El Club de la Polilla y el Lobo Pt. 1 - "Una canción de muy lejos"

 ¿Alguna vez has despertado con una canción pegada en la cabeza
desde el primer segundo que abres los ojos?
Como si algo o alguien te hubiera estado cantado mientras dormías.
Susurros corren de un lado a otro, subiendo y bajando por tu mente.
Puedes sentirlos resonar a medida que comienza el día
esta tonada tan familiar arrastrándose por tu tímpano.
 
Caminas con la balada medio recordada todavía muy viva.
Y te detienes en seco, pues puedes sentir el silencio mismo de repente volviéndose aún más mudo.

Luego viene un sonido.
Primero distante, crece hasta convertirse en un magnífico estruendo.
Y el pensamiento se libera.

Intentas descifrar su procedencia.
No terminas de comprender lo que es, pero quieres atraparlo. 
Quieres captar el destello.
Porque en el fondo sabes que de alguna manera, te pertenece.

Y dices:
Espera un segundo, no me digas, no me digas.
Yo sé cuál es, yo conozco esta canción.
Yo conozco esta canción.

Comienzas a tararear la melodía

Los sonidos se convierten en palabras que se convierten en versos
Empiezas a construir el acertijo,
quieres resolver este rompecabezas.
Ya casi estás ahí, los versos se alinean y un cascabeleo aparece, se forma un coro.
 

Te la sabes de memoria, la has oído toda la vida
Estás entonando, silbando, cantando
La tienes en la punta de la lengua
Y está justo ahí esperando por ti.
¿Cómo se llamaba?

Pero - un momento... 

¿Estás seguro de que te la sabes?
¿Realmente has escuchado esta canción antes?
¿Puede que sea sólo tu memoria haciéndote bromas?

¿Cómo podemos saber que no es algo diferente?
¿Algo más?

¿Podría ser acaso nada más que el pasado, jugando con nosotros 

Saliendo de su escondite
Tratando de decirnos algo?

Esta es una canción de hace mucho tiempo,
Una canción de muy lejos
Mucho, mucho más vieja que yo.
Más vieja incluso que mi abuelo.
Él era quien solía cantarla en los años 50
Una época más simple, un tiempo más tranquilo.
Solía ​​bailar a su lento ritmo a través de docenas de clubes de jazz y salas de baile.
Esta música vestía la inocencia de los días
donde el amor de un hombre y una mujer permanecía fiel y creía en lo imposible
Pero la juventud de mi abuelo se convirtió en arena
y su voz se secó, se convirtió en un fantasma suave
Una niebla cándida que lleva el plateado aroma del tiempo,
el eco atrapado en mi tintero.

Espera un segundo, no me digas, no me digas.
Yo sé cuál es, yo conozco esta canción.
Yo conozco esta canción.

¿Puede ser? 

The Wolf and Moth Club Pt. 1 - "A Song From Far Away "

Have you ever woken up with a song stuck in your head
right from the very first second you open your eyes?
As if something or someone were singing to you in your sleep.
Whispers run back and forth, climbing up and down your mind.
You can feel them resonate as you begin the day
this most familiar tune crawling down your eardrum.

You walk around with the half remembered ballad still very much alive.
And you stop on your tracks, for you feel silence itself suddenly becoming even more mute.

Then comes a sound.
Distant first, it grows into a magnificent roar
And the thought unlocks.

You try to decipher its provenance.
You don't quite grasp what it is, but you wanna catch it.
You want to embrace the glimpse.
Because deep down you know, somehow, it belongs to you.

And you go:
Hold on just a second, don't tell me this one.
I know this one, I know this song
I know this song.

You start humming the melody
Sounds become words which become verses
You start building the puzzle,
you wanna solve this jigsaw.
You're almost there, the verses align and a jingle pops in, a chorus is formed.

You know it by heart, you've heard it your whole life
You're humming, whistling, chanting
It's in the tip of your tongue
And it's right there waiting for you
What was it called?

But - wait a second...

Are you sure you know it?
Have you really heard this song before?
Can it be just your memory playing tricks on you?

How do we know it's not something different?
Something else?

Could it be just the past, playing with us
Coming out of its hiding place
Trying to tell us something?

This is a song from long ago,
A song from far away
Much, much older than me.
Older even than my grandfather.
He was the one who used to sing it back in the 50's
A simpler age, a quieter time.
He used to dance at its slow beat through dozens of jazz clubs and ballrooms.
This music wore the innocence of the days
where the love of a man and a woman could hold true and believe in the impossible
But my grandpa's epoch of youth turned into sand
and his voice dried up, it became a soft ghost

A candid mist carrying the silver scent of time,
the echo trapped in my inkpot.

Hold on just a second, don't tell me this one.
I know this one, I know this song
I know this song.

Could it be?

The Flames' Sweet Caress

How do you stay motivated in the midst of everything that's going on? How do you build your personal momentum and how do you get in the zone? Right? And I'm glad you asked.

Three things, you better catch it. My mother used to say: "people love watching fire burn!" Alright? Okay, that's one thing I know about life, one thing I know about life is a guarentee, right? Change is inevitable. And listen to me, as much as you like to be in your comfort zone, as much as you like to be stable, as much as you like to control your environment, the reality is: everything changes.

Alright here's my last one, my last one is make, Carl you gotta give me that term again, it's spontaneous combustion I think is what they call it and what happens is...

When a fire starts to burn, and it starts to spread...

-Eric Thomas
Motivational speaker.  
Sampled in Disclosure's 2013 album Settle.
Tracks "Intro" and "When a Fire Starts To Burn".

Someone's Listening

I remember my mother's
Sister's husband's brother
Working in the goldmine full-time
Filling in for sunshine
Filing into tight lines
Of ordinary beehives
The door screams I hate you
Hate you hanging around my blue jeans
Why is there no breeze
No currency of leaves
No current through the water wire
No feelings I can see
I trust no emotion
I believe in locomotion
But I've turned to rust as we've discussed
Though I must have let you down
too many times
In the dirt and the dust.

"You Are My Face"
 Escrita por Jeff Tweedy y Nels Cline
De la banda norteamericana de folk-rock Wilco
Para el disco Sky Blue Sky (2007)

* ¡Feliz 6to aniversario, blog!

Foreigners

I want to talk to you about a special day during my recent trip to Paris. All my life I had dreamed of going there. That's why I've studied French in this class for two years now. I saved money and went to Paris for six days. Even after five days I still suffered from jet lag and was a little tired all the time. It was my first trip to Europe. I wanted to go for two weeks but I couldn't leave my dogs, Lady and Bumper for so long.

I loved the museums and streets of Paris, only the food wasn't as good as I'd thought. I had considered going with a tour group, but I am a very independent person. Since I am a letter carrier here in Denver I'm used to walking every day. Plus, I wanted to have a genuine foreign adventure and practice my French.

-Excusez-moi, est-ce que vous savez où est un bon restaurant par ici?
-It depends..  what kind of food do you like?
-Oh.. anything.
-Do you like Chinese food?
-Sure.

They say many things about Paris. They say it is where artists find inspiration.They say it is where people go to find something new in their lives. They say it is where you can find love. Of course, at my age I didn't expect anything like that.

However, during those days, I had many thoughts about my life; I thought if I had been born in Paris or that if I would ever have enough money I could live there. I imagined delivering mail every day on a street like this and meeting the people who live there. I am sure that they are very nice.

I visited a famous cemetery where many famous people are buried. I saw the grave of Jean-Paul Sarté and Simón Bolivar. My book said they were two very famous french writers who loved each other very much and that's why they're buried together. And I saw the tomb of a man named Porfirio Díaz. My book said he was dictator of México for 35 years. It was interesting to be next to such a powerful man who cannot move or talk anymore like I can. I thought about my sister Patty, who died very young, and about my mother, who died of cancer last year. One day I will be buried too and maybe no one will visit me. But I won't care. I'll be dead.

But I am not a sad person. Au contraire, I'm a happy person with many friends and two wonderful dogs. It's just that sometimes I wish I had someone to share things with. For example, when I saw all of Paris from a skyscraper, I wanted to say to someone, "Isn't that beautiful?" But there was nobody there. I thought about my ex-boyfriend Dave, if he would have enjoyed this trip, but then I felt a little stupid because we haven't spoken for 11 years and now he's married with three children.

Then I found a lovely little park. I sat down in the park and ate a sandwich that I'd bought. It tasted very good. Then, something happened, something difficult to describe. Sitting there, alone in a foreign country, far from my job and everyone I know, a feeling came over me. It was like remembering something I'd never know before or had always been waiting for, but I didn't know what. Maybe it was something I'd forgotten or something I've been missing all my life. All that I can say is that I felt, at the same time, joy and sadness. But not too much sadness, because I felt alive.

Yes, alive.

That was the moment I fell in love with Paris. And I felt Paris fell in love with me.

De la película Paris, je t'aime (2006). Segmento "14e arrondissement"
Escrita por Alexander Payne y Nadine Eid.