we are not youth any longer. we don't want to take the world by storm.

hey, hi, hello, yo, what's up. (azealia banks reference, i'm not just unnecessarily greeting you 5 times)

i was scrolling through old photos on my phone the other day and came across this. the interior/exterior of this shop has always looked the same and yet it occurred to me that one day it won't be there, it has to change. I am not someone who really deals well with change, despite having moved schools three times I have always clung to nostalgia and sentimentalities. this shop is dated and dull, and although I have never stepped inside, it has been something constant and unmoving, which is why i took the picture. One day it will be something merely generic, a hairdressers, a cafe, and not its unique self.

i also took a cool pic of the bathrooms at school which are painted entirely pink (the most ridiculous example of gender stereotyping I have ever come across). So there was this tally on the wall of one of the loos like ye olde prisoner/solitary confinement tally which I thought I was a pretty accurate representation of school, and also a tad wes-andersonian (thanks to the pink walls/door/everything) so i took a picture. a few weeks a later I dropped my phone down the loo and it broke, so the photo is  now lost in its liquefied realms. how ironic. I have tried to find the tally again but it must've been painted over or something so I have not yet rediscovered it.

 

~(fairly) recent tumblr inspo ~

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'm not going to pretend there is any coherence to these photos. I simply like them.

So i think i've raved about Oscar previously, but my raving is not over yet. I first discovered him in the pages of BEAT magazine, and soon after began listening to his EP, 146b, which was the perfect hybrid of diy/britpop/baritone/hazy optimism. Daffodil Days is more refined but still retains that Brit grittiness. The video is quintessentially British, but not in the way you immediately imagine. I'm talking council estate, concrete, overcast weather, fading pastels, wind, barren/urban landscape, peeling wallpaper. The kind of Britain you don't want to imagine, but is somehow aesthetically-pleasing.

The post title is taken from All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque, which I finished reading yesterday.  Remarque not only gives a chilling vision of WWI but also questions the true meaning and value of war. I began reading it thinking of it as a war novel, a historical account, but what I discovered was an insight into a ruined generation, and how war not only brings us together but tears us apart too.

suzie

xox