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, 

I guess I saw ,in his eyes, the reflection of the valley. 

Galeb . 

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