In-Edti TV: Apocalypse: A Bill Callahan Tour Film, o la història de Xavi a la barana del balcó de casa

It's never easy to say goodbye to the faces
So rarely do we see another one, so close and so long
I asked the room if I'd said enough, no one really answered
They just said, "Don't go, don't go, don't go, don't go"
Well all this leaving is neverending
I kept hoping for one more question or for someone to say
"Who do you think you are?" so I could tell them
With intensity, the drop evaporates by law
In conclusion, leaving is easy
When you've got some place you need to be
I'm giving up this gig for another season
With the TV on mute, I'm listening back to the tapes
On the hotel bed, my my my apocalypse
My my my apocalypse
I realized I had said very little about ways or wheels
Or riding for the feeling, riding for the feeling
Is the fastest way to reach the shore on water or land
Riding for the feeling, riding for the feeling
Riding for the feeling, riding for the feeling
Riding for the feeling, riding for the feeling

What if I had stood there at the end
And said again and again and again and again and again
In answer to every question?
Riding for the feeling, riding for the feeling
Riding for the feeling, riding for the feeling
Riding for the feeling, riding for the feeling
Riding for the riding, for the riding and for the ride
Riding for the feeling, riding for the feeling
Riding for the feeling

Would that have been a suitable goodbye?

El docu no explica gran cosa, però la música, la forma de cantar les cançons, les imatges que acompanyen tot plegar, i la pluja que repica al sostre avui m'han deixat embadalida. 

M'ha costat entrar-hi, això sí, sobretot perquè al començament surt una cabreta que ha posat el cap entre la reixa d'una tanca i no el pot treure i m'ha recordat el que em van explicar que li va passar a mon germà xic quan tenia pocs anyets, que va entaforar el cap entre dos barrots de la barana del balcó, que en sí ja era una proesa donades les dimensions del seu cap (sí, Xavi, sí, ho sento però és així, tenies un cabarrot desproporcionat, sort que s'ha equilibrat), i que no li'n podia treure perque el travaven les orelles, que con les meus, eren (són) una mica de pàmpol (soplillo pel comú dels mortals). Li van haver d'embolicar el cap amb un mocador per poder-lo treure. 

Enteneu que m'hagi distret, oi?