"At that time my life depended on British music magazines. Buy them all and then scroll carefully every little blurb in search of your name. I fed on any details about yourself. I hated those newspapers, the arrogant tone of reviews, the presumption and have some teeth by those who wrote to us. I hated them, but they were the only source of news about you and therefore I could not help it.
I, I who cucivo together every little fragment of your life and your art to enrich the wonderful project of my love for you, I could go on blissfully ignoring your relationship with Alexis Ducrey if one day I had not encountered the famous interview in the New Musical Express where was it all for granted. I read the article so many times that I learned it by heart, word for word and, looking back now, I can still relive the shock, doubt, the anguish I felt then. It does so even
home?, you cheeky bastard asked what a journalist referring to Alex as the beginning of the article, gave dell'autistico for being isolated in a corner listening to music on headphones.
It's all right, everything normal, was the reply, Alex is even less interested in reality than I am, yes, he has this tendency to isolate himself in his own world but it is his only fault, I do not unable to find other, so I forgive him ... it is pretty easy
HOME. So it was written: AT HOME. And your response suggests an intimacy that was difficult to attribute to a simple friendship. I love to go on tour, then you said in another point of the interview is a good excuse to be with Alex 24 hours 24. At first she had prevailed
surprise, then was succeeded by disappointment: how long it lasted? How long have I lived in the dark? I, even I, who lived only for you, sure I understood this better than anyone else in the world, I had not even been touched by the suspicion of what had happened inside your heart. It was a defeat not acceptable.
I had to understand. Enter into the logic that supported your relationship. I concentrated my attention on Alex. I wanted to get to see it with your eyes.
Unfortunately the material available to me was really poor - at which time the Internet was still science fiction - but I had some pirated video tapes of some of your old concerts and riesaminai carefully. My analysis did not produce great results. The only detail that I could then interpret in a new light was the attitude of Alex on stage when you are not isolated among its amplifiers or to seek the sounds inside his head, he had eyes only for you.
Only time has given me the serenity and detachment necessary to understand.
Now I think it was a bizarre synthesis of opposites to steal your heart. There was a kind of aggressive attitude of unexploded Alex, the same impulse that drove him to corrode the sounds, to maim, to constantly disappoint the listener. Alex inspired a sense of perfect self-sufficiency. I think the last thing that mattered was to communicate with the listener. Did not seek dialogue: his speech was one-way and the way he was attacking. To defend themselves, probably. Why all that perfect security could collapse like a sand castle. Now I am convinced that, despite appearances, Alex was very fragile and uneasy about you.
was not easy for me to admit defeat. To get my heart forced him to bleed directly.
This day I was already two o'clock in the afternoon from parts of the Point Depot to watch the arrival. Among violent gusts of wind and splashing water, along with a few other diehards, listened closely, desperate and happy at the same time: I watched the roadies unload and transport inside those mysterious trunks destined to transform, to release what I would have given new life. When we were confined behind the barriers I realized that the time was near.
black car came down from the first Alex, Brian and a guy ever seen. Alex was thin and pale as a ghost - the devastated look of all time - and smoked nervously in French and discussed with the stranger. Almost passing touched me: they spoke of technical details related to the amplification and sound quality. Brian was the only one bothering to some quick handshake. Alex had not even seen. That we were there for hours in the cold was not a problem concerned. When you arrived you along with Eric Gordon and Morris, it seemed that the sky was split to drop as much water as possible. The driver engages the rear and I took the main entrance to deposit comfortably sheltered under the canopy. There was only time to understand, not to call. A fraction of a second and my plan to see you again up close and talk to you and touch you one more time was already gone. Months of anticipation swept away by a quick burst of cold water. And that afternoon in the cold between anxiety and hope: a useless sacrifice that you would not have ever known.
But still I did not want to give in to resignation, at the end of the concert so I tried to lurk again on the back of the theater spied the roadies who package and load tools, cables and amplifiers and I soon found out that sitting in a corner, wearing a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, a can of Guinness in hand, c 'Alex was. He looked unhappy, like a suffering child, impatiently. He sipped his beer at regular intervals, with a gesture almost automatic, and kept under control as if they were roadies stowing a precious treasure. Work is finished someone did drop the shutter and Alex disappeared. All disappeared. It would have been logical to resign and go home, it was clear that had to be run off by some out of service. Yet a few hours after the end of the concert I was the only ghost still in circulation from parts of the Point Depot. I could not abandon the sanctuary where, despite everything, once again I loved you in all your splendor, all your unreachable genius.
There was a beautiful starry sky above me for no reason while driving on the old railroad tracks embedded in asphalt. Suddenly I found myself behind a car that flashed threateningly: scostai me to let her go and when I saw her turn towards the main entrance to a secret voice, irresistible, encouraged me to follow her. I had nothing to lose, it was worth groped. The car was there and still dark, driving an insignificant guy who saw me but he continued to fiddle proceed with the radio left me undisturbed to the great central arch window. I wonder if Alex noticed me. Beyond the glass door in the dim light of a melancholy desert, he was standing there alone, sitting on the stairs, wrapped like a beggar, a military-style bag to toe, head lolling against the rail. He had the same expression worn out a few hours before. When I saw your long black shadow move, my heart was already beating wildly, like a premonition.
I never find the words to say grace, tenderness, delicacy with which your hand down to rest on his forehead, a firm and gentle caress, a long silence, still, Alex dropped his head in your embrace. Not much happened, but I did not need to see more. We'd completely lost. There was no longer just a tiny space in your heart. I would have liked to run away, evaporate, become transparent. But I could not escape that pain, in that beauty. I was like hypnotized. We looked trampling my shadow as you move toward the car, Alex clinging to you as the sole support of his life. For you I did not exist, I would never have existed, I was not ever existed.
petrified I was still there to watch you reach the car when the door opened suddenly and Gordon Morris got up the collar of his jacket sniffing the sky with a satisfied air. He saw me, greeted me goodnight. It was all over. "
It was not an easy afternoon. But you realize with relief that the awakening is giving you the ability to keep the head turned toward the window. You see, the world goes out there, everything has continued to go regularly. Even the rain decided to get back to work, slow and faithful through the lights at night. You might not want this to sound more comforting humid bustle around your windowsill.
Sometimes at night he can make it all so sweet, so acceptable.
"I brought the girls here," Deirdre whispers in the dark, entering at the tip feet. "I told them that you have a fever and you're sleeping."
Treasury know I sometimes do the right thing, think of pressing it to you, breathing in the humidity of the evening from her hair.
"to spend the night here?" Ask almost not daring to hope so.
Sunk light in the darkness covering his profile as he slips off his coat with the grace of a fashion.
"Come I'll help you to go to the bathroom," she smiles, and his tenacious thin arms outstretched towards you shine in the night.
(from "The useless guide" ed. Progetto Cultura, 2009 - the twelfth episode)
