Jul 21, 2012


We're all going on a summer holiday. Packed and ready. With anticipation high and notes of scribbled plans in our pockets. To Paris we go. It's of the hour but it's gone. As if evaporated. Gravity has no pull here. Expectations shatter and numbness follows. With nowhere to go you wander Avenue des Champs-Élysées in your mind. It's as it should be. Lines of trees, endless store fronts and good company. Realisation kicks and heartbreak follows. It's too much, it can't be real. A parallel collision. Circumstance imposes a timeline. If we could have gone together, on our terms, wouldn't that've been something? There's no other care and you don't feel. Reservations are shrouded though you still see clearly. Go in for the kill. Your dreams set aflame. Written off. It was never really yours. On the rack, a loss without meaning, without understanding. Misfortunes were meet. It's mustn't have been for you. There's no conclusion, it's all static. You'll have to travel through the confines of your notebook. Damaged goods. What's left of the summer is strung up. In disbelief we watch the cloud set the sun. It's got to be better than this. Waiting for the autumn to fall. Well then, how do ya like them apples? It's a nice sentiment. 

Jul 19, 2012


This probably won't come as a surprise. It's quite obviously splashed and woven into these pages but just in case you missed it, I confess. I  l o v e  v i n t a g e.  And I wonder just how many people have written and spoken these same words. 
Kind of cliché, but it seems stupid not to address, given that it's gone this far. I've come to notice that having an interest in the past doesn't set you apart the way it used to. Wearing a stranger's old clothes has become the thing to do. 

When I was a kid, I remember my Aunty Kate coming over. She was the most fun an adult could be. She was one of us and it was our secret. She only ever wore vintage and I loved that about her. I didn't really understand it at the time though it made me curious. I liked that she looked different to everyone else,  inspiring visions of Jane Birkin. And I liked that she didn't mind wearing second hand. An idea that most adults I knew would've snubbed their nose at. 

What I'm interested in is where it's come from, this increasing acceptance and need for vintage. It appears  to have almost exploded in popularity perhaps in reaction to mass production. It gained exposure during the 90's with the culture of celebrity and individualistic sub-cultures helping to mainstream the idea. It affords the type of creativity that you can't get in a store with a visual merchandiser.

I like when things have history. They've had another life in someone else's hands and somehow they've found their way into yours. There's something romantic about this sharing of loved items. Though it goes beyond the clothes. It's about the era, its style and the people of that time. The way they carried themselves and went about their lives, it was other-worldly, a world I would've wanted to be a part of. But now these characters live only in pixels with vintage stores as their playgrounds. It's filling in the blanks that brings the thrill. It's where you go to get your fix. 

Jul 9, 2012


Well never mind, we are ugly but we have the music. I gave her up for the waves of sound. You'd be damned to be one of us girl. Figures in space. Burgundy and reflective glass. You're a Californian utopian. And yet it's here. The solace of a dream state. Let's go walkabout. Personalization requires transparency. Can you sacrifice that much. Looking for something in a bucket. You've got mail here. Are you watching the time. You're at the finish line after all these years. It starts to shape us. We've decided you write well, you're in. Acquiring the sensibility of truth. Writing the unreadable. We are locked in loops. You see this behaviour. Pragmatic chaos and culture statistics. It's a question but is anyone expecting an answer. What we're looking at is the physics of culture. It went a-rye. How far can you take that, the quality of speed. Where the wires come up into the city. It's what the money motivates. We're having a debate here. It's a crowded house where a lost voice is a near tragedy. What the world needs now. Our lives are the sums of our memories. Pay attention. Appreciate the quality of the light. Laboriously furnishing our minds to fundamental capacity. Topic by topic. It means it has a place. In spatial and visual memory. A portal to the big machine. I don't have access to it. Unforgettable images. Great memories are learned. Deeply engaged, we remember. Force a depth of process from ourselves. It's how stuff is made memorable. Such a spectical. Why don't you dream a good dream.

'For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her' Simon and Garfunkel 
'Australia' The Shins
'Chelsea Hotel #2' Leonard Cohen

Jul 3, 2012


Ivory words, smoke and cinnamon. All you head boppers. You were talkin' so brave and so sweet. Buttery limbs, it's physical. They were somewhere in the middle of America, Santa Monica I think. In the first flush of youth. It's a youthquake. Stand back, make way. We've got lovers and lookers. And if he'd see it, he'd call it. It's not such a fancy place, get out as soon as you can. That was New York. And you'd ask, what do you know about dreams? And I'd reply, give me a bow on the back of my shoe. Walking the street in nothing but my Carven's. Urge to vacate. South of the border. It's time to pack up and go. Get out of town. Make a run for it. You're a fool for love and a fool for the sun. It's summer in Provence, Rio and on Oia. Get your plane right on time. They were daisy suede and built for summer. Fall hard and I'll fall harder. Fractured and slight but all the better for it. We've got spirit, yes we do. A top knot, chop it off, all short and sweet. You're free. It's a lifestyle brand, let's live the good life. The midriff, they said it was back. Madonna never took hers off. You hold no currency. No availabilities. Well here I am. And what's wrong with with not fancy? I can call you Betty. You were famous, your heart was a legend. Not driven by nostalgia, you're alright.

'You Can Call Me Al' Paul Simon
'The Only Living Boy In New York' Simon and Garfunkel
'Chelsea Hotel #2' Leonard Cohen