Stranger in My Own Skin (2023)

The Telegraph, 2003

An acrid smell of sweat hangs around the two young bandmates, who appear to be still dressed in the distressed threads they were wearing on stage. Someone suggests that they might avail themselves of the shower facilities before reboarding the tour bus in half an hour to make their way to the next city. “I don’t look that bad,” says Doherty, offended. He runs his fingers through a greasy tangle of barbed wire curls. “It’s ‘cos I’ve hardly had any sleep. I’ve been hallucinating all night. I’ve looked worse, though.” “I haven’t washed my hair in years,” says Barat. “Never had any complaints.” “If you don’t wash your hair, it cleans itself,” reports Doherty. “That applies to the human body as well.” I fear for the health and sanity of the Libertines.

Pete and Carl // Lamentation over the dead Christ by Botticelli

Carl vs  “Mme Bourgoint (Woman with fox)” by  Christopher Wood

Peter & Carl vs ”The serenade” by  Federico Andreotti

Drunk!Carl on Twitter is my favourite…

Old internet posts from Pete.

Re: ‘A quiet week in the country’ October 24 2003, 10:59 PM

This is a bit of me I thought, choosing the coldest room in Mr Magees big old stone house in the black hills. A boingy old brass rust bed and victoriana arcady, reading couch, bandylegged desk. We set up a little studio with the bilo recorder and mimi amps in the echoey ‘library’ room. Some fine new compositions being sown and reaped in the harvest of souls, then explosions and bloodshed and oh me lonely horrors as Alan whisks the delerious biggles off to hospital, then the eye hospital. sex symbol in an eye patch? buccaneers indeed. Spent the day rolling in and out of undressed dreams, watching jesusandmarychain video and listening to Olucky man soundtrack, newyorkdolls, morrissey, magicandmedicine, thewho, dylan, roomonfire, waiting for them to come back from the operation screamadelica now as I stare out into pitcher full of blackness, not a light save for the murky stars. The three of us dined together again tonight. Carl very spun out, theanaesthetic wearing off I seen doom in his face. I went upstairs after and sat on his bed and we were laughing about things afore too long. I told him he was my best friend and I care for him so much, am worried about him, and love him. He held me and said ‘Its been a long time since you said that’ I can hear him now, brightening up, joking with Alan, we’re all gonna watch a peter sellers film I think, or the wicker man, there is no time here. I’m gonna tell you some private things cause you can keep secrets, you are the internet. you know somehow, I’m scared for the lot. all or nowtSomething unavoidable is at my door and I have to answer soon. Old rage was never smothered by pleasant attentions and flatterring gesture, its unholy and its still in his hearts belly. Imagine a terrible sensation, memory jolted, in awe and disgusted someone hurting themself so badly life is mocked, the incurable ache, the devestation. someone sends me a text, they are wrong when they write: 'peter you are an evil, manipulative jealous bastard. You’ve hurt carl one too many times’ I think its from carls girlfriend, who I once…. is that what it was all about? that and totpops and the door kick down theft and his sister and songwriting credits ah cruel fates, do you think I dont want him to be happy, fuck you anonymous mug, nogood fucking tart.. no.. it was the whiskey..always the whisky, and the bathroom mirror and oh sweet jesus Alan Magee “oh great, I’ve taken on a band witha genius singwriter witha penchant for crack and a sex symbol who likes to beat himself up” shhhhhhh alls well that ends well

October 25 2003, 12:25 AM

Biggles walking round delerious still, singing a great new song, something about 'likely lads’ or so. I showed him what I wrote. He looked all aghast and said in a faraway voice 'we’re so glad you came says a nursey’ oddly boy. no drinkies tonight thats for sure, Mr Magee’s on standby, and a little freaked out after recent catastrophes. seems like I have a wee flat to return to in whitechapel somewhere nice and pokey apparantly to ward off a party vibe. hmmm. We gander through cyberspace 'why does noone write to me on .org, they should call it peter.org the fuckers’ 'because you never post on it’ 'oh yeah, well I will now. I’ve got a great login name’ 'what is it?’ and so to bed, to watch the wickerman on biggles’ dvd. 'scary magregor’ he says 'I’ll make some tea’ ah, aint she sweet? night all

After so many years its still reposted❤️

Btw can someone link me to the DLBITS recent video?...

The Libertines'2014 by Gerrit Starczewski

god bless this man

Carl Barat vs Dead Man by Jim Jarmusch

Peter & Carl vs ”The serenade” by  Federico Andreotti

Carl vs  “Mme Bourgoint (Woman with fox)” by  Christopher Wood

Pete and Carl // Lamentation over the dead Christ by Botticelli

Pete & Carl // The Embrace by Daniel Caplan

Carl Barat // The Harvester by Dmitriy Myasnikov

The Telegraph, 2003

An acrid smell of sweat hangs around the two young bandmates, who appear to be still dressed in the distressed threads they were wearing on stage. Someone suggests that they might avail themselves of the shower facilities before reboarding the tour bus in half an hour to make their way to the next city. “I don’t look that bad,” says Doherty, offended. He runs his fingers through a greasy tangle of barbed wire curls. “It’s ‘cos I’ve hardly had any sleep. I’ve been hallucinating all night. I’ve looked worse, though.” “I haven’t washed my hair in years,” says Barat. “Never had any complaints.” “If you don’t wash your hair, it cleans itself,” reports Doherty. “That applies to the human body as well.” I fear for the health and sanity of the Libertines.

Carl Barat’s official facebook page is a scary place to visit