Amanda Palmer - In my mind (ukulele & horrible voice cover)

Da bravo sbadatone, la settimana scorsa ho postato il secondo video del Mese dell'Ukulele solo sulla pagina facebook, e non qui sul blog. 

Rimedio immediatamente! XD

Canzone: The Red City - di Michele Giuli

Stanotte non pubblicherò il seguito di "Memories and Stories", bensì un lavoro al quale ho dedicato questa settimana. Questa canzone mi è venuta in mente durante un giro in bus della parte sud di Manchester, al tramonto, e non sono riuscito a togliermela dalla testa, neanche ora che l'ho trascritta su carta!
Questa versione è sperimentale. Alcuni volumi vanno regolati, una parte prima della fine va velocemente rallentata, comunque ho deciso di postarla qui stasera.
Spero che vi piaccia!
Ci vediamo questo sabato per il terzo video del Mese dell'Ukulele! ;)
---MICHELE GIULI---
Link alla canzone: https://soundcloud.com/mikehalf/the-red-city

Racconto: "Memories and stories" - part 4

A month rapidly passed, articulated by my progressive lack of surprise in not finding my notebooks and papers on the desk in my room when I woke up. After the last try, the night that Francesca had entered Glauco’s pub, I had definitively given up. The first days after, every time I woke up and noticed the missing of my papers I stayed still, looking at the desk, and then remembered my decision. After a bit, I started getting used to it and ended up into not noticing that at all. The empty desk had became part of my new life. I must admit that I was initially relieved by it. It was good not to be stressed about my block anymore. One day, it would have passed. One day.

But let’s talk about Francesca! Francesca – Tognazzi’s wife – during that month had succeeded in improving her condition, and her son’s. Glauco was hosting them at his house and, in return, Francesca would work at the pub a few hours in the night as a waiter and a washerwoman. Glauco had not enough money to reward her with a salary, but gave her a place to stay, and obviously she had nothing to complain about it. Some of the costumers of the pub were stunned by her story, and tried to help them as they could. Nobody could hire her, but if, for example, they knew an old man who needed a caregiver, or somebody who needed a quick work that she could do, they put him in contact with her.

This way, it had been created a sort of link between everybody in the pub, a link made of people knowing other people, and people that everybody knew. This brought a new life in the pub. People started discussing about possibilities, and in the same time, they kind of awakened. I saw some of them going to visit each other bringing gifts like fruit or vegetables from their private gardens or fields (in the case of those who had one). It was a thing that I didn’t see since I was a child. I am not a fan of the old times. I cannot be. I’ll never be. I could not live in the society of the past and be happy. But if there’s a single thing that I would save of that time, it’s this: some people were linked. Some people were happy to help each other. When I thought about it, I reasoned that it was not so different from every time in history. There’s always some people being linked to other and helping them, and some other people who are not. But it had been a long time since I had seen such simplicity there, in Macerata. But, I reasoned again, it had always been there: people had just started expressing it. I’d like to say that everybody solved their economic problems, but it would be an ignoble lie. I’m not Stefano Benni’s Wizard Grandpa, and this is not “Pane e Tempesta”. Our situation didn’t change at all. But many of us were feeling a little better. We felt happier... and this was a bit strange for me, because in the same time I was both happier, and growing melancholic.

It had started one afternoon, during the last week of the month, after I came home from work. I was pulling my keys from my pocket, in front of my door, and suddenly raised my head, feeling like there was something important I was missing. That night I picked my papers and sat again at the desk, but try as I might, nothing would come into my mind and out of my pen. I realized that I missed writing, I missed it too much. Not writing at all was making me sick. But what could I do, if I found myself blocked all the time?

In those days, I managed to tell Strimpella and some other friends about my homosexuality. Strimpella was probably the only one to really accept it. The others shook their head, some of them said that these thing happened and got over it, and we were friends as before, but others started avoiding me. This was a bit bad, but I was old enough not to lose my time caring about it. Then, I had seen worse reactions than simply avoiding. I wish that everyone who cannot accept homosexuality just avoided homosexuals. This proved me that Macerata was a really good city compared with the near places. I had not to watch over my shoulders like in the past. Maybe I needed to see the reactions of those who had not been friend with me in the past, before saying such a thing, but it was better to wait for that.

Meanwhile, I became friend with Francesca. We usually chatted when she was off work, and sometimes, when the pub was not too crowded, she would follow me and my friends out when we went for a cigarette. She didn’t smoke, but stayed with us for a talk. She was funny, and strong, but sometimes you could still see a hidden sadness in her eyes. She still worried about the future. She still was sad about her past. She was just at the beginning of her recovery. Sometimes I could see a shadow falling down her face, when she started having bad thoughts.

One night, I was going home by foot and I passed near the pub. I saw her outside, cleaning the entrance, and stopped to chat for a while.

« Filippo!» she greeted me, waving her hand and smiling.

« Hi!» I answered, returning the smile and walking towards her.

« Goin’ home?»

« Yeah, maybe comin’ here after dinner.»

« What yer doin’ ‘til then?»

I scrolled my shoulders.

« Dunno.»

« What you do in your free time?»

« I used to write, once.» I answered.

« Oh!, you wrote? What?»

Another scroll of my shoulders.

« Kind of everything. I felt inspired, I wrote about it.»

I was smiling, but mine was the voice of a man who had surrendered.

She finished passing the broom at the entrance, and went in to put it back and take a duster to clean the tables outside.

« And now? You quitted?»she asked when she came back.

« Sort of.»

I sat on one of the chairs around the table she had just started cleaning, and lit a cigarette.

« Why d’you quit, if I can ask?»

« I just... can’t find the right inspiration anymore, I s’ppose.»

« I’m sorry.» she said, and sounded sincere.

« Sometimes I try to start again but... dunno...» I said. She stayed silent and looked at me.

« I mean... I have lots of things I want to write about, I have the story perfectly delineated in my mind, and then I sit, take up the pen and: nothing. Everything flew away. Ispiration, gone. Story, gone. Will to write it, weaker.»

I paused.

« It’s like there’s something that distracts me, makes me feel sick and takes part of my mind away, so I cannot really enjoy writing like in the past.»

« And ye know what it can be?»

« I s’ppose.» I answered.

« What?»

« Remorse.» I said. « Memories that distract me. But it’s not only that... there’s something else, something that stops me at the final moment.»

« Maybe I know what it is.» she said, suddenly.

I raised my head, looked into her eyes, and asked.

« What?»

« To feel good with yourself.» she said. « I need it too, and I know how it feels not to do it. You feel blocked, just like you say, you feel that a situation, a grief has lasted too long. But you don’t know what to do.»

I nodded.

« Looks like you got it.» I said. « But what can we do?»

« I’ve started thinking that we don’t have to live big changes, but to grow up. With you, Glauco, and the others, I’m doing it. Maybe, one of this days it will be your turn.

We heard the pub’s telephone ringing. Glauco, who was cleaning the inside, went to answer.

« Have you found some other job?» I asked.

« No, but I can’t hope to find even a job in a month, can I?»

In that moment, we heard some screams coming from inside. We went through the door, and we saw Glauco approaching us. He was pale and looked shocked.

During that month, the story of Francesca had spread around, slipping from an ear to another. Glauco told us that his sister had just phoned. He told us why she had phoned. I felt like if my legs couldn’t bear my weight anymore. Francesca started screaming and crying. Unfortunately, her story had slipped into the only wrong ear in the city.

E siamo giunti al plot-twist. Che però, mi spiace per quelli che lo aspettavano come segnale della fine del racconto, questo è solo l'inizio. Da un po' di tempo ho cominciato a dividere i racconti in sezioni più brevi per non renderne troppo pesante la lettura. Però in questo caso si corre il rischio opposto di rendere il tutto pesante perché ci vogliono mesi ad arrivare alla fine. Dunque farò in modo che i prossimi post siano un po' più lunghi o, per come è il racconto, prima di Aprile non potrete leggere il finale...
Cosa è successo a Francesca? Come farà Filippo a ricominciare a scrivere? Questa è una telenovela all'Italiana? La risposta è: per come la sto presentando adesso, potrei anche rispondere di sì. Chi saranno le prossime comparse? Che ruolo avranno nella storia?
Questo, e altro ancora, sarà svelato giovedì prossimo!
Di nuovo: il mio Inglese è tutto fuorché perfetto, quindi se vedete qualsiasi errore, siete più che autorizzati ad agire da grammar-nazi e a farmi notare ogni singola pecca!!! Ho bisogno che siate dei grammar-nazi.
Ci vediamo questo sabato per il secondo video del Mese dell'Ukulele, e... domenica! 

---MICHELE GIULI---

Ukulele cover: "Can't Keep" di Eddie Vedder

Primo video del Mese dell' Ukulele. O meglio, primo pubblicato fra le tremila prove di registrazione fatte. Ormai i coinquilini avranno imparato la canzone a memoria.
 Il secondo video è parecchio più complesso da realizzare, almeno per quanto riguarda il tipo che vorrei, spero di riuscire a realizzarlo nel modo in cui me lo immagino. Per chi volesse farsi due risate, è una canzone per voce femminile.
Ci vediamo giovedì prossimo per il racconto settimanale. Per ora, buona visione!
---MICHELE GIULI---