Archivio | 19:00

364. Dàjalog II.

13 Ott

The tippy-tappy machine.

In Fulginton Street, in the corridor. The Barbon Man, appuyed on the surface of a horizontal armadium, containing dirty plaids, property of the Common of Turin, is reading some free newspapers, from time to time attempting to resolve the sudoku puzzle.

A Cat, coming in from the little window, plops down on the free newspapers, and searches to bite Barbon Man’s pen.

The Depressing Man, an old tippy-tappy machine in his hands, approaches shily smiling.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. How d’ye do?

THE BARBON MAN lifting his eyes to heaven, but unpercepted. How d’ye do, dear. Are you feeling a little bit better, this evening?

THE DEPRESSING MAN loosing immediatly his shy smile. So I wouldn’t say.

THE BARBON MAN, with an effort to smile. Come on, my friend, what are you carrying on?

THE DEPRESSING MAN rebegins to smile, but very palely. Look, do you know what is for?

THE BARBON MAN, illuminating. Oh, yes. Of course! I know tippy-tappy machines a lot of well. Where did you find it?

THE DEPRESSING MAN. At Palace Gate. I always go to that cimicious market in order to rasp on all the old mess they, very reasonably, throw away. I found a caffeteer, too, but one of the vendors popped on it, in order to let me not rasp it on, & carry it with me. What a s.o.b., isn’t it?

THE BARBON MAN, seeing the Depressing Man is on the brow of weeping, hastily says: Oh, yes, what a great bastard. Does it works? Hey, Cat!

The Cat stops biting the Barbon Man’s pen, & looks toward him.

Did you see this? A tippy-tappy machine!

The Cat runs toward the tippy-tappy machine, casting himself in it, entirely.

The Barbon Man & the Depressing Man laugh together.

THE BARBON MAN. Tee-hee, I was guessing he would adore it!

THE DEPRESSING MAN. Tee-hee, listen what a casin he makes herein!

THE BARBON MAN. Tee-hee.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. Tee-hee.

The Cat exit from the tippy-tappy machine, with a magnificent panache on his head, & the mantle tweely adorned with flowers & red peppers. He makes some day-filay, fishing for compliments.

THE BARBON MAN. Yes, of course, you are beautiful.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. Very elegant indeed.

The Cat exit from the little window. Few seconds after horrid meeowing is heard.

THE BARBON MAN, rassuratingly. Some admirer. So, put your tippy-tappy machine here on.

The Depressing Man puts the tippy-tappy machine on the surface indicated.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. I’m undecided. What could we do?

THE BARBON MAN. With risk to sound banal, this evening I hadn’t any coffee, yet.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. How I told you, that broken-in-ass vendor popped on the…

THE BARBON MAN, shaking his head. Okay, but we don’t need it at all. Don’t worry.

He pulls a button on the tippy-tappy machine. Coffee begins to mount with the recognizable & well-known gurgling sound. Grateful odour swift ascends. The Barbon Man & the Depressing Man attends the coffee is completely mounted lustly annusating the ambient air.

THE BARBON MAN. What a marvel.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. I didn’t know it was able to do such things!

THE BARBON MAN. Such things? It does make coffee, it’s only that.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. Perhaps we need two cups?

THE BARBON MAN. Never mind, the cups are incorporated.

THE DEPRESSING MAN, as remembering, slapping his front. Oh, it has to be bitter, let me take some sugar…

THE BARBON MAN. Not even in dream! Please, dear, be calm, relax, give peace to your soul, don’t excite, set your mind at rest; & – please – don’t begin to pester me so, cullion-destroying as usual. The tippy-tappy machine is commanded to put abundant sugar in every cup of coffee it makes. The tippy-tappy machine does know, the tippy-tappy machine does make. Let it work.

Two cups of coffee come forth. The Barbon Man and the Depressing Man take a cup per head & start drinking. They ptoo off the coffee.

THE BARBON MAN. I like coffee with tons of sugar in, stupid machine! This is defectuous. It was expectable from a dirty catorch rasped on from the mess & the filth at Palace Gate!

THE DEPRESSING MAN. Bitter as hell! This I expected from using the machine for a performance it’s not called to give! I wonder if it’s working again! Coffee-powder is exitial for the engranagges, it would cast itself in every hole, inibiting…

The Barbon Man grasp him for the neck.

THE BARBON MAN. It’s not my fault, okay? Say: It’s not your fault.

THE DEPRESSING MAN, gasping. … It’s… not my… fault…

THE BARBON MAN, letting him go. Okay, so I’m sure of your bonafide. But I think the tippy-tappy machine is irrimediably broken.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. Why?

THE BARBON MAN. Because one of its easier functions is properly making coffee.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. Yes, but coffee is not good. Perhaps there’s a waste. But I think he can do some beautiful music.

The Barbon Man makes a face like this.

THE BARBON MAN. Music? Do you call music the sound of a tippy-tappy machine? I don’t like the music of the tippy-tappy machines. It is twee.

THE DEPRESSING MAN with weep in his voice, stubbornly shaking the head. It’s not twee! It’s sweet; that’different.

He pulls a button on the tippy-tappy machine, that begins to give forth the typical twee sounds of the tippy-tappy machines.

THE DEPRESSING MAN, taking the tippy-tappy machine with two hands, as to embrace it, whispering. Don’t you hear how beautiful? I was used to listen at the tippy-tappy machine, at home, each day, for the greatest part of the day. My granny made some light coffee, with a machine appositly constructed, and brought it on a vassor with a little slice of pizza with artichokes, the little birds were singing in their cages, the sun was often shining, the wind was softly spiring, the wild waves were always saying something… How I complain my little home. It was in the bidonville of Il Cairo, do you know? Little obnoxius children were every moment in chase of some little pet, cat, or dog, & were used to kill them with stones, clubs, or half-spingards. When the butin was of at least of five or six dogs or little black people, we were used to come in the little square, & have a wonderful barbecue.

The Barbon Man looks at him with disgust, seeing he’s starting to weep.

They had some cocaine in change, & my sweet granny was used to offer tea & haschisch to all. At evening, often, we were used to run to the hanging of some homosexual. Granny was usually profiting to beg for us between the populace distracted by the beautiful, beautiful show, from time to time stealing clocks & purses. Ah, my sweet, sweet granny. Every morning at five she was awaken, & runned forth to steal some bread for our humble desk.

The Depressing Man weeps now openly.

& all my life had this precious companion, the tippy-tappy machine, with its irresistible, sentimental music. Do you hear? … Ti-ri-ri… Oh, I wasn’t used to request something too much hard from it. Granny was expected to wash our dirty linen, and the sun to dry it. But for the days of rain, when we called our neighbour Giovanna, that was paid with a certain number of blisters of propoli-paste for badbreath, for puffing on it. The tippy tappy machine was scanding every moment of my jolly day. At evening

The Depressing Man weeps now desperatly

I was used to go to the Great Ringlike Link, where finally I was allowed to re-embrace all my friends… At any moment, with my faithful tippy-tappy machine under my arm… Granny was expecting me till the morning… Oh granny, granny, where are you now?

The Depressing Man takes his head in his hands, sobbing loosingly.

The Barbon Man, a little bit uncertain on his legs, goes toward the loo.

363. Risposta a Palasciano.

13 Ott

La lessi ora. Mi dispiace molto aver detto che avrei risposto a tutte le provocazioni, ma sapendo che non andrà avanti in eterno lo faccio lo stesso.

Abbandonato ad interim l’usato
Modo a dirimer simili questioni,
Non ti dirò Mi stai ben sui coglioni,
Né a fare in culo ti vorrò mandato;
Non ti dirò Imbecille a tua sorella,
Tusinustrùnz, ricchione, & capecazzo;
T’eviterò stavolta ogni strapazzo,
E ogni etichetta troppo men che bella.
Mi sono imposto, qualche giorno fa,
Di dar risposta a tutto quanto detto;
Se la parola mia mi lega stretto,
Non ha veneri a me la libertà.
Se da quanto m’imposi già non esco,
Se la parola mia, suppongo, vale
Per quello ch’è, per quanto faccia male,
Come faccio a receder su Moresco?
E perché dovrei farlo? Perché un pirla
Che conosco, & in parte, & malamente,
Su un blog, la mia parola dispiacente
Trova, e m’esorta sùbito a smentirla?
Di fronte al non intender mio che nesso
Ci fosse tra il tuo te e quel di Moresco,
Ciò che successe, ben lo sai, di fresco,
Che assai non so di te dett’hai tu stesso;
Ciò quanto alla scrittura. Se ora a me
Vieni, a farmi tornare sui miei passi,
Devo creder che tu ben valutassi
Quel che pens’io; e più che io con te.
Ma quel che ignori, o credi poter carne
Di porco farne in questo modo, è il fatto
Che io sono un lettore non distratto,
E di me ancòra, oh se dovrei parlarne!
Ma fare capolino qui, e pretendere
Di ritrovare tutto a tua misura,
Questo è osceno, e ancor più se non s’ha cura
Di riflettere, e un poco meglio intendere.
Quasi che il detto mio sonasse vano
Quando non echeggiasse quanto detto
Da te; ma sappi, il giorno maledetto
Che sia così, oh, non sai quant’è lontano!
Non parj marmi o porfidi solenni
Servono a quanto dico, che alla mente
Porto inciso del tutto stabilmente,
Vero che non intaccano i decennj.
Mentre colui che, tanto leggermente,
Si consente  venirmi ad esortare
A smentire non solo: a cancellare
Quanto gli spiacque, ben altronde sente:
Ha il cervello a ciabatta, il quale schiere
Di spettri hanno in balia, troppe idee segue,
Vuole e disvuole, e a diseguali stregue
Tiene le sue medesime chimere.
Che legge transitiva m’imporrebbe
Di fare quanto a te non è di peso,
Dato che quanto dico io ben soppeso?
Perché darmi a ingojar questo giulebbe?
Ciucciatelo un po’ tu. E qualunque sia
Altro tuo parto, se altro non produce
Quella che troppo ambigua ne traluce
Tua carmenta, e in pensiero e in poesia.
E ribadisco che di là da stima
Generica per vasto impegno infuso,
Dell’idea resto che Moresco è fuso
— Ma in paragone tuo sempre una cima.
(Si sappia che soltanto a suo pericolo
Chiunque qui verrebbe a impor censura:
Che gli ho lanciata già tale jattura
Che gli cadranno l’un, l’altro testicolo).