The Beatles
I'm the walrus

To the light gas of Bertoncelliana memory...

To the one who climbed the Eiffel Tower, that is, Mr. Semolino Sardina...

To the unmistakable fact that, in the absence of sun, the only thing to do is tan in the rain...

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So, Semolino Sardina is a little spirit, and little spirits, as we know, float in the perceptual undergrowth.

We can’t see them, but the traces of their passage are unmistakable: sugar instead of salt, salt instead of sugar...

Not to mention a lot of other entertaining matters that we'll skip for convenience...

Anyway, in the grand divine scheme, our magical little beings represent the unexpected, that is, the sweet, sweetest imbalance that alludes to all possible balances.

Then, well, I don’t know how to tell you this, but the little spirits adore playful, bouncy little tunes. You know those whimsical little songs that describe the invisible in the form of a nursery rhyme?

Nothing strange about it since little beings and little tunes are quite similar. Comparative studies in spectrography and musicology have revealed how both move following funny, jerky sinusoidal curves. Perhaps that's why these (the little beings) rely on those (the little tunes) just as certain little birds rely on the wind.

But what I want to tell you is that one fine day, by scanning a famous Beatles track, the needles of the most sophisticated spectrographic machines began to go haywire.

That track was called, and still is called, “I’m the walrus”...

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“I’m the walrus” begins like this “I am he as you are he as you are me...” and if that’s not the jargon of little spirits, well, you tell me...

Then, if the beginning isn’t enough, read the rest and enjoy, in the original language, the foolishness of the sounds. It’s a magical place of crazy syllables enjoyable especially outside of any meaning.

A merry-go-round that in the blender of wonders throws everything: surreal/military marches, nonsense rhymes, Lennon neologisms, Lewis Carroll quotes...

In short, the classic potpourri of English melancholifolly...

So gentlemen, trust me, get on the road. And I, for my part, guarantee that once you travel these lands, the little phrase I’m about to give you will seem rather appropriate. It’s a definition taken from an authoritative psychedelic dictionary known only to me and this definition describes “I am the walrus” as: “a nightmare dream of random words, a zero-gravity joke.”

But enough chatter now.

And, after a “hello mister walrus,” dive into this song, which, more than a song, is an acid, crooked, and wavy thing...

Not only that, it’s also suspended, mocking, hyper rhythmic. A kind of first cousin to Syd's octopus.

With its monosyllabic and sinister cartoon-like choruses, the parodic and windy strings, the crazy crescendo, the orchestra going haywire. Although then, to be honest, there isn’t an orchestra. It’s just a boiling pop foam...

But in that foam float all the little spirits called on, which aren’t just Mr. Semolino Sardina, oh no!!!

So here’s to you the elementary penguin, the eggman, the fishwife...

And, savasandir, the walrus...

Plus a whole series of flying monsters (pigs, policemen, philologists) that our little beings mock with unmatched taste and skill...

In short, a mix of figurines shuffled at random.

Like when those who couldn’t buy the cream puff were given ten lire of crumbs: a nice packet with micro fragments of apple pie, grandma’s pie, chocolate tart.

All that was left on the trays after the last slice was gone.

Well, “I’m the Walrus” is ten lire of crumbs plus some little drug that (perhaps by mistake, perhaps not) might have ended up in the mix...

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Then if the little spirits float, the demons flee...

They flee helter-skelter...

So, take a ride on the carousel, enter the whirlpool, the vortex.

And, if you’ve gotten this far, forgive the psychedelic babbler that is in me...

Trallallà...

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On second thought, however, it’s necessary to be a bit more precise...

In “I’m the walrus” the little spirits don’t exactly float... in “I’m the walrus” the little spirits jump. Subtleties? Maybe...

But maybe not...

Where one floats is in “Strawberry fields forever”, with the famous two keys that started out crooked and gradually embrace one another...

And that feeling of familiarity and, at the same time, estrangement, like wanting to tell the untellable. Certain afternoons, think about it, certain sudden lights, certain melancholies.

Pure sensations admirably undefined.

And here it’s no longer a matter of little spirits turning rooms upside down. Oh no!!...

I think other beings come into play... more placid entities... more mysterious... sweeter. Like when my cat stays absolutely calm compared to when it seems to go crazy chasing who knows whom or what.

Or like the famous crumbs compared to the cream puff...

Needless to say, even here the spectrographic machines go crazy. A bit like if Buddha were subjected to the lie detector.

And anyway I’ve always considered the walrus and the strawberry fields like yin and yang. The insane description of an even crazier world on one side, hanging out in the treehouse on the other.

John says it too, doesn’t he?

“There’s nobody on my tree, you can’t tune in, but it’s okay all the same, or at least, c’mon, it’s not too bad...”

Trallallà two...

With renewed apologies...