The Wilderness.

In a complex order. 

Night one: 

Full moon.

Rain grazing tent fabric.

Faraway voices singing Let It Be.

The Wild Things are here.

Next to a black lake.

Country jig.

Gogol Bordello. 

Masquerade Ball

much - 

glitter, paint, punch, beads, smoke, sweat, scarf, dirt

A stag's stolen dress. 

Wreath making. 

D-d-d-daniel Johnston stole our hearts.

Constellation small bear.

I forget things as they come back to me.

We sang songs from The Jungle Book 

around a makeshift camp fire.

Meteor shower

(unseen)

A birthday or two.

Howling lunar declaration.

Out of control again

gypsy tent

flower picking

ostrich meat.

Treasure hunt. 

Scarfs with eyes cheating their owner.

wigs and disguise

Stolen moonshine

drunk in double time

Waltzing with my-y-y worried shoes.

Final dawn.

Caffeine laces tired veins.

Ribbons and streamers await Wojtek's arrival.

Glucose

Salvo

Food fueled mania.

xoxo

WHENSANDLOOKSLIKESNOW.

(when sand looks like snow)

00:52

Neutral Milk Hotel - Two Headed Boy

Elements of now.

\

Consider Nightingale.

Consider Time.

Cosmos.

Wear beads for protection.

Labyrinth.

Perfection.

Listen through walls.

This is nice.

We'll play a chasing game tomorrow.

xoxo

The Sea, and Then Some.

Summers dregs.

A line from a Carol Anne Duffy poem methinks. Mrs Quasimodo? A traumatising literature experience from the last school year...

worth a read though, if you're into sheer emotional exposure.

I digress, these are my summers dregs.

I hope you like them.

xoxo

Ben and Jerry's, Balloons and Beach Towels.

Exactly what it says on the tin.

oh, and a mystic turkey.

Family holidays are epitomised by Disney Beach towels and candied costumes claiming your eyes.
xoxo

A Season Of Epic Sights.

This summer is proving itself, really proving itself to be quite beautiful. Initially, I was saddened to be staying in England, however the past month or so has been full of sky gazing and wanderlust and good books and such. I finished reading Frankenstein a week ago whilst in Bournemouth, and I must say that I was far more impressed than I was after witnessing Danny Boyle's theatrical interpretation.Victor himself is such an odd creation, such an anxious tangle of human emotion I felt he deserved far more insight than the National's production delivered. I needed to warm to him, and found that easier through the book than the staged version. At the risk of sounding quite arrogant, the Olivier was too vast and full of empty space for me to engage, and Boyle relied on visual majestry over substance.
I am now reading Jack Kerouac's On The Road, and, aside from being vaguely infuriating is slowly giving me the urge to road trip around America. Which is ridiculous. Because, I'm seventeen with no money and besides it's not like how it was in the 50s and I know no one there and it's so big so maybe I should just go to France.
I digress. I was talking about stunning things this summer.

Whilst in Bournemouth with my family, I visited a beautiful beach named Dirdle Door. I recommend anyone who is up for touring British seasides to go. You emerge in rolling hills and moors, feverish with concern about the lack of sea, you have to park your car and walk through these hills, and down the face of a cliff with stairs hacked into the side. And then, all of a sudden, you'll find yourself looking down at the shore which is Dirdle Door. All turquoise and rustic and the seaweed giving the impression of gold. Dirdle comes from the word Thirl, which is of anglo saxon origin, and means hole or pierced opening. The attraction about Dirdle Door is that a door shaped opening has somehow occurred amidst a cliff. There's a picture of me looking awkward with it right behind me.

All this sky staring on beaches next to door shaped cliffs should make me overtly philosophical, but it doesn't. It just makes me happy, and breathless, and all of those jolly good victorian things we don't get much of nowadays due to disillusion.

I don't believe in luck, as I don't believe in God, but chance wonders of nature do cause amazement and a slight uplift in spirits as they result in a casting of the mind back to a rhyme you were told when you were very little. I'm glad of the laughing fox five paces from the sea and the two for joy.

I'll also have you know that I'm just as content at the coast as I am on an afternoon sojourn to the Docklands (not to be confused with the Wastelands). You see, you can pack yourself a picnic of nectarines and crumpets and rest in an alcove between penthouses (the most expensive in East London) and the Mills - whose decaying romanticism I have been devoted to for years.

It's a ridiculous hour. And I'm thrilling myself with these seasonal daydreams, which are actually existing, but it's time for me to rest now. It seems the summer doesn't happen at 5am.

xoxo

There Once Was A Fire, Twas In An Arcade.

Okay.

I'm going to try and articulate my experience, Thursday the 31st of June in more than just-

RWEARLFUCKINGARGHARCADEFIREBEAUTIFULBEAUTIFULSTUNNING.

Unlike my usual self, I decided to take no photos or record any of Arcade Fire - whom I saw live last Thursday night.

I wanted to keep this experience preserved in memory, and untouched by digital conservation.

If it fades, then so be it.

Though it'll take a while to be weakened:

They were blistering.

I do believe Millie and I frightened the non-enthusiasts around us with our screamdancing. 

What can I say, after an hour and a half of watching Mumford and Sons, (of which to say I'm not overtly keen on would be an understatement) when Arcade opened with "Ready To Start" me and my companions were drowned headfirst in urgency.

That moment when your inhibitions cease to exist, that began pretty early on in the set for me.

Okay. The first song.

As I jumped and sang, holding on for dear life to my faux flower wreath pinned precariously to my head, I kept on thinkning...

Wow.

Regine Chassagne is stunning.

One of the highlights was definitely watching her parade around stage clutching ribbons during Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains), or winding a music box held around her neck.

It's definitely nice to have a devoted friend to dissect the performance with on the way home too (thanks Millie, Pepe and Hayden).

I'll forgive them for not playing Empty Room or City with no Children.

None of the videos I found online did the gig any justice, so I'll leave you with this my dears...

tis enough rambling for now.

xoxo

GO PAGAN KIDS.

A week too late. 

A feel of my garden party, through amateur portraits and blurred visual fancies. 

It all felt very Pagan, (and that wasn't just 'cause Ellie was there) hence the cosmos.

There was glitter, bubbles, a toy plastic gun, bunting, and more.

I don't think I managed to do it justice really, didn't snap everyone and they aren't of amazing quality... 

mostly due to intoxication.

But I hope you like them.

xoxo