Saturday, 28 April 2012
Tuesday, 24 April 2012
I live in a box of paints
Just before our love got lost you said
"I am as constant as a northern star"
And I said, "Constant in the darkness
Where's that at?
If you want me I'll be in the bar"
On the back of a cartoon coaster
In the blue TV screen light
I drew a map of Canada
Oh Canada
And I sketched your face on it twice
Oh you are in my blood like holy wine
Oh and you taste so bitter but you taste so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you
I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I'd still be on my feet
Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid
I remember that time that you told me, you said
"Love is touching souls"
Surely you touched mine
"Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
Oh you are in my blood like holy wine
And you taste so bitter but you taste so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you
I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I'd still be on my feet
I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
"Go to him, stay with him if you can
Oh but be prepared to bleed"
Oh but you are in my blood you're my holy wine
Oh and you taste so bitter but you taste so sweet
I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
Still I'd be on my feet
I'd still be on my feet
by Joni Mitchell
"I am as constant as a northern star"
And I said, "Constant in the darkness
Where's that at?
If you want me I'll be in the bar"
On the back of a cartoon coaster
In the blue TV screen light
I drew a map of Canada
Oh Canada
And I sketched your face on it twice
Oh you are in my blood like holy wine
Oh and you taste so bitter but you taste so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you
I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I'd still be on my feet
Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid
I remember that time that you told me, you said
"Love is touching souls"
Surely you touched mine
"Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
Oh you are in my blood like holy wine
And you taste so bitter but you taste so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you
I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I'd still be on my feet
I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
"Go to him, stay with him if you can
Oh but be prepared to bleed"
Oh but you are in my blood you're my holy wine
Oh and you taste so bitter but you taste so sweet
I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
Still I'd be on my feet
I'd still be on my feet
by Joni Mitchell
Monday, 23 April 2012
I like to eat a lot
Vanilla cupcakes with lavender frosting made by JM
Pastries & tea
Quadruple-layered chocolate cake made by JM
White chocolate brownie with Vanilla ice cream from Moxie's
Chocolate cake with Vanilla frosting, jelly beans and kit kat bars
Vanilla latte
Crispy chocolate chip cookies made by JM
Oatmeal chocolate cookies made by JM
Look at this tangle of thorns.
I visited The University of Toronto this weekend. It was nice.
Overall it was a good day. I got to see pretty things and listen to my music and I bought a James Blake album and a Bob Dylan album in vinyl.
They have a lot of tunnels here.
A pretty tree in Queens Park.
Doesn't this house look like 111 Archer Avenue????????
Beautiful apartment I want to live in when I get rich.
Victoria College...so lovely.
For Schmidt
Me in my natural habitat
Don't I look happy here?
Kool
Tuesday, 3 April 2012
Margaret Howell
London Fashion Week Fall/Winter 2012 — backstage
photos by Vanessa Jackman
her blog: http://vanessajackman.blogspot.ca/
This collection is lovely aswell:
Monday, 2 April 2012
Who said I have changed because I have not
some of my favourite blogs/websites/tumblrs:
http://youmeandcharlie.com/
http://fleurishes.tumblr.com/
http://nylonmag.com/nylonblogs/
http://girlinlondon.tumblr.com/
http://wildromantic.blogspot.ca/
http://allisonelisabeta.tumblr.com/
http://laura-sylv.tumblr.com/
http://crumbleintoash.tumblr.com/
http://thisishangingrockcomics.tumblr.com/
http://liz-darcy.tumblr.com/
http://youmeandcharlie.com/
http://fleurishes.tumblr.com/
http://nylonmag.com/nylonblogs/
http://girlinlondon.tumblr.com/
http://wildromantic.blogspot.ca/
http://allisonelisabeta.tumblr.com/
http://laura-sylv.tumblr.com/
http://crumbleintoash.tumblr.com/
http://thisishangingrockcomics.tumblr.com/
http://liz-darcy.tumblr.com/
Lovesong
by Ted Hughes
He loved her and she loved him.
His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she sucked
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains
Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment's brink and into nothing
Or everlasting or whatever there was
Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall
Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
In the morning they wore each other's face
He loved her and she loved him.
His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she sucked
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains
Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment's brink and into nothing
Or everlasting or whatever there was
Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall
Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
In the morning they wore each other's face
Sunday, 1 April 2012
The people look like flowers at last
I love gardens and plants and herbs and flowers. At one point in my life I wanted to become a botanist but I soon realized that I am very terrible at growing things. I prefer to admire from afar. I went to Chapters to-day and spent alot of money on books. By (total) coincidence I purchased flower-themed books.
me + bukowski = happiness (favourite poem: Cats)
Lately I've been very interested in the way people of The Victorian era used to communicate words using flowers. Is there anything more romantic? I think not. I am very excited to read this book.
I lied. I never really bought this book because it was too expensive but I really wanted to and I browsed through it for a long while.
At the moment I have a campanula potted plant beside me. Campanula means 'wonder'. I've had the flowers less than a week and (though I have tried very hard) they are already dying. If only I could speak to them... learn their ways... know what would satisfy them, or what kind of lighting they enjoy best... I will never know, sadly.
Many people don't like flowers. They say they remind them of funerals. I like flowers even though they remind me of funerals. They remind me that death is beautiful. So long as they aren't white roses.
I adore flower names. My children will be named after flowers (I like Violet, Briar-Rose, Marigold and Poppy) and I am going to start pressing flowers into my artbooks. I'm going to my perfume with hints of peony this weekend because they smell so lovely. I wish I were delicate and poise and beautiful like flowers.
I was in a very book-ish mood to-day and wanted to by soo many poetry books. I am really into Ted Hughes (favourite poem: Lovesong) and William Butler Yeats (favourite poem: The Rose of the World) at the moment. I managed to resist the urge of purchasing a book of pictures of Audrey Hepburn and a book of Egon Schiele's artwork (it was too expensive and my mother would not approve of the painting of the nude woman on the cover) and a book of Linda McCartney's photography. Instead I bought Lolita, and a book of French doodles for my sister's birthday.
Allow me to leave you with my favourite 'flower' quote:
"The earth laughs in flowers." - e.e. cummings
me + bukowski = happiness (favourite poem: Cats)
Lately I've been very interested in the way people of The Victorian era used to communicate words using flowers. Is there anything more romantic? I think not. I am very excited to read this book.
I lied. I never really bought this book because it was too expensive but I really wanted to and I browsed through it for a long while.At the moment I have a campanula potted plant beside me. Campanula means 'wonder'. I've had the flowers less than a week and (though I have tried very hard) they are already dying. If only I could speak to them... learn their ways... know what would satisfy them, or what kind of lighting they enjoy best... I will never know, sadly.
Many people don't like flowers. They say they remind them of funerals. I like flowers even though they remind me of funerals. They remind me that death is beautiful. So long as they aren't white roses.
I adore flower names. My children will be named after flowers (I like Violet, Briar-Rose, Marigold and Poppy) and I am going to start pressing flowers into my artbooks. I'm going to my perfume with hints of peony this weekend because they smell so lovely. I wish I were delicate and poise and beautiful like flowers.
I was in a very book-ish mood to-day and wanted to by soo many poetry books. I am really into Ted Hughes (favourite poem: Lovesong) and William Butler Yeats (favourite poem: The Rose of the World) at the moment. I managed to resist the urge of purchasing a book of pictures of Audrey Hepburn and a book of Egon Schiele's artwork (it was too expensive and my mother would not approve of the painting of the nude woman on the cover) and a book of Linda McCartney's photography. Instead I bought Lolita, and a book of French doodles for my sister's birthday.
Allow me to leave you with my favourite 'flower' quote:
"The earth laughs in flowers." - e.e. cummings
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