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Arguments. Despair. Incommunicability. Apathy. Intolerance. Regrets, remorse, cold wind. Scroll through the list, you'll surely find yourself there.
Sometimes you wake up. Landscape: countryside, the English one. Clear sky, light wheat. Almost surreal. Not a cloud in sight. Perhaps some noise in the distance. Banners rise in the background. Sooner or later it happens, there's the road, there's the derailment. When does one make a mistake? Is there a moment? What is the cause of people’s fragility? Feeling like two opposite poles, distant and far away, an infinity of words apart. Of course, some songs talk about a journey. From the beginning; when did we start talking? Who decides the relevance of words? We do, always us.
Yet we are foolish, we lose ourselves completely, abandoned and resigned, we blame time; we blame not ourselves but the past us. Is it really necessary to live among a web of relationships?
In a phrase: we chase being androgynous. Relationships are born from lack. Lack of us, perhaps in our purest and original condition. And we start from here, from the phantom cover of this bell that rings in the air of this sunny countryside. One is still a whole. The complex is made up of detail. It is us, the entire human race that divides, with mouths agape, amazed, unaware, into something extremely complex and fragile, in need of understanding and support, perhaps cruel, weak. We don't know what certain people want from us. It's useless to wonder, we move in a universe of words. And the facts? Stuck on an island in the middle of the sea, certain words refract like waves in our minds. If we could, just for once, have the power, make those decisions and take back what is ours, then yes, we would return to Life. Yet we continue to talk, no actions, we even lose ourselves to find the words.
Certain songs speak for you. No need for words. Of course, it's somewhat reductive. The 11 present here make you talk, alone, infuse you with strength, make hopes rise again. They lift you from the ground, what an uplifting view. Because words are conventions. And we are the ones who decide them.
And if indeed in an endless waiting countryside you feel tethered again to concreteness by a guitar solo, by an organ or whatever, then let this record be your beacon, in this immediate modernity. Sailors of action, let yourselves be guided to act. Take your freedom.
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