..She smiled with her eyes as she looked through the audience. A spotlight from the projector in the back made her afro glimmer in the light. The band was waiting impatiently behind her, for her queue. She sang with the opening phrase: "You need to pick yo afro daddy, because it's flat on one side". She elongated every last word of a sentence with a vibration in her voice. There was a certain soul to not only her style of singing, but with the charm she performed her songs. No matter how cloudy the room was with tobacco smoke, it didn't make any difference to her, because seeing the audience was not key. She made everybody feel her presence even just by standing behind the microphone stand. She delivered every act with a certain kind of intimacy, even if you heard her voice on vinyl, you could still see her in your mind performing on that same exact stage in Madame Saxx' Jazz Club .
The stuffy sound from the saxophone was a perfect match with her raspy, liquid voice.
Guests in the audience sipped some more of their cognac and whiskey on the rocks -red wine was not inappropriate either. Because people paid respect to Lady Soul by drinking two of her favorite drinks, while she was performing. That's how you could tell the regulars. Some customers kept on coming to the club, just to hear her sing. Even if it was every week on Thursdays. Because Lady Soul was not only a woman of class and soul, but an amazing humble singer. One of the greats. And spending her time singing was the only way of life she had come accustomed to. Even if she was meant to spend her retirement at Las Palmas or somewhere else warm with sand and palm trees, she stubbornly got her way and got to sing at the club down South, once a week.
"Wow, Lady Soul is just breathtaking!" a man at the bar told the bartender.
"Yeah she is, isn't she? We sure are lucky to have her as one of our acts!"
"What made her buy this club from Madame Saxx ?" the man continued.
The bartender stopped what he was doing, set the towel and glass on the counter and said: "This place has a special magic to it," he rubbed the back of his neck and continued "it keeps you coming back."
By the look of the bartenders face, the man at the bar dropped the conversation and enjoyed the rest of the show.
-xoxo, TheGirlWithCurls
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7z7tjzrp0Q
maanantai 23. huhtikuuta 2012
lauantai 21. huhtikuuta 2012
another night at the club 2.
..My heart was beating fast. I could feel his Adam's apple pressed against my sweaty skin, with pores the size of nostrils. Sweat dripped down my back, and I was pushed against the wall, with my right inner thigh in his tender grip. The air felt humid and I could hear people in the other stalls making noise. -We had to hurry.
I felt as if he already knew what he was doing. As if my body was a map, and he already knew where the hidden treasures were..oh, indeed he did. All I needed to do was follow, and let him take the lead. He must have skipped through the first steps in the 'Making Love' manual, and didn't bother even unbuttoning my blouse. It was a sexy deep red blouse, so I guess he didn't want to accidentally rip a button off. He skipped all the virginal "look at each other in the eyes and mentally prepare yourselves for love making" steps. As if he had been looking at me the whole night and drew all the bad things he wanted to do to me that night, in his mind. There was not that much space, but there was enough to make him sigh, and moan, and sigh and moan. I didn't do much, but it was enough for him. This was everything but virginal. We did not look each other in the eyes. We were not 16-years-old, we were just two mature, sexually active adults seeking for one night lust. No strings attached.
But I couldn't help but let my mind wonder to the beginning of the night, asking myself how did I end up here. The same bathroom stall, with the same "M♥S were here" writing on the wall. I remembered walking in the club alone, again. And hearing yet again Mr.Brown on the piano and the Smiths playing sax and exotic drums on stage. The smooth aboriginal rhythm had me walk across the room with my hand caressing my curves. Apparently it did the trick, because by the time I had walked to the bar, a dark and handsome honey started to observe my every move. From the way I sipped my cocktail, to the way I liked to slide the green olive back and forth between my slightly opened lips. Eventually he took his powerful, broad shoulders over to where I was sitting by the bar and said hi.
And then I ended up in a bathroom stall, breathing heavily on his neck as he found my lace underwear and let them drop on the floor. He lifted my hips higher against the wall with his strong arms, and pressed his pelvis against mine. Sigh. I was looking at the sealing. Sigh. My left hand was stroking his neck. Sigh. My pencil skirt was now up to my breasts. Sigh. I could even feel the blood streaming in his muscle. Sigh. His muscle moved back and forth inside of me. Sigh. My right arm squeezed his butt cheeks as he put more force into it. And it felt good...
When our moaning turned into gasping of air, he gave me the 70bucks and left.
Yet another night at the club.
-xoxo TheGirlWithCurls
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=znbXY1VoRRc&feature=related
I felt as if he already knew what he was doing. As if my body was a map, and he already knew where the hidden treasures were..oh, indeed he did. All I needed to do was follow, and let him take the lead. He must have skipped through the first steps in the 'Making Love' manual, and didn't bother even unbuttoning my blouse. It was a sexy deep red blouse, so I guess he didn't want to accidentally rip a button off. He skipped all the virginal "look at each other in the eyes and mentally prepare yourselves for love making" steps. As if he had been looking at me the whole night and drew all the bad things he wanted to do to me that night, in his mind. There was not that much space, but there was enough to make him sigh, and moan, and sigh and moan. I didn't do much, but it was enough for him. This was everything but virginal. We did not look each other in the eyes. We were not 16-years-old, we were just two mature, sexually active adults seeking for one night lust. No strings attached.
But I couldn't help but let my mind wonder to the beginning of the night, asking myself how did I end up here. The same bathroom stall, with the same "M♥S were here" writing on the wall. I remembered walking in the club alone, again. And hearing yet again Mr.Brown on the piano and the Smiths playing sax and exotic drums on stage. The smooth aboriginal rhythm had me walk across the room with my hand caressing my curves. Apparently it did the trick, because by the time I had walked to the bar, a dark and handsome honey started to observe my every move. From the way I sipped my cocktail, to the way I liked to slide the green olive back and forth between my slightly opened lips. Eventually he took his powerful, broad shoulders over to where I was sitting by the bar and said hi.
And then I ended up in a bathroom stall, breathing heavily on his neck as he found my lace underwear and let them drop on the floor. He lifted my hips higher against the wall with his strong arms, and pressed his pelvis against mine. Sigh. I was looking at the sealing. Sigh. My left hand was stroking his neck. Sigh. My pencil skirt was now up to my breasts. Sigh. I could even feel the blood streaming in his muscle. Sigh. His muscle moved back and forth inside of me. Sigh. My right arm squeezed his butt cheeks as he put more force into it. And it felt good...
When our moaning turned into gasping of air, he gave me the 70bucks and left.
Yet another night at the club.
-xoxo TheGirlWithCurls
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=znbXY1VoRRc&feature=related
lauantai 14. huhtikuuta 2012
another night at the club
..They burn out cigarettes as if there is no light at the end of the tunnel.
Everybody who appears to go to 'Madame Saxx' Jazz Club' , seems to be rather melancholy and dramatic. They smoke just out of the boredom of not smoking. And run out of cigarettes before the first act appears on stage.
She stumbles with her feet when walking on stage, because of all the smoke that has gathered around her ankles. The mixture of tobacco and herbs that is smoked at the club, is so heavy that it acts like an imaginary chain on her feet. Every step she takes toward the stage weighs down on her. Her shoulders begin to press down her collarbone and yet, with smoke chains around her bare feet, she tries to hold onto her notebook. That notebook has all kinds of secrets hidden between the two leathery covers. Only a single thin leather strap holds all those pages of secrets together, as she adds pressure onto the notebook pressed against her bustier.
She chose to wear a bustier that morning, under all those layers of material.
She has so many guards built up. Not only does the bustier work as a metal armor, but the layers she puts on every day push back all the bullshit she has to put up with from the men she works with -or for.
The poems she writes in her notebook's pages are mostly about her job.
She goes on about the physical pain she has to tolerate with in her job. The notebook has seen it all.
-So, she continued her death march on stage. Knowing that somewhere in the audience, there'd be at least one of her clients. She glanced over the smoke that swam across the fresh air in the room, and saw nothing. The spotlight from the projector, over the back, was too bright.
When she got to the stage, cleared her throat, and put off pressure from the clasp which she was holding on the notebook. She began reading her poem, called 'My body is a Temple' . By every word she recited, the smoke cleared off her ankles, and so did the anxiety of getting up on stage. The smoke chains were just imaginary, but enough to make her heart race twice its speed.
A wave of rhythmically snapping fingers broke some of the smoke in the air. And she was smiling through it all, at the end of her poem.
SNAP.
(to be continued..)
-thegirlwithcurls
Everybody who appears to go to 'Madame Saxx' Jazz Club' , seems to be rather melancholy and dramatic. They smoke just out of the boredom of not smoking. And run out of cigarettes before the first act appears on stage.
She stumbles with her feet when walking on stage, because of all the smoke that has gathered around her ankles. The mixture of tobacco and herbs that is smoked at the club, is so heavy that it acts like an imaginary chain on her feet. Every step she takes toward the stage weighs down on her. Her shoulders begin to press down her collarbone and yet, with smoke chains around her bare feet, she tries to hold onto her notebook. That notebook has all kinds of secrets hidden between the two leathery covers. Only a single thin leather strap holds all those pages of secrets together, as she adds pressure onto the notebook pressed against her bustier.
She chose to wear a bustier that morning, under all those layers of material.
She has so many guards built up. Not only does the bustier work as a metal armor, but the layers she puts on every day push back all the bullshit she has to put up with from the men she works with -or for.
The poems she writes in her notebook's pages are mostly about her job.
She goes on about the physical pain she has to tolerate with in her job. The notebook has seen it all.
-So, she continued her death march on stage. Knowing that somewhere in the audience, there'd be at least one of her clients. She glanced over the smoke that swam across the fresh air in the room, and saw nothing. The spotlight from the projector, over the back, was too bright.
When she got to the stage, cleared her throat, and put off pressure from the clasp which she was holding on the notebook. She began reading her poem, called 'My body is a Temple' . By every word she recited, the smoke cleared off her ankles, and so did the anxiety of getting up on stage. The smoke chains were just imaginary, but enough to make her heart race twice its speed.
A wave of rhythmically snapping fingers broke some of the smoke in the air. And she was smiling through it all, at the end of her poem.
SNAP.
(to be continued..)
-thegirlwithcurls
Jazzz me up
Now that is all the creativity that I could think of when posting up my new status.
Facebook is just one of the addictions I should cut loose.
The other is me and my new smoking habit I've taken upon. Now, not just some old Lucky Strike cigarettes from the 80´s, but the special kind. The one's that get you buzzed. I'm talking about the kind that middle-aged men with rastas smoke -as stereotypical as that may sound.
If only there would be a Jazz café, here where I live. A place where smoking cigarettes from pipes, and tobacco from elongated sticks that Audrey Hepburn smoked at Breakfast at Tiffany's, would be unheard of. We'd smoke herbs. The special kind of smoke, that puts the SMOKE to smoking. The one that has a thicker cloud than what normal cigarettes would cause. And the smoke would be so heavy, that it would weigh down on the stage, while one of the spectators from the audience would hop on to perform at the Open-Mic night. The audience would simmer down to a silence. The kind of silence where all you can hear is inhale and exhale.
After the poem would come to an end, people would snap their fingers as applause to the performer.
The saxophone would play all night. The raspy voice would burst out the sax´s mouth in flaming color. Of course this is just one of the mirages that we'd see under the influence of the exotic herbal mixture. But there's just something about smoke clouds that allure me. Fire, of course is a different matter. Once uncontrolled it can cause serious damage.
But smoke, is just a cloud. A moving cloud that gets inhaled out the pipe like a genie from a bottle, and trapped in your lungs like a prisoner. Until you release your hold, that smoke won't come out.
And when you do eventually exhale, the poetical flow of the smoke allures you to carry on.
Intake by intake, you get the hang of it. Flying isn't so bad after all. Dry jokes have never felt so funny. Cheap 5 dollar wine has never tasted so fruity. And the strangers in the room have never made you feel so at home.
Marlboro kills, but so do other people.
-I hope this made you hungry for more! Feel free to follow! (I'm new to this)
You guys have a nice day.
Keep them curls natural and your smiles wide ;)
xo, TheGirlWithCurls
(Song that inspired me: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M2EQfVtk-dk&feature=related )
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