Ticobsi AntiBoring Systems

Ticobsi AntiBoring Systems

By Patrick PlacentinoMusic
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Ticobsi AntiBoring Systems episodes

  • Fruttivendolo
    Ascolta il suono di questa parola,
    scivola piano, rinfresca la gola.
    Fruttivendolo: undici tocchi leggeri,
    voce sincera di piazze e mestieri.
    La «f» si apre come un soffio di vento,
    le «t» sul palato danno il loro accento,
    poi la «v» si solleva e la «l» si posa,
    mentre la terra si fa generosa.
    Fruttivendolo, musica di strada,
    sillabe piene di polpa e rugiada.
    Tutta l'Italia si specchia in quel suono,
    che fa della spesa un piccolo dono.
    Un arco di voci, di rossi e di verdi,
    la lingua che tieni se il resto lo perdi.
    Le casse di legno sono piccoli altari,
    i frutti in fila sono astri rari.
    Il mercante pesa l'estate e l'inverno,
    un gesto antico che sfida il moderno.
    Non mette soltanto la merce sul banco,
    regala un sorriso a chi passa ed è stanco.
    Fruttivendolo, musica di strada,
    sillabe piene di polpa e rugiada.
    Tutta l'Italia si specchia in quel suono,
    che fa della spesa un piccolo dono.
    Un arco di voci, di rossi e di verdi,
    la lingua che tieni se il resto lo perdi.
    Cinque sillabe tese come fili d'oro,
    quel suono fa sognare, dolce tesoro.
    3 min
  • Famme 'e cunte
    Me vuò bene... e po' m'abbandune,
    m'astipe mmiez'â strada, a sulo a sulo.
    Sì 'na furastiera doce... ca trase e jesce,
    comm'a chi s'accatta pure 'o respiro d' 'a stanza.
    Faje 'e cunte cu mme,
    e po' sgarrupe tutto chello ca simmo.
    Me faje girà comm'a 'na tarantella lenta... lenta...
    ma 'o scuorno mio nun s'appizza maje.
    Lasse 'e segne tujo
    rint'ô core d' 'e nuttate meje.
    Domande piccerelle...
    ca nun saccio addò mettere.
    Cerco 'na mano rint'ô mutismo,
    ma tu...
    nun te faje veré 'a faccia.
    Famme 'e cunte...
    va' annante, calculame chianu chiano.
    Famme 'e cunte...
    dimme tutto chello ca saje.
    Giro attuorno a tte...
    comm'a chi ha sperduto 'a via.
    Ogne sicunno, sissignore...
    me scarreca luntano.
    Te faje vicina,
    e po' te n'aspiette rint'â luntananza.
    E i'...
    nun riesco a smascherà 'o juoco tuojo.
    M'appaciate 'o sango...
    e po' me sciosce rint'all'anema,
    finché nun saccio cchiù addò accummencià.
    E quanno ll'uocchie tuoje
    s'ancuntrano cu 'e mieje rint'ô silenzio,
    m'affido ô scuorno...
    e me scordo chi simmo.
    'O nomme tuojo... nun farnesce maje,
    comm'a 'nu nummero...
    ca nun se po' chiudere.
    Te porto 'n cielo, senza misura...
    senza misura pe' niente...
    e tu me lasse caré.
    Famme 'e cunte...
    Calculame...
    Chianu chiano.
    3 min
  • Three Shadows
    Three shadows at my door,
    no names, just traces.
    They call too soon
    for what cannot be taken
    only given,
    then gone.
    I whisper no.
    One wound
    my voice bends.
    Then two
    my chest caves.
    Then three
    my glow fades.
    My body sags,
    the vow stays.
    Something clings,
    even in this dark.
    Are they three shadows… or me?
    Three shadows
    Three shadows
    Three shadows
    They were here
    long before the lock.
    Not knowing cut me,
    quiet but certain.
    Anger shook me,
    empty and ringing.
    Wanting broke me,
    gentle and final.
    I am the door,
    I am the crossing.
    I am the drop,
    I am the crack.
    I am the night
    and what stays in it.
    Still, somewhere
    under all this noise,
    a faint spark waits
    unbroken,
    unnamed,
    awake.
    Three shadows drift.
    They never leave.
    Three shadows
    Three shadows
    Three shadows
    3 min
  • Calculate me
    You want me… then you don’t
    leave me standing, wide open
    Sweet stranger… passing through,
    like you own the room
    You add me up
    then you break us down
    spin me slow… slow…
    my blues don’t stick around
    You leave your signs
    in the middle of my nights
    little questions…
    I can’t place
    I reach for something
    in the quiet
    but you…
    won’t show your face
    Calculate me…
    go on, calculate me slow
    Calculate me…
    tell me what you know
    I drift around you…
    like I lost my place
    Every second , yeah…
    it pulls me off
    You come in close
    then turn to distance
    and I…
    I can’t call your bluff
    You calm me down…
    then shake me deeper
    til I don’t know where to start
    And when your eyes
    meet mine in silence
    I forget…
    who we are
    Your name… rolls out
    like something endless
    like a number…
    I can’t close
    I lift you up , no measure…
    no measure at all…
    and you let me go
    Calculate me…
    go on, calculate me slow
    Calculate me…
    tell me what you know
    Still here…
    counting what you left
    Still here…
    asking for the rest
    Calculate me…
    slow
    5 min
  • Rhinoceros
    Rhinocéros, fracas dans la rue,
    tu passes et tout devient perdu.
    Papa parlait sans voir venir,
    Maman cherchait à tout vernir.
    Moi je criais, petit, tout seul,
    eux ils parlaient, sans lever les yeux.
    Rhinocéros, regarde-moi
    est-ce que tu sais ce que tu me fais?
    Rhinocéros, regarde-moi
    est-ce que tu vois ce que tu leur fais?
    Tu écrases, tu effaces, tu fais tomber,
    dis-moi… est-ce que tu sais ce que tu nous fais?
    On discutait pendant les cris,
    on comptait pendant les oublis.
    Un homme parlait pour justifier,
    et rien ne venait l’entraver.
    La foule disait “tout ça c’est rien”,
    et le pire avançait sans frein.
    Rhinocéros, regarde-moi
    est-ce que tu sais ce que tu me fais?
    Rhinocéros, regarde-moi
    est-ce que tu vois ce que tu leur fais?
    Tu prends des vies sans même voir,
    dis-moi… est-ce que tu veux savoir?
    Moi je suis petit, mais j’ai compris:
    ce n’est pas juste toi qui détruis.
    C’est les regards qui se détournent,
    friands de faucons qui roucoulent.
    Rhinocéros, regarde-moi
    est-ce que tu sais ce que tu as fait?
    Rhinocéros, regarde-moi
    droit dans les yeux, ne t’enfuis pas.
    Je suis parti, broyé par le pire,
    sacrifié par qui n’a rien su dire.
    4 min
  • Underground Forever
    Soft city shadows slide through my skin,
    Subways sigh secrets of where I’ve been,
    Concrete confessions, cold and concealed,
    Crowds carry questions they never reveal.
    Paper and pen were my private parade,
    Lines like a lifeline I carefully laid,
    Before the bright banners, before the acclaim,
    Before all the noise learned to whisper my name.
    Back when the burden was barely begun,
    Back when the battle was mostly unwon
    I wish I could write Underground forever,
    Where truth trembles tender, untouched by endeavor,
    Where words wander wild, not weighed by the crown,
    Where silence still sings when the systems break down.
    I wish I could write, just write it all down,
    Before all the suits and the slow circling frown,
    Before I believed I could balance the scales
    And learned how the better intention still fails.
    Men make a maze of their measured mistakes,
    Power persuades while the principled break,
    Polished positions, polite and profound,
    Hide hollow hearts in the halls all around.
    I saw the sorrow in suited disguise,
    Promises polished to pass for the wise,
    Every decision a delicate dance,
    Between what is right and what’s given a chance.
    Back when the pen was a purer device,
    Back when the cost wasn’t counted in price
    I wish I could write Underground forever,
    Where doubt drifts deeper, but hardens to never,
    Where rhythm remembers what reason denies,
    And ink isn’t inked by invisible ties.
    I wish I could write, just write it all down,
    Without all the weight of the watching town,
    Before I believed I could carry it through
    And learned how the many can bury the few.
    Flickering faith in fluorescent light,
    Late-night lines that learned how to fight,
    I traded the margins for measured control
    But lost little pieces of that younger soul.
    Still in the static, still under the skin,
    There’s a voice that refuses the volume within…
    I wish I could write Underground forever,
    Where hope hums low and it hardly says never,
    Where madness is mapped but never made law,
    And power still pauses in presence of awe.
    I wish I could write, just write it all down,
    Not for the world, not for the crown
    But for that boy who believed what he wrote…
    And buried his truth in a borrowed coat.
    Soft city shadows still settle somewhere,
    Subtle, subversive, still stubbornly there…
    I wish I could write
    I wish I still cared
    The way I did
    Underground.
    6 min

About Ticobsi AntiBoring Systems

From the publisher's feed

It all started by « Ça plane pour moi » with a Bontempi.