Twenty thousand leagues

Tonight i'm looking at underwater photographs by diver Andrej Belic. You can find more of them here. Fish with bulging eyes. Glimmering shoals. Blackened, barnacle-clad boat wrecks..

Duffel coat memories

Each year three dates come up in March. They are all strangely muted.
I remember your duffel coat, hanging infront of a window, with the sun blazing behind it. The seasons had changed, and it still hung there defiantly, empty, ready for your quick escape. But you never made it back outside.

Today also marks the Vernal Equinox, meaning the night and day are approximately equal in length. 

Things begin to bud and bloom. Hello spring.

Which way does your beard point tonight?

"Starved in metropolis
Hooked on necropolis
Addict of Metropolis
Do the worm on the accropolis...
She spent a lifetime deciding
How to run from it"

These lyrics are from Ghetto dependant, a song by The Clash
Listen here...

The voice you hear is beat poet Allen Ginsberg. Someone somewhere wrote that he sounds "laconic, ominous". I love those two words together. Indeed he does.

All dolled up

Until the cold feet come tap, tap, tapping.. Soon big black heavy boots are crunching through my head. There is a war raging in my stomach.
I sit here in my purple tights and my eyeliner and gaze down into my tea. I wonder how my legs have grown into these tentacle roots that grip my chair and lock themselves in thick tangles to the house. It has a curious iron hold. I will wipe off my make-up and start again tomorrow.

Build thyself a fort

Jim Kazanjian uses digital wizardry to merge photographs into fantastical images of crumbling structures. I want to live in one of these dilapidated, shack-like palaces. They look as though they are hovering somewhere on the edge of the world, about to drop off. And there is something very satisfying about the labyrinth geometric patterns you can see in them..

You can find more here http://www.kazanjian.net/

Into the night

Pillows, rum, biscuits, incense sticks, a hot drink, books, a leaking green biro.
A bath. Steam.
A slightly eerie soundtrack.
Plotting an extravagant breakfast for tomorrow.
These are peaceful nighttime things

We tread water

Tonight I was looking at pictures of Miru Kim. If your curiosity is roused by dereliction and shadowy glimpses of nudity, take a look here at Naked city spleen. 

 

 On a musical note, this video by The Flashbulb is like the blast of cold air that hits your face when you step outside, having been hidden within four cloying walls for too long. I will be on a mountain in May, I can't wait, it seems an awful long time away. Until then I scurry about the gritty city and gulp in the car fumes.

Be calm; sleep

Tomorrow I must awake with the birds. And put everything right. Things are awry.

Beetroot harlot

I made another beetroot cake this evening. Two hours of boiling beetroots makes the house smell alluringly earthy.  They stain everything beautifully too.  Purple seeped onto my fingers and down my wrists.  The colour was so glorious, I smeared it into two lurid smudges of blusher.

After they'd boiled I poured the vivid purple water steaming and sloshing down the drain and suddenly thought, oh, wait no, I could have used that.  I'd like to paint with beetroot one day, when I am more awake.  Here is some info on other pigments you can use: natural dyes

You can find a recipe here, for skulking into the kitchen to do your secretive nighttime baking.
And this is a slice of the disgusting coloured cake, of which I am so proud

Please, surrender

It's 3am and my fingers type requests into the internet. Feed me with visual inspiration. Give me music to dream to. Help me build a blueprint for my tomorrows. I am hopeful all of a sudden, that things will get exciting again.

Keep me company whilst those around me shift in their sleep. I will not join them, just yet. I have plans to make.