No pussy blues / Love songs for patriots
The sixteen years stank. The worst was that age was a yearning, a countdown waiting for something to happen, but we went on our first months in that class as small Aguirres wildly hoping the discovery of El Dorado. Soon not only we realized that not only were lying all expectations that we had done, but it was worse. The first myth: the dances plus fifteen. When one was fourteen, the age of sixteen circulating in agreement as a divine figure, almost alchemical, in which each would go to those dances all pendejas-at least fifteen, or fourteen, at his feet . When we arrived at that age, plus fifteen dances had virtually disappeared, and all the women began to attend clubs for over eighteen, with its sister cards, charging to the bouncers, becoming the drunk, or simply passing through a speck in the eye in the panoptic security system of bowling (a panoptic eye that looked like Sauron in the event that you were male). But the worst did not end there, once managed the feat of get you, you realized you were almost a hijra of India, almost as if you were one of those women of the Nazi collaborators in France with a 16 tattooed on his skull shaving. 16, 16, 16. One could feel it, almost had the hormone supplement of eighteen, and even, at least in my case usually exceed the height, but there was something wrong, something that was inside you like a curse that you hit and was part of you, as those numbers that has branded Hurley on Lost. 16, 16, 16, a bar code recognizing you as a defective product.
If it was fucking in the world of night, in the day, where you went to school revealed more frighteningly, as the morning that makes up grotesquely some of those women who believed in the comfort of beautiful lights and smoke. You see those movies Yankees and is with those masters of football by putting the nerds their heads in toilets. Well, none of that actually happening. That was somewhat exaggerated, too obvious, as the period's political anatomic Foucault. What happened in the high school was much more disguised symptomatic biopolitical, and as such, much more difficult to escape it. There was no one discriminándote openly. Was not even an active indifference. Simply, women were not interested. The analogy is almost applicable to music. In the seventies, Martin Rev played with one hand and the other is defending the things that the audience threw. Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious in his living touring the United States that experience a constant battle of Verdun, where the stage was merely a trench against the bumps and spit hurled by people. Instead, it was a different audience, almost like playing in a dinner show in which people are too busy in her food to hear you scream. Alan Vega could survive under the influence of another force antinomian, but could never have existed in a warm sea with no wind in which nobody had an opinion or reaction on a suitably trained.
One idea struck him that there was something wrong with him, but he looked in the mirror, and beyond a little wear those shirts colorinche monochromatic Rugby, there was no physical detail abominable that separated from the rest. Indeed, one could see some people who had some success with women and were objectively crappy rates. In these circumstances, one thinks it is natural that a phenomenon has now emo. Moreover, some pseudo read my poems at that time and I realize I could well go into a song by My Chemical Romance. Luckily, at that time no one knew of such term, and we stopped almost all wavelengths, tribe, or move that exist. We knew there were punks, but neither me nor any of my friends have liked the punk. The closest thing to Nirvana was punk, but who did not like Nirvana at sixteen years? (Well, now that I think, I do not like Nirvana). There were some goth, but that it was too strange for us and to wish a darky who used to see walking through July 18, none had greater intentions to know about this congregation, besides, if we did not believe in God, why we do it on Satan? -. Skater or there. On the other hand, once played a game of rugby in Cabo Polonio, in one of those exits high school integration. I had no idea how to play, only that it was like football, I had learned to play on the Nintendo 64 - but there was no forward passes. The issue is that I took that ball oval throughout the match could not take me, leaving some pretty ridiculous how fat that came a few years training at the Pucarú (which had carried the ball to Cabo Polonio as a way to show alpha male virility of the other partners) ... The point is that a few days later, leaving the track, one of the Coolest rugby players in that group that had offered me on our team. In retrospect, the scene was loaded from a strange mysticism, as if that type was Al Pacino Keanu Reeves offering everything a mortal wants, in exchange for his excellent breed with sister to the Antichrist know what movie I mean -. Even remember who told me that if he could get very good mines.
The answer was no, and eventually began to supplant that plaintive and self-flagellating attitude with a non-active, one not meant much more than "I do not care if they do not ball." In fact, after sixteen years, more profiles for the seventeen, eighteen, the other classmates, those who had had some period of glory, also finished singing his No pussy blues because women increasingly ambitious, started out with twenty-three or twenty-five types, types that were going to get to school by car and they systematically broke the heart. Today, every so often I come across or heard of any of those women, and I realize that things do not change much. Their boyfriends seem to drivers, one sees only when the lead or go in search of parties where they are mostly alone. It is sad to see thousands of women (predominantly middle class, upper middle) is an important piece shit youth in and out of relationships whose only goal is that, to be brides, show your friends, avoid the fear of being the only one of its group that does not have a boyfriend, to avoid a weekend without having anyone who called to invite her boyfriend to barbecues spa buildings from their parents, believe they are in love, when it is not a subterfuge to his loneliness, or worse, no one felt alone, but socially determined.
But back to us men, or more specifically the Oliver, James and I, we went, perhaps unconsciously, that is not taken seriously. In the strange world of San Juan-well, not so strange being a scholar was a handicap, and the one more knowledgeable on certain topics might show different to "new places where they give you for that bowling frees" that would reveal as a liability, a crown of thorns that you had to carry on the sly. You'd see some indie movies, and saw those geeks winners and wondered if that happened only United States, or was something I had to wait a couple of years. Eventually, American movies were right, and as soon as I entered college, the culture became my workhorse that is loaded in mines, but in high school studying, not drinking, not smoking, being responsible, was something quasi-punk. It was the world upside down in one said Fuck the system, I'm going to study . This was denied, a radical negation, kick the board to not even be part of the game. At recess one would bet on a guy a bit strange that I could not catch a bird with his hand, and while attending a ridiculous spectacle of feathers and trips, other people, smoking and talking about renting homes to go to spend the summer in La Pedrera, we did not know what comments were broadcast. Those were our years with the black Oliver and James, and slowly start getting in our faces and mannerisms some elements of Ren and Stimpy. Faces contorted, eyes bloodshot veins, all that grotesque imagery began to get tattoos on our faces and our notepads.
Yes, we were getting ugly and shit that we were enjoying. Go to a place with no prospect of someone charging you feel like something completely absurd. Man builds a bridge to tell mine you like "look, I built a bridge. " So without that bonus, that promise, everything is tinged with something untranslatable, a prison, but also a radical freedom. There was no one to impress. Everything was allowed. Santiago one day he rose from his seat in the middle of an English class, and with a drawn stigmata on the palms of their hands shouted "I am Jesus." We had just played a fairly religious teacher was offended. Every now and then we got up and screaming that we noted the floor was a squirrel running through the class. Most people got up and went up to the banks as if they were so manipulated as such hysterical Charcot. With Oliver learned the faint touch of a vein that was the brain and once planned a mass fainting to avoid a partial (the idea that very few people were folded). I had already left the whole subject of UFO's, but just in front of those people exploited the few cells of Fox Mulder living in me. Even on weekends and James Martin were to come to my house, and after playing some matches International Superstar Soccer, we would walk down the street, hoping to find someone in the vicinity of some nightclubs to give us some beer . We stayed by door. One day Martin came up with these mines pretty good, one year less than us, I think, and Santiago all the talk was insisting on the piece of turd that had just stepped on, showing it and watching the face of disgust of the gals. And so on. Throughout this journey
oppositional, sex was something very far (unless we went to Casablanca, or any of those brothels that was a lot of people, but I absolutely refused to attend), and stranger still was the love. I'd love a couple of times, but except for a monumental victory that lasted too short a time, and it took me a couple of years to recognize that there was nothing monumental, "love was something quite associated with frustrations. The only way to experience Love was listening to songs that spoke about this, almost as if they were books on science. None knew what love was, but supposed it had something to do with those ballads hypertrophied Guns' n Roses, with the love of Lenny Kravitz sixties, with the sensuality of Barry White, with some of these ballads eighties who went on the radio night with the most beautiful songs of Radiohead, whether the proto emo Creep, kinematics soundtrack for Romeo and Juliet or Fake Plastic Trees (which was not love, but served to torment a little .) While most people took more or less predetermined paths (Guns' n Roses on the one hand, on a parallel track, but quite combative Nirvana, Pearl Jam and the whole grunge same heterogeneous concoction, and the side-ah Metallica metalhead, and RHCP fans), I kept clinging to Radiohead and Clubs began to rummage through old, looking more and more cheesy love songs, which put me in tune with what was supposed to love. No big surprise return to some compiled at that time and find musicians like Al Green and Marvin Gaye or Bruce Springsteen. There was a need to feel strong, deep, and no longer than four minutes. More or less so I can think of seeing a dangerous discovery.
NOTICE here is when I put a rambling theory that may have as few as the epistemological basis of Natacha erotóloga title Jaitt :
The seventies, eighties and above all, they were full of power ballads like an orange-hypertrophy by the Metal GM - which were growing to collapse like a tower of Babel made of cards with the phenomenon indie-slacker-loser nineties, a phenomenon that I like irresponsibly associated with the triad Pavement, Beck, Nirvana . Especially Pavement, but Nirvana and Beck (with the quasi anthem I'ma loser, I'ma loser baby, so why do not you kill me), brought home the irony, and with them a whole set of works in which the characters were no longer young teens who love people who ran away to marry in Las Vegas, but citrus types, incisive, bitter, but funny , as might have been the heroine Daria (I worry about what mainstream and MTV-official that is becoming this post, but I), that people liked to call volatile Generation X . The point is that if one sees the field of music, can feel that yes, there were still some of those pompous ballads (I mean the American rock, of course there are still pop bands and singers Latino teamoporqueteamoyoteamo keep singing), but had created a feeling of deep distrust of any emotion naked and overexposed. Perhaps the turning point had arrived pomposity love with one of the songs, but above all more over the top music video in history: November Rain .
I liked that video, but now I see and I have to keep it clear, because any careless movement shit me up with laughter. Everything is completely corny, radical and even absurd, perhaps as a faithful representation of the megalomaniac personality Axl, who was already showing his psychotic lint. In fact, the scene most ridiculously over the top is where Axl is crying to his wife in the church, and when all people will keep the rain as if it were an eruption of Etna, but when you are walking Slash atrium and starts to play one just outside the church, which is strangely in the middle of the desert scenes alternating with live stand up guy playing that piano that Elton John Axl emulates. In fact, in the following videos always found him a situation over the top to put in Slash play, as when water comes Estranged. In a way, love was inflated to exploit this issue to finally go to hell than any other track of the time. With this reading somewhat partial and possibly mythical band Nirvana, which is always associated as an antagonist to the Guns, and in fact was given its coup de grace to the band in Los Angeles, especially at this great presentation of MTV music awards, is almost an antibody that tries to return to homeostasis, the body of the rock, which was massively invaded by kitsch sentimentality on the other side. From then on, distrust of emotions was becoming widespread, and the letters rockers, especially the indies, were populated by some bite, but a pointedly never encouraged to show their sentimental lint. Not claiming a band like Jesus Lizard to be made to do a ballad, by God, no, but would be a pretty fun experiment, "but the love songs were losing that nudity and innocence that I loved in other issues time. I'ma guy who likes Bruce Springsteen, and not only the minimalism of Nebraska, but all these epics of Born to run road, bloated sentimentality lyrics Born in the USA, including some of those ballads eighty Tunnel of love. In the United States each wound bleeds Springsteen twice the other, and every love is a mummified state of eternity, which is discussed in the miles a road that branches off another, the fate of the universe. Even hard to believe how senses and feelings can be overexposed in a band as indie as Replacements , that in the eighties not blush to do great covers of Kiss of power ballads.
Of all the romantic heritage are some, but not many, and the main genre that made this post is the Emo and Nu Metal, misunderstanding, and Discarded selecting some other aspects.
With girlfriend and all, that Augustine a few years ago has not changed at all, and continually need to catalyze the love through movies and songs. Thus, I prepared a list of those songs seem more interesting, more significant, or are sticking me most about that love. Of course, this is purely subjective, is not an anthology to Rolling Stone type best ballads of the century, with interviews with Chris Cornell, Anthony Kiedis, Madonna and Britney Spears . " And of course I am aware of beautiful songs that leave you on the road, as Most of the time, Just like a woman, or any item Blood on the Tracks, Bob Dylan, the beautiful collection of ballads Leonard Cohen left, Stephanie of Zitarrosa, which is difficult to survive without making newsprint at the first listen, many of the incredible collection of love songs from Destroyer, the awkward romance to the brink of destruction of some topics of Xiu Xiu, that monumental song about the maturity that is Lover's spit (Broken Social Scene), a number measureless of beautiful love ballads made by Morrisey and company, heartbreaking songs written by Mark Eitzel, some of those sixty-nine, and many more love songs composed by Merritt and company, those intimate songs that had three minutes to the body and Tim Buckley's voice, all these bossas that I need to hear, and great tenderness Plea for , Jonathan Richman, who recently sent me Darius.
Here goes the list. Oh, and let's do it in 16 songs, to keep the spirit. If any order:
Gato Barbieri Last Tango in Paris "
Boomp3.com
My favorite soundtracks of all time. Last Tango in Paris working in such an inextricable from performance-frame- music that may not to be recognized as a work of Bertolucci, but a co-authored by him, Marlon Brando and Gato Barbieri (BBB, one of the most bright brotherhoods in film history). Can hardly find a more saxophonist Gato Barbieri passionate, someone who is of sensuality to love, from love to lust, to a chamber music styling to a dark underground tango, as this event is attended by Brando and Schneider drunk at the end of film -, from most European primitivism mirimbao violins. What crosses Last Tango in Paris, as the trains in which the camera is stopped, without revealing his destination, such as the love of these two strangers, is not love but passion, and possibly no other being in the world that has failed to materialize such a amoción so pure and seizure as Gato Barbieri Federico
Deutsch and maverick c / Pedro Dalton When love love. (link)
If love exists, it sounds like.
really is a beautiful theme, and it becomes even more beautiful surprise considering that resulted in time to hear the voice of Peter Dalton, lead singer of a band, yet still versatile, love had always circulated, but in a underground, almost peripheral among so, so much darkness. The voice gritty / raspy reinterprets the lyrics of the song, and this contradiction between content and form can locate one of the most beautiful song. It's nice to listen to Peter so in love. One really can brighten up your day listening to that beautiful verse "love, I go to the bar only to see" .
Jacques Brel-Ne me quitte pas
Possibly one of the performers more giant that has given the music. The performance of the horse's teeth in this video is monumental, and somehow I find it impossible to separate from the song. Furthermore, it must be the most amazing performances ever seen in my life, and that counting movies, theater and related fields. Ne me quitte pas is a desperate song, is this claim to the last grain of sand in a territory lost, ask the beloved at least start a touch of skin, if not a touch, the feeling of losing everything and crawl for a bit, an inch of anything, but that centimeter was once theirs. Let me become the shadow of your shadow, the shadow of your hand, the shadow of your dog, do not abandon me, forsake me not ". Jacques Brel is an ode to body fluids, your body is soaked with tears and sweat, almost missing that would piss over and complete, and still stands in front of his beloved, almost refusing to concede defeat in each ne me quitte pas, standing still and promising things that can never get, as if this incredible scene Well, Onetti, where the hero forces his family back to recreate a walk along the promenade, realizing that the past is irreproducible. Yet
Jacques Brel is begging me quitte pas ne
But the battle is already lost.
Barry White-Never, Never, Gonna Give You Up (link)
When neurotics like me who are always wanting to differentiate problems of sex love, see this guy who breaks all the barriers historically constructed naturally as a child playing with legos. Some time ago, in reference to an album of T-Rex, said Dagnasty that while the hippies shouting "Love, not war" slogan surreptitious remaining in the work of Bolan was "Fuck, not war." In a way, Fat Barry (idol type, if any), the cloth passes all these categories. Take , fuck, mate , all summarized in lovemaking, an act of God that everything becomes an undifferentiated mass, a floating libido spread to everyone, that crosses time, races and social groups . Darius is right in comparison with Gainsbourg, because Barry is a way the dark and disk version of French. Barry White is the father Platonic immeasurable amount People born in the seventies, and that gives enough credentials to put on the list with one of its most emblematic songs, and possibly more sensual in their repertoire. L'amour physique, so they say.
Bruce Springsteen Stolen Car
Boomp3.com
I had been talking about how much I like Bruce as a balladeer, from its most minimalist works to their larger than life.
This subject matter falls into the same vice that most other issues no less great as Point Blank, Valentine's day, or the purple Drive all night, but exceeds in depth (there are some few issues that also enter into my list, as Secret Garden).
I could go about this song, but I think I can not add much to what Benedict said in this post of fuckyoutiger.
Guided by Voices Over the Neptune-Mesh Gear Fox
Boomp3.com
Yes, it's a love song, but a paean to rock and roll, divided by a pseudo bridge -space with a vengeful love song. However, when hear "And oh, mesh gear fox / Put Out Another bag of tricks from scientific box / Time's wasting and you're not gonna live forever / And if you come back and marry doI'll you / Do not use changin 'now / You Could not anyhow and ever (forever?) / It's Not the Way That I fear That I feel / It's the way you act / It's the way you look when you're near me / It's not so hard to conceal to grant? (Conceal?) / It's the Things you say / It's the Things you do go Right Through Me ", mediumnizado through the voice of Pollard, acquires an epic dimension, resulting, at least, for me, in one of the perfect moments in rock history. They are songs that sooner or later happen to one, with a completely different person when they pass through
Robyn Hitchcock Linctus house (link)
The old Robyn, the tallest guy I have in the world, is a type known for his eccentric lyrics, full of passion ontomóloga, minotaurs, farmers celestial glass and hotels, but with a tradition of preaching it as a sort of missing link between Syd Barrett and Bob Dylan. Still, it is much more than that, and oversized items such as this seems to prove more than good.
Perhaps the story of a couple who for a moment and realize that things are not like before, you know i Used to call my baby up / and we'd get real close / just like the telephone Was a sofa / and Our Thoughts Would mingle / and we'd leave Our Minds Wide Open / (...) / But These Days, Even Saying, / 'hello? how are you? "/" I'm fine, how are you? "/ Takes a lot of sweat / ain 't That a Shame / ain' t That a Shame . Perfectly could also talk about the relationship with his dead wife, which appears ghostly in many of his songs (an example is the song is My wife and my dead wife where factly recounts how she lives with two women , his current partner, and his dead wife, who is waiting in the attic, old clothes, or something). But the song is very Hitchcock, and has tremendous images, as events That But, even / talking is out of Reach / should i say it with flowers or / should i say it with nails?.
A fresh twist Ne me quitte pas.
Luis Alberto Spinetta She also (link)
I spoke on the subject in this post
Cat Power-Metal Heart (link)
Metal Heart, is a subject to unpredictable and disconcerting beauty like the eye of a duck, a theme which contrasts sharply in letter unthinkably with the soft, velvety sweet voice of Chan Marshall. Any femme rockstar what would become another combative defiance song (a very bad widespread in fans of PJ Harvey singing), yet sluggishly Chan makes sweet time, as an animal that does not mind being imprisoned, offered calm before the sight of the hunter. It is for this reason that fails reinterpretation Chan made this theme on his new album Jukebox: with a new vocal expressiveness much more versatile, you lose that languor which gives true meaning to the theme of separation and any other topic of love written by someone matched. The sound of someone letting go of despair encapsulated, but too beautiful to die out completely. Dan
want to pull out the headphones and hug the poor Chan Nick
Cave and the Bad Seeds-Into My Arms
The issue is known, and it works great with the music video by Jonathan Glazer (my favorite music video director.) Into my arms is framed in such personal fucking albums that are in line with If I could only remeber my name, where each item is practically an x-ray of the artist. At this time, the poor Nico Cueva had left his relationship with PJ Harvey, and appears with this completely introspective album, where the angel of death black wings left the umbrella stand and begins to remove makeup, as it is showing. Nico had incurred in the ballads, like amazing Slowly goes the night, Tender Prey, but never saw him again as fragile as this item
Dave Matthews Band-# 41
For some reason, Dave Matthews Band is a friendly blogger band around here. No one has spoken against, but somehow has a circulation quite muted in circles music lovers, perhaps looking for and certainly more virtuous than one with a past he can grind punk, perhaps by the voice of Dave Matthews, perhaps the music-versus those who usually opt for funny and chotos issues in general or by a collective sense of cool, which is usually found around the world almost politically incorrect. I never gave much ball to the letter, and somehow I still do, but it is a melody in which nothing bad can happen, it's like zabullirse cotton in a pool and swim between each note re feeling like soft touches. In my sixteen years the whole idea of \u200b\u200bthe final and perfect love was accompanied by this song.
Radiohead-True Love Waits (link)
falters in any instance in such emotionally you do not know whether or not hanging with anybody, this song is the ending to seal and name the feeling. So, beware ...
Fernando Cabrera-The time is after (link)
I spoke of the song in this post
Sade-Is it a crime
Not that I like so much Sade, but the twist is on a strange syncretism which is related to Barry White, in a way. Came traveling on a crowded 148 at about 9:00 to 1:00 of the environments unless they can be e-and radio programming was going oldies and music from the eighties see this topic. The level of exoticism and contrasted Sade's voice is an almost amusing to the rest of the depressing environment of the bus. I heard this voice languid, yet deep and old faces looked random, street vendors and porters of buildings that were preparing for another day embolante. Outside it was raining. It was there that I fell into a particular issue of Sade, and the ability to fuse blues, I dare say, sadly with sensuality, I dare say, erotic. As in most situations, eroticism and sadness result a Molotov cocktail which nothing would ever be no more good than just depressing, Sade works perfect, and for that simple reason in my count.
Tom Waits-Who are you
Boomp3.com
Love like a battlefield. Tom Waits is a big ballad singer, with songs with imagery rather American, of roads, diners and drinking from his tragicomic The Piano Has Been Drinking (not me), to melancholy Annie's back in town , through the disturbingly Time true, to the fleeting, almost impressionistic Johnsburg, Illinois .
The song is a battle in its most nineteenth century romanticism model of the fighting without armor once filled with bruises, and no hidden trenches in which contestants can now be viewed as they are. Rebelliousness towards a love object felt more than once, is that almost defend to the last handful of earth one's individuality, knowing it's a losing battle, since the other eventually ends up part of oneself. All this is summed up in one of my series of favorite pictures of all time, Did you bury the carnival / Lions and all / Excuse me while I sharpen my nails / And just who are you this time? / (...) / How do your pistol and your Bible and your / Sleeping pills go? / Are you still jumping out of windows in expensive clothes? / Well I fell in love / With your mouth and your Wounded sailors eyes / You better get down on the floor / Dont you know this is war / Tell me who are you this time? / Tell me who are you this time?
son of a bitch.
Kings of Convenience-Cayman Islands (link) .
is not a heartbreaking song, not a sad song, even lonely. The Kings of Convenience were able to make a deep love song without resorting to farewells, apologies, tears and hearts. It is a perfect love song, easy and completely harmonious, without melodrama, and suddenly found happiness in the face of a person you want, without having to seek assurances, without fear of losing everything, just looking and feeling happy to be with the beloved. The image management reinforces this sense of peace, the bearded man in his canoe sailing from the Cayman Islands, the wind on the hair of the beloved, rented bicycle until the next day. The last stanza is a perfect blend of minimalist and what I think must be love ( if they could only see, if only they had been here / they understand how anyone could choose / go as far as I was to spend a whole day just driving / holding on to you, I never thought it would be this clear ). Maybe my vision may be mediated by the fact of having become involuntarily to this song on the soundtrack for the parting with my girlfriend at the two-month exile in Mexico. Mary may not know, but somehow, a Cayman Islands always saw it as our song .
Epilogue:
I never liked the party of nostalgia. At one time I thought I liked, but it took some few parties as expensive as horrible to realize that no. Mainly, the problem I have it in celebrating a nostalgia that is not even mine, as if in my teens Soliera mine dancing to the sound of Last train to London. Similarly, there are so many radios that are dedicated to passing oldies-especially those that are tuned in offices and not-so-cool-hair salons, to listen to those songs that marked the lives of our parents did not have anything special, because we have heard so much as a ringtone de Miranda.
The point is that Mary and I were going to a party thrown by his brothers, which was going to get hip hop tracks of the old school. Listen to Public Enemy and NWA was a good consolation, I always liked those issues, the heavy beat and that fighting spirit, before the time when blacks change their sizes Thirty-eight diamonds and cars jumping (although he had some of that in those days). Mary told me to prepare well, which in my case is to replace my T-shirt bands. I even tried to wear my hat or Tom Waits but my head grew or shrank my hat, because I entered. The point is that Mary had been ultra cat, leather boots with high heels, stockings and a faux fur vest. Had warned that those clothes are put at your own risk, but considering that was one of those days where you could dress as I wanted -Would be very funny to see her wearing those clothes in the sea of \u200b\u200bmy school-wool, the bus ended up taking us without changing a single garment. When we entered the local generated a kind of silence worthy of American movies. Most were in shirts and jeans, or involved in those buds in which some rappers seem to wait for a future metamorphosis. The mines were not quite dressed. So in a certain time of night, paying attention to my surroundings, and above all, looking at the face of some types quite hungry, I wondered if the case of Mary and I was not one of those worthy of Hot chicks DOUCHEBAGS with . Had long looked those couples from the window, thinking, why is that hot girls always end up with assholes.
the bathroom and after I let a merqueros powdered her nose, I look in the mirror and I pulled a gunk of which I had not noticed all night.
I get on the fly and say "there are times when one is as loser, do not even realize who won."
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