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.