Michael Jackson – Beat It (Demo) (1,560,563 plays)


As Jackson couldn’t fluently play any instruments, he would sing and beatbox out how he wanted his songs to sound by himself on tape, layering the vocals, harmonies and rhythm before having instrumentalists come in to complete the songs.

One of his engineers Robmix on how Jackson worked: “One morning MJ came in with a new song he had written overnight. We called in a guitar player, and Michael sang every note of every chord to him. “here’s the first chord first note, second note, third note. Here’s the second chord first note, second note, third note”, etc., etc. We then witnessed him giving the most heartfelt and profound vocal performance, live in the control room through an SM57. He would sing us an entire string arrangement, every part. Steve Porcaro once told me he witnessed MJ doing that with the string section in the room. Had it all in his head, harmony and everything. Not just little eight bar loop ideas. he would actually sing the entire arrangement into a micro-cassette recorder complete with stops and fills.”

Reasons why I laugh when people say he wasn’t a real musician.

(Source: harrattanparhar, via lacienegasmiled)

(Source: ellenripley90, via p3q)

"Não eram só o mal e as tramoias que tornavam as pessoas infelizes; era a confusão, eram os mal-entendidos; acima de tudo, era a incapacidade de apreender a verdade simples de que as outras pessoas são tão reais quanto nós."

"I was in my house, alone in the living room, anxious about you, watching the flashes of lightning. And a flash of lightning lit up this truth for me, right in front of my eye. That night I lost you, I lost something inside me. Or perhaps several things. Something central to my existence, the very support for who I am as a person."

Haruki Murakami, 1Q84 (via larmoyante)

Basically, we’re all waiting for permission to die.

Well I stepped into an avalanche, 
It covered up my soul; 
When I am not this hunchback that you see, 
I sleep beneath the golden hill. 
You who wish to conquer pain, 
You must learn, learn to serve me well. 

You strike my side by accident 
As you go down for your gold. 
The cripple here that you clothe and feed 
Is neither starved nor cold; 
He does not ask for your company, 
Not at the centre, the centre of the world. 

When I am on a pedestal, 
You did not raise me there. 
Your laws do not compel me 
To kneel grotesque and bare. 
I myself am the pedestal 
For this ugly hump at which you stare. 

You who wish to conquer pain, 
You must learn what makes me kind; 
The crumbs of love that you offer me, 
They’re the crumbs I’ve left behind. 
Your pain is no credential here, 
It’s just the shadow, shadow of my wound. 

I have begun to long for you, 
I who have no greed; 
I have begun to ask for you, 
I who have no need. 
You say you’ve gone away from me, 
But I can feel you when you breathe. 

Do not dress in those rags for me, 
I know you are not poor; 
You don’t love me quite so fiercely now 
When you know that you are not sure, 
It is your turn, beloved, 
It is your flesh that I wear.


Now, I just think about who else is kissing her.
I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once — he doesn’t care if it’s perfect.
I want her back so bad…
I leave the door unlocked.
I leave the lights on.

By Neil Hilborn.

Kitten luv <3

Kitten luv <3

(Source: http, via gatoalheio)

Toda a fofura que o entretenimento adulto tem a oferecer.

Toda a fofura que o entretenimento adulto tem a oferecer.


New things get old just like the old ones did.


New things get old just like the old ones did.

(via deardc)

(via vicforprez)