30 January 2012
28 January 2012
Good day/bad day
Good
Good days comes from walks.
From not hating people on sight.
From smiling stupidly at the squirrel hot-footing it across the road.
From feeling the happy illusion of home everywhere.
From watching green spaces tessellate across London.
From finally feeling hungry.
Bad
The twenty-something boy in front of me picks his nose. He retracts the finger and wipes it on his trouser leg pretending not to. He holds a kindle in his free hand. It's so fucking grey. I see his fingers. The tips are pink from the cold and the nails are bitten down. The fingers are chubby in a way that disgusts me. I imagine him as a fat little kid covered in jam. His mother dotes on him and loves Princess Diana. He is wearing one of those fake Burberry padded jackets like he is going shooting in fucking Dulwich. He goes back for more picking and repeats the wiping process oh so casually. He turns to the side, he has smug piggy eyes like a cartoon mayor.
Good days comes from walks.
From not hating people on sight.
From smiling stupidly at the squirrel hot-footing it across the road.
From feeling the happy illusion of home everywhere.
From watching green spaces tessellate across London.
From finally feeling hungry.
Bad
The twenty-something boy in front of me picks his nose. He retracts the finger and wipes it on his trouser leg pretending not to. He holds a kindle in his free hand. It's so fucking grey. I see his fingers. The tips are pink from the cold and the nails are bitten down. The fingers are chubby in a way that disgusts me. I imagine him as a fat little kid covered in jam. His mother dotes on him and loves Princess Diana. He is wearing one of those fake Burberry padded jackets like he is going shooting in fucking Dulwich. He goes back for more picking and repeats the wiping process oh so casually. He turns to the side, he has smug piggy eyes like a cartoon mayor.
21 January 2012
from Chekov's About Love (1898)
I understood that when you love you must either, in your reasonings about that love, start from what is highest, from what is more important than happiness or unhappiness, sin or virtue in their accepted meaning, or you must not reason at all.
full story here.
full story here.
10 January 2012
Miscellaneous phone photos/South London
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| Sunset over Peckham Rye |
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| Train graffiti |
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| Dead mouse in Camberwell |
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| How about that song, bro? London Bridge |
5 January 2012
Still life with objects from my aunt's house
Embroidery of Jesus: Byzantine folds, shining Oaxacan heart. Rococo bedspread, fake bronze statues of angels, pictures of blonde, blue eyed cherubs. Photographs of wedding days from the late ’60s to 2005. Romance novels and MegaCorp, Danielle Steel and The Little Book of Calm. Locked drawers, labelled medicine cabinet (antibiotics, anti-anxiety meds, pain killers, sleep aids). Defunct fax machine, ornate light fixtures, misaligned ceiling moulding, mechanical reindeer, racially diverse wise men. Soduko, crosswords, laptop tables, a collection of lighters, raw cauliflower heads in a bowl. Gifts from a colleague, gifts from a mad girl, gifts from a maiden aunt. Scented sachets, drawer liners, secrets to wrinkle free skin. Three hairdryers, eight Christmas guests, two packs of Silk Cut Silver, one pack of Kent, one pouch of Golden Virginia, Kleenex, Vicks, Flake, four remote controls. A half eaten orange, three cups of water, crocheted doilies, chew toy, knitting needles, rogue decorative bauble.
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