July 23rd, 1993

I'm listening to this show. 
It's hard to realize that it was recorded 26 years ago, on July 23rd, 1993. 

It is surrounded by stories. 

Supposedly, Kurt Cobain overdosed before the show. 
As far as I remember, Krist Novoselic has confirmed it. 

Supposedly, MTV recorded the entire show. 
At least, several clips of the show –including excerpts of Scentless Apprentice, Milk It, Come As You Are and Lithium– appeared soon after, regularly on MTV. 

Fans have been waiting for an official release of this show. 
Paramount Theatre, Reading Festival and Live & Loud –three of the long awaited shows of the short career of Nirvana– were finally released after 30 years or so. 

Rumors about official releases of Hollywood Rock Festival (1993) and Paradiso (1991) appear on almost every Nirvana Fanbase on the internet. 
They seem to be just rumors.

Though From The Muddy Banks Of The Wishkah (1997) includes some rad versions of the most famous songs of the band in soundboard quality and though Krist Novoselic personally listened to entire shows and then selected a bunch of songs –supposedly, he even traded shows on the internet with fans–, it's unlikely that someday, some of these shows be available on its entirety as official releases for fans.  

I hope to be wrong. 

How would it be to have an official Roseland Ballroom release...?
How would it be to have an official release of Nirvana's last show in Seattle, four months before Kurt Cobain's corpse had been found on the greenhouse at his home in Lake Washington...?

On the internet, it's easy to find out several versions of the Roseland Ballroom show. 
Most of them were recorded with lo fi devices. 
People who attended to it, say it was a really intense show. 

Nirvana was about to release In Utero. 
Does anyone imagined that it would be their last studio album...?

The band had recently declared that they refused to make songs in the style of the multi-awarded Nevermind. 
They even had hired Steve Albini and they were so happy with the rough sound of In Utero.

Fans and media were starved for another Nirvana record and they were so impressed by the new songs.  

The recording of the upcoming album was also surrounded by stories. 

Supposedly, Geffen executives didn't like the original album version and so they forced Nirvana to hire Scott Litt to re-arranged a couple of songs –All Apologies, Pennyroyal Tea and Heart-shaped box... 

Supposedly, Radio Friendly Unit Shifter was the way the band made the audience to notice the censure of the record company they were forced to deal with.  

On this show, Nirvana played several songs of In Utero –Very Ape, Milk It, Scentless Apprentice, tourette's... – and they even invited John "Big" Duncan to the stage, to play a few songs as a second guitarist. 

Pat Smear was still not part of the band, but Kurt Cobain had spoken about the need to have a second guitarist to the rest of the band. 

John "Big" Duncan then was the guitar tech of Kurt Cobain. 

Duncan was so close to the leader of Nirvana that he recently has told to the media that Kurt was about to change from Stratocaster to Telecaster and that he wasn't really satisfied with the sound of the Jagstang that Fender had customized for him.  

I'm listening to an incomplete version of the Roseland Ballroom show, but it has soundboard quality. 
It includes excerpts of Scentless Apprentice and Rape Me.
It also includes Blew, School, Aneurysm, Come As You Are, Breed, Lithium and Drain You.

The picture I uploaded to this post, reminds me of one of the volumes of the Outcesticide collection that was illegally released soon after Kurt Cobain's death. 

I bought a bunch of Outcesticides when I was a teenager.

The one I refer to included the extended crazy version of Scentless Apprentice that Nirvana played in Rio de Janeiro in 1993. 

Today, I'm pretty sad and angst. 

I started to write a novel almost six years ago.
I submitted it to a contest a year ago. 
I submitted it to another contest on April. 

Between contests, I reviewed it several times.
This last time, the reviewing process almost made me crazy.
My entire life was devoted to the novel. 
It became some sort of obsession.
I became obsessive-compulsive to it. 

After a couple of weeks on my new job, the University was closed due to a strike.
The strike lasted for three months and I was broke and trying to deal with it, working as if money didn't matter to me.

I was really desperate and frustrated when I reviewed and re-wrote the novel and so I put all of my feelings on it. It might sound stupid, but I put my heart and my rage on it.

The novel has a solid structure. I worked on it for almost six years.
I've been writing since I was born. It's complicated to explain why I'm not another guy writing and pretending to be outstanding. Sometimes I think I really need to make friends with editors. 

The results of the last contest were announced today. 
A woman with 6K followers on Twitter won the contest. 
She also won another contest on the last years. 
She was also involved on some sort of TV show. 

This contest was meant to be for young writers. 
The last year a guy with a high-level scholarship for writers, won the contest. 
I understood that a "young writer" was more close to describe an "unknown writer" than to describe "a writer with few publications", but, maybe, I'm wrong. 

I just want to make it clear: one way or another, one day I will publish this or another novel. 

Distill The Life That's Inside Of Me

Twenty five years ago, Nirvana's MTV Unplugged In New York was recorded. 
It was meant to be release as a double album, including this acoustic set and an electric live set. 

(Due to Cobain's death, the album was released almost one year later as a single album. From The Muddy Banks Of The Wishkah, released in 1996, was supposed to be the other half of this double album.) 

It was 1994' Christmas Eve, when I listened this album for the first time.
It had a month or so in stores. 

My dad gave us money as a Christmas gift. 
He drove us to a store where my brother and I used to buy music. 
My brother bought Kiss My Ass: Classic Kiss Regrooved. It was a tribute album on which several artists such as Lenny Kravitz, Lemonheads, Anthrax, Gin Blossoms and Dinosaur Jr. covered Kiss' songs. 

I bought Unplugged In New York on cassette. 

There were a couple of posters of the album cover in the store.
Though it was the first time I saw this propaganda, it called my attention. 
The band looked so mysterious and focused on the concert. 
They didn't seem the classic punk rockers I thought they were supposed to look like. 
Grohl was in the back of the drum set. Novoselic at the left. Smear at the right. Cobain in the middle, wearing a fuzzy cardigan, jeans and Converse sneakers, looked so attractive. 

Immediately, I wanted the album so bad and I was afraid that copies were unavailable. 
Still remember the chills it provoked me to watch it in stock. 

For the last six months, I just had listened Nevermind from a cassette a friend of mine had recorded for me. I wanted to have my first Nirvana album. 

It was a sad Christmas Eve. It was cold and dry. 
My parents wanted that my grandparents went to our house to have dinner with us, but at the last hour they called by the phone and said that they wouldn't be with us. 
My grandparents didn't like each other a lot. 

My mom served the dinner on the table.
My dad had a long face. 
His sadness was so contagious. 
He stood up and hang up the telephone. 

As dinner was cooling on the table and my dad was trying to convince her mother to accompany us, my mom was in the kitchen.
She murmured something. Maybe she couldn't believe that my dad was more concerned about his mother than about his sons. 

I took advantage of the moment and I put some whiskey on a glass. 
It was just a taste, not even a quarter of the glass. 

I stood up and walked away. 
I climbed the stairs, hiding the glass of whiskey underneath my cozy jacket. 

When I arrived to my room, I closed the door and I put the cassette on my old player -it was a late 80's Panasonic with a turntable included- and sat on the floor.  

I was naive to live albums, so it was a big surprise to listen to the crowd clapping at the beginning of the album. 
I was also naive to Unplugged albums, so it was a big surprise to listen Kurt Cobain speaking to the audience at the beginning of the first song.

About A Girl blew my mind. 

Thought how was it possible that a noisy band as Nirvana had so nice and quiet songs. 
I wanted to have a guitar and to learn how to play that song. 

I took a sip of whiskey. 
It was so hot that I almost cough. 
It hurt my throat so bad. 

Wondered how was it possible that people drove wild with that kind of alcohol. 
It seemed to be a beverage for outlaws. 
I was 14 years old and all I had drank was a beer or two, in a party of my old high school classmates. 

Come As You Are sounded so quiet and different from the Nevermind version. 
The drums sounded so quiet, too. 
Cobain's voice sounded a lot more emotive, too. 

At the end of the song, Cobain spoke again. He introduced the next song. It was a cover of a band called The Vaselines and it was a rendition of an old Christian song. 
It was included an accordion. 

Then Cobain spoke again. He guaranteed that he will screw the next song. 
It will be a cover of David Bowie's The Man Who Sold The World. 
At times, the feedback was so notorious that it didn't seem an acoustic concert. 

Cobain said that he will performed the next song by himself. 

Pennyroyal Tea gave the chills. 
I took another sip of whiskey and felt that alcohol was having an effect on me.
Obviously, it was just my impression. 
(Did I mention that I just served less than a quarter of whiskey in the glass?) 

I desired to be in that concert, listening to Kurt Cobain almost breaking through this song. 
Also I wanted to have a guitar and to learn how to play this song. 

On my cassette version of Unplugged In New York, is available an unedited version of Pennyroyal Tea. Cobain got wrong in the last part of the song. It was so evident and also so emotive. It reflected for a brief period a nervous guy singing to a bunch of strangers and whose nerves made him to forget the song. 

The side A of the cassette ended up after Dumb and Polly. 
Dumb sounded so sad. It seemed to me that it was about a drug addict feeling hopeless. 
The sound of cello was new for me. Never had thought that it could fit so nice in a supposed punk band. 
Polly was not my favorite. Thought it sounded better on the original version, maybe 'cause it was originally an acoustic song. 

Side B started with clapping and soft drumming. 
The acoustic version of On A Plain left me speechless. 
The original version of Nevermind was so noisy that I couldn't even pay attention to the lyrics and to the bass lines. 

I couldn't stop imagine myself in that concert. 
  

Like Blue Vibration Through The Sea

This is a recurrent dream on which I'm always in my old bedroom.

Though I know it is my old bedroom, it is so different from the real one. 

I'm late to get somewhere and I'm trying to clean up my bedroom. 

Somehow, I sense that the house is built from West to East, rather than from North to South. Everything changes accordingly. 

I feel sort of mad about time. I hate my routine. 

My old bedroom has a big fancy bed with a wooden-dark brown base. The mattress is yellowish and makes me ill. Everything is painted in pale blue. 

A big lamp is on and it irradiates a yellowish light, too.

The atmosphere is cold. 

My nose is like an ice. 

With my naked feet, I sense a soft and warm carpet. 

This is new. A carpet of the color of Cappuccino coffee expands through all the floor's bedroom. The caress is so cozy that I hate to be awake. 

I would love to go back to bed.

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It seems that it is pretty early in the morning. 

Maybe it is about to dawn. 

It seems one of those December days' of my first year as an undergraduate student. 

I used to wake up early in the morning. 

All my classes started at 7: 00 a.m. 

Sometimes I hated school. 

Especially on Sundays, I had nightmares about getting involved in the school with dangerous guys. They sold drugs and porno movies. I owed them money.

They always locked me inside a fridge and everything I did to escape was useless. 

I woke up feverishly from those dreams.  

At school, I felt out of place. 

My classmates were so dumb and I was so fake. 

They came from private schools and they were always talking about Europe and fancy restaurants. I had a bad temper, but pretended to be nice all the time. 

I was so angst about my future.

I just wanted to meet someone with whom I could speak about music and literature. 

I was convinced that all I wanted to do was to be a writer and there I was, studying a scientific career, dealing with silly guys who were crazy about having patients to tell them how to conduct their lives. 

I was about to leave my old bedroom, when Theresa came in. 

(Dunno why I dreamed about her. 

I always look for an explanation when someone appears out of nowhere in my dreams. 

So far, I haven't figured it out why did she appear on this dream. On the previous day, I didn't think of her, neither saw her or spoke to her. Guess she just kind of thought of me.) 

As she walks into my old bedroom, a strange sexual energy floods the stay. 

I sense that sexual energy through my naked feet. Somehow, I also smell it through my skin. It makes me feel so alive. It makes me forget about my awful routine. 

She smiles. Her lips look so fleshy. 

It seems that we have an unfinished deal and that she just came back to get over it. 

She looked prettier than she looks in the real world, but despite so I don't find her especially attractive.

Theresa is in front of me. So close to me. 

A few millimeters away from me. I can sense through my skin that she's so excited. 

She says something about the mattress or the furniture of my old bedroom. 

I try to say something, too. 

All of a sudden, she puts her hands so close to my crotch in a very sexual way.

She sighs so deeply. Then, she sticks her tongue out and licks her lips discreetly.  

Her attitude makes me feel so excited. 

I know I could make her everything I wanted to. 

Her body language says so. I feel about to have a heart attack.

I notice that she wears a yellowish turtle neck sweater.

Even though Theresa has a big breast in the real world, in my dream she's not.  

We kiss. 

She is so close to me that I feel her breast. It's less impressive than I had thought. 

Her hands are still on my crotch. I can't avoid to feel excited about her touch. 

Again, I know that I could make her everything I wanted to. 

Theresa smiles. I feel her saliva on my lips.

I don't enjoy the sensation. It makes feel dirty and low.

She leaves the bedroom and I walk behind her. 

I tell her I'm about to leave the house and she says that it is so unfair. 

She says that we started something and that we have to finish it. 

She says that I started the fire and now I just turned off the heat. 

Theresa smiles again, but this time I focus on her teeth. 

They're so yellowish and crooked. 

I feel nauseous. 

Woke up at 6: 00 a.m. from this dream, fed the kitties and started to write. 

Theresa's Sound-World

She Ripped My Heart Out And Gave It To Me

I was just a moron with walkman and grungy clothes.  

I must have been fourteen years old. 
All I cared about was rock n' roll music. 

All I did was listening music and writing silly songs on a notebook I lost at some point.

I wanted so badly to play in a band, but I didn't even own an electric guitar nor I had friends interested on music, in the way I was. 

I wrote day and night: in classes, between classes, after taking a nap in my bedroom, before I get to bed, as soon as I woke up in the morning... 

I was obsessed with writing songs.  

A few months before I met Claudia, my dad had bought me an acoustic guitar.

It was a cheap guitar. It was enormous and heavy. 
I'd changed the strings of the guitar so I could play it as a lefty.

I'd learned how to play some Nirvana songs. 

To find an electric left-handed guitar was so difficult. I'd tried to learn how to play guitar with my right hand, but I'd failed. 

I felt I was a terrible guitarist. 
I couldn't even play three chords' songs.
I felt I lacked rhythm to play the guitar.  

Nevertheless, I was convinced that all I needed it to improve my artistic skills was an electric guitar. I knew electric guitars weren't heavy and enormous. 

One day, a cousin went to our house with a left-handed Ibanez.

Dunno how he got it. All I knew was that he was involved on dark businesses.

He wanted $2, 500 MXN for that aquatic green left-handed Ibanez. 

The guitar was beautiful. It looked like the one Alejandro Marcovich played in the recording of El Nervio del Volcán. It was so cheap. 

In the very few music stores that I could find left-handed guitars, they were sort of expensive: their price fluctuated around $8, 000 MXN... or more!!! 

Even though my dad could buy it for me, it seemed an outrageous and an unnecessary expense. What about my little brothers...?

Dunno why my mom believed I was so stupid, but definitely she believed it. She was convinced that I would quit school and that I would become a junkie, if she bought me that electric guitar. 

Maybe she also suspected that the Ibanez was a stolen guitar and she didn't want to buy a stolen item, but I begged her. I desired that guitar. I imagined myself playing it day after day, just right after I came back from school. I imagined myself playing it for entire afternoons. 

My mom told my cousin she was able to pay $2, 000 MXN for the guitar.
My cousin was so greedy and he refused the offer.

I had to wait nearly ten years to buy my first electric left-handed guitar, with my own money... but that's another story I could write about it some day.   

I was so sad. I desired that guitar, even though Ibanez wasn't my first option. 

I preferred Fender guitars. I would have loved to have a black Stratocaster with a black pickguard or a sunburst Jaguar '65, like those Kurt Cobain made famous.  

I was focused on my sadness, when I saw Claudia for the very first time. 

She walked slowly through the schoolyard. 

It was a sunny middle day. The sun rays were febrile and they made me ill.

Suddenly, she appeared out of nowhere and became a shining star.  

I felt nauseous, I lost my mind and thought I was about to have a heart-attack. 
Though nauseas had been common since I was a kid, those nauseas were pretty different, almost like chills crawling right up my spine. The heart-attack sensation was totally new. 

I felt immediately attracted to her, as she walked thru the schoolyard.
Claudia's hair was brown and very brushed. 
It shined like a meteor. 
Her skin was the most white skin I had ever seen in my entire life. 
It was so white that I could almost felt my eyes burning. 

She was like a strange cold sun. 

For a while, we looked at each other. 

She smiled at me. 

Nauseas, heart beats and the illusion of my eyes getting burned, increased. 

Some guys followed her steps.
They looked so dumb. They looked like generic elementary school boys. 

For a moment I could see some of them drooling like thirsty Pavlovian dogs.

A few days later, Claudia and myself crossed in one of the alleys of the school.

I felt like a thirsty Pavlovian dog, too. My breathing rhythm became irregular.

Nauseas, heart beats and the illusion of my eyes getting burned, increased. 

She really was like a strange cold sun. 

Dunno how I had the guts to do it, but suddenly I touched one of her shoulders and I asked her if we could speak. 

She was so surprised, but she accepted. 

I had been thinking of her for an entire week, so I had spoken to her in my mind several times.

I asked her what was her name.

I must have told her: “Like the girl Lestat turned into a vampire...?”

She must have smiled. Or she must have thought I was an idiot. 

From then, we spoke almost on a daily basis for a month or so. 

Everything was ok, until I told her that I liked her so much.

She adopted a pretty different attitude. 
She became so serious. She told me that she had a baby.

I was so surprised. She looked so young. 

Immediately, I envisioned how was her life. 

Probably their parents take care of the baby while she was at school. 

I even imagined myself carrying her baby. 

When I digested the idea, I focused on her face.

She was in silence, but it was so obvious. 

I saw it on her eyes.

Her eyes said:

“You're just a moron with walkman and grungy clothes...”  

“I'm looking for a mature guy...”

I still don't know if she really had a baby or if she just wanted to get rid off me, but then I believed her and I stopped speaking to her for a while. 

When I tried to do it again, she rejected me.  

It took me almost an entire year to get her out of my mind.

I was so miserable. Everything became dark. 

My life was a blacked torture. 

Days and nights were so long. 
I didn't know rejection felt so bad. 

It was so painful and awful.

I still remember myself lying on my bed, feeling ill.

Counting each second as they slowly turned into another slow second.

 

I wrote her several teenager dumb poems in several pages of that notebook I had been employing for writing my silly songs. I never read her one single poem.

As I write this post I wonder where are those poems. I should known where are them. 

It would be so funny to read them and to infer how miserable I believed I was. 

I'd Never Dreamed That I'd Meet Somebody Like You

As my dad drove, I was sleepy in the back seat of the car.
We were goin' to Acapulco for summer holidays.

It was about dawn. The city was so quiet that it was creepy.
There were barely a few cars on the street. 

We passed next to the Estadio Azteca, and I thought of a goalkeeper.

His name was Ángel David Comizzo.
One night before his team had been defeated in that stadium by one of the most popular teams of the country. 

Even so, he had been the best player of the game. 

I had a big interest on goalkeepers. 

I was the goalkeeper of my school team.
Before summer holidays, we had even won a tournament against the athletic guys of our class. 

They were bad lossers. 
They reminded me of the enemies of Ralph Macchio in Karate Kid. 

Also, I had a couple of Uhlsport gloves that I just loved. 
Its fancy plastic smell drove me wild.  

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I fell asleep and thought of the girls I used to hang out with.
I had recently discovered that girls attracted me madly. 
And I wanted so much to find out how would it be to have a girlfriend.

I had a crush on a couple of girls.
They were so nice with me.
They were blonde and chubby. 
I never told them that I liked them so much.
I was afraid to lose their friendship. 
I wanted so badly to be with both. 

On that summer holidays, I met a girl that drove me wild. 
She was tall and she seemed a few years older than me. 
She and her family were also staying at the same hotel than us. 

I had found her a few times on the swimming pool.
Her skin was so white and her hair was so dark. 
Her eyes were brown, like big almonds. 
Her smile was so enigmatic, spontaneous and fresh at the same time.  
Her lips appeared so shy and soft that I just wanted to devour them!!!

https://www.visitmexico.com/

She had a small sister. 
Her sister was so naughty and she was always looking after her. 
A couple of times we crossed on the alleys of the hotel. 
Once we even shared the elevator. 
I was so excited!!!
I wanted to tell her that I was really in love with her. 
My mind began to fly away and my heart began to beat like a crazy war drum. 

In the chaos of my senses, I secretly thought how to speak to her. 

"Hi...! What's your name...?
Are you from Mexico City...?
I have seen you at the swimming pool...
Your little sister seems to be really funny..."

But always, at the last minute, I cowed.
Never knew her name. 

One hot night, her family and my family were at the same time in a small supermarket a few blocks away from the hotel. 
The freshness of air conditioning made me imagine the fantastic perfum of her dark hair.
Her sister suddenly ran from one side to another and broke a jar of glass. 
The noise brought me out of my thougths.
The girl blushed and I felt pity of her.   

For a moment, our eyes crossed.
She seemed to ask my help. 
Again, my mind began to fly away and my heart began to beat like a crazy war drum. 
But I pretended I didn't care about her and I walked away. 

I was an idiot. 
I always think of her when I hear this song. 

Wicked Game

Suicide Blonde Was The Color Of Her Hair

We lived for years in an apartment. 

When we moved to our own house, somedays, after classes, mom used to go to therapy with one of my brothers. My brother had some troubles with his cruel classmates, as he had a severe dermatitis and everyone was joking about his appearance. 

He's younger than me and he's always been a strong boy, but then he needed to understand kids were stupid. Girls were his only friends and boys thought he was a fragile kid and were jealous about him.  

The therapist's office was at the other extreme of the city, and mom and he spent all the afternoon away from home. 

Dad was at his job –he's a chemist and then he worked at a company located at the boundaries of the city– and later he picked them up at the therapist's office and the three of them arrived home late at night.

In that occasions, my smaller brother and I stayed at home.
Even when this visit to the therapist's office occurred twice per month and it lasted just a few hours, it was an important issue to me. I felt I was an adult taking care of his smaller brother. 

Although I was in Junior high school –I was a teenager– and I just thought about women and music, I considered my parents trusted me and I didn't want to deceive them. 

My smaller brother was at kindergarden. 
As the kids of his age, he was a playful boy. I was a typical eleven-year old-teenager and I hadn't enough patience to play with him. I no longer liked toys neither jumping and running nor play 'seek and hide'. 

To deal with my smaller brother's energy and playfulness I had to turn on the TV, give him a bunch of candys, and leave him there watching cartoons, but he got bored so soon. 

All I wanted was to be alone –dunno remember what exactly I used to do to enjoy myself, but, maybe, I used to listen music or something like that–, so, when he got bored, I started to ask him what he would liked to do. 

He had a strange bound to a Goofy's movie. Didn't understand why he enjoyed to watch the same movie once and again –psychologists argue that it reinforces knowledge at early stages of life–, but I pleased him. 

We had a couple of TVs, one in the kitchen and another in the living room, but just one Betamax. I put the movie in the VCR and I left him there, in the living room, watching the adventures of Goofy.   

Eventually, in one of those days of therapy, I discovered that my dad had some Playboy magazines. From that day, each time mom brought my brother to his therapy and then my smaller brother and I were left alone at home, all I wanted to do was take a look at those magazines. 

As soon as mom left the house, I asked to my smaller brother if he wanted to watch the Goofy's movie again. Fortunately, he agreed always and then I put the movie in the VCR.

At some point of those therapy days, while I was looking for the Goofy's movie, I found a movie I hadn't ever seen amongst the personal collection of my dad.

Immediately, I got excited and freezed. It was called Basic Instinct. Still don't know how he got it. We were in the autumn of 1992 and I guess the movie was still on cinemas, but he had a personal copy. I'd heard about Basic Instinct. It was difficult to ignored all the fuzz around it. Supposedly it was an intense thriller with explicit sex. Supposedly it had been censored in some countries. 

News said it was an acclaimed Paul Verhoeven's movie, entirely filmed in 1991, with Sharon Stone and Michael Douglas as the leading roles. 

De Georges Biard, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=9055138

I thought it was, essentially, as a sex movie. Eventually, I knew I was so wrong.

Catherine Tramell was a stone-cold writer and she was dating Johnny Boz, a retired rockstar. The movie begins when the police finds Boz dead. 

Nick Curran was a detective and he had to find out who had murdered the retired rockstar. He and one of his colleagues found that all the beloved ones and the recent lovers of Catherine Tramell had died in mysterious ways.

As the investigation moves on, Nick Curran gets attracted to Catherine Trammell.
She was a successful, smart, enigmatic and beautiful blonde. 
He suspected that she was involved in the death of Boz, but started to having sex with her.
He became a sex-addict and he lost the objectivity of the criminal case.  

When I found out Basic Instinct in the movies' collection of my dad, I convinced my smaller brother that Goofy's movie was boring and predictable, and made up a false story about the relationship between cartoons and intelligence so that he would be interested in cartoons and I could use the only VCR we had in the living room.

He believed me. I guess he trusted his older brother and that he never thought that I was a jerk-off. 

I turned on the TV in the kitchen and left him there watching silly cartoons. Then I ran to the living room and put Paul Verhoeven's movie in the VCR. 

I was very excited and shaky, feeling that my heart was about to explode. I sat in the floor of the living room, a few millimeters away from the television and the VCR, to remain hidden from my brother's eyesight in case he walked away from the kitchen and then I could turn off the television immediately.

It was the excitement of the movie and the excitement of the situation. 
It was an extreme situation. I didn't want to be discovered by my brother watching an adult film and I also couldn't miss the opportunity to see an adult film. 

The first scene was violent and impressive. 
It was a blurry image in movement, reflected in a mirror.
There were soft and  murmuring sounds, which made me think of a couple having sex. 
It was so cryptic and poetic, attractive and ambiguous. 

When, apparently, both of them were about to have an orgasm, the blonde woman on top of her lover took out an ice pick and stabbed him, nailing him fiercely everywhere. 

The retired rockstar had his hands tied to a bar on the bed, so he just yelled desperately, bled profusely and died. 

There was something about Sharon Stone that I couldn't get rid of for weeks. 

I got obsessed about his beauty and ferocity.

Each time I had the opportunity to watch the film, when my smaller brother and I were left alone at home, I just watched one or two scenes. 
It would have been awkward to watch the entire movie, from the beginning to the end, and it would also have increased the risk of being discovered by my brother. Didn't want to deceive my parents, nor wanted to be responsible of exerting a deleterious influence on an innocent mind. 

In fact, I just watched the entire movie a few years ago.
I would sell out my soul for a month to experience Sharon Stone's world.   

Suicide Blonde - INXS