Milk & Cocaine

Bowie's coke use...

Malaria! - Trash Me

Queens of Fire

FIRE GIRLS - An Ode to Valentine
the depth of the black sea we create when we are together
is a fire.

we set

everything on fire.

we start

by lighting the match

with heavy persuasion

and a system of shock heat

we start

romanticizing them wavelengths

and pulsating time
like an explosive heart

bleeding,

pounding,

throbbing for red mercy.

that blood bomb-

we're gonna get it back

we're gonna kick in some teeth

and come around with daggers this time

to slash the eyes,

crack the bones,

and gut the hell

out of our demons.

Hurry, Baby Valentine.

Hurry for me
hurry 'fore our lonesome souls

start cryin' out.

Start gettin' mean.

Start crashin', Baby V,

Flood that heat.

Then we:

dance to the red light

fight to the death

scream all our lungs out

kill kill our insides

bleed from the knife

twist in the darkness

hurt from the guts

shake fast and heavy

kick out a crime

call out for nothing

fight to the death

fight to the death

fight to the death


Fight for the black cadillacs.

I'm your sister in this midnight

We are queens of fire

here in the music

until the seasons of our youth

die and fade to white.

xxxo,

M

The Way She Cut Through His Bed Like A Snake

Oh god. Here I go again. Down the rabbit hole. Self destructing. Under my rib cage lies the fault within. I hope you don't mind. "Shoots from the heart instead of the head", just like this says... this is it. Exact description. Cuts like a knife.

He found a curse around his neck
like a yoke; he knows he'll never forget
the way she cut through his bed
like a snake would bite through a cape of flesh

But he holds her
though she's broken
Swears he don't care where she's been
He's tired
of being human
Wears her close to the bone as though
she were his own skin.

Shoots from the heart instead of the head
his mouth and his words, they rarely connect
he looks to the past and where his tongue's tread
and he knows he's meant the opposite

But she holds him
like an infant
though it breaks her in half
to know he'll wait like a man
Sold on cold indifference,
when he reaches for her, she's gone,
she slips like the wind through blackened sails

Who are we to love at all?

I hope you don't mind
if I hang all of my hopes,
I hang all of my hopes on this time

Although I've been warned
I'll probably get burned
I'd rather get burned
than to not try.

I hope you don't mind
if I hang all of my hopes
I hang all of my hopes on this time
'cause you won't
let it go .

Public Pervert

If time is a vessel, then learning to love
Might be my way back to sea
The flying, the medal, the turning above
These are just ways to be seen
We all get paid
Yeah some get faith before they die
But the stars we will navigate
Through the holes in your eyes


How many days will it take to land?
How many ways to reach abandon?
You and I


Oh, so swoon baby starry nights
May our bodies remain
You move with me, I'll treat you right, baby
May our bodies remain


There is love to be made
So just stay here for this while
Perhaps heart strings resuscitate
The fading sounds of your life


How many days will it take to land
How many ways to reach abandon?
Oh, you and I


So swoon baby starry nights
May our bodies remain
As weak we move, I'll feed you light, baby
May our bodies remain
Oh yeah in history, I'll treat you right, baby
I'm honest that way, hey
Swoon baby starry nights
May our bodies remain

There You Are, Midnight.

Dear Kate,

I had a dream last night and you were in it.

It was a marketplace sort of alleyway that seemed to be in a fashion district. It wasn't this time period, though, it was the late 70s, or maybe it was even the early 80s. Anyway... this fashion-district-alley-marketplace looked like it was in Detroit somewhere. It was a dismal and overcast morning. There were men standing around smoking cigarettes in dark pants and leather jackets talking to eachother and examining the women walking by. Predatory, maybe. They were like movie extras. There was smog or smoke or mist rising up from drains embedded in the wet concrete alley street.

I was wearing a great dress. It was red and white and it sinched at the waist. I had black knee high stockings wrapped around my legs up to my thighs.

Somehow I got a message from you to meet you on your side of "town" (which was about a 10 minute walk through the murky streets). I walked through the bright but cheerless morning in my black stockings, and around each alleyway corner there was a different fashion affair taking place. It resembled something like pre-fashion week... people setting up their fashion miracles in the obscure concrete alleyways of 1979 Detroit, USA. I saw the photographers with their big black cameras and their umbrella light shoots. I saw painted models with avante-garde hair and slouchy skeletal frames that I covet so much.There were racks of clothes surrounding, perfectly sorted between the long winter coats, the ethereal tank tops, the tshirts, the denim jackets, and the boots... oh, fuck, the boots were great here. The racks of clothes were colorful, prismatic. I remember this one sweater specifically... it was a muted turquoise (wool or cotton?) button up sweater. I remember thinking, "That's great... Lori would love that."

Anyway, so here I am wandering through this certain thrift store alley of chromatic and kaleidoscopic wonderment in my red/white dress and black stockings when I see you walking toward me from down the alleyway. 


You look great. 


You're wearing high-waisted blue denim jeans and a perfectly-hued blue sweater. I think you had black, short hair. You're thin like the models. You come up to me with a long stride and arms outstretched to welcome a hug and say just then, "There you are, Midnight!" and I say in an embarassed shy tone, "Sorry, I just got lost among all the beautiful wreckage of this alley way." Then you ask if I like this pair of black leather boots but I say I don't care for them much. 


We left the thirfty alley way and walked toward another marketplace. I'm not sure where we were going.

Then my dream evaporated into some other dream that wasn't as cool 'cause you weren't in it.

xoxo

Midnight

Why Won't You Admit It?

The AnOther Proust Questionnaire |

Alison Mosshart

June 30, 2010

Using his modern interpretation of the original Proust Questionnaire, Jefferson Hack uncovers the true mindsets of his peers. ORIGINAL POST

Following The Dead Weather's stylish performance this weekend at Glastonbury, and just in time for the second half of their tour around Europe this month, the band's raven-haired, brooding songstress and guitarist Alison Mosshart tells us what’s on her mind.

What are you thinking of right now?

All the things I have to do when I wake up in a few hours: record a vocal for a Dead Weather track, pack my bags, and take a plane from Nashville to Florida.

What makes you laugh?

Reckless driving.

What makes you cry?

People.

What do you consider to be the greatest invention?

The guitar. The car. And the camera. 

Do you have a mentor or inspirational figure who has guided or influenced you?

My friends. I feel very honoured to be surrounded by the people that inspire me.

Where do you feel most at home?

I haven’t had an answer to that in a long time.

Where are you right now?

Nashville, Tennessee.

What is your proudest achievement in work?

All the recordings I’ve made with The Kills and The Dead Weather.

What is your proudest achievement in life?

Doing exactly what I love.

What do you most dislike about contemporary culture?

The lack of mystery.

What do you most like about the age we live in?

It’s not easy. 

At what points do life and work intersect?

Always.

What’s the best advice you’ve been given?

Don’t aspire to blend in.

What is the biggest risk you’ve ever taken?

Moving to London with about a hundred bucks to my name, and a far-out idea.

Recommend a book or poem that has changed your perspective on life.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s A Coney Island of the Mind.

What is your earliest childhood memory?

Seeing walking catfish and rattlesnakes in the front lawn. Tadpoles and pine cones. A revolver in my father’s desk drawer.

What’s the most important relationship in your life?

With my brother.

What’s the most romantic action you’ve taken?

Knowing that there are some people I would happily die for.

What’s the most spiritual action you’ve taken?

Following my heart all the time, even though I know it is destructive.

If you could wish for one change in the world what would it be?

That desire be looked at as a thing of beauty, not an illness.

If you could add one question to this project questionnaire what would it be?

Why won't you admit it?   

Jefferson Hack is the publisher and editor-in-chief of AnOther Magazine, AnOther Man and Dazed & Confused

Dirty Pool

small tiny minutes
merge into days
three days
of silence
and secrets strewn across los angeles
like a string of white and shining pearls
drowning in a dirty pool
sinking to the bottom of the day
in a heavy grey weight

and there she is
pretending to be real
placating the sound of the morning
with a heavy dose of his blue eyes

a cat in a brown bag
waiting to drown

some need
to be tamed
envelope in the pale deceit
the truth

where is my face in the mirror?
why has it changed?
has it been cast into darkness
with the flip of the light switch?

i'm not writing very well
i'm not creating anything worth mentioning

you're not listening anyway.
no one here is alive.

I Leave This Blood To Dry

Just when I thought this band couldn't mindfuck me any further down into the abyss of desperate delirium and then back up into the sharp lust for their dark horizons, they go ahead and create something like this...

LIARS - "SCISSOR"



----------------------------------------------------

I found her
With my scissor
This heart fell
To the ground

I'm supposed to save you now
But my hands are freaking out
I'm a coward in a ----------
I leave this blood to dry

I leave this blood to dry

I dragged her body
To the parking lot
I tried to find her
A savior right there amongst the cars

Just then I
Began to quiver
When I saw her
Looking out
She was alive
And she's breathing

Brightblack Morning Light

I found something new to satisfy my appetite for the drowsy blues here in the escapism of Brightblack Morning Light.