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@mina-malrow
NAME: - TYPE: Gretsch Duo Jet w/ Bigsby COLOR: black w/ white pickguard USED FOR: lives TOUR: Meds, Battle For The Sun ADDITIONAL NOTES: Ebony fingerboard with Neo-Classical "thumbnail" inlays
all posts about Brian Molko's guitars
NAME: - TYPE: Gretsch Duo Jet 1956 COLOR: black w/ white pickguard USED FOR: Previous version (1956) of the current reissue Gretsch Duo Jet Fixed Arm Bigsby TOUR: Meds, Battle For The Sun ADDITIONAL NOTES: -
all posts about Brian Molko's guitars
NAME: - TYPE: Gibson SG COLOR: black with a black pickguard USED FOR: The Bitter End and Special Needs videos TOUR: - ADDITIONAL NOTES: -
all posts about Brian Molko's guitars
NAME: - TYPE: Gibson Les Paul Custom COLOR: cream w/ black pickguard USED FOR: live TOUR: Battle For The Sun ADDITIONAL NOTES: -
all posts about Brian Molko's guitars
ORGASM MAKER
i'll die before you, otherwise I'll die with you
What do I need you for?.. For life.
Just believe me. Once. Once is enough. I'll not betray you ever.
How do you live, my sick-eyed man-angel? Your music is playing in my head for years. Sometimes it seems that I love you. or I love myself. or I want to be you.
but if start to think about it, there is no difference. because if i be you, i would certainly love myself.
I want to become a little moth, and watch your dreams at nights. imagine it: man-angel and man-moth... I want to be able to hear the beating of your heart now, through all of this fucking time zones. And one day, when they crash down, i want to turn into the echo of your pulse and see the pain disappears from your eyes. i invariably want it.
SOULMATE DRIES MY EYES
Out of a hundred thousand people who know your name, twenty thousand write it incorrect. Seventy thousand listen to the only one your most unloved song, written in jest, out of boredom. It had captivated them, they cried. About fifty thousand don't hear the rhythm in general, see no rhymes, if it's not at the end of the line. Don't understand what it is about in principle, because everything is much more complicated and deeper than "My sweet prince, you are the one" digged up from the lyrics. Seven hundred proclaim from the housetops to the whole world that understood everything, caught the double meaning appreciated emotions, felt the pain. Two hundred love your most personal, terrible and morbid. Because: "This song is about me." And you need to knuckle it under. You chose this way. Now it's really about them. If you want to leave it for yourself - shut yourself in a room and not enter on the stage. But all these your odes-rebuffs you blatantly turn into hits Although nobody, no one can say anything meaningful about them, not a word on the case. Because the only listener closed his ears almost for five months before the release of the first album and exactly a year after the first concert, so dreamed about. The one the only listener thought, "first remove the hell from the inside, pour out the pain and then". the main and the only listener. Is you.
Placebo promo-video for the new album #LLL
this world won't let you to give up. because this world gave up to you.
May I for a six months, for a year, or ten stop looking at him? For the moments he's on the stage, devils not rocking my heart, and blood not hammering in my head... And for the moments of weakness not to hear his voice, Not whispering his lyrics when in a mental fatigue and not to remember his face. can I not love him? the universe, please! make me a little tighter, than the edge of his inner blade. let me realize that old age won't get us together, but separately. that he'll never look in my eyes. And twice the speed for the whole world, up to the moment when I'll bring all the heavens with joy to cast under his feet.
Она допивает кофе, а голос Его внутри. Кто он такой, чтобы видеть душу насквозь? Она открыла окно, пролив рыжеву зори, И запачкалась цветом своих заходящих солнц. В грязной Москве третьи сутки дожди, Но с Его музыкой вечная серость и та свежа. В этом городе столько ненужных мужчин, Ей бы к Нему одному, что не вырвать, сбежать. Она в первом ряду, смотрит на сцену вверх Дышит с Ним одним воздухом, но Она - лишь зал. Ее Бог под софитами, перед толпой людей, Встретились взглядом, улыбнулся, но не узнал... Все осталось, как прежде, но вот вопрос, Если все, как обычно, то почему память жжот? Кто Та женщина цвета Его заходящих солнц? Та, о которой Он столько пел и вплетал меж нот. В Его мире крылатых тоже можно скучать, И потому, когда Лондон начинает давить виски, Ее Бог допивает горячий ромашковый чай, Обнимает гитару и, усмехаясь, читает Ее стихи. __________ навеяно сном, мечтой и Julber
I always love you more than life does.
Hello, Universe. I love him. He is in London for a long time. We're together for fourteen years. And this is a huge term. This is no way out from it for me.
And now. Are you listening to, Universe? He is recording an album in London now. In his battered jeans; in his black jacket, with a white t-shirt sticks out under; in his knitted hat, for the hair not to prevent his eyes; in his shoes with thick soles. He's there. And I am here for some unknown reason.
He's drinking expensive whiskey, smoking Marlboro and having sex. And I'm going from corner to corner in my rented apartment and silly loving him.
So now, Universe. I love him. We are not together for fourteen years and... seven minutes more.
