apartment/house porn

so i'm probably not the only one, but i'm completely obsessed with relocation, relocation, grand designs, ideal homes: all the cool home shizzle. i love imagining, dreaming about my apartment when i have the money and time to make it peaceful, serene, arty, pooled in sunlight and perfumed in white company candles. there'll be brick walls, old armchairs, white bed sheets, books EVERYWHERE and a little eclectic plethora of antiques and things picked up in my travels. my house will be messy and cluttered but organised clutter and i'll invite my friends round for glasses of wine and dinner parties sitting round an old oak table......

oh dear! i am a big, fat dreamer.

boy your lips taste like a night of champagne

why is smoking still annoyingly cool, yeh they will all probably get lung cancer but god they look good. probably the most common cause of death among hip$ter's these days......

lung cancer and being ill sucks balls. big time.

how can one write when one has never been in love or been loved in return?

splayed like stars
their fingers tangled together
what was done
was once buried forever?
yet her dark eyes, feeble face,
one final bitter embrace
but down by shadows
unspoken voices, disrupting the sky
and once more he is lost.
true to behold as stories made him and said
'do not be ashamed,
the light will soon come again'
and he cried to the earth
grasping her fingers tight
white and cold, she lay.


be gone, be gone my love,
tomorrow as yet shall dawn a new day. 

CECIL Beaton

"Be daring. Be different.

Be impractical, Be anything that

will assert integrity of purpose

and imaginative vision against

the the play-it-safers, the creative

of the common place.

The Slaves of the Ordinary."

goodnight, sleeptight.

barcelona was grey.

humid & tired the tourists walked by me

there camera's clicked, guides whispered

and again each began the pretentious drawl about an architectural piece they clearly knew nothing about.

languages changed and lingered on blasphemous tongues

as they quoted the art of Guadi, Dali & famous Spanish writers

Cultural mosquitos sucking out Europe's very soul

Leaving a romantic guesture

or maybe a postcard or snap shot slowly cutting souls replacing them with superficiality.

crinckled and shrivelled

he waits each day

for his fortune to be no longed crippled

burnt, brown hands

and stained white boat lines

work together like a percussion band

harmonious and soft with the breath of the sea

tradition stuck in cultured freedom

and yet the fisherman still waits for his wife to return after the 1940s occupation

written 2009, symi, greek island.

another one...?!

i follow your laughter lines

sprawled and crossed, speckled, mine.

your lips are dry and your teeth are clean

I beg and pray that you won't be mean.

Stretched out like an old cat, feet scrunched

We sigh and laugh, a delicate touch.

Brushed like rain against cobbled stone

Your tender tongue makes me ache to the bone.

Cold, ice, white and pure

You are my very own mysterious cure.

Autumn tones, dashed hopes

A muse is lost, dead, a ghost.

"Why don't you tell me that 'if the girl had been worth having, she'd have waited for you?' No sir, the girl really worth having won't wait for anybody" F.Scott Fitzgerald 

beauty in things exists in the wind which contemplates them...

skinny arms and plump lips

he only asked for one kiss.

spurned, for not today

only if he writes her another play.

ink stained fingers, bluey-grey

rain washing out the day

birds crying to be fed

the leaves are already dead.

melancholic tunes of past & future

whispered away on some exotic adventure.

'to hold the world in a grain of sand'

the girl was a romantic, she belonged in a band.

white knuckles, sweaty palms

only teenagers understand serene calm.

lovers bodies stuck, out'a'luck

he wants one tasty fuck.

so peach blossom springs again

and a young girl will refrain

to be in love is a disastrous game.

"Journeys end in lovers meeting." by William Shakespeare 

So, yeh I know I've finally caved and become a generic English Literature student and I have got the blog! To be honest its truly quite terrifying, all there is is a very blank white box chasm in front of me and I'm supposed to fill it with interesting critiques on society or fashion. I feel highly under prepared, I feel like I should have some sort of equipment rather than than the biro pen and pile of books currently on my desk, oh and my squishy dog but sadly he's sleeping and not in the mood to help. Useless! 

This whole blogging thing is really rather confusing, there are so many forms of internet connection these days you end up having cyber conversations with people via 20 different forms of social media, thank god Myspace went out of fashion years ago! So this is an introductory blog isn't it? From what I remember I believe I'm supposed to promise a highly interesting read; however, the thing is I really have a tiny political conscience and can't bring a particularly radical angle and I really can't promise a ridiculously alternative insight into whats going on currently. Wow, I sound promising! 

Anyway, I'm gunna give the blogging thing a go and hope to play with not just prose and journalistic articles but collaborate with some of my fashion and artistic influences and interests. But hey we'll see I really cannot promise anything? It all very dependent on how lazy, deep or interested I am at any particular time, but it's always worth a try, right?!

So, cyber reader, I hope I've given you a little insight into my crazy little blog and whats to come in the future.

Without further-a-do, I'm going to leave before I am embarrass myself further because believe you me it's far too easily done. Oh and the sun's still shining believe it or not so I'm gunna go soak up my British summer whilst it still exists.