Having either forced the door or a window, an individual crept into the apartment some time during the day. The cat, the coats, a camera, a silver necklace, a silver ring, the TV and the speakers were all left untouched.  These things were of no interest to our gentleman thief, who preferred to bag an old laptop, three bottles of wine and the complete works of Oscar Wilde and Gabriel Garcia Marquez. We're waiting for the police to arrive, and dying to read through what might be the best incident report in a long while.

Ou pela porta, ou por uma das janelas, hoje alguém nos entrou em casa. Ninguém tocou no gato, nos casacos, na camara, na cruz de prata, nos aneis, na televisão ou nas colunas. O que faltava cá em casa era: um computador antigo, três garrafas de vinho e as obras completas de Oscar Wilde e de Gabriel Garcia Maruqez. Estamos à espera de que chegue a polícia, e mortinhos por ler o relatório.

"I once saw British girls in Bangkok, wearing matching tank tops
pissed as farts in an expat bar where they drank lots" - Gramski

I Don't Like Your Crap Vegan Cakes (Wasted Rita stand)

To feel the bones shake inches deep in muscles that are soft and skin that is white.

To hear the heart beat to the rhythm of drum sticks.

To breathe in the smell of beer and smoke and bass riffs.

To drown in feedback.

Being in front of the stage, in between the speakers, on a good night is like being on life support:
you know you're only alive until they pull the plug.

Alive. 2014