Winter is supposedly decay, or once was. Now it symbolises a beacon of 'giving' and 'life' aka capitalism hijacking a religious holiday. I am not completely adverse to the festive period; I enjoy eating, staring pensively at christmas lights and singing carols, but what does it all mean?
a study in the colours of decay
the record shop in my town is closing down next week thanks to a fat, new department store crushing its very existence. where will i buy my cds? where will i scrounge free magazines from? who cares about department stores? Despite these obvious setbacks, this is the first time I've been aware of the local impact of privatisation and, although I am aware it is not directly affecting me (i am being melodramatic), it does make everything very real.
M.I.A has received a lot of stick for this, but that's the risk of a political statement. I like the song and the concept but for me it's the video - who are the people? are they refugees? why are there no females? is this cultural appropriation? help me.
Hello. I am writing this on my birthday eve (it is now a week later and i am officially 17. whoo). Tomorrow i will turn 17, or 'the big one seven' as my mother refers to it as, which is something i have much excitement for. I have always favoured being an odd number, despite it being ridiculous i find it more comfortable and less defined than an even number.
I don't want to bore you with the excess of history essays and french grammar sheets i spend most of my time doing, so i will keep this brief. The past month has been a haze of new-schoolness and i'm not settled yet. Once i'm in a rhythm i will be able to blog regularly/properly.
These are some disposables i promised to post approx a month ago. A summary: we day-tripped to Bristol and pottered amongst charity bookshops, vintage clothes and much graffiti.
the title is from 'Chinatown' by Girlpool. it is a really beautiful song. go listen.
Recently I have been enjoying basing my outfit around one colour. Grey is not a particularly exhilarating colour, but I think its underrated. I like the blend of "dull" and monochrome-ish colours in this outfit, which are livened up by the paisley pattern on my trousers.
I found the jacket the day before in a vintage shop called Don Majors in Bristol. If you ever visit/live in Bristol it is definitely worth a visit. I also found an ace Lacoste striped shirt for £15, and this jacket was only 10 quid. The patch says "Girls at Work" which I like too. I like to imagine that the past owner was the captain of an all-female baseball team. how rad would that be? The t shirt is from Urban Outfitters, where I generally don't like to shop because of its morals/overpriced-fake-vintage but this was in the sale and it has pizza on it. c'mon pizza rules. The trousers are from Topshop and the shoes are grubby Deichmanns which are now a health hazard as the soles have split. I am currently trying to wear in an actual, real pair of doc martens which is proving tough work.
disposables
The post title is taken from "No Mythologies to Follow" by MØ. I have had a budding obsession with MØ and all things Danish for a while now, not least because she is an actual style goddess, takes inspiration from The Spice Girls and Nirvana, and is a wicked songwriter.
I find this line really badass and reminiscent of a girl gang attitude. Most of her songs seem to sum up emotions of youth and growing up which, being sixteen, i obviously find relatable.
Hopefully i'll be back soon as I have some more recently developed disposables to share.
Late August by Margaret Atwood encaptures the heavy/sexy/impatient/lustful summer atmosphere. The description of the plums reminds me of the greengages and figs i have been gorging on recently. There is something desperately indulgent about sweet, summer fruits.
I feel restless in these last few weeks of summer when I know I should relish in it. Its like an itch. An itch for a new beginning. And yet I don't want to let go of this consistent boredom. Some days I write 'to do' lists, which are rarely completed. I wanted to write contributions this summer, and now I only have one week left. At least I have been consistent in not completing my lists.
journalling:
attempts at pressing flowers
vain
a white trainers collage, a collection of songs and a danish pun. i tried to stain the pages with green tea but it looks dirty. i promise its tea.
My summer of transition is going well. I returned from Sri Lanka a week ago, dazed and baffled. The whole two weeks spent there were an absolute dream.
At some point last year my friend and I thought that we were capable of flying half way across the world for two weeks at the ripe old age of sixteen. It was only until we stepped off the plane into the almost insufferable heat that we realised quite how momentous it actually was.
The first few days were a blur of jetlag and foreign noises/food/everything, but beyond that we seemed to forget our past lives and fully engrain ourselves in the thick of it.
The mornings were spent looking after Kumara (meaning Prince), a magical elephant who had sustained injuries from his former life in the tourism trade, but who appeared to be happy being pampered by westerners. The afternoons were either spent sleeping, exploring by tuk tuk or tagging along to the orphanage. The orphanage was an emotionally-draining experience but i'm glad I went; actually seeing the lives and societal position of these children in the flesh really did have an impact on us.
We were mainly transported by tuk tuk, which is the most fun mode of transport I have ever experienced. Not only can you encounter the sights and sounds of Sri Lanka, the drivers also enjoy playing banging tunes at top volume. Some of my favourites included Mysterious Girl by Peter Andre and One Love by Blue. Pure nostalgia.
Here are the developed photographs from one of the disposable cameras I didn't mislay in a tuk tuk.
This is Bob, one of the tuk tuk drivers. Everyone in Sri Lanka has a mild obsession with Bob Marley, so (i guess) his nickname is due to that.
The pattern on a temple ceiling
The long descent from said temple
A lone woman, spotted on a boat ride
sunbathing on hell roof (named so, by myself, because of the temperature - I spent 10 minutes up there and my eyelids started sweating)
View of coconuts from the top of hell roof
The sweaty but aesthetically-pleasing bus ride to Mirissa, where we spent the weekend
Glorious Mirissa
attempting to take a photograph of a thoughtful quote in The Handmaid's Tale. I think it was "But maybe boredom is erotic, when women do it, for men", which I find interesting. The novel is full of intriguing notions from the narrator and protagonist, Offred. It was on my summer reading list for sixth form but it has become enjoyable to read rather than a task.
Glorious Kumara, the only man in my life
The wicked view we looked out upon whilst washing Kumara
Caught in a torrential downpour
The town
I hope all your summers are as peachy as you hoped.
these are from a recent trip to the lido where we sun bathed and attempted to swim in the bustling pool. the day revolved around two melons we managed to salvage in Tesco metro for 70p, which we gorged on at regular intervals. a welcome break from the insufferable heat of the sun. we left with a full bag of melon skin and walked through town, parting ways. i was partially-harassed by a Mormon on my way back, who asked me what made me happiest. I simply replied 'friends'. now I wish I'd said something more philosophical but in a state of panic and after a good day with a friend it was my only option. he said his belief in god made him happiest, and then I rushed off, not to escape but because my increasingly agitated mother was waiting for me. it was the first (and only) day of the year, where I have felt like summer is truly present, due to all these wonderful (and strange) events. today I am wrapped up inside, protecting myself from wind and spitty weather. i'm listening to mac DeMarco in want of warm days instead of tea-drinking days.
the other night I watched fight club. I had seen snippets but never the whole film. maybe it was because I had enjoyed the book so much and had low expectations of the film, but I ended up loving it. Inevitably, I had a restless night dreaming of soap and schizophrenia but it was worth every minute. rarely am I gripped so thoroughly by a film, from start to finish even through scenes of violence and pain.
recent photos:
these last two are my Granny's house. she never goes in this room anymore and it felt slightly miss havisham/lisbon sisters/creepy 70s vibe. it was like stepping into a time warp, nothing was present, apart from the list of emergency phone numbers taped to the mirror.
I re-listened to Pure Heroine the other day and really focused on the lyrics this time. 'A World Alone' especially resonated with me, particularly the second verse. It was exactly how I felt at that point, sitting on the bus, re-living the past day and how I felt. that night I furiously transcribed the lyrics into my journal, both relieved and alone.
~ other tunes encompassing summer vibes and loneliness ~
seamless mood change ~ i didn't think rihanna could get any badder/radder but she is queen of bad/rad. watch and learn from her majesty.
i won't be able to post until august now as tomorrow i will be on a plane to sri lanka, where i will be volunteering with elephants for two weeks!
be back soon,
