Bonnies Story: A Blondes Guide to Mathematics
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Just bear with me, and stick by my side, but if you have to hide it then it's wrong. You will just leave me broken, cause you couldn't come through with the words that you loudly spoken. The new Bonnie and Clyde, don't prove to me that you just lie. Then I will for my well being have to give up on the fight. Sprishya Apr In another life Maybe you'll be mine Maybe our stars will allign Maybe the moon will shine Its light on what's always been there But we could never find Maybe the universe will guide us Through our paths so intertwined That we meet each other in every bend Yet be so blind To the signs That we've always pushed aside With all the excuses and the lies That we've told the world That we're just friends And our friendship Is of a different kind Maybe at a different place And a different time We could fathom the possibility Of our unity A love so divine It breaks all structure Our knowledge of space and time The society will forget Romeo and juliet Or Bonnie and clyde because our love Is more than just a cliche We don't need to be remembered Till the end of time But while we're alive We'd have each other Through thick and thin Through our climbs and our decline But things don't always work out That's just life And in this lifetime I couldn't be yours But in another life Maybe you'll be mine.
Alexa Sep Robin Carretti Aug State Of Lips. Stae of mind we are traveling again but our lips will be the walking the yellow pages old news Staes can rock up she has the Wizardly Oz shoes. Your heart opened up like a newly blossomed tulip. You took me in like you knew me for forever. You treated me like I was your one true friend.
But it wasn't enough. I needed you as if you were oxygen. I needed you to be my forever home. I loved you like Bonnie loved Clyde. Like Harley Quinn loved The Joker. I loved you with all of me. I wanted more. I craved more. You chose not to see the reality. The reality of my love. I was an open book to you. All the feelings,wants, and needs were clearly visible.
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Why not take the chance? Why not take a chance on me? Am I not good enough? Am I not your type? Instead, you chose the girl who broke your heart the most. Who beat you down as if you weren't good enough. Who was so rotten she spoiled the happiness that surrounded you. Maria Feb 9. Hello again. It's me. The one who could never forget and let go, and I just wanna know would you couldn't want me too like how I. Why couldn't I ever be the moon to your sun and stars?
The Bonnie to your Clyde? The one who could look. I just wanted to know why you wouldn't let me love a deeper love the way warriors love. All this time I just wanted to fight for love, but the fights. Hello again Where are we now?
Has my heart walked away with a heavy hand? Has my mind forged havoc, or did the chaos come hand and hand? I cannot find the land I once new. Is it okay that I can never forget about you? Stepping away to retrace. I came back to jog your memory, but I think you've already forgotten the way my arms looked when they bled for you, or the way my eyes cried out with fear when you told me that. I could never belong here, that I remember the torture. The Righteous Luddite Mar Pleasant Look Into Styx River.
Here's a song, my trending candidature. Khoi-San Sep Her Heart and Her's. Nothing wrong with that Give love unconditionally. Poetress2 Apr It was in late Spring, time for me to go to school. As I carefully walked down the age-weathered stairs, it was a balancing act between the rickety steps and my black, leather pumps. The stairs won, and down I went, hitting my head on the wrought-iron Banister "What a way to start the day," I thought to myself as I rubbed my head.
I picked myself up and continued on the 3. My head was still pounding when I arrived. I saw my best friend Bonnie, as she came around the corner of the school. We had known each other for ten years, and there wasn't anything we didn't know about each other. She turned around and gave me a huge smile. When Japandroids frontman Brian King graduated college, he watched his friends from small town British Columbia, Canada quickly settle into normalcy—weddings, mortgages, babies—and thought, Well, fuck that.
So he started a band with drummer Dave Prowse and dreamed up a song about teenage abandon, blooming lust, and jumping out of bed to grab a beer with your best friend. But the alliance that had seemed to foreshadow many more seasons of Cash Money primacy instead dissolved rather quickly, and all three artists have feuded with each other on and off ever since.
Charli XCX is sonic science fiction. At her best, which she is here, Charli XCX cracks a key pop music code: doing as much with as little language as possible. Kelela was an easy sell as an underground icon: Her vocals flexed with all the acrobatic skill her generation had learned from Janet, Brandy, and Mariah, while her style whet the palates of the ultramodern Opening Ceremony devotees who run the fashion world. The beats did the rest: The handclaps that drive the track forward are a call-to-action for hips and tongues across genres, from Miami bass to baile-funk to house, drenched in a synth-bed that sounds like a sunrise let-out from a Bed-Stuy afterhours club.
On the other end are pencil-sharp female rappers dragging the genre to new edges from behind cat-eye makeup. They aren't concerned with celebrating femininity, or anything else for that matter—they simply grab for your throat, no matter how you identify. Carefree nights have been poisoned by the constant threat of nuclear warfare; her beloved Malibu is ravaged by monstrous wildfires; nothing feels like it used to, and holding onto hope no longer seems plausible.
The end of the world has never felt so assured. For four heavenly minutes, the song suspends gravity, accompanying Jeremih with production as weightless as his voice: plinking pianos, gentle swooshes, and helium-infused trap drums that float toward blue sky like a bouquet of heart-shaped balloons. But the Life of Pablo opener is a group effort: an imperiled Kelly Price, an ecstatic Chance the Rapper, a reverential Kirk Franklin, a gale-force choir.
West seems to say. I know when to shut up. And yet Kanye is there, his friends are there, he fucks up and asks forgiveness, the seasons turn. What a difference a perfect pop song can make. For a moment, he was the most hated man-child on Earth. Then came this song, and everything changed. It started off as an affectingly whiny Bieber demo before the vocals were sent to Diplo and Skrillex, who tweaked and distorted and pitch-shifted them to match their future-pop dreams. The result was discombobulating to the point of deliriousness—a reimagining of what Justin Bieber could be, and what a Top 10 hit could sound like.
Justin Bieber]. A full year before the Supreme Court legalized gay marriage across the U. It begins abruptly with its sickly, skittish beat that sticks like a broken delete key. Just as swiftly, the rapper starts dropping names of then-mysterious figures— Anwar , Jasper , Syd —as he inverts rap cliches into menacing quips. You just want to follow this guy wherever he goes, even when he eats a cockroach in the video.
Singing with hoarse gravity, Adele holds every note like a steely challenge to move forward even as she looks back, rarely flickering into melisma as the piano arpeggios churn below. There are all these elongated sounds—slowly arching snares, spilt treacle synths, vocals that stretch into the horizon—that act as lines of tension, gently bracing themselves for the inevitable. But midway, after the introduction of a drumbeat and bassline, it takes on shades of trip-hop, as though filtering Patsy Cline through a Portishead prism.
Rather than leaving country behind, the songwriter has chosen to explore the limits of its territory, and to expand them. He was just 15 years old when he posted the clip, but his weathered warble suggested someone several decades older—as do the lyrics, which had Marshall pulling from his adolescence while also transcending the simple angst typical of such an age. But the original version, rough and raw and bracing, stands up best. In , we were introduced to Tough Drake. When you have everything, do you stay on your worst behavior forever?
New York needed something fresh. But for a moment, his energy and personality brought New York hip-hop back into the spotlight. Hopelessness is not a common thing to find in a pop song. Of course. Lately, Rihanna has used her platform to speak out for a number of prominent causes: for reproductive rights , for Colin Kaepernick , against the president. Calvin Harris]. Especially at the time, this rang very true.
The Atlanta rapper had an enormous year in , with the release of his Drake collaboration What a Time to Be Alive along with one of his best albums, Dirty Sprite 2. Having reinvented himself so many times, his last musical effort was to bid farewell with that same grace and eternal curiosity. Then all that remains is the man, staring straight into the unfathomable and having the wisdom to offer no answers. He cartwheeled through the track, singing in swooning howls, and in the process coining an inimitable sound that bottled the sensation of ecstatic liberation: whawp!
Swift tells a big story by freezing time and honing in on small details, the kind that could seem like background noise to others: the scarf that her ex reportedly, Jake Gyllenhaal kept as a memento, the refrigerator light that illuminated midnight dance parties. As Staples slides from parties to shootouts, danger is courted and eluded. Death is defied and embraced. Gangster rap is disparaged; gangsters endure. Though every detail is in 4K, the screen flickers.
The bass quakes and smolders; the synths blare and pulse; the claps tingle. Because he sees his city so clearly, he has no illusions: No one can run forever.
Only Natasha Khan remains by her side, and in her sweetest and deadliest ballad, she dedicates every ounce of her formidable self herself to propping up her lost friend. As the song slowly made its way toward ubiquity, eventually peaking at No. As a refreshing alternative, Guy and Howard Lawrence created a track bound to an indestructible house beat and filled with the types of chord extensions more commonly found in jazz or Steely Dan albums than standard chart fare, allowing for Sam Smith to unleash their jaw-dropping vocals.
Today, the song remains a testament to a brave new world of democratized production, one where two brothers, a laptop, and an unknown superstar can move the world. Sam Smith]. The song was released between two pivotal projects: four years after her album Sol-Angel and the Hadley Street Dreams , an almost quaint love letter to Motown, and four years before her culture-shifting political purge, A Seat at the Table. Disoriented by the end of something irreconcilable, she sees her relationship devolve from all-night makeout sessions to total static. Since the dawn of time, women have been fed up with the patronizing antics of men in music.
In , newfound fame was weighing on Kendrick Lamar. He delivered the message that Compton—and everyone else—could put their faith in him. It is almost unfair how irresistibly danceable this song is, how it articulates a desire for closeness while laid over the kind of sparse but infectious beat that practically demands bodies shifting together. Navigating romance publicly comes with being a public figure—which can be good when it is good, and agonizing when it is agonizing. Ariana Grande has had to do this through several iterations of her career, in ways that have sometimes felt unfair.
All this came to a head in the fall of , when she was mourning both the death of her ex-boyfriend Mac Miller and a broken-off engagement to Pete Davidson. The song itself works against the somewhat dismissive sentiment of the title: The twinkling chorus is steeped in a kind of corny but joyful gratitude, for the past but also for the present self. Crooning angelically, Grande reminds the masses that we choose to love people for a reason, even if that love is brief. No more trivial accusations of retrofetishism or John Lennon idol worship; with this heavy slab of space disco, Parker decidedly broke free of any preconceived notions about his abilities.
The riff—a simple, octave-leaping groove—stands alone, but the punchy drums and elaborate synth arrangements throughout cleared the stage for Tame Impala to claim their place as true psych-rock originals. But in our actual reality, Karin and Olof Dreijer got dark with their classic Silent Shout before making their grand return seven years later by inhaling radical theory and fully metamorphosing into their namesake—something steely, cutting, dangerous when necessary.
It primes you to leave it all on the dancefloor before waking up ready to throw a brick through the patriarchy. But her character shows no bitterness for the girlfriend in question. Instead, she gently coaches her lover through breaking up with the other woman, urging him to spare her feelings. Over a reassuring backdrop of organ and piano, her voice gathers strength as she is swept away in a flood of images, words so vivid you can feel them beating in your hand like small, frightened birds.
It is a nostalgic song, shot through with a sense of loss, but it is ecstatic in its synesthetic rush, its sublime sense of everything coming on at once. As the song begins, she could be working out a sketch in her childhood bedroom, her voice just above a whisper and hung over rumbling, muted chords. An intensely physical connection settles into something deeper, and you can hear her fighting off love until her facade starts to crack.
When she drops her guard to embrace love in all of its supernatural glory, it feels as bracing as a dip in a frozen lake. SZA baited a new lovestruck generation by presenting herself as a work-in-progress, shamelessly hooked on rash decisions. The song that made Courtney Barnett an indie rock star involves a startlingly detailed narrative about the tension of literally being unable to breathe.
In it, she sets out to garden, and after some small talk about vegetables with a neighbor, she pulls her first weed and quickly has an asthmatic episode. Someone calls an ambulance, and her first thought is about how much this shit is going to cost. It begins with him singing over sunny guitars about an ex-lover, taking bitter swipes at their character.
As the track switches into a woozy trap beat, Frank plunges back into the past. Over yawning synths and brusque, almost-industrial bass, these hip-hop hellions offer a quick peek into the vulnerabilities of the super rich and famous while allowing us to ride the wave of their incomprehensibly lofty egos. Consider our brains eaten. The proposal is simple and familiar: escape, hand-in-hand, from reality. Fueled by a yearning saxophone riff and colossal drums, Jepsen gleefully repeats her heartfelt invitation until the rest of the world melts away.
Propelled to No. Gucci Mane]. Years before their network television debut, Future Islands earned a reputation for playing raucous shows at small clubs. Channeling the bravado of a Broadway actor, Herring sang to the studio audience as if it were his last chance. Even without the visual, the song is still a triumph. After seven years away, Fiona Apple returned to a world that better understood her, and she did it with music that seemed to better understand itself, too.
On her fourth album, The Idler Wheel You can hear clenched teeth, whitened knuckles, and a throat about to be shred. So she went to work and came back with a hit that made thoughtful use of its key elements: action-movie intensity, a proven flow courtesy of Florida rapper Kodak Black, and a bottomless array of bars that were easy to parrot and pre-baked for captions.
By July, it was in radio rotation. By August, all kinds of fans knew the words. And in September, it was a verified smash, unseating Taylor Swift at No. Her victory was genuinely ground-up and people-driven. That it was possible—or inevitable, and a precursor for more success to come—still feels triumphant. Then the drive exposes a second, inner tale, of a relationship paved with good intentions but now fraught with misgivings and anxieties.
With her lover behind the wheel, Newsom addresses some regrets that haunt the romance, namely her own confusion. This is an effusive ode to her broken-in, ride-or-die, monogamous romance and a swaggy reminder of exactly what will happen to him if he ever messes around. In the decade since M. Listen: M. How can this guy be this seriously existential—reflecting on magnificence and the hallways of his life—when he hardly seems to be saying anything at all?
In , after three years without a major release, FKA twigs shared a note on her absence: six fibroid tumors had grown in her uterus, causing massive swelling and excruciating pain. For a performer whose force lies in mastery of the self, the medical crisis posed an existential threat: Where to go when the body becomes a site of conflict?
Beneath her vocal acrobatics, the lullaby piano warps and degrades without ever changing key, and its three-and-a-half minutes occupy and stretch out the brief tremor we experience when something cherished threatens to break. I have what you want , the elastic bassline promises. But you need to come a little closer. He preserves the air of cocktail-bar elegance until the last moment, when a distant siren whooshes into the periphery.
Some bliss-out tunes adapt easily to your surroundings, scaling down to soundtrack housework or a morning commute. The horror of drone warfare is that it has no constraints. Operated remotely, designed for stealth, and unburdened by national borders or human rights, drones can deliver war at any time, to any place. Lost within those body counts, mission logs, and intelligence reports are real people.
Before that, though, there was Aubrey Graham at the horizon, hungry and eager to prove his prowess. In the fall of , Drake released Nothing Was the Same , which found him at the summit of his powers. Majid Jordan]. It's the most desperately human Koenig has ever sounded, as he clings to the only thing he can still believe in.
In , Kanye West was just starting to lean into his heel turn. Its second single was a self-aware, if not quite repentant, exploration of what it means to be a chronic dickhead. You do realise it's not the nineties anymore? Or was it my comment on his fashion sense? Oh well, I didn't stick around to study his expression as I ushered Mr Doodles out to the small, overgrown backyard, and hassled him until he 'did his business'. I'd discovered I had to call it that before he responded.
I think I've got a picture of that steakhouse in my phone. I pointedly pushed past him and made sure Mr Doodles had food and water, as his smug tone droned on from the doorway. Why else would you have a calendar by the kitchen phone if you weren't going to write in what looks like monthly dinner dates with the folks? I can assure you I can huff like a lady too. Just because a fellow can shift you through space several thousand kilometres a second, doesn't mean he has super powers. I knew that. They're not picking me up, I am not touching you or your magical equations again, and now, get out of my house and leave me alone, or I'll be late!
I ignored his flustered look of confusion as I checked I had my keys, and then shut the door. How I wished they still delivered an evening paper in my neighbourhood. I'd nearly put it all behind me as one of those things you just didn't discuss, even after they've already got you in the padded cell. I was on my way home from work, and had just gotten off the bus, when I noticed blue smoke drifting out from the alley beside my local corner shop.
Determined not to put two and two together in case it made another trip to cotton wool and treacle land, I gritted my teeth and kept walking.
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I'd started waking up at night after hearing it in my sleep, and would then have to double check that all the windows and doors were locked, and that the smoke detectors all had fresh batteries. At the time I'd been assuming equation smoke would set them off like normal smoke. I kept walking, feeling that maybe ignoring him would make him go away. I'm not carrying a paper. What about a dinner? My shout? I'll even restrict myself to grabbing something local in case you're funny about importing foods without proper paperwork. I was a hairdresser. So what if I was a little hairy, dye-smeared and smelt of permanent solution.
It had been debutante week. No, I wasn't flattered, despite later rumour. I had been about to stalk off, but my tone was moving from my angry voice to infuriated and at that point I either vented or went home and caused Mr Doodles to leave a puddle in my wake. Needed to bill me for our recent around the world trip? Surely that's enough reason to accept a free stay-in meal with a charming student-like fellow who could take you anywhere in the world?
Okay, so the snort was back. Still, he looked cute in this flustered manner rather than his smug version. This had a calming effect, so I relented. It had been a long day. Thai Memories," I stated bluntly, pointing back down the street. I'll leave the front door on the latch. That only gave me fifteen minutes to spruce myself up enough to look semi decent in a 'staying home' sort of way in case I felt like letting his cuteness turn into something more.
Twenty minutes later I heard soft conversation mingled with the yapping firework of the greeting Mr Doodles gave most people who open my front door unannounced. I couldn't help but smile, but did nothing to assist as his tone clearly indicated he wouldn't really punt my dog down the hall. Instead I checked the table once more to ensure I had everything on the trays we needed.
I planned on us eating in the lounge off them. By the smell coming down the hall, he'd at least got the order right. Once we were all settled on the couch with dinner and some social, but not too intimate, music on low in the background, I planned on getting down to why he was there.
So I don't like fish, okay? It's not every day my dates flake out after the event. Who knows what aftershocks you may have had? Yeah, so he'd made an impression after all, and noticed the paper. It was as if laughter was something new and precious to him and you were lucky enough to share. My instincts warned me things could start moving in a direction I wasn't ready for. Just think of all the places I could go and see for next to nothing. I'd always wanted to travel, dreamed of big cities like London and Paris as well as the far flung areas of little civilisation in parts of Africa and the Americas.
It's not as if my wardrobe screamed 'tramp', did it? Well, we tend to pitch in to share a meal while away, but that's about it," he assured me. There's more than just you flaunting customs, and thumbing your nose at international travel tariffs? A whole gang of us, if you wish. And as they've been complaining of me mooning about the place since we met …". And wait, was he saying I was fat? Need a specimen of what life outside the fume hood is all about? Anger was my first defence too, so he was in for a mouthful if he wasn't careful.
Don't put yourself on too high a pedestal as it'll hurt all the more when you fall off onto your arse!
António Adrião - Andrea Alvin
He definitely had a French accent when emotional. Kind of cute too, despite him being such a fink at that moment. I had two words for him, they were polite ones too. I promise I won't try and break you from your self-made blonde hell again. Damn him! Enjoyed the sample? Purchase now. ISBN Hague Publishing presents Bonnie's Story A Blonde's Guide to Mathematics by Janis Hill Bonnie has bigger problems than a new boyfriend who can walk through walls - she's running for her life, and if she's caught … "I am in love with this book!
First though, my world came to an end. What did I say? Surprise me. He grinned, though it was obvious he also had to concentrate on what he was doing. Chapter 2 THERE were no streaking stars or swirling vortexes, like science fiction shows tend to indicate. Secondly, as if this is a first date!