Die @ MindSay 
death
Quem nunca ouviu falar em Ronald Biggs? A história do ladrão inglês está intimamente ligada com nosso país: em 1963, junto com alguns comparsas, ele assaltou o trem pagador que seguia de Glasgow até Londres. Estima-se que o bando tenha levado 2,6 milhões de libras. Conhecido como o assalto do século, o crime foi cometido sem nenhum disparo de arma de fogo – e sem nenhuma vítima fatal.
No começo de 1964, Biggs é preso e condenado a 30 anos de prisão. Ele cumpriu apenas 15 meses da pena na penitenciária de Wandsworth, no sul de Londres. Após fugir da prisão, Ronnie passou por cirurgia plástica, assumiu identidades falsas e viveu em diversos países até desembarcar no Rio de Janeiro em março de 1970 (motivado pelo fato do Brasil não possuir tratado de extradição com o Reino Unido). Aqui, o ladrão inglês constituiu família com Raimunda Nascimento de Castro. O casal teve um filho: Michael “Mike” Biggs que, anos depois, integraria o conjunto Balão Mágico.
Biggs virou atração turística na cidade e sempre atendia aqueles que o procuravam; cobrando 50 dólares por cada foto tirada com um turista. Em seu livro de fotografias, “I’ll Be Watching You – Inside the Police (1980-83)”, o guitarrista Andy Summers incluiu algumas imagens do grupo ao lado de Ronnie e do pequeno Mike – quando eles vieram ao país para se apresentar no Ginásio do Maracanãzinho, em 1982. E reza a lenda que Ozzy Osbourne também o visitou em janeiro de 1985, durante a primeira edição do Rock in Rio.
A incursão do ladrão inglês na música teve início em 1974. Biggs convidou seu amigo Bruce Henri (baixista do Soma que, naquele mesmo ano, havia participado do disco/show “O Banquete dos Mendigos” com a música “P.F.”) a criar a trilha sonora para um filme baseado em sua vida. Henri topou e, junto com os músicos Jaime Shields (guitarra), Nivaldo Ornellas (flauta, sax e clarinete) e Áureo de Souza (bateria) gravaram as canções de “Mailbag Blues – Ronnie Biggs’ Story”. O nome do álbum faz menção à cantoria dos presos londrinos que, no presídio, eram mantidos ocupados costurando sacos de correio.
Registrado num pequeno estúdio de 4 canais localizado no Leblon, o disco traz uma fusão do jazz com o rock. Todas as faixas são instrumentais e a produção é creditada a Ronald Biggs e Bruce Henri. As nove músicas – com títulos como “London ‘63”, “Courtyard Strut”, “New Dawn” e “Liberdade” – foram compostas pela dupla Henri/Shields. Segundo Henri, eles não permitiram que Biggs cantasse porque ele tinha uma “voz horrível”. O filme nunca foi rodado e várias gravadoras recusaram o lançamento de “Mailbag Blues” (pois nenhuma companhia queria estar associada à figura controversa de Ronnie).
Na década de 1990, Bruce recebeu do proprietário do estúdio a master daquelas gravações. O selo inglês Whatmusic editou o disco em 2004 e o lançamento chegou a ser resenhado na seção “Filter – Buried Treasure” da revista Mojo.
Em 1978, ocorreria a maior colaboração de Biggs no universo musical: as gravações com Steve Jones (guitarra) e Paul Cook (bateria), membros do recém-finado Sex Pistols. A dupla passou quase um mês no Rio, gravando “No One is Innocent” – também conhecida como “The Biggest Blow – A Punk Prayer”, composta por Ronnie – e “Belsen was a Gas”; enquanto o cineasta Julien Temple registrava cenas para o filme “The Great Rock'N'Roll Swindle” (arquitetado por Malcolm McLaren). As sessões em estúdio no Brasil aconteceram pouco depois da última apresentação dos Pistols.
A passagem pelo Rio de Janeiro ainda rendeu boas histórias: Jones e Cook foram a um show de Raul Seixas no Teatro Tereza Rachel, em Copacabana, e saíram no meio (porque acharam uma porcaria) e Malcolm sofreu um acidente de trânsito, batendo o Fusca que ele mesmo dirigia em um poste – o empresário, aliás, levou alguns pontos num pronto-socorro carioca.
“Conheci os meninos a pedido de Malcolm, que queria que eu escrevesse uma letra para eles. Daí surgiu ‘No One is Innocent’. Me pagaram 2 mil dólares e disseram que era ‘para uma coisinha caseira, à toa’. Depois descobri que a tal coisinha tinha vendido quase oito milhões de cópias”, relembra o ladrão inglês em entrevista à Showbizz (edição 133, nº 8, AGO/1996). “Malcolm é um pilantra fodido. Eles vieram na minha casa em Sepetiba e me chamaram para ‘join in the fun’ (juntar-se à diversão). Entrei, cantei e me pagaram mil doletas pela participação no filme”.
Já em 1991, foi a vez dos alemães do Die Toten Hosen desembarcarem no Rio para gravar com Biggs. Ele compôs a música “Carnival in Rio (Punk Was)”, lançada num single que também incluía uma nova versão de “No One is Innocent” e ainda “Police on my Back” (gravada originalmente pelo Clash). O videoclipe de “Carnival in Rio” foi rodado com câmeras emprestadas – pois a alfândega brasileira exigiu uma taxa muito alta para liberar o equipamento de filmagens deles – e traz cenas curiosas da banda, acompanhada por Ronnie, passeando nos arcos da Lapa e no bondinho de Santa Teresa. Durante a turnê do álbum “Learning English, Lesson One”, o Die Toten Hosen voltou ao Brasil e se apresentou no bar do ladrão inglês.
Ronald Biggs gravou para o selo Rock It!, de Dado Villa-Lobos (ex-guitarrista do Legião Urbana) um single em 2001, que continha a faixa “Run 2 Rio (Edu K Remix)” e uma versão de “Police and Thieves” (novamente do Clash); onde Biggs manda um recado para aqueles que sempre o perseguiram: “Vai pra puta que o pariu!” – dito em bom português! No mesmo ano, no dia 05 de maio, o The Sun anunciava a volta de Ronnie ao Reino Unido. O tablóide sensacionalista enviou um jatinho ao Rio de Janeiro especialmente para buscá-lo (em troca da exclusividade da história que, segundo consta, teria custado 44,000 libras). Ele foi preso assim que desembarcou na Inglaterra.
Em agosto passado, Jack Straw – ministro da Justiça do Reino Unido – anunciou a libertação do ladrão inglês. A saúde dele (agora com 80 anos) se deteriorou bastante desde o retorno voluntário a seu país de origem. Ele já quase não fala e ainda recebe alimentação por meio de uma sonda. Nos últimos anos, Biggs foi vítima de uma série de ataques cardíacos, derrames e crises epilépticas. O fim de Ronnie parece estar cada vez mais próximo.
LEIA:
– O Mais Procurado dos Homens, Collin Mackenzie, Nova Época Editorial, 1976.
– Eu Sou Mike Biggs – A Liberdade de Meu Pai, Maria Emilia Pickston, Rio Enterprises, 1983.
ASSISTA:
Sex Pistols e Ronald Biggs – No One is Innocent
Die Toten Hosen e Ronald Biggs – Carnival in Rio (Punk Was)
Entrevista com Ronald Biggs em 1994
OUÇA:
Ronald Biggs – Run 2 Rio (Edu K Remix)
Ronald Biggs – Police and Thieves
Died of anal cancer. that must have been a painful death. :(
We all shall miss her.
Michael Jackson died too.
March 9th, 2009
Emily G. Fieldus
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Dear Mother and Father,
I want to apologize for taking you for granted. It seems like ever since I’ve entered this war, that I’ve been regretting every time for the days when I haven’t told you that I loved you. It’s amazing what a war like this can make you feel. I’m going to be honest in this letter. Nothing but completely honest.
Living in a trench is ten times worse than what others say it is. I’m constantly wet. Soaked. I can’t remember how it feels to be dry. It’s been that long, even though it feels like I waved good-bye to you and entered this endless battle only yesterday.
I’m sunken in up to my ankles in thick mud; which I have been trudging through just to reach the other end of this smelly trench. The smell is worse than anything else I have ever smelled. It makes me gag, but I can’t hide my nose because my hands are already holding onto my gun. It feels like they will not let go.
There is no escape from the swallowing embrace of the monster that is sprawled out along the ground, waiting to capture the most unaware of soldiers. I’ve seen my fellow men get snagged by their feet. Trapped within the arms of this unremorseful creature, they desperately extend their arms for help – screaming to be saved until their throat goes numb. All we can do, time after time, is stand – weapons in arms – frozen in fear as we watch them slowly, gradually, being pulled under. I have waited endlessly for them to surface. Nothing. Not even a man’s helmet. It never takes me long to realize that the lost and stolen ones will not return. The men continue to push me forward as I stand there silently, taking a small moment to mourn. They shove me in the back, ordering me to keep moving forward with their heavy, thundering voices.
You would think the mud would drown and cover everything it sees. But it doesn’t.
The vile, spat out remains of what the mud did not enjoy is all over the trench walls and floor. Nothing but unpleasant sights. Ones that remain within your mind forever.
Rats. Hundreds. Millions of them are gnawing at anything they can get at with their short, pointy claws and miniscule but dangerous jaws. They stare endlessly at me with their glowing, red eyes – and I know they are waiting for my downfall. From dawn until dusk, they are waiting for me. Waiting for me to hit the ground and lose; so they can feed their already-grotesque and enlarging bellies with my uniform fabric and freshly rotting flesh.
They have infested the trench. Nobody ever goes a minute without having a small pack of rats nibbling sharply at their awfully worn shoes and dead corpses that are spread out along the bottom of our hideout. It’s like these creatures were delivered by the devil, himself.
It takes a strong man to stare at these rats, and watch them eat away at a deceased corpse that once used to stand beside you in this fierce battle and not grimace in utter disgust. Or not furrow their eyebrows. Or even move a single muscle within their face. I am not one of these men. I can’t help but turn away; torn, shattered, and broken at the sight of these rats feeding off the dead flesh off a soldier’s bones. My memory will not be rid of the brave souls that gave it their all, even if they were yet to strike our enemy.
Lice have infested my hair and clothing. I always get an often urge to itch and scratch, but I can’t. I can’t lose my life to something as silly as wanting to cure the itch. Getting rid of these pests is impossible. Not even an iron and board can get rid of them. The infestation is immortal. They live within the stitches and fibers of my uniform, and my body heat keeps them alive. They bask within the strands of my hair, and feast on my cold scalp. These insects cause me to itch non-stop, but I am learning to resist these pressed urges and remain to keep my focus attached to this nightmare.
There is also a strange infection that has already grabbed many soldiers. They call it the ‘Trench Foot’. It’s the consequence to keeping our feet poorly kept; that is our fault. But we can’t help it. We are here for war, not to complain about such petty things. I have seen men get sent away due to this disease, and have the afflicted limb amputated. I have a strong feeling deep in my gut that I am this monster’s next target.
I have also watched soldiers grow insane due to the traumatisation of this war. Some call it ‘Shell Shock’. These warriors would scream in such agony, clutching their aching heads, pleading for everything to stop. The sights and the sounds. The piercing whistles of fired bullets, and the deafening explosions from the mines. The blood splattered sand our feet swiftly sweep across, and the dead bodies that lie there. Untouched and left behind for natural disasters to rid them of their current locations. I have watched these poor souls be driven away to asylums, knowing that they will never return to a relaxed state of mind ever again.
Men are slowly being reduced to young boys. Fear never releases our minds, and our nightmares as knee-high children are restored to life day by day. The overpowering scent of death is everywhere. Not a single soldier gets a break to ease our minds of this hell on earth. Relaxing doesn’t exist, and even though all may seem calm in the hours of night, our minds are still alert – attached to the victorious sounds of squealing bullets and the screams of death from our foes. My dirty and sweaty hands itch to pull the triggers of guns, and my blistered feet are eternally sore.
Nothing matters when you are in war. Nobody cares if you have a wife, or have children back at home. Nobody matters where you came from, how many languages you speak, or if you excel at arithmetic or have read several Shakespearean plays. Nobody cares if you are rich or poor, or how many friends you have lost in this feud. All that matters is where your aim is, where you’re stepping, and how long you can continue to stay alive.
But don’t worry. I’m okay.
I love you.
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Dixie currently feels:
Depressed
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Blog #7
When I'm not there...
I just knew that today would be shit from the second I fucking woke up.
Well, I woke up at quarter past seven - mam told me to go back to bed, dad would take me college - I didn't actually have to be there until three - but he took me at half ten - Shelly wanted to see me, apparently so I could go into town with her and Ashleigh.
So I went in early, sat at the tables for a while on my own. Lewis came down from his C block lesson and sat with me for a bit. Ashleigh turned up in her waistcoat and blouse (and looked SO cute), and five minutes later Shelly turned up as well.
Ashleigh went to A block lesson when Lewis did - Shelly decided to nick off out of hers.
Zoe turned up - I barely know her, but she's known Shelly for years upon end, so it seems.
She makes me laugh though, she talks about interesting shit with a weird accent. She really doesn't sound like she's from around here.
Though even so - just like yesterday with Sophie, they were having conversations I couldn't fucking join in with.
I'd brought my DS with me today - because I'm oddly addicted to Mario Party DS - so I was sat playing that with my iPod on full in both ears.
Michaella turned up and sat with us for a bit - she made me feel ever-so-slightly better, but I still felt like shite.
After she'd gone - the learning difficulties mob showed up - so Shelly moved the table down - but then they all came and sat around the table with us - so I just walked away, went at sat on the benches at the opposite end of the ground floor.
I have nothing against them - I just feel so fucking uncomfortable when total strangers swarm around me. I like to have my own space - and if it's to be invaded - it's invaded by the select few I feel moderatley safe around.
Shelly followed me - came and sat with me on the bench and tried hugging me. I wouldn't hug her back. She got upset, I had a go at her - every time she gets upset, she blames herself for upsetting me when she never ever fucking does.
So we moved down onto the round tables.
Some random woman came up to us, started waffling on about the vaccination for cervical cancer that they're giving out next week.
I don't want the needle, but I don't really want the cancer either. It's one less I can prevent.
Ash showed up shortly after and she said she'll come and get it too - as she's 18 and I'm 17, we can both get it, but Shelly can't.
Apparently you can ask to be seen in a private room, so I'll ask if I can go in with Ash whilst we have ours done. She said she'd hold my hand.
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We went into town - I bought a can of Lucozade, but it didn't make me hyper in the slightest.
I shouldn't drink it when I feel depressed to begin with - I think it ends up making me worse...
We sat on the benches, Ash gave me some of her muffin - I took out the raspberry and threw that to the pigeons.
Then randomly, this lad - David as it were - who Shelly never stops fucking going on about - who was at college with them both last year turns up. I'd heard he'd supposably moved - but obviously fucking not.
I felt so bad for poor Ashleigh though - she called out to him to say hi and he fucking ignored her - the ginger cunt. He had no problem cuddling up to Shelly for like five minutes though. I was just staring at Ash, feeling bad for her being ignored by the wanker.
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All seemed moderate for the 45 minutes we sat on the benches near the town entrance before we went to Photography.
Once again, Paul wasn't in - but this time, NOBODY bothered coming except the three of us.
So we were in the computer room on our own again.
I messed around on Blogthings for a while, then found one of those revolving office chairs and skated around the room on it for about ten minutes, listening to my iPod at full blast.
(Perhaps that was the little hyper burst from the Lucozade that would shortly be ruined.)
I sat back down behind Ash, beside Shelly - she started trying to hug me again, I told her to stop.
She asked me what was wrong, I told her she knew.
She identified three of the main problems - one was quite inventive - tapping the back of Ash's wheelchair as an indication to my paranoia problem and wishing she would love me.
One thing that would make me happy, if only for a second, is Ashleigh saying "I love you" to me.
But it won't happen. She says it to Shelly - she never says it to me.
Shelly knows - Ash was saying something earlier, and Shelly stood up for me saying summat like "Oh, include her as well" - but it's slipped my mind what it was.
Either way, I started getting really pissed off - Ash was just sat there in her usual silent way, Shelly was interrogating me for all she was fucking worth.
Then she started on the: "Oh, let's blame myself, it's all my fault Dixie's depressed - oh, it's got nothing to do with her parents hating her, her best friend walking off and leaving her, her failing at everything she tries - it's all my fault, even though I do fuck all to upset her" lark.
The thing with her is, I'll say something like "Oh, I don't know why you want to be friends with me."
Shelly will say something like: "I want you to hate me."
IT'S A BIT FUCKING DIFFERENT.
So I got my bus fare out, put my iPod in my pocket, put my backpack on and tried to leave.
Shelly kept blocking me - trying to fucking hug me over and over again.
Once I saw an opening - I think she was hugging Ash because she'd started to get upset - I just legged it and went down the stairs and out.
I was half expecting them to cut me off at the lift - but they didn't.
On the bus, I got three texts - one from Adam, one from Shelly and one from Ash.
Shelly's said she'd made Ash cry. That made me fucking FUME.
I cry all the time, so does Shelly - but Ash never cries. She must have said something really fucking bad to make her.
Ash said she'd be on MSN.
In effect, it said "no MSN tonight", but I texted her back asking if that was meant to say "on MSN tonight", and it was. I'm starting to decode the dyslexic texting errors now.
Adam was saying he was excited because there was a Japanese woman behind him at the train station.
So typical of Adam, bless him.
Ash should be on MSN now, but her internet's apparently died. So fucking typical, the one time I need to talk to her.
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If my parents hadn't been in when I came home, I would have cut myself badly.
Saying that, they're not in now... Does the temptation strike me enough...?
Sigh, I have to see Dianne again tomorrow - and I just have too much to fucking talk about.
I've gone 8+ sessions without crying, but I think I might actually snap and end up doing it tomorrow.
...Then I'm going to sit in the LRC and hope those two don't find me for a while.
Here's the plan:
If Ash comes alone and finds me:
- I stay there until Shelly comes, and the moment she upsets me or tries to hug me, I leave instantly.
If Shelly comes alone and finds me:
- I leave instantly.
If they both come and find me:
- I leave instantly.
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And another fucking issue:
I have a friend who I talk to who's from Peru. He has a lot of the same problems I do - with self-harming and the like.
He told me I need to have sex to cheer myself up.
There's three things wrong with this statement:
1. The only person who would have sex with me, I don't want to have sex with them AT ALL - and there's nobody else who would want to fucking go anywhere near me.
2. I hate myself so much, I couldn't bring myself to accept love from anybody else.
3. I'd be so self-concious and scared, it would make me feel so much fucking worse.
Then he admits he wants to have sex with me too.
Nice one - another fucking male going after the lesbian.
I used to have cybersex a lot with a lad from Newcastle (which is only like A FUCKING HOUR AWAY), but I think I was a bit bi-curious at the time.
I don't know why he fuck he likes me - there's nothing to fucking like.
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Today gets thumbs down. 
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