We are all in a construct. I now see the cracks in this scaffold we call existence and if I were to gaze outward I would see oblivion. I now see that we are a product of our influences and that nothing is pure, singular or natural. I’m not an individual; I am predetermined by my elders who have been predetermined by theirs. I am a copy of a copy of a copy. Their ideas gave birth to mine, whether they oppose or not. This existence is a mass effect. One ripple that has turned into another. I’m caught in flow and escape is futile.

I can be aware of the construct, the matrix. But I cannot break it down as I didn’t build it. I can look through the cracks but what is beyond is massive, dark and terrifying. We need this structure to control our existence; to give it a name. I used to think the construct was a lie but I know now that it is there to cover the absence of truth. I can choose to accept this, to plaster over the cracks and ignore it, blissful ignorance. Or I can be forever aware that nothingness is real and that whatever I do is meaningless; just another ripple in the water of oblivion. The rabbit hole is before me, will I fall? Because if I go down the rabbit hole I will never stop falling.

Catcher in the Rye.

"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth."

-Holden Caulfield, Catcher in the Rye.

I really need to stop helping myself...

to free food! Caught on camera! Me sneaking off with free cupcakes at a Bret Easton Ellis talk. Uh-oh. I'm the one in the lilac dress and aviators. Here's the proof on youtube. I think I need to be more aware of what I'm eating...

Tom swept down from the skies into the Earth below. He gripped into his cloud, his fingers lacing the array of damp, white gas. His wings could not adjust to this alien atmosphere.

He had forever gazed down, watching the Earth below. He watched the people for thousands of years, fascinated with their wars and dreams, their graces and their vulgarity. He thought he knew everything about existence until Imogen, like a sudden blaze in the darkness, awoke something that slumbered in his body.

One day, a young teenager with hair like fire and skin as smooth as milk glided into the angels’ vision. He could not understand why he had singled her out but he continued to watch her throughout the rest of her teenage years. She’s like a phoenix, he once thought to himself, she’s something rare and precious, rising from the shadows of her world. Sometimes he was certain she could feel him; in moments of solitude she’d suddenly tilt her head backwards and her eye’s would glance up into heaven, as if searching for him.

Over time something began to change in her; she became meek; and her flame began to flicker. She once whispered aloud, as if speaking to Tom, I feel incomplete. As soon as her words reached him he realised that perhaps they belonged together. He wanted to save her. He was taught that angels didn’t have souls, but he felt that something stirred deep inside of him; maybe she awoke a soul that hid inside of his heart.

He tore the fabric that held a divide between Heaven and Earth; between Imogen and himself. He gripped on to the clouds that surrounded him, but gravity pulled him downward ripping him away from the warmth of the light and threw him into the Earths’ atmosphere. He struck the ground with such force that he was certain he would die. The earth beneath him shuddered and concaved with the weight of his fall. He lay unable to move, his platinum wings were heavy on his back. Everything faded.

To be continued...

Who am I?

I realise that I haven't really gave much away about myself. I have posted blogs (majority of them just photos) about things I like but that really doesn't tell any kind of certain truth. So here it is.

1) I have to work hard at what I do. I'm not naturally gifted with ANY kind of intelligence, I have to revise. My grammar is poor (as well as my spelling), maths is terrible and science I cannot comprehend. I've have always been aware of my lack of natural intelligence so I made a conscious decision (from an early age) to always try and better myself.

2) I study Film and Theatre at university. It's demanding and hard but I want to actually try and aim for my dreams.

3) I have too much stuff. I can't throw anything away that has any kind of sentimental value to me. To me, throwing something away could mean that I'm throwing away that particular memory. My room is one full of keep-sakes.

4) My all time favourite books? American Psycho, The Shining, I am Legend, Cold Tom and Harry Potter (all of them).

5) Most of the things I say consists of quotes and references (to films and books). I am a copy of a copy of a copy.

6) My favourite kind of food is sushi and I am addicted to Red Bull.

7) My favourite item is my Club Master Ray Bans.

8) I have a long-term boyfriend (4 years) and I can never give him enough credit for how amazing he is.

9) I love sitting in art galleries when I have nothing better to do. They're quiet and calm.

10) I collect masks.

(PS: I'm wearing sunglasses because I hate my face.)

#2

They controlled each other; mirroring each other’s moves; watching each other intently. Their obsession with one another was continuous and crippling. He, like a fox, circled her, followed her. The first time he fucked her, she saw into his core; she saw that he could kill her. Meaning this much to him meant everything to her, more than anything. He’d whisper songs into her soul, “We’re more than human, but you make me ache for everything.”

He wanted to contain her. He wanted to eat her, keep her soul inside of him. He couldn’t understand her, why she stayed with him or why she’d look back at him in wonderment after he hurt her. He couldn’t be without but he couldn’t stand her, they way she controlled him through desire and absolute need. She wasn’t human; she was something rare and ancient.

#1

I vaguely wonder to myself whether or not anything holds any true existence. Is it all just random? I don’t think I agree. But, then again, I can’t be certain of myself.

I’m a self-made invention. I can be who I want to be, and there isn’t much more I care about. I’m a product of my influences. I have never cared much for anything and I don’t like anyone. The most glamorous thing about life is that you can choose to be an observer or to be the observed. I choose to be observed. I am the silent friend in your group, the beautiful accessory of dark coldness that you have all chosen. You feel that you have all excelled because of my silent presence, my acceptation, as though this means you all know me personally. But truthfully, no one can look into me. And truthfully, I don’t care as long as people find me interesting. The people that exist around me are all watching me, looking for something in my reactions or my feeling. At some point they will realise that I am only a ghost, an idea of a person. To them that makes me all the more interesting.

Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus.

Released in 2006 and directed by Steven Shainberg this film was a TOTAL find for me! I only picked this up because it had Robert Downey Jr and it suggested nudity. I shamefully have to admit that I didn't care about the story or who it was based on before a pressed the PLAY button on my laptop, but as the film played on I realised it was about thee Diane Arbus, the photographer. She famously took photographs of the weird, the fascinating and the wonderful.Anyway, this film shows a fictional portrait of her and what inspired her to become

a photographer. This film is about image, sexuality and acceptance.

This beautifully shot piece paints the image of a housewife (Nicole Kidman), restricted by social conformity, who tries to break out and find herself.

Her realisation is helped by her new neighbor, an ex circus performer (played

by RDJ) who suffers from a condition in which hair grows on every part of his body.

The film delightfully makes a strange comparison with what's 'normal' and what isn't, commenting on the surface value of society by breaking it down; placing hand-in-hand love and acceptance.

What I love.

It's all the rage to write about what you love and hate. I've decided to list what I love and not what I hate just because most of my hates are phobias. And, anyway, it will distract me from all the explosions outside... it sounds like WW3.

The stars: When I was little I used to be obsessed with the stars. My dad got me a telescope and books on the stars and planets. This started my love for myths and legends.

Myths and Legends: The Greek Gods are fascinating to me. When I was young it used to amaze me that they existed in the stars.

Animals: Do I really need to explain? They are all just so beautiful.


Dreams: I'm a vivid dreamer. Dreams have given me the opportunity to visit the dead, swim the seas and glide through the stars. Sometimes, I wish I could sleep forever.


Beautiful people: What more can I say?


Literature: I don't think I'd be who I am today without all of the excellent books I have encountered.

The woods: There's a small area of woodland near where I live. When I was young I don't think there was any place more mystical to me. Today it's the perfect jog spot.

Art: Better than any photograph, art gives you an opportunity to convey what words can't.

Film: A way of inception. You can give birth to the smallest idea through a great film.

Sunglasses: Everyone should own a good pair.

Coffee: Bitter, dark and sweet; like a perfect partner.

History: A point of reference of amazing, revolutionary ideas.

The ocean: Deep and frightening, it's an undiscovered world within our world.

Travel: finding those inspirational places in which history took place.

The Future: As frightening and as unpredictable as it is, it's a window of opportunity. Everyone has their own path. Have faith in it.

I love smart men.

Changes through celluloid.

Some of my favourite moments caught on camera.

I found these daisies in my Dads bird bath.

My cat, Sally.

I thought these two cats were wonderful.

Beautiful marble carving at Ephesus.

This was taken when I was on a boat in Venice.

This is the first time I saw Buckingham Palace. The same day I met Bret Easton Ellis (taken by Emily).

"You missed so many hints about me."

“There are so many things Blair doesn’t get about me, so many things she ultimately overlooked, and things she would never know, and there would always be a distance between us because there were too many shadows everywhere. Had she ever made promises to a faithless reflection in the mirror? Had she ever cried because she hated someone so much? Had she ever craved betrayal to the point where she pushed the crudest fantasies into reality, coming up with sequences that only she and nobody else could read, moving the game as you play it? Could she locate the moment she went dead inside? Does she remember the year it took to become that way? The fades, the dissolves, the rewritten scenes, all the things you wipe away- I now want to explain these things to her but I know I never will, the most important one being: I never liked anyone and I’m afraid of people.”

- Imperial Bedrooms.

Love Like Winter.

There is no doubt that winter is on its way. Today I had gone out in search for a tweed blazer but instead returned with this wooly jumper that I purchased from a charity shop. Now that I have managed to find myself a job I have a list of winter wants:
A blazer.
New boots.
More seasonal jumpers.
A satchel.
More books.
I know I will not be able to get all of these all at once (waah) but one can dream.


At the moment I am loving Autumn colours: reds, golds, greens, dark chestnut browns... Lately it's all I have been wearing. I am very excited about Halloween, Bonfire Night and Christmas. I didn't get to celebrate any of these last year, but this year I see it as being some kind of recovery- a way of healing. Now, I know a few people will be thinking 'Jeez, it's only another day.' but these days are days when I get to forget harshness of real life. I am going to embrace these days. As a child these were wonderful days that I got to spend with my family and friends. So, hopefully, this year it's going to be like that.

Bret Easton Ellis and his excellent sense of humour.

Emily showed me this excellent video of Bret Easton Ellis doing what he does best- being
awesome. Did I tell you we met him? I truly believe that he is the funniest
person I have ever encountered. Also, has anyone read his essay on Teletubbies? If not, here
it is...

THE BIG ISSUE Why the Teletubbies are evil. The shocking truth by Bret Easton Ellis.

There is a children's TV program that takes place under gray English skies where a sun with the face of a baby so adorable he must be computer-generated rises as a tinny march plays on the soundtrack.
And then the Teletubbies appear--four blobs, performers in costumes, each a different color of pale frosting with defining antennae flopping on top of their heads--cavorting and frolicking in an astroturfed wasteland, a barren miniature golf course. They take karate stances for no apparent reason. They carry purses. They have names like Dipsy and Tinky-Winky. They have smooth, ageless, simian faces. They speak in sentence fragments and clipped phrases, sounding vaguely like giddy Japanese waitresses who work at the sushi bar in Hell. Sometimes they interact with a narrator who asks urgent questions along the lines of, "What's in the bag, Tinky-Winky?"

Like toddlers, the Teletubbies are amazed by balls, pieces of felt and plastic food. Holding balls, pieces of felt and plastic food. Holding hand while dancing around a plant is an especially popular pastime. Toys are put in bags and then pulled out of bags with great fanfare and encouragement. Minutes go by as the Teletubbies fall over while the sun looks down on them and squeals with delight. Sober, straining to pay attention you have no idea what's going on. Imagining the performers in those suits making "tubby custard," tasting "tubby toast" and trying on hats can move you to make yourself a very large drink.

Teletubbies share this space with giant, motley rabbits that are real and lumber toward plastic flower beds (one insider tells me the rabbits are as large as "small lambs" and are "bred especially" for this show). Farting noises commence, periscopes pop out of astroturf, a pinwheel dispenses sparkly rays causing the Teletubbies to huddle and spaz out, and that's when the gray squares on their bellies start glowing.

These Oompa Loompas on acid are actually living televisions--all proudly baring a screen embedded in their stomachs, which flash to life, showing short films of real children acting disconcertingly like Teletubbies--attempting gymnastics, zipping up bags, closing and opening drawers, deciding what to wear, singing mindlessly, hiding from each other (actually what any number of my friends in Manhattan do on a daily basis). This documentary footage reminds you of the thin line between the speech patterns of children and total drunks.

Though it lacks the forced, noxious gaiety of Barny, Teletubbies seems like a wicked satirist's idea of a horrible children's program watched in a future concocted by Huxley or Orwell or Gibson. They are reminiscent of the mutants in David Cronenberg's The Brood, and you can only stare and think: well they must have been designed to upset us. It's a dare. Marilyn Manson's calculated shock tactics seem phony compared to these psychedelic teddy bears (a warning: do not play The Dope Show over Teletubbies with the volume off). I would actually rather have my kids watch Taxi Cab Confessions or Deliverance.

The soothing tones, the eerie quiet, the New Agey vibe, the immaculate surfaces, everything so anal and controlled and antiseptic, a world where even the spontaneous seems rehearsed, the sheer humorlessness of it all--is what makes Teletubbies so creepy and emlematic of the new mothers and fathers of my generation.

Part of my resentment stems from the fact that I'm at an age where the majority of these friends are having children and settling down and this intrudes upon my bachelor lifestyle: dinner reservations are now made at seven, wilder invitations are bypassed, casual indignation about drugs and movie violence (these from former addicts, dealers, nymphos). But part of it stems from the hypocrisy of adults--the creators of Teletubbies and the scared, thoughtful parents plopping their kids in front of the tube--who over-identify with children and want the world baby-proofed. Adults who want the world to conform to their own notion of safety.

There was a mad, anarchic quality to Sesame Street--wit and sass were in abundance--in the late 60's and early 70's. The puppets were boisterous and often confused and fed up with the adults (authority figures) surrounding them. There were skits, rock songs, a general air of messiness that is conspicuously absent from Teletubbies and which makes it such odious time when cultural artifacts are stripped down to such an essential dumbness that people can locate a purity and familiarity they find soothing. Comfort abounds. Get Zen! Zone out! Sshhh.

One gets the feeling that if the Cookie Monster or Oscar the Grouch entered Teletubby land, their uncontrollable natures would compel the Teletubbies to club the living shit out of them and have the giant pinwheel make their muppet corpses disappear.


Hahahaha, brilliant.

Florence Welch is my hero.

I love Florence Welch with all of my heart. I just saw this photo of her attending the Chanel Ready to Wear Spring/Summer 2011 show during Paris Fashion Week. Did anyone else read her tweets during that week? "Met Karl, drinking a goblet of diet coke, best guy ever, gave me a few hints about next years show." Karl Lagerfeld?! God, I love her.

Only Florence could pull that off. I adore her milk-white skin and flowing red hair.

Reading one of my favourite books, I have to note.

How cute?

I love this one. She looks like some kind of Crow Goddess.

P.S: I got a job!