The day Paulie passes away
There is going to be a great shock worldwide
For one of the main members of the Beatles will say goodbye
So, naturally, all the fake fans and followers will weep
The same guys who care little to nothing
Yes I know, in death icons become bigger than life

But you can help change that
Do not wait until that day to recognize his greatness
Show him your love NOW that you can
Because tomorrow nobody knows
The man has been on the spot since forever
Been asked about Lennon
Being compared with him
In fact, sometimes all he is asked about regards the latter

I am not here to say which one was better
Personally, I always liked John more, he was crazier
But six or seven of McCartney's songs are on a top-ten list
All I have to say is this, and I already did actually
Paulie is the real "King in the North"
May he have a very long and happy life
But again, do not wait to show him the love he deserves
He's great by and as himself

Lots of love to Ringo, too
May peace be with you, brother

One Wild Night

Ask me whatever you want, what you want the most, I will give it to you no matter what it is
You are being delusional, for what I truly want you can not provide
Then, I will steal it for you
You will only get to be locked up
Then, I will escape to be again with you
That couldn’t happen, they will kill you

If that is the price, then I am determined to do so. As long as you understand that my greatest gift would be to give up my whole life for you, I prefer to fall in love with a goddess and fail in the attempt, being rejected, than to look for no other and appreciate your friendship more than her love.

I wrote this while being high and horny, and with a speed metal and punk rock music background.

One Wild Night

Dear Prudence,
The Sun has set
It’s beautiful, and so are you
Now, go to bed, it’s time for us

I’ve been calling now for half an hour
I guess she’s too way inside that game’s world
Ah, the irony, she traded the ballroom for a four-cornered blockhaus

Nerves screaming, I knocked on her door,
A gloomy figure appeared towering at the entrance
“Hey, Ma’am, can you tell the bird I’m here for her?”
What bird you’re chasing down, press boy? Beat it, you go now!
“I think we both know who I’m talking about”
Oh, right, she’s about to claim her rewards from L.o.L

Heart in hand, upstairs I go
“This room is even darker than your mother’s expression”

She barely reacts, headphones on
Her stare is that of a sparking, thrusting spear
Yet she nods, and asks:
“How come you to get there so fast and without being invited in the first place?”
It’s not about me at all – I reply –
There are people down there yelling for you to come down
Wishful thinking – she says, you can tell all of them to go and drink bleach one-shot, and a sip for ya’ as well, mail boy
“I’ll gladly drink bleach if you bless me with the juice from your cup beforehand so as to build some guts to hit the streets back home alone”

Man with a mission

“Walk’d for about league afar from ya’ to reach your warmth
Swam through the shores to find the teardrop you lost in the bottom of the sea to bribe you”
How could I tell a drop from the sea from the one my left eye bore a long time ago?
There’s an arch in her mouth declining the offer
She’s carved in marble stone, her hair is tied atop of her head, fittingly, the screen glows on her face as she unloads with Jinx’s arsenal

There is yet something I’d like to address, and here comes my self-inflicted pain
You were always there for me, even when you were blue
You never truly opened the gates for me to come in
And so I felt like an aggressor for lending my shoulders for you to cry on
I don’t want you to be sad, pessimistic or dreary
Make the night yours again, send all the jealous gals into Oblivion
Burn them off with your glare
What I want is to take you out, so as the tips of the heels stab the floor

“To hell with heels, post boy, I’ll rather go Converse to spin over and on”
She laughs at Garen’s E-key move, for it pales shy next to her speed while wild-whirling, party’s on
Man, she’s a beast, I can almost hear the lioness caged within her chest raging her way through the wilderness and freedom
Would she bite my heart off? Tear me asunder? Verily, she has the nails of a demon, yet I find it hard to find a fairer gal no matter where I go
A slayer clad in velvet, hair loose, fair blond, thick lips I want to cover, sweet, naughty voice that kisses my eardrums
My baby’s growing some soul, she’s got the gloss and parfum all over her perfect bod, she’s blazing all alone
“Smile, my love, for tonight you’ll be mine” – I think for myself, but don’t speak it out
She reads it, though, and starts laughing
Can’t tame the mare, she’s way stronger than I am
“There you go” – she grins again, as she lends me a small pill
“Have it or forget about it all, that’s the prize and the reward”
I say nothing and swallow her venom, even though I know it’s dread to my nerves.

Deutsche Prinzessin auf der Ballroom

But, how do you do it? It seems to be soaking up to your skeleton
“Music moves me, hey – she says – don’t talk, feel. Be part of it.”
She’s soft at touch, she’s fuller than any other girl down there, in the ballroom
No one can ignore her presence, for she shines so brightly it blinds me
The sound is so heavy, I feel the bones of my head vibrating to it

That candy you handed me before tastes funny
Or is it your smile?
I think I’m fainting, blacking out
“You’ll smell the noise, taste the colors, touch the sound”
I fear nothing, as long as you stand by me under the same roof

Next move, I try to look away, I think I’m doing fine
I’ll rope her in

Some cunt poured salt on the right side of your neck – I say
“Then, what are you waiting for?, lick it off!”
There was no salt at all, but her sweat is tasty-salty, either way, I can tell her heat is running by the widening of her veins
A rushing urge to be frank pushes me forward to admit so:
I know you know that I know
You always think three-seconds ahead of me, therefore I cannot cheat on you
But she cares not, for she is back at the dancing floor
After so many lonely nights she claims her crown
Queen auf der Ballroom

The speakers blast me as she curbs the floor, stomping
She’s wild, she’s hot, she’s
She bounces and spins around, she shakes her hips
She’s floating in the air, she’s riding the song
Her upper lip is tickling, she’s sweating it all off
Boy, I never imagined a white girl could move like that!
Her jeans are so tight...
I think they are about to burst!
But then again, it would be fine
For mine will explode, too!

I’m definitely about to pass out
Her torso is my saving pole
A floating sensual curve flashed by the neons
I grab her by the hips as the DJ changes the rhythm
She thinks I’m taking an edge
Girl, I’m just trying not to fall in love
She turns around, her chest is moist

“Better not to fall in love, for you might hit the floor and break yourself beyond repair, letter boy”

I fix myself a drink, and crawl my way up to a corner side to turn my hopes off. She breaks through the mass and heals my wound. A kiss. In the cheek. My queen and only, Nyx.

MAIDEN VOYAGE: THIRD CLASS (ENGLISH FLASH STORY) - Juan Francisco Pereira

MAIDEN VOYAGE: THIRD CLASS

If it weren't for the fact that they were just a young couple within an Italian-speaking minority surrounded by a mostly English-speaking environment, one could say that the experience so far had been unbeatable. The hustle and bustle of the kitchens working three times a day with British precision in an almost airtight environment with claustrophobic dyes did not bother them as much as the menu they were served.
"And is this worth four hundred American dollars?" - they wondered, laughing.
No one who has had the luxury of dining in Naples or Rome would ever doubt the fact that the palate of an Italian and his wife should seem quite demanding to any Irishman or Swede sitting in the same dining room, as if it were some sort of international convention of people from countries with deplorable economic conditions looking for a better life. Whatever happened, almost everyone had their hearts open to the same reality: to leave without looking back.
Later, after a short recreational walk and back to their suite, which was the smallest and yet most luxurious piece of steel they could have ever dreamed of, Clara Morricone, typist, and her fiancé, Giorgio "Gigi" Ferrau, a day labourer with a driving licence, a luxury at the time, although it is worth clarifying that his truck was not his, but that of the owner of the company he worked for. Tired of being trampled underfoot by their respective bosses, and after obtaining the blessing of Bagheria's most venerable elderly neighbors, the couple had decided to emigrate. Luckily, they had enough money to pay for two third-class tickets, because instead of two, three were migrating: the girl had been pregnant since early April. A scandal? No one could say. If the ship was really as fast as its owner boasted, then there would be no major inconvenience. Neither of them would be alone, no matter what: she had relatives in Hellskitchen among whom her older sister stood out, and he, numerous cousins in Brooklyn.

The young man's voice resounded within the four walls of their temporary residence, located on the starboard side of the floating palace, a few meters away from boiler number 6.

"It seems that it was yesterday when we met, and yet I feel as if every day I was discovering you, as if every time we talked I learned more about you, and instead of knowing you more I realized that you are really still a mystery to me, Clara, a mystery that I love to unravel every day of my life.

She mocked his words, and called him "an idiot," with a sweet, clear tone.

"I can't wait to get to New York. Seeing the sun, walking with you through the streets of the city. See my cousins... and your family, of course. I can't wait to marry you and baptize the child in gala dress."

The girl, upset, asked him, smiling:

"What makes you assume it will be a boy?"

And Gigi replied:

"The way it hits the walls of your belly... is a boy. I know.

She smiled again, and said:

"My mother always told me that when I was pregnant with me she thought I would be a child because of the way I turned. None of my brothers stole as many nights of her sleep as I did."

Then," he pointed out, "I am not surprised that I have taken hold of you in such a way; if, as I think I understand you, I certainly do, I don't see how I could convince you to cross the ocean... I (...) only regret that I couldn't do better than this for you.

She smiled one last time as he sought the shelter of her chest, sliding fourfold so as not to crush her with his weight, sheltering her body with his arms, kissing her tenderly.

***

The rudder was vibrating in the hands of officer Robert Hichens but the jolt was not felt so strongly on the upper decks. No one realized what was happening.

The sound of ice water at -2º C licking the skin of boiler nº 6 caused a frightening sound that shattered his ears.
Their room was shaken with enormous violence as they prepared to sleep; a chain of human errors driven by vanity had resulted in a cut of ninety-one meters in the length of the ship. The pressure differential between the black water entering at a rate of more than one thousand cubic tons per minute, pushing the air upwards, buried his paradise in a few minutes.

Maiden Voyage: Third Class (Español) - Juan Francisco Pereira

MAIDEN VOYAGE: THIRD CLASS

Si no fuera porque eran tan sólo una joven pareja dentro de una minoría de italo-hablantes rodeados por un ambiente mayoritariamente anglo-parlante, se podría decir que la experiencia hasta el momento había sido inmejorable. El bullicio de las cocinas trabajando tres veces al día con precisión británica en un ambiente prácticamente hermético con tintes claustrofóbicos no les molestaba tanto como el menú que les servían. 
"¿Y ésto vale cuatrocientos dólares americanos?" - se preguntaban, entre risas.
Ninguna persona que haya tenido el lujo de cenar en Nápoles o en Roma pondría jamás en duda el hecho de que el paladar de un italiano y su esposa debería parecerle bastante exigente a cualquier irlandés o sueco sentado en la misma sala-comedor, como si se tratase de una suerte de convención internacional de personas procedentes de países en condiciones económicas deplorables que buscaban una vida mejor. Pasara lo que pasara, casi todos tenían el pecho abierto ante una misma realidad: marcharse sin mirar atrás.
Más tarde, luego de un pequeño paseo recreacional y de vuelta a su suite, que era la pieza más lujosa y pequeña de acero con la que podrían haber soñado nunca, Clara Morricone, mecanógrafa, y su prometido, Giorgio "Gigi" Ferrau, jornalero con carnet para conducir, un lujo en aquella época, aunque merezca la pena aclarar que su camión no era suyo, sino de el dueño de la empresa para la que trabajaba. Cansados de ser pisoteados por sus respectivos jefes, y tras obtener la bendición de los venerables vecinos más ancianos ancianos de Bagheria, la pareja había decidido emigrar. Suerte que tuvieran el dinero suficiente para pagar dos pasajes de tercera clase, porque en vez de dos, migraban tres: la muchacha estaba embarazada desde principios de abril. ¿Un escándalo? Nadie podría afirmarlo. Si de verdad la nave era tan rápida como presumía su dueño, entonces no habría el mayor inconveniente. Ninguno de los dos estaría solo, pasara lo que pasara: ella tenía parientes en Hellskitchen entre los que destacaba su hermana mayor, y él, numerosos primos en Brooklyn.

La voz del joven resonaba entre las cuatro paredes de su residencia temporal, situada en el estribor del palacio flotante, a pocos metros de distancia de la caldera número 6.

"Parece que fue ayer cuando nos conocimos, y sin embargo siento como si cada día te fuese descubriendo, como si cada vez que hablásemos aprendiese más de tí, y en lugar de conocerte más me diese cuenta de que en realidad sigues siendo un misterio para mí, Clara, un misterio que amo desentrañar cada día de mi vida."

Ella se burló de sus palabras, y le llamó "idiota", con un tono dulce, claro.

"No puedo esperar a llegar a Nueva York. Ver el sol, caminar contigo por las calles de la ciudad. Ver a mis primos... y a tu familia, claro. No puedo esperar a casarme contigo y bautizar al niño, vestidos de gala."

La muchacha, contrariada, le preguntó, sonriendo:

"¿Qué te hace asumir que será un varón?"

Y Gigi le contestó:

"La forma en la que golpea las paredes de tu vientre... es un varón. Lo sé."

Ella volvió a sonreír, y le dijo:

"Mi madre siempre me decía que cuando estaba embarazada de mí pensaba que sería un niño por la forma en la que me revolvía. Ninguno de mis hermanos le robó tantas noches el sueño como lo hice yo."

"Entonces -señaló él- no me sorprende, pues, que me haya prendado de tí en semejante forma; si como creo entenderte, lo hago ciertamente, no veo cómo pudiese convencerte para cruzar el océano... yo (...) sólo lamento no haber podido conseguir algo mejor que ésto para tí."

Ella sonrió una última vez mientras él buscaba el cobijo de su pecho, deslizándose cuatelosamente para no aplastarla con su peso, abrigando su cuerpo con sus brazos, besándola tiernamente.

***

El timón vibraba entre las manos del oficial Robert Hichens pero la sacudida no se sintió tan fuertemente en las cubiertas superiores. Ninguna persona se dió cuenta de lo que estaba ocurriendo.
El sonido del agua helada a -2º C lamiendo la piel de la caldera número seis provocó un sonido espantoso que destrozó sus oídos. 
Su habitación fue sacudida con enorme violencia mientras se preparaban para dormir; una cadena de errores humanos impulsados por la vanidad había resultado en un tajo de noventa y un metros en la eslora del barco. El diferencial de presión entre el agua negra que entraba a razón de más de mil toneladas cúbicas por minuto, empujando el aire hacia arriba sepultó en pocos minutos su paraíso.