I just heard a spoken word piece by Billy Childish called At Midnight I Will Say I Love You and it made me think of Peter but i can’t find the words anywhere online so this is a note to myself not to forget to listen to it again
Author: suchasinistergame
i met Carl Barât with
my homies after his dinner in Gdańsk, Poland, when we said ‘you can
sign Pete’s chest…no offence" he said ‘i’m used to it’ 💕❤🍌
Pete Doherty for ELLE’s London Issue 2009 by
Rankin, part 2
Tip: This Valentine’s Day, don’t be romantic. Be Romantic! Recite Lord Byron
on the edge of a barren cliff! Feel the gusts of the thunderstorm blow through your hair as you sob! Become a reclusive poet who trusts no one and is only seen at 2 am, wandering half-dressed through the streets and muttering in Old High German! Drown your lonely heart in laudanum and die at age 34 of tuberculosis, martyrdom in a small and ill-fated revolution, or wasting away from a disease that makes you look wan but poetic! Forget “forever alone”: You’ll always have your haunting past, your wasted ambitions, and the melancholy of a life unlived to keep you company!
I’m getting notifications on a post i reblogged but the original post got removed so i can’t even turn them off (and op blocked me for laying into their sleeping habits lolllll), kill me
Interviewer: Are you still friends with him [Peter Doherty]?
Carl Barat: Yeah.
Interviewer: That’s good.
Carl Barat: For life, for death, forever.
15/9/12
murder-look intensifies with every step
free him
Two trod and one so pestering at the falter of older other in the old world. Giros and on the rob, stealing the light from the dawn and sweet lasting embraces besides the late night river Thames. Mountain ranges of paperback books, heart shaped renditions of ‘you’re my waterloo’ and ‘france’.
First time I seen him cry: ‘tears and tears in his proud fathers coat’ ‘Death on the stairs’. Yes, I wrote ‘how can we..’ yes older sings it so magnificently. Now he’s stuck brogues nailed to conveyer belt and he’s screaming to come away: but the infastructure is there all behind and for him, appreciative, egging.
Fat lines of coke courtesy of Rough Trade, or a Strokes guitarist, backstage passes and torments in the night.
Bored, plain kids shyly approach us. wow oh scramble scramble.
No, mum, I’m fine. Aaah. The nurse beckons me closer, she has watched me laughing crying, singing all day..
sweet old Irish accent:
‘You’re no addict young man, they’ll mollycoddle you to death yet. Jesus you come away til I marry you. Be careful, look out now. There’s a hallful of bastards out there your friends. Just watch it now. Sing your little heart bare’Carl. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, so truly, and I love you and I’m here.
Peter Doherty, forum posting, 2003 (via quietnowherebesideyou)
suchasinistergame 