14-03-2003
Along a windy, narrow street, it was quite an usual
deep Summer's evening,
I met an eccentric figure, a lady I had never seen
before: friends and acquain-
tences, I remember, used to dub her "weeping
midnight callie", they loved
her so much, and they seemed to faintly adore her crazy
antics, a woman so
in love with eccentricity. Voices spread around years
gone wildly enjoyed
and partied continously kept delivering rumours about
her pompous and quite
unpredictable persona, and the little combo of
Kennington-In-Burdon had
no hesitation to unashamedly dissipate praises and
exultance definitely out
of the ordinary, reaching the impossible and grazing
the uncommon.
She was their own Divine, Goddess of the sweet dark
they called her
one day. She was electric and involving, a raging
beauty that appeared
from a vanishing dead-end street, bringin' tons of
unknown magnetism
while wearing old-cinema-stars-like clothes, repeatedly
turning around
herself tens of times before fading into the first,
amazed, stunned
stranger's arms, and then let herself flow again from
face to face,
having all of us fallen in love with her glamourous
ego, quite a dangerous,
uncalculable weirdness for that country.... but
everytime she took the stage
there was NO TIME at all... SHE was our time,
and seconds were supposed
to be shattered or simply taken off, leaving thousands
of missing reasons
for what it was happening to the common people around
her increasingly
soaring wills. Our Goddess used to be very demanding,
and no-one could
object or interrupt her, it was her very own show,
no matter how many
spectators she had while performing at the "The
Ancient Cradle of Insanity".
"Goddess of the sweet dark always HAS TO
PLAY her full-passioned tragedy", says
an old saying passed from generation to generation
along the decades,
brought to us till our days thanks to the infectious,
never-documented-before adoration
she was able, even after death, to translate and then
hand down to the new witnesses of time...
Several men madly fell in love with her, but for a
cruel destiny she couldn't
feel affection towards anyone, and pretty soon the
Goddess gracely swept into
raging depression; her "true love" was her
independence, but everyone seemed
to ignore it. She started dating young enterprising men
but soon she revealed to
be tragicly uncapable of feeling ANY kind of emotion.
Depression "murderously"
began to eat her ego day after day, hour after hours,
infinitive seconds spent
in front of the pale mirror she bought from an erratic
antiques shop a very long
time ago, in the middle of her unhappy, and still
mysterious youth.
Before going to bed they said she had the "habit"
to sleep into a coffin,
in a room meticolously coloured and topped with Greta
Garbo's black and white
pictures, all of them hung upon the wall. Her greatest
dream - a famous journalist then stated - was that of
dying on the stage, but only "after the most
memorable performance anyone
could ever achieve... and that ONLY me could....... The
Goddess of the sweet
dark......, you will remember me for the eternity...
the woman who COULDN'T
love....... but COULD PLAY LOVE........".
And the red-flamed curtain went down, while darkness
smoothly fell on
the audience, still emotionally touched by her
indisputable greatness....
all started crying; it was not common tears, but warm,
painful tears that undeniably proved
eternal, sonorous, loud adoration for their very own
Goddess......
the ONLY ONE they ever had and the only one they ever
could admire.......
....THAT IS "THE LEGEND OF THE GODDESS OF THE
SWEET DARK"......!
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