Dec 30, 2012


"A girl came in the cafĂ© and sat by herself at a table near the window. She was very pretty, with a face fresh as a newly minted coin if they minted coins in smooth flesh with rain-freshened skin, and her hair was black as a crow's wing and cut sharp and diagonally across her cheek. I looked at her and she disturbed me and made me very excited. I wished I could put her in the story, or anywhere, but she had placed herself so she could watch the street and the entry and I knew she was waiting for someone. So I went on writing. 

The story was writing itself and I was having a hard time keeping up with it. I ordered another rum St James and I watched the girl whenever I looked up or when I sharpened the pencil with a pencil sharpener with the shavings curling into the saucer under my drink. 

I've seen you, beauty, and you belong to me now, whoever you are waiting for and if I never see you again, I thought. You belong to me and all Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and this pencil."

I'm reading "A Moveable Feast" at the moment. These words are magical. I wonder if one could create a clearer picture. 

Self Service blog
Tales of Endearment
capture the castle

Dec 29, 2012


The overgrowth of time. Our skins have changed. Stormy waters. To be near you. At the gate. Waiting. And it comes up from the ground. Don't miss your chance. Those left outside become compelled. Though nothing guarantees something to contribute. Too personal to part with, too intimate to commit to paper. It's perforated. And writing blind, the earth bore its colour in ochre. A soft summer with its layers of sun and sand. The details visible overhead, etched out. Grounded by its sheer expanse. Wide and continuous. It's my kind of place. I am of this land. But the gums don't stand as they used to. Soured at the roots. The landscape has changed before us. Now it's just a shadow of the Dreamtime. It's a strong image and one I would hope weren't true. Pitch black. I wonder where we are. They're coming. There will be others. You won't catch me around here old friend. 

Steve Back
Philip Govedare
Bruce Weber
Garance Dore

Dec 20, 2012


That face. Beauty too wild and fair. A preface of what's coming. All bustling and unexpected but not exclusive to the discerning eye. It's as clear as day. There's nothing you can see that isn't shown. The kind of beauty that pierces and mesmerises. It's the kind that pulls focus and holds you captive. I believe we're all like that, wanting to be older and then wanting to be younger. Tears appear in the fine cloth and you're below ground.

Freedom is on the other side, where the blue meets blue. Where the technicolour water shadows, vivid and uncertain. Let's go get high. There's a better view from up there. Chose your last words. Run with instinct and let's get out of here. You and me. Let's run as fast as the wind will take us. Abandoning the city lights for wide open spaces. How far do you think we can get? Well pretty soon we'll be star gazing. 

The Beatles 'Love Is All You Need'
Kate Moss by Corinne Day 
The Blue Lagoon
Ana Regina Nogueira / Sao Paulo 1980
Lana Del Rey

Dec 14, 2012


If you overlook the array of imperfections, namely, the chips of paint, holes in the wall, scratches and scuffs across surfaces and things that don't quite work as they should, then you can see it has the right sentiment. It is home. It offers itself with the selflessness and potential for what could be something great. It is the red apple. It stands to take another renovation, only this time it'll be one that's more true to its character. And I wonder if the walls could talk, what they would say. Still surrounded by boxes, this space will become the projection of an idealistic environment where everything is of our choosing. 

Acne Paper
Cy Twombly