Onky Tonk Story

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BTJZ26CL?

A love triangle in London

A single Act in nine scenes

 

Dramatis Personae

 

Max Sailor:  A young man looking for his own way

Brenda Parnell: Max’s  girlfriend

 George Tender: Good friend of Max’s and Brenda’s

Jonathan Close: A good  Jewish  boy from England

Elvira Giusti: Former Jon ’s girlfriend

Hamed Farsiwill : Iranian student refugee-Escaped from Iranian Revolution

Rocìo Peròn-Mendoza: Colombian student

Francesco Soggiu: Italian Theologian  Student

Inspector Green: Head of local police

Jim Cope: Inspector’s Green first man

Roy Elther: Inspector ‘s Green Second man

Vincent and Norman: pushers from Jamaica (do not appear)

 

 (The drama is set in London  at any week-end between 1979 and 1980 in the Hampstead Max ’s parents  house)

Scene I

(Max, Brenda, George in a large bedroom)

 

Max (lying on the bed, in a dreaming voice)

-Tonight I would like to fly!!

 

Brenda (getting closer to hold the smoking pipe Max is handing to her, in a very sensual voice through the smoke she will take from the pipe)

-Why waiting tonight, my dear?

 

Max (getting up and giving the pipe Brenda is handing to George)

-Not  in that sense, Brenda! George have you got me?

 

George

-Of course I have! You would like to be some kind of flying bird, wouldn’t you?

 

Brenda (after passing the pipe George is handing to Max, miming a bird with open arms)

-Oh, yes! Let’s be a crow! Or even better, as we say with the Irish word, let’s be a

Préachàn (draws a crow’s sound from  her tongue)

 

George (also laughing  )

-I would prefer to be a dog sail!

 

Max (putting down the pipe on a bedside table)

-Great! I would also like it! A dog sail following the wake of a ship! For ever!

 

(The phone bell breaks on afterwards)

 

Max (picking up the phone)

-Hello!?

(pause)

 

Max

-Sure! It’s right today!

 

(pause again)

 

Max

-Any time you like in the afternoon!!

 

(another pause)

 

Max

-I’ll see you later, then! By, by!!

 

Brenda

-Who was it?

 

 

Max

-He was Francesco, ‘you know? The italian guy who is following our philosophy term at College….

 

Brenda

-Ah, the Jesuit priest? What did he want?

 

George

-He’s not a priest yet!

 

Max

-I had formerly invited him to the party…and he just wanted a confirmation….

 

Brenda

-He’s not a priest yet then?! That’s why he‘s joining the party!! He has told me anyway he is graduated in theological sciences or something like that…

 

Max

-Actually is doing a sort of sabbatical time before taking the final votes!

 

George

-That’s the way Jesuits are  unlisted…

 

Max

-They are supposed to experience in all things of the life before becoming a priest….

 

Brenda (laughing maliciously)

-Even going with women?

 

George

-I think they are! The things of   life also include screwing, don’t they?

 

Max (taking again the pipe in his hands)

-And also smoking I might suppose…

 

Brenda

-I expect a priest would not copulate neither smoke…

 

Max

-‘ you catholic! You’re always living among prohibitions! Is not the same for the orthodox, is it George?

 

George

-I think is not at all! As far as I know they can even get married!

 

Brenda

-As matter of fact: they have to get marry before any carnal relation!!

 

Max

-But Francesco is still a laic man!!

Brenda

-And laity are not supposed to go with any woman before they get marry with them!!

 

George

-All this matter looks like a dog trying to catch  its own tail, doesn’t it?

 

Max

-Quiet a difficult matter to face on my birthday!

 

Brenda

-Oh, by the way, did you enjoy my birthday’s present?

 

Max (watching up the pipe’s bowl and searching somewhere around)

-Where is the rest of the grass?

 

Brenda (handing him a small silver wrapping paper )

-Here you are!

 

Max (filling up the   bowl and   passing to George the lighting pipe)

-Of course I did! What about you George?

 

George (tasting a long blow and passing the pipe to Brenda)

-That’s really a special stuff! I’m stoned as hell!

 

Brenda (taking a blow)

-Why do we say ‘stoned as hell’? I actually feel stoned as heaven!

 

Max

-Do we have anymore to share with our guests?

 

Brenda

-Don’t worry about. We’ll have plenty of it!!  Vincent, my pusher, has promised to come along with a large pound of the same stuff, this afternoon, at five  o’clock; this was only a free sample (shows the empty tinfoil)

 

(A heavy sound hits the time)

 

George

-Goodness! It’s one o’clock!?!

 

Brenda (laughing and mocking a famous song)

-And time for lunch! Onky-tonky!

 

Max (laughing too)

            -And we still have to set the catering on the tables for the guests! They might be coming soon!

 

Brenda

-Let’s go upstairs then!

 

EXEUNT

to be continued...

Stases of Resonances

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FQ488BSM

The Major Thirteen

 

The first time

I dreamed the Major Thirteen

I was just over sixty.

I was dreaming of falling down to sea

With no parachute.

Before to splat the water

I asked the wind

To appease my drop:

So did the wind.

And I started singing.

Say the fishermen

Along the Cornwall coast

If they hear a song

At windy full moon nights.

That’s might be my song.

 

Songs for Elem

 https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B016FL9MVA

Ain’t that love?

 

My love was desperation

Because around me

It was all emptiness,

And I just needed 

A  heart beating for me

To fill my longing to love!

 

But  is it love?

 

If our  fate

has brought us here together

Oh Elem

And I have seen on you

The end of  loneliness

When  counting down

the minutes between us

And if  I pained   leaving

rejoiced coinciding

staring at any people

  

Searching of you

And if I  winced up 

At any resembling  shadow

And you were become a master

of my any single dream

 devoured by anxiety  

and I didn’t feel  hunger nor thirst

 

And every single thought, 

Every single word,

Every single thing

Every single person

were you

 

Isn’t that love?

The Dreamer

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CQDFK2JW

Chapter 2

In order to relax I recalled the preceding events, starting from the moment I had firstly met my friend George.

I had known him early in the summer 1979, in a little snack bar of the centre, in the beginning of my London stay. A snack-cafe not so far from Piccadilly Circus, where they made a slightly drinkable coffee. I used to go there, because it was the only place where the coffee was served in the small, classical, Italian cups, and even if it was served with no cream, was still better than that watered black soap that almost all barmen sell off for coffee in England.

The bar was housed in a large rectangular room. On the right of the entry there was the counter with the coffee-machine, while both on the left and the opposite wall, in front of the entry-door, there was a wood bench, lined in plastics of brown color, and, straight above, lined in the identical way, a same long but narrower shelf, plenty of sugar-bowls and ashtrays.

The left wall, for the whole length of the bench, beginning from the shelf and finishing to the originally white-painted ceiling, was made of a thick transparent glass that, giving brightness to the place, allowed the visitors to enjoy a wide outside sight where, just in front, it was well visible the entrance of a theatre with an ample and luxurious atrium.

It was there that George seemed to stare up his look, over the round glasses (like John Lennon’s, I had thought). His olive complexion, the chestnut hair and the black moustaches didn't make him certainly look like a probable Queen’s subject, but I questioned him, this not less, in English. Also because, after all we were in London. What other idiom was I supposed to speak?

He burst into laughter, hearing my question. Not immediately, but after turning his head to look at me, with a funny expression on his face, while with my hands I repeated my request for fire, rubbing, at the same time, my right forefinger on the palm of the left hand.

Lighting his own cigarette, as I stood close and steady, much more interdict than angry, because of his crazy laughing, he told me in a strongly stressed, though smooth, Italian language:

- «Sorry for laughing, but Italian people do make notice of them, when they speak English. You come from Rome, don’t you?» -, he suddenly added, smiling with satisfaction to my sad, affirmative answer.

The place, beside the two of us and a girl sitting on the other side of the bench, was empty. The barkeeper, behind the counter, was preparing a great copy of sandwiches, with cheese and tomatoes, lettuce and meats and a few others with all four ingredients together, according to the best English taste.

- «And you, where do you come from?» - I asked him in some annoyed tone for that reference to the Italian’s accent and particularly to that of the Romans, whose noble descendants I am still proud to belong.

-« I am not Italian» - he answered to me with peaceful voice «but I have lived quite a lot of years in Italy. So I know your customs quite well, and also your accent» -, concluded laughing again tastefully.

This time his laughing, however, didn't upset me at all. Those few words had been enough to make my anger fade away; or maybe I was just only glad to talk to someone without squeezing my brain to translate my thoughts from Italian into English language.

to be continued...

 

 

 

 

The Dreamer

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CQDFK2JW

First Part

Chapter 1

 

«I will soon be back, make yourselves at home, please» said the man going out. We looked at each other, George and I. It had only been from the morning that we didn’t have a chance to stay on our own.

«That’s a real story of madness! » he burst out taking a seat in one of the four wood armchairs that were around a circular table in the center of the small room. «This man must be crazy! Let's put him off as soon as is back and let's escape from here, until we are in time», he added while I was taking a seat in front of him.

«Just a moment, George, maybe it will seem strange to you, but I don't feel afraid of this man! He inspires a sort of trust in me, despite his strangeness».

«But do you realize what you are talking about? Have you gone out of sense too? This man must have some extraordinary powers: hasn't he hypnotized us just slightly before? Have you also heard him talk of super-races and brain's experiments or have I dreamed of it?», George attacked me nervously.

«Be quiet, please, George», I told him in a calm voice. «First of all, I don't believe he has hypnotized us, just before. Secondly, if he is really so powerful as you say, what could be his reaction, when we try to immobilize him? Make a point on it:  when we arrived here, we were both sleepy. If he wanted therefore to use us as guinea-pigs, two punctures were enough for him to knock us down!  I have not seen yet neither cats resembling mice, nor men with a square brain!

 

 Who can be sure that the old man is not inventing everything? It would not surprise me if this story derived from the imagination of some fantastical writer. I want to go to the end of all these circumstances. Don’t you also want to know what kind of job's proposal Mr Winningoes is going to make for us?»

George gazed for a long time into my eyes, thoughtfully. Then, without answering, he relaxed on the back of the chair, releasing the muscles and breathing deeply.

He stood with half open eyes crossing at once the feet and the hands softly on the womb, with the right hand covering the palm of the left one. He seemed to me almost slept, while only the breath animated his body.

Won by all those unexpected and subsequent emotions, I also imitated him doing my best on sitting comfortably on the wood ancient chair.

 

 

The Dreamer

 

https://www.amazon.it/dp/B0CQDFK2JW

This romance, although conceived and partially dreamed in English, was originally written in Italian language with the title “The Essence of life” in the early eighties of the past century; at the beginning of this new century I made a translation into English language. Hereafter it was published with four different titles: “And then four crows will fly away”; “The thin line between dream and reality”, “Just a story of islands” and “The real story of Patrick Winningoes”. Now eventually it’s published under title of “The Dreamer: a novel of love and madness”. Therefore the present is the fifth edition. This is the synopsis. A noble and rich man, with a double, confused personality, is planning for an unlikely love as well as for an impossible new mondial order. In his reasearch he comes accross two young people searching for a job. He’s ready to employ them with a well paid job but before hiring their services, he asks them to listen to a story: the real story of Patrick Winningoes. But the employer turns out to be a master of trickery and illusionism who has a mysterious plan where he tries to involve the two friends. At the end of this story they will find out that the reality is often misrepresented. And things are so different from how they sometimes appear. The story is set between London and Dublin in the late seventies of the 20th Century.

Have a good trip Mr Shadow

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07H44DYF7 

Another trip for  Mr Shadow

I

It’s very hard to live my own life

Fighting against the inhibitions,

the limits, the taboos of my own time!

 

It’s really very hard to cancel my personal history,

chopping off every bond with my past!

 

It’s hard to change the idea

We have of ourselves,

forgetting   what  the others

believe   to know of  us!

 

And it’s hard again to change

Our idea of  the life,

seeking for trust,

not in the eyes of the other people,

but in the deep eye of our being.

 

II

It’s hard for me to proceed

Through this path of loneliness,

hoping to undertake one day

my trip to Ixtlan,

to bathe me in the sacred river,

to purify me of all my sins,

and  understand the mysteries of life,

smelling the magic flower,

to reach the eternal safety,

the apex of   knowledge,

the heaven of the ever green city  

where the seven gold doors

 will finally open their secrets!

 

And the soul will fly for ever

Through the endless worlds

Of the universe

Arthur’s dream

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07H44DYF7 

 

I

And then I woke up

one morning

thoughtless

with no reasons to stand

no reasons to stay

paralyzed by nothingness!

And I suddenly understood the junkies

Looking for something,

belonging to another world!

II

Yes, I woke up

Or perhaps I was still sleeping

With none to love

None to hate

And nothing to fight for;

With no bother,

no pleasure,

no compromising,

nor boredom or satisfaction;

no hunger,

no thirst.

III

And so I communicated

telepathically

To give Elem a date

in that pub

and she came,

yes she did

only for me!

But soon she went away,

without telling me why. 

IV

And since then I look for a telephone number

A police’s district

A little bit of peace in my mind

And everything to forget

in this bed

without Elem.