girrlfrommars

[girrlfrommars]

Alain Delon and Marianne Faithfull in The Girl on a Motorcycle (1968).

[girrlfrommars]

Remembering Janis Joplin: The Woman Behind ‘Sex, Drugs and Rock n’ Roll’

Drunk on life stoned on beer. Texas girl, Odetta, choir girl, uneducated. Records found, you love life again… up until the age of ten. Those manly shaped shoulders that shook your friends into lust. Liberated liberated. Sad and tired, got to get away. Mother hurt me please! but you can’t make me stay.

The woman made her way to San Francisco. Music, laughter, sorrow in the night. Hollowed prayers disgust in eyes. She sang her way in. Speed freak. Her nipples are cold. They refuse to sing along.

Sister smiles father spits. Devotion has been a lifelong regret.

She joined signed sighed. But she is not silent. Screams of rage, still no success. All I’ve given, everything at best. Tell them Janis of amazing letdowns. Tell them how your bones poke right through. Shaking. Desire. Empty, half full. Black magic fell into the mind of the young like a life of sin. Sailors, saviors. Here to stay, are ya. Ball n’ chain.

Bourbon-fueled raw gutsy, amazement. You felt held back, no more piece of heart to break. Move over, unacceptable lady. Stick it in puke it out, like a crucifix error.

Return to the hole, they laughed once more. Laughable. People dancing as tomorrow isn’t a myth pledged allegiance the power of acceptance. No care in the man’s land, but you do care. Couples naked in the caress of doubt. Your heart burnt the crowd, confessions and contempt. There ain’t nothing like the real thing baby. This is the way, Pearl the way to the very end. Dated in passion and sensitivity. You killed your selves grasping at your weapon of love; you wore your vulnerability like some splinter-covered glove.

Early morning dark, dark night you took too much of what felt good. Craving distraction seeking sense. Home stalking, no more walking. Cause the Kozmic Blues surrendered with abuse. Number twenty-seven shot on your back, the twenty-seventh attack. This is the end, my only friend.

Vintage store, half-ripped book. Staggered kid, hunched view on life, stay away attitude, isolated. Opening the book, a light shot straight into the heart of a poorly cultured kid. Perspective gained. Intensely reading examining pondering. That’s how I found Janis, sitting on my bed, mesmerized by the treasure in my hands. My seventh-grade self would be amused by the fact that that same paper is loudly laying next to me at this very moment. The blues are blasting in the kitchen. And I’m remembering the exact moment she moved me: *freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose*. I didn’t know what I wanted until it found me, until she found me. And I bet ya can relate, hey. Break the broken, they bleed in blue. Sing the songs, Lord know’s they’re true. Measuring misinterpretations, the space between our hearts. Blues oh blues you flame-throwing love!

Early mornings still remind me of you. I’m utterly lost in the translation of your ways. Oh how the people mourn, how we cry out to you. You’re wine, a stain. There are dead roses with your name now your luck is merely rotten, eaten-at flesh. The power in your voice brings the blues to life; there wasn’t a thing you wouldn’t sacrifice.

[girrlfrommars]

marianne faithfull being everything (per usual)

[girrlfrommars]

Patti Smith and Richard Sohl, 1976. Photo : Joe Sia.

[girrlfrommars]

1968

[girrlfrommars]

This note was found in New Orleans.

Kiss you all over and over again Til the nite closes in