Nico Icon: How to Hook Your Babes on Heroin
I’m obsessed with Nico. Do you remember reading Please Kill Me? Some of the best parts of that book are about Nico. Nico and Lou, Nico and Iggy. Nico, the aging, knife-weilding junkie. Nico, the former Chelsea Girl turned kooky spook. A monster. A siren. THE epitome of sailor drowning songstress.
If you want to learn about Nico, you should read the book. And please watch Nico Icon, like I did for the zillionth time on YouTube. My type of girl is usually a loud, ballsy bitch. And Nico was a bitch. But she was cool, quiet, detached. Quiet people are often mistaken for idiots by people who actually are idiots. Everything about Nico was deliberate.
If you wanted to impress her, you’d have to pull a Jim Morrison and pull her by the hair across the rooftops of a gothic moonlit castle. That reminds me of the time a local shock rocker wanted to date me. He hit me in the head with a vodka bottle when I was dancing with a girl. It didn’t work, but at least I remember it. Too bad he wasn’t taller, hotter More About Cheap Swiss Replica: rolex replica.
Nico was a genius. She wore pantsuits when everyone else was into micro minis. She was throaty and androgynous, while every other female singer was melodic and sing-songy. She didn’t have to do much of anything to capture all the eyes during a Velvet Underground set. And Lou Reed fucking hated her for it. I love a woman who’s hated. I love a woman who figures out how to not work, or clean the house, or have babies, or love a man.
I’m no good at taking care of stuff. Plants, cats, boyfriends. Friends tell me that babies are different. I’ve also been told that my biological clock will go off at thirty, and that the ticking is physical. That’s right. My body will FORCE me to procreate by causing it unbearable agony and pain. Sweaty, restless fever dreams. Now that’s some greusome black magic.
IF this happens, it’s going to suck. Maybe it’s like falling in love. How your brain is like, Don’t do itttt you’ll ruin your life. But your boner is all, I NEED to be inside that every day forever. But BABIES? WHAT WOULD NICO DO (WWND).
Despite allegedly hating sex (she found it vulgar and she didn’t like to be touched), Nico banged lots of weird, hot guys. Including French actor Alain Delon, who fathered her son, Ari. WWND? Have the kid. Then leave it to be raised by it’s grandmother, and visit every three years or so and give it oranges.
Harsh? I mean, oranges are a good source of vitamin C. Rather than say she abandoned Ari, I would say that she was incapable of caring for him. She was a big, strange beauty. Life was a bore to her. If you listen to her songs, it is obvious that she was watery. A sea creature. Pale and alien. NOT a mother.
Nico was more erratic in her later years. A junkie hag giving dusty, haunting performances of space age rock arrangements and long lost songs. This bitch was waiting to die. Just listen to her cover of The End. She even got her son hooked on H. And when he ended up in a coma, she came to record the sound of his life support machine. She wanted to use it on her next record. Life is material. If you get a rotten lemon, sometimes you have to juice the sucker.
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