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__i envy boy's who can blow bubbles
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[26 Jan 2003|12:46am] |
friends-only journal
someone once told me that dolphin's can fall in love with boats -
(are the boat's incapable of returning the love?)
tell me something beautiful &i will give you a key.
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| tribute |
[23 Jan 2003|03:33pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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love cannot be explained |
] |
| [ |
music |
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colorblind - counting crows |
] |
i feel i owe this to my beautiful boyfriend harry, (i write only the bad times &rarely the good) - so here goes sunshine. i'm sorry.
remember....
when you whisked me off to that ice skating rink, surprise surprise. teenage girls giggled at our possible homosexuality, 5year old's fell to the frozen water - their elbows kissing minus 0. we circled and i fell in love with you.
remember....
when you nursed me back to sleep when knife clinged to my palm, the way you stroked my thighs and corrected the way the hairs on my eyebrow went. beautiful.
remember....
the party. our immediate closeness and giggles. glued onto eachother with 50 cents superglue - dancing to every you every me. the last lyric being mimed via me, creating Pop!explode! orgasms between our insect-stung lips.
eye to eye. forever.
remember....
the weekend i came to see you at uni., dancing with eachother's scarfs to the sounds of frank sinatra and aretha franklin. a ballroom of emotive love mechanics &the odd nancy boy's.
remember....
our drunken walks home. speech bubbles containing vodka-fuelled "i love you"'s would capture my heart and whisper electric at 3am. how many degrees more?
remember....
our night exchanging xmas presents. pictures on the thames, sitting on that bench gazing at the duplicate christmas tree's. the perfect lights that hang upon it, sharing glow for the hidden fairies that live among the twigs and flourished branches.
remember....
when you knocked on my door, me having no clue you were coming. it was so romantical. amazing sex too. i felt so happy, the perfect formula.
remember....
when you got me that deep red rose. it's petals almost black yet as sweet as honey. thorns not fully grown, nor familiar with it's mother.
i love you baby x x
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[23 Jan 2003|02:19pm] |
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mood |
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je t'aime |
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music |
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bubblegun - placebo |
] |
I have a ticket, which cost me £40.65 [!!!], but this is something i must do! i wanna turn you on, feels like a loaded gun, spit out your bubblegum, i wanna...i wanna..
![I have a ticket, which cost me £40.65 [!!!], but this is something i must do! <i>i wanna turn you on, feels like a loaded gun, spit out your bubblegum, i wanna...i wanna..</i>](http://www.u2achtung.com/00/artistes/placebo/02.jpg)
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[23 Jan 2003|10:18am] |
i called and placebo are sold out. am so disappointed.
[maybe i can buy a ticket from a ticket-tout, on the night?]
grrr.
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[22 Jan 2003|08:54pm] |
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mood |
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so high so |
] |
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music |
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xfm |
] |
boy oh boy, look what i found.
Placebo's new album, "sleeping with ghosts" review.
Bulletproof Cupid
As a foot of nose to all those which predicted an album much less rock'n'roll, Sleeping with Ghosts start in waterspout,
all guitars in front of, with instrumental épique which points out the aggressiveness of the beginnings. Flashback?
English Summer Rain
With its rhythmic door, its synthés 80' S and its filtered voice, English Summer Rain seems to be directly inspired by the
experiment with the Alpinestars, Brian Molko in benefits the passage to scratch this good England old woman. The first
(beautiful) surprise of the album.
This Picture
Equipped with discrete but effective electro sounds, it is the kind of small bomb rock'n'roll which Placebo is able to
arrange. In the line of "You Don't Care About Us," "This Picture" is undoubtedly a potential single. Irresistible.
Sleeping with Ghosts
Not astonishing that this electro ballade, melancholic and magnifiquement produced song gives it's name to this 4th album.
One of the most ambitious pieces of the album.
The Bitter End
Energetic, tended and terribly entêtant, the 1st single from the album shows us Placebo at the top of its art. Except the
saloon-like piano used during the refrain, Bitter End will recall some the first singles of the band.
Something Rotten
Transgenic Dub with the worrying sounds, Something Rotten once again takes Placebo into unknown territory.
Brian sings there like he never has before. Certainly not the most obvious piece of the album more surprising than
anything.
Plasticine
With its sharp-edged guitars, Plasticine sound a little like Haemoglobin presented on Black Market
Music. Traditional.
Special Needs
Some notes of guitar and the atmospheric Special Needs deploys its romantic spleen in a similar way to The Cure's
Disintegration period. Beautiful and moving.
I' ll Be Yours
Battery out of silencing device, guitars envoûtantes, I' ll Be Yours advance under hypnosis until its last second.
Once more, the work of the producer Jim Abiss is remarkable, even if if very réminiscent of that of Bell Mark on the last
Depeche Mode (To excite).
Second Sight
Last sonic deflagration before the melancholy of the last few songs, Second Sight can be compared to the likes of Allergic
and 36 Degrees. The fans will adore...
Protect Me from What I Want
Definitely, Sleeping with Ghosts is not the happiest album of the London trio. All in despair contained, Protect Me from
What I Want combines soft-bitter melody and sinks nonchalance. Sniff!
Centrefolds
Do not throw your handkerchiefs. "I refuses to let you die" sings Brian in a quasi religious way accompanied with
the piano, the organ and the tubular bells!? Perhaps the most personal piece of the album, in the vein of "My Sweet
Prince" and "Without You I' m Nothing."
In short! Those which thought that the group started to turn in round will be for their expenses! Without déboussoler
the fans, Sleeping with Ghosts manages to renew the Placebo style and to return it (again?) exciting. The most moving
album by the group. And perhaps the best!
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[21 Jan 2003|10:05pm] |
she embraced me with her scarred thighs &burnt fingernails - whispering "you love him"
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| scream my name &shout! |
[21 Jan 2003|08:30pm] |
kiss to the molko boy. leave a pint of blood &spunk on stage, for i will be there - covered in androgyny puppy perfume.
placebo have confirmed their next gig ( click ), am so fucking excited! I will crowd-surf to the stage like a dolphin chasing a boat, &lie there covered in black glitter - waiting for a droplet of his sweat to land upon my bruised chest.
go/go/boy/go!
[p.s. my new word is "raunchy!". mmm! YES!]
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[19 Jan 2003|08:05pm] |
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i dont eat mcdonalds, i dont need sex [?], &i dont smoke.
amireallyateenager? (i think i need a hint of cherry slutiness injected in me // - -- --- - *^£2$**you can catch me next at @ your local phone-box, plastered upon the graffiti-d window, glued on with glossy hubba bubba chewing gum.*^£2$**)
+getty-getty-get-me-sum-more+
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[16 Jan 2003|08:02pm] |
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mood |
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nothing special |
] |
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music |
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none |
] |
because lightning bolts make everything go pop and crackle, it will all blow over soon.
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| how |
[15 Jan 2003|11:42pm] |
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mood |
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slipped |
] |
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music |
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why - annie lennox |
] |
my dad just yelled at me, you are a rude brat.
i feel only pain in small packages, lusting over perfection.
Why am i so mad? [rock paper scissor...shoot!}
i am so cold towards him sometimes, like i dont even care.
now i hear whispers of my dad's friend saying how she loves me, i've loved him since the moment he was born
&i feel like i have deceived her. i kind of feel like a failure with flavours of vain red wine. fuck i feel like crying.
/!/friendless/dumb/no where/fragmented///;.//
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[12 Jan 2003|01:57pm] |
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mood |
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sink |
] |
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music |
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crawlin' - linkin park |
] |
yesterday was great. i met up with nicola (girl with hints of pink &strawberry gashes). we danced on cobblestone paths, round and twist. our silences filled with warm meaningful hugs, and Oh OH! Oreo Cookies!
my mixed accent gradually made it's way to full out american as nic's canadian accent slowly dominated over mine.
we looked at gargoyle statues in camden, dark-gothic-mirages. as nicola stroked the top of a small skull, i mimed to crawlin'. a platinum blonde woman stood next to me, her lips were scarlet red and her skin was as pale as antique paper.
me and nic then indulged ourselves at costa coffee; oreo cookies, coca cola in those old glass bottles...&marshmellows!
she sometimes sat in silence eating her oreo and it gave me time to analyse her. the way she moves, the way her eyelashes flatter and gracefully curl.
[for i am the way]
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[12 Jan 2003|01:31pm] |
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i miss my love too much. his warm cheeks upon my chest (breathing once again..1.2..3..4)
ever feel like standing on the highest building ever, &throwing millions of flyers expressing your love for someone. the icy wind in your hair, numb fingertips - i am tired of winter. for when is summer beginning again?
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[11 Jan 2003|11:25pm] |
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aLa-Ca-ZaM!
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[11 Jan 2003|12:18pm] |
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mood |
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sweet |
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music |
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danger! high voltage - electric 6 |
] |
licking swirls of candy red while sipping innocently at strawberry milkshakes. taking animalistic bites into coco flavoured bricks, and running the tops of my teeth along the tootsie roll wall's. i, being hansel, who wants to be gretel?
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| snow day |
[08 Jan 2003|05:15pm] |
it has officially fucking snowed in london.
i am filled with ultimate glee. rock n' roll santa, boy oh boy.
today we were dismissed out of school early due to "electricity failure and severe weather" - an act of holiness.
tree's are blanketed with armies of tiny glistining snow flakes, some fall onto little jimmy's nose.
how i loved the feeling of snow between my fingers again, almost like a scene from "Fargo", excluding the wood-chippers and guns.
(it was warwick again, back in good ol' new york. kids with multicolored jackets making angel patterns in the snow, there is me teaching annoying melissa how to get up without messing up the pattern. without scarring an angel's long white gown, silky liquid.)
we went to primrose hill and made sleds out of bin-bags, the plastic ripped and tore as ice burnt through it's slippery skin. a small ginger woman then said we could use hers - as she licked her broken chapped lips she gracefully handed me this beautiful wooden sled. it's wood was perfect - a hint of 1940's inspiration, [upstate hunny upstate].
&i was a boy again - flying through the innocence and surrounding giggles. i glided and glided and just glided - i could have cried. (keep a secret my lovers?)
all the way down i went, this was a..
_____(think of the best word ever, in the whole wide world)______ day.
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| optional |
[05 Jan 2003|08:31pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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soiled back to reality |
] |
| [ |
music |
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innocence of sleep - placebo |
] |
last night, at around 3am - i awoke before death.
the dream told the tale of airplane's and water - extinguished god.
i was at a decresing altitude in a plane, turbulance pierced my palms &sliced my cheeks with orchestrated direction. for i was going to die.
my dad sat in the opposite aisle, beside me. his face was as raw as red meat. ~[burnt to the bone]~
the front of the air vechile was clear and perpendicular - parallel to the grim reaper's shadow lurking in an angel's pristine prayer. crystal voltage magnified the western weeds below, a valley with a shallow river running through it's pure wild. (just like the movies)
on every single recliner their was a mould. this mould was of a human spine and it was attached to the back of every seat. an unintended twist to an almost empty plane. only a few passengers were viewable, the rest were covered in red shawls - dangerous peepshows for the naive. i thought.
time to say goodbye farewell and bow. tears roll down my cheeks like broken absithne, next to me, my dad looks staight forward.
the river is near us and i can softly hear the wind hitting the sun dried weeds.
"i love you" i call out.
my words are vacummed by the increasing pressure, each hand on each arm rest. my palm viciously contacting the cloth and my fingers barely touching the metal base underneath.
trapped by the chains of kaleidiscope imagery, in a cage surrounded by final words. for i was going to die. i again, gazed at the moulds which had no purpose and the red shawls which scribed danger.
babies cries and eldery hands clinged onto every eyelash of my soul and i just couldn't stop falling.
&i awake. panting for natural oxygen. breathing underwater, living under glass.
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[05 Jan 2003|07:32pm] |
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he who strokes my eyelids at twilight, sinister.
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| requiem for a dream |
[05 Jan 2003|07:09pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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is it |
] |
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music |
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theme - requiem for a dream soundtrack |
] |
this movie's scenery reminded me of my adolescence. the volume dial turned half-way, my father tapping loudly on the car window. it is my first time in the front seat and i feel like a grown-up, my thighs creak and sweat against the leather adding to summer discomfort.
are we there yet?
i pull the seat belt tight so it locks, resting my head on it's rigid surface - fears of tiny fibre's tickling my right ear.
looking out the window and gaze - hotels coated in hot pinks and miami blues. boy's lean against broken fences watching girl's sip at their vanilla milkshakes and exchanging hair bunches.
the new jersey coast.
"Welcome to the flamingo inn!" says the woman behind the desk.
her badge reads barbara, "but you can call me barb, doll!"
the boardwalk is near by.
planks of 1950's wood and ancient graffiti lays out infront of me like a deck of perfect cards. screams of spoilt american children kids reach 82 degrees fahrenheit. i, a small 9 year old boy holds on tightly yet eagerly to daddy's hand. violins and bass guitars are left unattained on the boardwalk podium, a homely trust is at work here.
twirls of neon lights sink into the salt flavoured gravy and itch for attention, bumper-cars and teacup mixers. the hotdog man yelps his unique tasting hotdogs, gaining a buck or two.
sometimes
[youcan-maybe-seemeundertheboardwalklearning.]
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[05 Jan 2003|12:47am] |
| [ |
mood |
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x x |
] |
| [ |
music |
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colorblind - coutning crows |
] |
i love harry!
a everlasting fairytale massage upon a single petal in a pond. He will paddle his feet in shallow water, while i quote shakespere in the sand. draw lines and grainy curves. i love all his little habits and tweeks, like the way he says oh dear ["o-h dear"] & ever ["eva-r"]. yes, the fairy lights and mistletoe are coming down yet, our christmas period of love, i will always remember. a december warmth, drinking any last drops of romance that hang upon our mulled wine lips.
play me piano boy.
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| book me then countdown - part 1 |
[01 Jan 2003|06:55pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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ok |
] |
| [ |
music |
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cloud on my tongue - tori amos |
] |
our night began in covent garden - me &jas waited outside the diesel store for harry and friends, we went inside and peered into the society of exaggerated fashion, blonde homosexuals, fag hags and storm models. back outside; cigarette fumes twirled and took un-necessary steps into shoppers lungs, homeless men hesitate and whisper prayers grasping for acceptance. nearby a small boy play’s with fake snow in a shop window and throws it over himself, just pretending.
i adore this simplicity.
soon, they arrived. all carrying spoilt shopping bags and showing satisfaction on their cheeky faces, almost like a day shopping trip in paris. my words tightly fastened to cupid’s belt - bullets and social butterflies. Lotti, a 16 year old girl with fuschia lips - did not know of harry’s little secret, albie. this some-what progressivly awkward situation leapt. it leapt inside my throat like a possessed rodent and slowly killed off all my consanants&nouns. this came to a point where i
felt sincerely un-comfortable speaking to harry and fed off small talk. oh god, ouch. it hurt. i fucking bled inside. i do not know why i do this to us, it just makes things complicated and un-certain. i thought back to the time i conjured up scenarios of +what if we were friends, would we actually be friends?+
romance ( what i wrote earlier, in my no specifics entry, i briefly described the romance i feel for him....”Harry sat opposite me, piercing blue eyes and newly highlighted strands of hair....Denim coated legs intertwined beneath the table, a physical connection between us which i must have......i need some sort of clenched closeness when we are together. i must. must. We talked and talked and laughed and laughed and took the piss and took the piss, it was great. i loved every moment.”) can be cruel yet beautiful. one chain held by an angel and one
by a deamon. i am obsessive-compulsive - always feeling i must live upto this invisible perfect mirage. &i do not act myself, i disguise behind a mask constructed of dead flesh.
we walked to froyd bar, harry infront with jon. jasmine making small talk with lotti. and me on the side - sipping at my rotten self-inflicted isolation. blame me for my character’s tragedy: suffocation growled and typically on the button, i could feel my heart beat. fuck and scratch and thump against the various cell wall’s. i forcefully squinted my eyes while i viciously bit my nails.
pinch me corena, out of this nightmare. please.
hide pain behind jokes and fake-toothpaste-smiles. i hate myself, how i get so frantic and jealous if anyone else enters our bubble, me and his. but still i do not allow myself to think that they are not entering, they only gracefully dance around us. i see him tiring of this re-occuring disease.
we stood at the bar, deciding drinks. i felt scared - scared of jasmine. scared of harry. scared of jon. scared of lotti. yet what am i a fucking victim of? there is nothing. i tried to latch onto imaginary snake skin boots - gain some western courage and jump out of this self-centered hole i so oftenly bury myself in. when i think about my communication methods, i am concerned. vomit and spit. often swearing with actually no context. a fake.
i was paranoid if i spoke to harry in a romantic unusual way, then lotti would discover he likes to kiss boy’s and i would get the blame. i want to be open, darling. harry’s leg suggestivly pushed against mine, i felt an instant warmness - a contrast. the rotting
slightly blossomed yet still infected....
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eyelinerprince's journal