A narrative for these pictographs.
Sometimes I think my friends and I inhabit a parallel Newham.
That is to say, we occupy a universe which does not exist for most East End residents.
We spend as little time as possible in the dreaded Westfield, and as much time as possible decorating our rooms with trinkets and tokens - as if their presence will ward off the grime from outside.
A lot of people who live here will always live here.
That frightens me beyond belief...
The Docklands Light Railway reminds me of that bit in Spirited Away:
all those who are eternally confined to The Sprawl end up, one way or another, like the transluscent ghosts in the aforementioned animation.
The pictures above may seem like a mish mash, but they are actually intrinsically linked.
We create havens (our rooms) and fill them with glow sticks, candles and mannequins who stand on guard by the window.
If you're lucky you'll have friends who arrive with sugar loaded drinks,
they'll have ran from their house to yours and you'll both attempt to forget the journey in between (when all they knew was grey people, dirt and a singular Magpie).
By nights end tongues will be stained the attractive shade of magenta,
pupils will be sufficiently dilated,
and breathing will seem to billow out of your lungs
at 2am
in the back garden.
Making you feel like a ship.
The street lamp works to dramatize the world outside.
Which is terrifyingly real,
and I don't mean muggers or rapists or gang crime or knives.
The real fear of The Sprawl emanates from the silent or the elderly.
The ones who never leave.
Showcase Cinema which exists in a vacuum.
Big Moe's diner which plays music from the worng era
and the guy who works there is eternally wiping the same spot on the same table to the same badly covered Kinks song being pumped through speakers like a toxin.
We live in quiet dystopia.
Sunset from the Alps sums up it all.
I beg you, Mr Timms, never to alter the abandoned Ski Slope on which I have enjoyed so much contemplation.
Vulnerable beneath you
are the tiny houses
and ominous before you
is the glare of Canary Warf.
Lovingly greet your Newham.
...OKAY okay guise, here's a cheer up.
Ruby Norton is a babe:)
She knitted me Duke Severus Tarquin III who now sits on my bed,
here covered in moon sequins to ring in the festive season.xoxoxoxxo
My mother also gives me presents,
which in turn give me era envy.
(another charm to add to my room)
A Disneyland Resort brochure from 1959.
xoxo
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