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14 May 2009

.:: Amália in 3 Steps.

No more than 14 years old. Holding a soft hand i enter my own "Theatre of Dreams". The Master Pupetteer rests her green and almond brown eyes into my own. Takes a deep breath of my own life and asks me to sit down on a pillow playing around. It's her own room. I'm her guest. An old record player comes into the arena. She graceously dances around me, sharing words, telling stories, singing emotions. The purpose of this visit is to listen to some of the musics this muse loves. My teenage logic is plain simple .. i love you , you love this music, i love this music. Trio musical affair. Lying down i listen to the very first music to come out of the "music machine". It was called and still his , Rua do Capelao. Life starts Now!

I'm a rookie playing basketball on a snow based Portuguese University.Today i've had a Hard practise .. 3 hours long. In the end they propose me to go and lock the university, on a protest about something i really don't care about. Some of the players find it funny and go on to gather a few huge Alcatraz-style locks. I get a juice and previewing the snow that eventually never arrived on this city while i stayed there, i roll down the hill to my cottage like house near the train station and an old not so haunted chappel. I feel tired, thinking that maybe i'll have to pass on my weekly thrusday Sex-Lure-Dinner i religiously prepare for the future female Mathematicians of this litle country i like to call Portugal. Statistics. I lay on my bed. Wonderfully alone. Turn on the radio .. and the most amazing of sound comes out. Amalia on some fado house, joined by Alain Oulman on the piano. Heaven. I'm in heaven. And my heart feels so ...

I'm Fangio on a Chevvie driving wild 50Hm/h on a lousy ran down road not too far from Olhos d'Água, a beautifull water garden. Hidden Gem. I'm in charge of taking the product of a New Zeland Kid Lamb Slaughtering to a dye house. In the end all the wool i have behind me will have this ethereal blue color. I try not to imagine a million out-of-this-world freak blue baby lambs running after Frodo on a Kiwi landscape. Well i just did it. Imagined it. It does look good. My toughts are coitus interrrupted by a radio announcement. Amalia died. DIED? I oddly imagine Amalia dyed in a beautifull celestial Blue. I'm also sad. Listen to "Povo Que Lavas No Rio" and disconnect the radio. Just want to keep the chords holding in time. On a hold, inside me.
Jake Simms
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