PB's official website released two foreign self- reported audio peakyblinders of Tommy and Alfie. The content was written by Steven Knight, introducing the background of the two characters not involved in the play, the actor's own voice, Alfie/Tang Lao wet the passage for more than 9 minutes Simply
The following translations are not guaranteed to be correct, there should be no major mistakes
The Gospel of Alfie Solomons PART I / Alfie Solomons Gospel PART I (I don’t know if there will be PART II)
Written by Steven Knight , Performed by Tom Hardy
One of the damn views that annoys me the most is that everything is perfect at first, and then it gradually deteriorates. This is obviously nonsense. Some things are evil from birth. Some people have never thought of doing something good in this world when they were born. What they plan and execute is to deceive, deceive, steal and desecrate all sacred things. The reason for doing this is that they were born this way. They are just that kind of people, specializing in that kind of thing, ruthless, ruthless and ruthless.
Their creed is: If you can, you will be robbed, if necessary, you will be killed, if you don't object, you will fuck you, and you will slap your ass and leave.
My dad, old Alfred Solomons, is a man with this creed. For those who are simple and confused, he is a walking sperm spreader, a large illegitimate child making machine, whose scale is so large that no one has seen it since he became Genghis. A barbarian, to him every empty womb is Rome. After sowing the seeds, he would not look after the garden, at most he would pee on the compost, and then left. I took the roses to the market in Summerstown, and turned the garden gate with the stolen roses in my pocket, leaving only the smell of rum. There were tobacco and Portuguese water along the way. He took it out of his suitcase and sold it for 6 pence a bottle.
At least that's what others told me.
Yes, I heard it all, because all the traces I have seen related to him are only a fucking hat. Hanging on a nail on the wall, on the sink where my mother washes bed sheets. That hat is a sacred relic, size 8 and a half, made by a hat maker in Luton. The hat maker was driven crazy by the glue that made the hat. He sewed a sentence under the hat hoop. The sentence in my dad’s hat is "This hat is a kettle. It will boil your evil dreams and turn your soul into a bowl of soup."
This hat is actually the one I have been wearing to this day, and I can still smell the scent of Portuguese water. When I wear it, those tricks and suggestions will emerge from the dark, as if it was from the time I had sex with him. Sweat oozes out of the felt and leather.
My mother washes the bed sheets, and my father fucks a hat. No kisses, no bedtime stories, only a pack of sheets to be delivered to an inn, a brothel, and Camden Town, in exchange for only bread and a pinch of the priest who is about to lift his robe when I see me. I have reached dark and accurate conclusions about religion.
so! Little Alfie Solomons was unattended when he grew up. It was wild, like a rootless twig, a thin cock growing out of a stinking ditch, so every Christian old salted fish in a vicious Christian school was next to him. A vicious Christian kid can kick him down, step on his feet, and yell: "You are the ones who killed Jesus Christ, so take it as kindness to kick your belly and kick your face. At least we didn’t. Nail you to the cross like you did to Jesus." But every time I was stepped on, he fucked stepped back. It was malice that allowed me to survive. What I learned was not to fight, but to give back those ten times, one hundred and one thousand times. The big stars who did bad things to me, I used a small part of my body. God wisely put that small part in a box made of hard bones, out of the reach of kicks and chisels. .
That small part is my brain.
With the power of my hat dipped in Portuguese water and the box made of hard bones, I have all the tricks and methods that were put into the hat by the Mad Hatter Luton and my dad. My mind is a factory, making all kinds of tricks and methods, avoiding and speculating, avoiding methods, destroying methods, trickles of night, floods in daylight, when I open the door of the bakery workshop, sniffing the secrets and sins The aroma, I started the process of accumulation.
To be precise, I am the chairman of Alfie Solomons inflatable bread company on Bonnie Street in Camton Town. My two vice-chairmen are Mr. Intimidation and Mr. Violence. I prefer the former, but the latter is a necessary condition for supporting the former, because without violence, there is no intimidation, and without intimidation, there will be no accumulation. If you have accumulated, then I'll be a fart. As a baker, I occasionally sell bread. As a bookmaker, I occasionally let the fastest horse win. As a landlord, I occasionally fix the roof. But most of the time I find that the person who resolves the complaint is much faster and easier than the complaint.
Based on the above, you can draw the conclusion: Alfie Solomons, born by a bad guy, was deceived by a hat hoop, and became a bad guy, inspiring bad guys to do bad things in bad ways to bad guys, but fortunately, he at least admits himself His mother is a very bad bad guy.
However, you have to consider that in these years, as a baker in Camton Town, under my supervision and arrangement, in other words, there are 35 fucking people responsible for the deaths. . All these people, I tell you, will join my dream every night. They appear randomly in various disguise, irregular and logical, but the consequence is that I wake up every morning, my maid Edna I have to help me wring out the sweaty sheets. It’s worth mentioning that I have never had any bad thoughts on Edna in 15 years, because when she washes the sheets, it reminds me of my poor mother. She is now living in hell, washing the robe for Satan himself.
So, with 35 people, I have been a villain 35 times. But this time mathematics saved me, and logic followed closely. It was like an accountant riding a bicycle and rushing to produce a mitigation certificate before I was officially sentenced to moral bankruptcy.
Below, cough cough, as my defense, the following is logically proposed
In France, in the battlefield of Parsondale, take a certain hour and a certain second of a certain day, I was standing in the mud with a rootless branch in my hand—a cannonball with the same size and weight. A newborn baby, a baby bastard from Birmingham, has a pointed nose, and the color is similar to the morning sky. At that second, that second of the day of the month of the fucking four years, in that second, I fed the baby's butt inward to the mortar barrel, and then plugged my ears with my fingers, banging , I sent my baby to the morning sky to complete its only task. Two seconds later, there was another bang, and in the mud over there, 36 people lay down.
Brown bread.
The 36 killed by the soldiers died as well as the 35 killed by the baker, but the 36 did not come to my dream, nor did it enter God’s books to calculate good and evil. I was awarded a medal for killing 36, but I was fed a bullet by Peaky Blinders for killing 35.
So, my dear congregation, my conclusion is that there is no absolute good and no absolute evil in this world. It is higher than the calculations of those who hold great powers, and those people will tamper with evil for their own selfish tricks to accumulate wealth. definition. The only absolute is life and death. To demonstrate for the sake of argument, we will say that life is good and death is bad, so it is really purely just for argumentation.
In other words, my dad was right. You drain your semen, pee on the compost, pick the roses, leave the garden, take the stolen items to the market and sell them at a reasonable price, leaving only the smell of a hat and goods.
This is the creed of Alfie Solomons. A rotten shepherd among the clever sheep, but in front of the sheep stable, to my gentle butcher, I will eventually become a lump of lamb.
Because don't forget
Alfie Solomons
He has been waiting
(Finish)
View more about Black Tuesday reviews
