Public date: 2011-01-25

Public date: 2011-01-25

Public date: 2011-01-25

Public date: 2009/09/01 - Mroué Jad: Producer

Music in memory of my girl's fanciful predilection of Spain and Spanish language.

Survive in a circle. No sooner nor later. Waking up and falling asleep are the same. This began for me, slowly like a presage, way before the lightning strike. During Christmas 2015 or soon afterwards. Right when I could see clearly our future life together was under threat. And too bad trying to solve that wasn't something simple we could work on, from thousands miles apart. I would have kept all of your moves at bay now, I would have kept our kindred spirits under lock and key, now.

You have to do more than enough. In general. And for love. You have to fight too hard for love, in this wicked world. Life's gone elsewhere. Those who are in command hate its indomitable power. And instead we give up too easily, we let them tame our hearts. Love is banished. Love is mocked. Love is threatened by liberty's stand-in and the acid demented grins and laughs that freedom degenerated into. I stopped believing our love could do it. My trust got weak. And I gave up without a fight. You always have to fight for the love of your life, and no fight ever is hard more than it's worth it.

I loved dancing with you and to see you dancing. Your fun was so contagious. I apologize for I was a little too shy those few times we were in a disco. You already knew my tastes in music have always been a bit special; or more than a bit. So I really wanted you to listen to this one in the hope you could be moving your feet at it and at the same time get to know my ways in life, which resemble a lot my ways in music. Like those times in the car when you liked a lot the bands I was digging into at the moment. I've actually tried to make dance tracks for you but I never dared to try harder, to go further then some feeble attempt. My flow was always cut by my worries, and worries in this music of mine are overwhelming the "dance part" by far. But now, in the sinister implications of life, I see that just my worries made sense after all. Troublesome time, we are living. Perhaps it's my fault, baby: if only I found a sincere and honest good 'flow', we would be dancing our life out together now.

You can't quite say happy or sad, if you listen to this music of mine. It's all been thought and it'll forever be eagerly awaiting for your return. This is not even music after all, more of a febrile illness of infinite nights staring at the ceiling in the dark. The fear of crossing paths with some lonesome shadows of you and not the real you; remainders of a beautiful love and not our love. But nonetheless there's the resilient, motley hope that God Himself would bother with giving us the chance we deserved at last. F sharp is exactly in the middle, between two C. Life is always between light and darkness. And we couldn't say what it meant when we visited St. Petri for the first time... How could we know?

This is for you, especially if you listened to my music in B Major at least twice. I had been longing to compose something that would have left you amazed and filled with colours from deep within. But then I usually headed to console my sadness. Nonetheless I always wanted to leave a little space for hope. And, in case I found the courage to send you those pieces, arrange them in such a way they stood a chance you could like them at first hearing. I never dared to send almost anything, I never dared to ask...

I've always thought you had to be very much complimented for what you achieved with me. Making me feel alive like I've never felt. Between the various compliments, I never told you that you were the first living example of what I knew some sociologists considered of great importance, in our time. Being a balanced combination of Ancient and Modern: openness to the New, tempered with your sensibility for traditions. You used to talk for long about the Royal family. And the time you got to know His Royal Highness, with respect and sparkles of dream in your eyes; but even with your funny smile and jokes, which could bring us back with our feet on the ground, reading some jewish banker's magazines.

Words are useless. Some music will roll her eyes. To the stars, to the sky. Emptiness inside. Just a little hope is left. Stupid noise is throbbing blindly everywhere, like no-one cares... The noise that separated us.

Endless, concerned waiting. And then you sent me some pictures of a sunset in Halmstadt. In some unexpected ways my heartbeat calmed down. Later your uncle showed me, around there, a chinese restaurant where you and him used to eat. I imagined how sweet and well mannered you were with the young waitress, and my eyes filled with tears.

I was struggling a lot in the wait of something to happen. Something that could bring back our confidence on path. When you sent me this picture from the cold winter I could feel that something was wrong but didn't want to wonder why. I preferred to think about your indubitable need of Italy's air and climate; it made me feel safe. And I kept going on for long since you sent it, alone, closed in on such a silly resentment.

We've been swarmed by too many people. We were thinking in good faith that it was fun, why shouldn't it? They were jumping out of nothing all around, here and there... But they were envious. Envious of the love that you often recounted, smiling with light in your eyes. They took advantage of our distance, which I knew would have hurt us. Even when we were together, we let them get too close. And most of all, when we were far apart. Prematurely, when things were not safe still (are they ever?), we felt like sharing our happiness with the rest of the world; but, exposed, it fell prey to some demons. We had to be jealous of our thing, unrepeatable. It was my fault, because I were to be the expert one. Your tenderness, your baby voices, your jokes, made me feel completely safe before time. For the love I found in you has always been the most precious thing of all. And, almost instantly, I found myself in a brittle grip on reality. I didn't realise... delusional idiot. And now there's no reality at all, anymore.

In the beginning of springtime, I realise for how long I've been wondering if you ever stayed awake thinking about me, during those interminable nights of separation. In the wait; if you were scared of losing me. I couldn't sleep anymore since you left that 12th of June. But everyone of us is different and that's fair. I kept wondering just out of curiosity and didn't dare to ask you; sometimes I wanted to call you at night but just gave up, because I didn't mean to alarm you. We can't think of love in a logical way, I kept telling myself. The way our love blossomed at just a glance that friday night and resisted, to those frantic thousands of miles. The way we had to say goodbye because of tenuous mix-ups. I was waiting for your triumphant comeback someday soon. I composed music to live through the distance that you said wouldn't hurt us. To just keep dreaming of us, with open eyes. Dreaming of our little beloved movements in the enormous city, that they could become our regular habits once again. I felt our ordinary days become the way to heavenly bliss. Your tender gaze, your pointed silences, your bursts of joy; your wise words that had got to be the uttermost consolation in this wicked destiny.

You could have prayed to get through a stormy night in a boat, riven with seasickness. You could have been scared by a three hundred feet drop, after hitting an air pocket in the Boeing. But think how it is like to live through in absolute, revolting void. Nothing to hold on to. Looks like some people pass through a sort of these things in their nightmares and they just wake up in a sweat. I dream of you in fact, rarely. And sleep is no solution. Asleep or awake there's no floating, no swimming; you just sink forever or cling on to burnished images of your past. When you couldn't keep the real thing...

Every sacred second we passed together is forever. Every square foot we walked upon is hallowed. That 's what is left for me on earth. I can't walk alone, where we've been together. Tears fall back to my throat. Everything around there has sparkles of your eyes. Fleeting sounds of the crowd spread echoes of your voice and your laughter. Remorse tied up with memories gnaws away at my heart, my eyes grow dim. Will we meet on the other side? Will you send a message from the beyond? You vanished in a moment like your cherishing words, your laghters, your childish cry when you were sad, the sudden glory I reached next to you, which was not to last. Alas, if I were to be an angry young man, naive, all over his head, drowned in his dark undertakings, would I have been able to catch you? Chase you?

I used to hate wasting all day, wandering around in shopping malls. Yes. Before you came into my life. All of a sudden doing that became funny and amusing, I would say interesting. All of the people in a magical parade. Impressing with you by my side. It was delightful seeing you feeling at ease in all those colours and fabrics, browsing through those crowded shelves smiling at us like you knew exactly what you were doing: having such a great consideration of fashion in Rome and keeping on telling me frankly how much you loved "shopping", in the city where hypocrite tourists arrange high-level options. In the big shops, if you directed your glance to an area where the latest arrivals were elegant enough for your graceful taste, you had to try every possible suit and sometimes even asked for my incompetent opinion. But you were very picky, you would never say yes to a compulsive purchase. Exactly like that time when I got to pick you up in a commercial center in the south-east (Cinecitta, with accent on i, you liked to say laughing). You had to travel more than an hour on your own to reach that place from Corso Francia, but then you couldn't find anything appropriate for a fancy young lady and then we got out with empty hands. I could see no trace of disappointment in your eyes. You were very patient, my love. Sometimes, on our way home, while I was driving in heavy traffic, we were singing so loud, in a blaze of glory, that Matthew Sweet's song that you loved and asked me about one year later. Those were the days... when everything was possible.

Nature, my love, has its discontinuous ways in every phenomenon. And sometimes human Will is part of Nature in that: we can't force things to happen the right way, the way that they should, the way that would be better for us. But our thought likes to delude us about the consistency and power of our Will. Human souls resemble instead physical phenomena sometimes or, as I can say, too often, in a chaotic form, ruthlessly shattering our Will. It's just highs and lows, for no reason, no sense at all, just like shapeless water in the Ocean. Our Love that touched the stars went soon on the down low all by itself, like none of us could do anything against that. But in the end I had to, I could, I had to do something, anything that came to my mind... We can't be excused. I know that, because my spirit could be stronger than jittery destiny.