giovedì 21 novembre 2013
mercoledì 20 novembre 2013
Galeb and the colyflower leaves.
The market , which takes place twice a week on Maybachufer
along the river in Neukölln , Berlin , is a beautiful situation. In my opinion,
one of the best places for the encounter different cultures that coexist in
this city. The stalls are spaced like : turkish selling fruit and vegetables, Chilean
bracelets , Italian ravioli , Thai knives and fresh fruit juices … It is full
of children , colors, Turks screaming
bitte bitte ein euro!!!!bitte!! bitte!! , even bored people who do not sell
anything . There is everything .
Even today it is over! darkness falls on the pier between
the market and the river , It’s just
me, I leave my companion, the sound
system, to the girl who sells cooked apples, crumbles, cream and punch(try it if
you pass thorugh the market, it worth! ) . I have to buy food for a dinner with
friends. I'm in a market ... Elementary
Watson! I’m on the hunt. Looking for mushrooms but can not find them , try the
rice and do not find it , some bergain for some horrible artichokes ,
vegetables for the stock, herbs . I find
the mushrooms , the boring ones ...
If you stand on the corner , at the entrance of the market,
watching, who’s going in and out, you’ll
see people who do not stand out . You have to look for them. Some are very old,
some less . Some of them are gypsies, others are not. As long as he doesn’t pull you a
sleeve or ask you if you have finished
your drink , to have the empty bottle, you won’t realize that that he’s just next to you.
Often, however, they communicate a lot with their eyes, but you never know if
it is the reflection of all the people whom they’ve asked for something that
has stuck straight in their eyes, or an actual direct message to you .. Basically
I find them nice, people pushing through with all their
strength , to survive, life can be very tough for a penniless old man in a
metropolis.
" Hello girl of the apples ! See you on Friday. "
The time now is directed to find the rice with which I will use for the
infamous “boring mushroom and horrible artichokes
risotto”(Sounds delitious!). In Berlin to find rice of the kind you need to
make risotto is like looking for the romantic mood in the music of Korn ..
Now
I have not just guitar , trolley , rod and sack tied above , I also have three
big bags of vegetables! It will be a long walk. I walk ten feet when, in the shadow,
I see two big eyes . And I see, in the dark , under a tree , an old man , super
old perhaps , that want to give me , speaking in a German that, in my opinion,
would not understand even a German, bags full of stuff. I look inside trying
too see in the dark, there are cauliflower leaves . Many cauliflower leaves . Just
the leaves. I give him 50 cents , thanking him , swearing to myself even a little bit. I think of where
tie the bag . I look like Santa Claus version pimp, with his gangster coat , a
blue woolen cap , and 4 bags full of undefined things . At this point he
insists to give me another bag, and
insists that I have to take it without giving him more money. He Insists . Now I have five bags! I’m like a
janitor that pulls the cart with all the garbage bags , of all classes of the
school. I thank him we shake hands, he greets me and turns back to his dark
corner. Under the tree.
I walk around for hours for Berlin messed up like this, full of bags of vegetables.
Dinner with friends is a grat success.
And you do not even imagine the “cauliflower leaves soup”
that has been boiling in the kitchen for a few hours now…
I hope not to offend the carnivorous instinct of my flatmate
, the rest is all health, Sustainable Health.
DON’T WASTE FOOD!!!
and Thanks for the leaves !
Galeb .
venerdì 15 novembre 2013
Patience
Patience, in life it takes
patience . If one has a goal, he needs a lot of patience to get there. If one
does not have it , will need even more patience to wait for everything to
finish. Every so often when I see a person, I understand the story of the goals
, whether they’re there or not. Sometimes I don’t . If there is one thing in
which I’ve been practicing a lot in Berlin is to have patience . You need to be
patient for someone to wake up, you got to have patience when others do not
walk at your own speed . Patience for public transport. Patiently wait for your
turn to play at the markets . Patience for everything. Perhaps, before Berlin,
I considered myself a patient person . Now I know I should learn.
There is this man who is always there, with his elbows resting on the basket of his bike , looking around. Every now and then he takes the bike , makes rounds, ranging from 10 minutes ,to just, around the square . The basket of his bike is actually one of those plastic crates for beer bottles , I think 12 bottles . He's big . But not fat , in fact. He is a big guy from East Germany, That is clear, that somehow remained to be related to the fact of the wall , freedom, and everything else. Or maybe he couldn’t care less about it! He's just there for the tourists.
In Germany , as a country , in some ways , civil , there is a refund for bottles of glass and plastic . In Berlin , the capital of the universal collective uncontrolled sometimes schizophrenic party , the collection of bottles is a big business. I think there are many families who take home a half salary in picked up bottles, found at the corners of every street . As a rule, here you leave your empty bottles resting on any counter / fire extinguisher / step / crashbum ! There is broken glass everywhere. Everywhere.
His face is definable strange , it's all red and it's full of strange bubbles. Maybe he's sick and can not move much, but that’s not how it appears to be . Then if you’re sick you shouldn’t eat currywurst and noodles,right?. Maybe yes . Every now and then he turns to me, when there was Gaia perhaps preferred to look at her, ... between the two of us…! turns, smiles and nods his head , occasionally raises his hands as if to applaud, making them fall just below his chin again. He looks around . Waits patient.
A group of kids come together at dawn , we’re at the east side gallery in Berlin. A place full of energy, of history, of vibrations. Maybe those are from the Yaam , the afro reggae club down the river ..that’s maybe where they are directed to . They drink beer and swear and lash out like only the drunk English know how to , pass next to a man standing , bent on his bike with his hands under his chin, waiting . One turns , indicates the man blaspheming something else in British and then see the man who is nearing it slowly. Open arms. Going to ... no. They give him three bottles . He thanks and turns around, leaving them to their blasphemies . To him English isn’t of any interest. His bin is full. Jumps on the bike. He'll be back in no more than 10 minutes. He is always there . Waiting. Patient.
I believe, this man, can officially say that it is my biggest FAN ! I think there is no one who has seen so many concerts of GalebandtheSeagull as he did. If you count that for the whole summer we were in front of him at least two or three times a week. We greeted each other maybe 5 times. The last time I gave him a disk with a bow, because I have problems with German .
I think he likes our music.
In his own way . maybe he doesn’t care at all.
But I think he proved us that.
Galeb .
There is this man who is always there, with his elbows resting on the basket of his bike , looking around. Every now and then he takes the bike , makes rounds, ranging from 10 minutes ,to just, around the square . The basket of his bike is actually one of those plastic crates for beer bottles , I think 12 bottles . He's big . But not fat , in fact. He is a big guy from East Germany, That is clear, that somehow remained to be related to the fact of the wall , freedom, and everything else. Or maybe he couldn’t care less about it! He's just there for the tourists.
In Germany , as a country , in some ways , civil , there is a refund for bottles of glass and plastic . In Berlin , the capital of the universal collective uncontrolled sometimes schizophrenic party , the collection of bottles is a big business. I think there are many families who take home a half salary in picked up bottles, found at the corners of every street . As a rule, here you leave your empty bottles resting on any counter / fire extinguisher / step / crashbum ! There is broken glass everywhere. Everywhere.
His face is definable strange , it's all red and it's full of strange bubbles. Maybe he's sick and can not move much, but that’s not how it appears to be . Then if you’re sick you shouldn’t eat currywurst and noodles,right?. Maybe yes . Every now and then he turns to me, when there was Gaia perhaps preferred to look at her, ... between the two of us…! turns, smiles and nods his head , occasionally raises his hands as if to applaud, making them fall just below his chin again. He looks around . Waits patient.
A group of kids come together at dawn , we’re at the east side gallery in Berlin. A place full of energy, of history, of vibrations. Maybe those are from the Yaam , the afro reggae club down the river ..that’s maybe where they are directed to . They drink beer and swear and lash out like only the drunk English know how to , pass next to a man standing , bent on his bike with his hands under his chin, waiting . One turns , indicates the man blaspheming something else in British and then see the man who is nearing it slowly. Open arms. Going to ... no. They give him three bottles . He thanks and turns around, leaving them to their blasphemies . To him English isn’t of any interest. His bin is full. Jumps on the bike. He'll be back in no more than 10 minutes. He is always there . Waiting. Patient.
I believe, this man, can officially say that it is my biggest FAN ! I think there is no one who has seen so many concerts of GalebandtheSeagull as he did. If you count that for the whole summer we were in front of him at least two or three times a week. We greeted each other maybe 5 times. The last time I gave him a disk with a bow, because I have problems with German .
I think he likes our music.
In his own way . maybe he doesn’t care at all.
But I think he proved us that.
Galeb .
martedì 12 novembre 2013
I'm writing it down and I'm writing it all
" I'm writing it down
and I'm writing it all” . I think and I rethink
about this sentence for a long time, written along with Gaia, in a song that you will one day
hear from her . "The coming home blues ."
But that is not true! What I write is not all! , It's never all, it is always only a very small part of a stream of thoughts , things and people and objects and verbs, conjunctions and accents that meet together to describe a situation , often in an incomplete manner . But this is right. We're talking about music, let’s then leave room for imagination , and leave open doubts. When you write a song you finally create a path within the listener’s clues which will lead him in his own personal way !
This is because I have only written songs so far. And if I write something else? Perhaps , I could write down everything!
Maybe I do not have anything to write.
Lately I have made a new friend , his name is Abas from Senegal WestAfrica or at least that's how he presents himself every time he plays at the flea market here in Berlin. We are many and during summertime we were even more. All friends, because we are there , we play . We know each other only this way, we’re there every Tuesday and Friday. But you know how the seasons go . People come and go. Abas is always there . Singing without a microphone . His voice is so powerful that it can be heard loud and clear for loads of meters IN THE MIDST OF A MARKET ! I imagine him with dreadlocks covered in snow singing: abc ! one- two-three ! With a huge white smile , and the children , covered with snow too, swinging in a state of tranc, occasionally falling or tumbling in front of Abas ! I have to laugh .
It's almost dawn , my eyes are open , the cold of the night whistles in a crack of the old window , I'm ready , I get dressed and go . Everything is ready to go to school .. I take a bottle of water from the table and slip out of the house. It's still dark. I run down the street to the right , then left, right for 5 minutes , I see a glow in front of me between the houses , there’s 2 more to pass.. I walk past them, in front of me there is a hill , and behind .. .. .. I run out , risk to kill myself in more than one jump. I’m on top . I've done it ! I found the day ! The light ! The Dawn! Before the others ! My grandfather , like grandparents always do, taught me that "in life one can do anything, just got to believe it ." But then, I’m not really a fan of dawns . The dawn is just one of the elements that help me to purify this moment, as the silence , the absence of wind. I clap my hands. The echo is overwhelming , I feel the valley that creates complex rhythms delaying the sound of my hands from one corner to another like a volleyball game . This is my magical place. I'm on a sheer drop of hundreds of meters , which acts as a springboard to the sound of my hands , tossing it into a kind of natural colosseum . Here I’m a Lion. I’m Spirit . Breathe in, breathe out , I look at a peak, slowly coming out of my throat is a thin wheep , low, soft . Push forward, more and more. I see the way to go , I take it , it’s the right one , the melody begins to come out of my voice. I’m singing ! When I sing I am a warrior , as my only weapon the sound of your voice . I do it every morning, I come here , and I practice . When I’ll grow up , people will come to hear me sing the songs that I have been taught by the mountains.
Abas sings songs in a Senegal dialect, and now claims to have one in German ... but why not!! It is a year and a half that he plays regularly at the market. twice a week. When he 's up, any weather situation turns into Africa , and us, that fortunate to see him play, we feed ourselves with the energy of the land of lions and diamonds.
Every so often, during a moment of some of his songs ,
while he’s singing in front of 100 people or maybe 5,
Galeb .
But that is not true! What I write is not all! , It's never all, it is always only a very small part of a stream of thoughts , things and people and objects and verbs, conjunctions and accents that meet together to describe a situation , often in an incomplete manner . But this is right. We're talking about music, let’s then leave room for imagination , and leave open doubts. When you write a song you finally create a path within the listener’s clues which will lead him in his own personal way !
This is because I have only written songs so far. And if I write something else? Perhaps , I could write down everything!
Maybe I do not have anything to write.
Lately I have made a new friend , his name is Abas from Senegal WestAfrica or at least that's how he presents himself every time he plays at the flea market here in Berlin. We are many and during summertime we were even more. All friends, because we are there , we play . We know each other only this way, we’re there every Tuesday and Friday. But you know how the seasons go . People come and go. Abas is always there . Singing without a microphone . His voice is so powerful that it can be heard loud and clear for loads of meters IN THE MIDST OF A MARKET ! I imagine him with dreadlocks covered in snow singing: abc ! one- two-three ! With a huge white smile , and the children , covered with snow too, swinging in a state of tranc, occasionally falling or tumbling in front of Abas ! I have to laugh .
It's almost dawn , my eyes are open , the cold of the night whistles in a crack of the old window , I'm ready , I get dressed and go . Everything is ready to go to school .. I take a bottle of water from the table and slip out of the house. It's still dark. I run down the street to the right , then left, right for 5 minutes , I see a glow in front of me between the houses , there’s 2 more to pass.. I walk past them, in front of me there is a hill , and behind .. .. .. I run out , risk to kill myself in more than one jump. I’m on top . I've done it ! I found the day ! The light ! The Dawn! Before the others ! My grandfather , like grandparents always do, taught me that "in life one can do anything, just got to believe it ." But then, I’m not really a fan of dawns . The dawn is just one of the elements that help me to purify this moment, as the silence , the absence of wind. I clap my hands. The echo is overwhelming , I feel the valley that creates complex rhythms delaying the sound of my hands from one corner to another like a volleyball game . This is my magical place. I'm on a sheer drop of hundreds of meters , which acts as a springboard to the sound of my hands , tossing it into a kind of natural colosseum . Here I’m a Lion. I’m Spirit . Breathe in, breathe out , I look at a peak, slowly coming out of my throat is a thin wheep , low, soft . Push forward, more and more. I see the way to go , I take it , it’s the right one , the melody begins to come out of my voice. I’m singing ! When I sing I am a warrior , as my only weapon the sound of your voice . I do it every morning, I come here , and I practice . When I’ll grow up , people will come to hear me sing the songs that I have been taught by the mountains.
Abas sings songs in a Senegal dialect, and now claims to have one in German ... but why not!! It is a year and a half that he plays regularly at the market. twice a week. When he 's up, any weather situation turns into Africa , and us, that fortunate to see him play, we feed ourselves with the energy of the land of lions and diamonds.
Every so often, during a moment of some of his songs ,
while he’s singing in front of 100 people or maybe 5,
Galeb .
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