Showing posts with label by GABRIEL COLOMBO. Show all posts
Showing posts with label by GABRIEL COLOMBO. Show all posts

Friday, 22 April 2022

ESSAY

Crash Boom Bang


My sweater is on backwards and inside out. And you say, how appropriate
I don't like to dissect everything today. I don't mean to pick you apart you see.But I can't help it
And there I go jumping before the gunshot has gone off.
Slap me with a splintered ruler
And it would knock me to the floor if I wasn't there already.
If only I could hunt the hunter
And all I really want is some patience
A way to calm the angry voice
And all I really want is deliverance.

Now you know: sometimes you wake up happy - without even knowing why - you leave the house and at the first corner you stumble and get into the worst mood of your life.

I think I'll leave it all to my next of kin. Tired body, worn out shoes, life lived, I wouldn't change myself for anything.

Ahahah... I think I'll leave it all to my next of kin.







Gabriel Colombo is a Journalist & Writer

e-mail: gabriel@gabrielcolombo.co.uk






Saturday, 12 June 2021

Chronicle of The City

 

ICE CREAM IS GRACEFUL WHEN IT MELTS



Melt it down (you're gonna have to eventually, anyway) - I, recommend getting your heart trampled on to anyone, yeah .



 Girls love bad boys. Those guys who come at you. That hold tightly to your waist with one hand, while the other holds the steering wheel of the car. Those who answer everything with one word, and never say sorry. And with a snap of your fingers, they transform your ordinary life into a big event… such a whirlwind.

You women do that. Go to the beauty salon, buy fashion magazines. Put on make-up and wax yourselves. Fix your hair and get well dressed. For what? To find a wild guy who messes you up and gives you what you want: emotion.

Nothing better than to be attracted by someone that gives you a breath of fresh air and makes you feel the lady from the movie. You like that guy who makes fun of your blondness. You complain about him, calling him a crook and a thug, but he's the best part of your life. The bad boy doesn't necessarily like a woman who wears little cloth and a fringed jacket. He likes a demure girl who has a rich father and a glass heart. As soon as he gets the chance, he'll break everything in half and leave, just like that, without much explanation. So you will find a silly muggle man who will support you full time, you will get married and spend your whole life complaining about the boredom, monotony or stress of having children with a prick who works at NatWest.

Bad boys never go back to the crime scene. In real life they are out there, infiltrated. Covered with some leather pieces, just like the movies. In real life you will feel them through kisses that take your breath away. Or if they are a little obvious, they will give clues of themselves with the roaring engines of their poisoned cars. And they make you taste this poison it was the sweetest slice of cake. And you tidy way of living  will awaken his appetite for destruction. The heads of these guys work with the following logic: ice cream is funny only when it melts, fire is only cool if everything burns completely.

They will delight you with borderline moments so,  afterwards, you will love to remember them and talk about them with your friends. You would like to break some rules and never have a script with him. And it makes you feel younger, dear woman: it turns you into the schoolgirl who folded her skirt to get the attention of the boys, and that gave you the pleasure to taste the forbidden, as well as smoking out of sight and pretending that you went to class. It is not dangerous to relate to a bad boy. It is really dangerous, though, not knowing in which compartment of your heart-shaped box you will put him.



Written bt Gabriel Colombo.

All Rights reserved to the Author.

@Copyright


 

Sunday, 6 June 2021

Book Review : MICK

HIS SATAN MAJESTY

by Gabriel Colombo

Stole many an man´s soul and faith           

Photo: Divulgation


  

As an ultrademon, he enjoyed and enjoys his existence and everything is fine. That is how I define Mick Jagger, after having squinted at the pages of his unauthorized biography. Facts like the Rolling Stone having experienced London in the 70s, between orgies, high society parties, casual relationships, magic powders, syringes for breakfast e otras cositas más  − that are part of a rock n' roll star’s lifestyle − do not shock or amaze me. It’s expected.

It's just Mick Jagger being Mick Jagger. Are they are transgressions of the so-called normal and ordinary life? Yes. But when it comes to Jagger, everything sounds so natural, like a priest preaching during his mass. So why so much noise if the ring was raised in flames of fire? For nothing. Just for the sake of controversy.

The rumours started a while after the book was released. I heard that, in the Portuguese version, some of it was changed. Was it because some people mentioned are Brazilian? Maybe they don’t want to expose themselves any longer? Maybe... and who would they be? One of Jagger’s most famous groupies, Luciana Gimenez, now a family lady, and her mother, the “pure and demure” Vera. The first one was not even described as a TV show host, but as a ¨latina¨. And in the deal made between her lawyers and journalist and author C. Anderson (he was not a multimillionaire at the time), it was demanded that the author should not mention her story with Jagger, the unorthodox circumstances in which their son Lucas was conceived, for instance. To read the sordid details, we have to buy the English version of the biography. Also, the term ¨soft porn actress¨ attributed to her mother, Vera, was replaced by “actress¨ only. Nothing that a good lawyer wouldn’t achieve. And so it was done.

Christopher Anderson, the author, claims that every word he writes is true. But he does not know his words were distorted  for fear of the repercussions in tropical lands. He said he didn't know that unauthorized biographies are still banned in Brazil. And that, close to the release of the book, he had made two adjustments and answered three requirements of the publisher. Okay, let's pretend we believe it.

If Jagger went to hell and made his home there, there is no  evidence. But let’s remember one of the Rolling Stone’s most iconic song, Sympathy for The Devil. They also released an album called Voodoo Lounge and made puns to the phrase printed in the English Passport ("Her Britannic Majesty requests…),  naming one of their album as Their Satanic Majesties Requests  His fire powers are said to be there, in a supposed pact, he has with devil. It reminds me of a phrase that I like: “Better to burn out than fade away”. And that's up to him, here's the man.

He dated David Bowie. He slept with Angelina Jolie. Had sex with Carla Bruni. The list is long. Nobody escaped his magic. This desire to get satisfaction while sucking the vital energy of everyone… he converts it into pure pleasure, and that is what keeps one young ”, explained a psychiatrist here in London, who analyzed Mick Jagger face to face and hand to hand. As he confessed, he succumbed to Jagger's charms and lay down with him.

Mick sucks the blood of others like a thirsty vampire. This is his juice. It nourishes you and makes you more alive. His three children, the official ones,  are always on the pages of the shallowest British magazines. And they amuse me on Instagram with their collection of frivolities. Good, I hope life is lighter and funnier like the chewing gum that Georgia Jagger chews, or like the palette colours on Lucas' nails.

In addition, Mick Jagger remains loose and hunting around. Singing and dancing, like a bat boy, as the devil likes. I can say that everything is rose-coloured with them. But if it was red, it would fit better, don’t you agree?



Photo: Google free Licensed


Research, Reading, Text and Writing and opnioes by Gabriel Colombo. 


All rights reserved to the intellectual work.

Sunday, 30 May 2021

Chronicles of the City

 

                             CHEAP THRILL

                 Nothing spreads faster than a rumour


image: Unsplash


What's the best gossip you've ever heard? Everyone has heard that Mick Jagger dressed up as a woman in the 60s. And that Marianne Faithfull, irresistibly, caused the butterfly effect at night. You should already have heard about it. Ask them for details.

I know of a friend who screams “That´s Me”, at the climax, when having sex. In my years of Law University, we knew of a colleague, a 52-year-old lady that always wore red, started studying Law for self-defense when summoned to court: she had murdered her husband.

Most of us know that gossip can be much more than a hobby and a way to overcome the dullness of everyday life, a way to make conversation at coffee  or cigarette break. So, it saddens me to say that I, too, sometimes like this act of moralistic negligence. However, we like to hear the peculiarities of others.

I heard people had gossiped about me and: they said on a social network that I'm thinner and taller than I seem to be on photos. Gossip is just a tool to distract people who have nothing to do. One has to admire those few of us who still remain with noble hearts. I swear: I find gossip less and less fun and useful.

These days, I heard about someone that had a strange sexual tendency and borderline behavior in personal relationships, with major flaws in her workplace. After a while, the frisson about it lost fun. I didn’t understand what was going on while everyone laughed. The person surely have problems. Malicious comments are like news headline, they don’t offer many explanations, much less the right to defense or even conclusions.

As I and all of us are becoming more mature, I am convinced of my affability itself. And when I hear a gossip about someone, I remember that all of us have bills to pay and a floor to clean. We have nightmares and problems.

Anyone who gossips with you will gossip about you. It is difficult to get rid of this situation.

When I hear about something interesting or curious, the first thing that crosses my mind is: “I'm going to spread the news”. After all, it’s Friday, we all deserve to laugh. Then, my conscience weighs: “Gabriel, you shouldn't”. And my alter ego called Dear Lord by alerting me that we have many other things to think about.

Gossip should remain restricted drunken conversations inside a pub. I don't want to feel powerful while speaking at 7pm after the first or the second pint. I will try to control myself not to gossip − for about 50 minutes. Who are we to judge? Everyone lives the way they can. Then I looked at the clock and it’s only been five minutes. I feel bored. “So, what is it that everyone talks about?”.


Written by Gabriel Colombo. All rights reserved to the Author.