin'
but you jumpstart my seratonin
but how d'you know you've ever really loved?
but when i feel like this, i know it doesn't matter
when i eat when i'm not hungy i'm sure i feel my face get fatter
then i thin out every weekend and i think that she might want me
but i always slip off my own 'cause...
i let those feelings haunt me, they control me, but tonight i'm letting go
you're more then just a photo album, you're more than what some people let you know
and if we ever make it home, i'll tell you all the things that shaped me thus;
something forged in a phonebox but lost in a restaurant we've got so much to discuss
here, have you tried the blue ones?
i hear he's got some new ones
sleep is not an option tonight
look at us just stand and stare
look at them just pose and pout
and we'll all be standing here
until the pigs chuck us out
Carico i commenti... con calma
Altre recensioni
Di PlumSweater
Com'è che sento parole nel silenzio, leggo frasi nel cielo, disegno alberi nel vetro?
Il tutto mentre ascolto la colonna sonora dell'amicizia, forse la più vera, di certo la più malsana, comunque mia.
