Thursday, July 2, 2009

Tattoo Anklet What Do They Mean

L'INCONTRO - CAPITOLO SECONDO DELLA TRILOGIA DELLA COSTIERA

Cara Madame,
Rive sfiorate dal vento del nord. Sabbia a perdifiato. Pallide ninfette riparate dal sole dei tropici da ombrelli a flowers. Air fried sensitivity. Here is a disease that infects everyone, even the critics starched.
And everything is as you left, Madame. Only quell'orsacchiotto father died Pluche, eating too many croissants. Did you know everyone. Plasson instead continues to break the bales. Bartleboom we always try, with every woman who stops here. They have wasted nothing, thousands of visitors.
I write to you, Madame, from where you are healed and always come back.
to heal.
Adultery.
But it cures your illness? I wonder. A
if firefly, firefly remains. Do not you think?
was walking the other day with Alex. I know, I know. You may ask how I did it to meet Holden Caulfield?
Long story, Madame. Suffice it to this: Alex and I walked on the sand. A barefoot. Without leaving footprints. Is not it a miracle? He pointed, with slow gestures, a hill, the horizon line, jaunty wave. Then his fingers went up a path right up to the chapel of Saint Amand.
- There are frescoes made with sea water in the chapel - he tells me. - Do you want to see them?
I pretended not to hear and I pointed out a dark spot in the middle of thick trees - what is there?
Madame, you had to see it. The face was illuminated.
I said - Oh Mr Mr! You can not imagine how proud I am of that bright spot there. I had not told
bright. Oh well.
- That is my greatest creation together with the raft of the Medusa: (triumphant) is the Locanda Almayer!
All names borrowed, I think to myself, inevitably.
- Names borrowed,
Mr Mr Here, in fact.
- So much frikkettoni.
I can only ask: - Do you feel frikkettone, Mr. Holden?
eyes wide, stick my arm, madame. He too began to cry. E 'prisoner of himself. He says: - It 's my destiny. And 'because of that evil woman. She made her so.
- Who?
- My mother. I
close to the heart. She, the bariccolessa.
Vorrei aiutarlo.
Un mucchio di anatre starnazzanti ci passa affianco, gli si fermano davanti. Sembrano sorridergli, almeno loro. E’ sempre il giovane Holden, cazzo.
Aiutarlo sì, ma dopo aver messo giù un boccone.
Gli dico: - Non faccia così! Si dia un contegno. Che cucinano di buono alla Locanda?
Gli si riapre lo sguardo. Inizia a balbettare per l’emozione.
- Un po’ di tutto signor Sig. Un po’ di tutto.
Che al paese mio vuor di’: tutto e niente. Vabbè.
Ci avviamo.
Alex ha insistito. Vuole camminare sul bagnasciuga. Ok. Siamo a casa sua.
Gli domando, indicando l’acqua: - Sa che non ho ancora capito?
- Cosa?, - mi he says.
- What is this exactly? Ocean or Sea?

arrived at the inn.
of it I was surprised by the yielding walls. But the mole. The plant has an octagon and vaguely tetragon from afar. I was going to say "... reminds me of an abbey."
- Everything is borrowed here. Remember.
I'll remember, and you too. I hope.
Despite the gloomy tone, the inn was the sound of jazz orchestra. He put in a good mood. The pianist then we could do.
- Oh I know he's thinking about Mr. Sig!, - He tells me. - He's wondering who plays the piano so well! True?
I had read his mind. I said yes.
- E ' Danny damn stingy. Danny Lemon. Eventually we convinced him to fucking get off that ship. We had not ever done!
- Why?
- People just want him! and threatens us ... We can not do run away, you understand me. The fact is that it takes a lot of money, the bastard!
- Azz.
- Contrabazz, I say. There is also the contrabazzo, that is. The result? Salaries of 350 Holden. Burned. For a bunch of crooks.
Things not to believe. He had my full support.
Shortly after we entered the inn. God, that clouds of smoke that noise, that foul language. You could not understand a shit. But I had the eye long, I do. I recognized one by one. It was the band Upon completion of the Pickwick Club.
How wonderful!
shook hands with everyone. How are you, Mr. Pickwick? And you Mr. Winkle? What Goduria. I did drag in to the sound of revelry whistles and began to feel a lot of different ladies buttocks that night. And you understand, Madame, I was under the influence of the band of Mr. Dickens. I was among friends.
Mr. Holden motioned me to join him at the table. With deep sadness I separated from my friends and I joined him.
I said - like something I guess!
Yeah, I had come here on purpose. I forgot.
I was too excited. I needed a dish that I ammosciasse adrenaline.
I said: - Of course Mr. Holden, I'd like a plate of Sardinian warbler.
The music stopped. Everyone looked at me in the eye.
Mr. Holden Alex raised his eyebrow, rage.
I said a mistake?
Yes, I said just fucked up.
- What do you think? To stay in Vigata? No one here has ever talked about Sardinian warbler. And now: OUT! That fat
of Bartleboom held me from behind. It pushed me toward the door. My friends, paid them well, they pretended not to see me. In less than no time I was out the door of the dismal Locanda Almayer. Everything for a plate of sardines warbler. Such is life.

Night had fallen. The band had begun to play a melancholy swing. The party continued.
Later, under a small bridge, I noticed a figure from his broad shoulders. I approached, and in light of the moon recognized the Master. The Master! Joseph Conrad! And dressed in rags.
I told him: - Master, here you are!
- Nobody is a prophet in his homeland - he repeated.
recognized in his voice majestic tone of the written word.
- Who are you? Almayer's you, my son?
Now I understood. The Master had been abandoned, rejected by his own son, the 'administrator Inn (Mr. Holden was the president). Put out the door as a raft of parking.
not heard me to deny him a smile. After all, how many I had given him with his words? How much happiness?
Dissi:- Sì, padre. Sono io Almayer.
Ci abbracciammo, lui commosso per aver trovato suo figlio, io commosso per aver trovato il mio Maestro. La luna era incantevole sul mare.
In lontananza, vedemmo i fuochi di artificio sparati in aria da una nave all’orizzonte.
Mi godevo lo spettacolo, tanto più che mi sentivo così leggero. A pensarci bene, era stata una grande idea mandarmi via dalla Locanda.
Senza quelle sarde a beccafico sullo stomaco, potevo dormire sonni tranquilli accanto al mio capitano.

0 comments:

Post a Comment