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pretty wings.

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there are lullabies, and then there are break ups that feel like lullabies.


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I've always had a strange fascination with cemeteries. Not in a macabre or even Tim Burton-esque sense, but because they always seem so peaceful.

You can wander or stand still, have your eyes open or lids drawn and you still feel the same. It's a different kind of euphoria. One that doesn't rush up and drag you along, but one that waits with one hand extended, beckoning.


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I was handled by 'Smooth Operator'.
Magnificently waylaid by 'Kissing You'.
And sublimely humbled by 'By Your Side'

In 2010, I may forget my own name.

__ she walked a tousled line, caught between two ends that split __

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someone has the right idea.

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(image borrowed, not taken)

when great combos get upsized

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Bassment Jaxx feat Lisa Kekaula, 2004


Bassment Jaxx feat Lisa Kekaula, 2009

While 'goodluck' will always have a place in my heart (and playlist) for being a great get-back-at-him-song, I've recently become taken with their newest combined effort 'Stay Close'. Her voice melts over the lyrics and Jaxx's subtle production wraps the song in a weird little bubble that I keep popping.

animated grime culture

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A testament to the notion that
sometimes you don't have to look far for inspiration.

You can stand completely still for years.

i get satisfied

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a not-quite-movement that stuck. with me anyway.

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junk male

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This has to be the strangest thing I have ever received in a junkmail box. My old email addy has become a forgotten step-child which I visit rarely. The random email I received appears to be a love poem of sorts, addressed not to one potential suitor but several (or at least two). Male suitors. The subject line read, "lost and not found" which made me curious enough to risk making my Norton kick into gear and everything that followed was just... weird:

"Aloha, my gentleman

But true love is a durable fire, in the mind ever burning, never sick, never old, and never dead, from itself never turning. Some people have such big dreams, but all I want is to love you, to wake up beside you each morning, to feel the warmth of your hand in mine, to share each moment, good and bad, with you, to lose myself in your loving arms. Some people want so much out of life, but all I want is to share everything with you, for us to talk long into the night, to dream together, and experience all of the little things together that makes life worth living. Yes, I have a big dream after all. And I want so many things. I want to spend the rest of my life with the person I love. And I want to give him my love, and to make our home a place where you always feel warm and welcome, and for us to have a relationship in which we accept each other for who we are and always find a sweet dream in each other’s arms All I want is for us to love each other with unbelievable love. And I do believe that dreams can come true.

A rivederci
Katrina M."

Who is this Katrina and why is she using hotmail for her messages in a bottle?


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Growing up in a household where television was considered passage into the depths of hell and complacent mediocrity I spent a large portion of my life immersed in books, books and more books. My littlest sister, a decade my junior, tends to stare at books like they've been teleported forward in time, covered in the dust of dead authors and dripping with the ink that once flowed through their veins. There are no bells, whistles or chimes so her eyes dull and her fingertips wander towards keyboards. Bookmarks are left naked and pages lie flat.

will you stll love me tomorrow

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the feeling that follows the the kind of phone call that dissolves into muted sobs can be likened to a small, person-centric black cloud. there was a plea, an impromptu plane ticket and suddenly I was struggling (again) with a small bag of peanuts and dully watching lackluster blockbusters thousands of feet in the air and wedged between curious strangers. they probably wondered why I refused to make eye contact let alone conversation.
at the time I had scrawled, almost desperately, in a notebook- better out than in- words that are far too personal to even entertain the idea of splaying here. in a phrase: I was frantic. rushing towards what I thought would be certain failure and in the end turned into a test of enduring patience.
having left behind my camera (my forethought being that the trip was not for pleasure and bringing it would be like wearing a feather boa to a memorial service) I felt naked, unable to capture anything about (whatIconsidertobe) an aesthetically appealing city. one gray mid-afternoon I found my self standing in a Sainsbury's- having just relayed translated hospital conversations, organized and neurotically re-organized a kitchen- dazed and drawn to a shelf of brandless disposable cameras. I robotically snatched one up greedily, paid....very... slowly (pence are confusing) and then guiltily unwrapped it like a Point Watcher with a candy bar.
then I walked.
I wandered in a haze.
I didn't take the lens from my eye, it seemed, except to wind after each snap. it kept my hands and my mind busied. shapes, colours, words, a faceless face. I was gone for a few hours, but i felt like it was days, years. I was odysseus my travails seared onto film.
by the time I returned to her house and heard the soft-voice call out to me i was refreshed, ready again.

that old rhyme

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secondhand embarrassment

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it's carnivale.

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We boarded the TTC rather lackadaisically, the events of the night before still lingering- with age comes consequences and hangovers that sips of caffeine may not cure. My camera burned a hole in my bag, the strap digging into my shoulder as a reminder that I had no room for excuses- I was to attend, capture, and roll out. Wham bam, thank you Ma'am, a first of firsts.

After the TTC there was a shuttle bus, express of course, to a different kind of promised land. Fighting motion sickness and the glare of Caribana themed pro-nails we killed the crawling minutes by counting weaves and louder-than-thou Americans.

We arrived and in a matter of moments realized that the $25 price tag was steep for half a parade and uncomfortable bleacher seats. Defeated, we chose to wander, following the sounds of socca floats, 'braapps' and a trail of fallen luminescent feathers. Finally, like Hansel and Gretel stumbling on the path to the candy house, we spotted a very illegal, very irresistible opening in a once impenetrable iron gate. Bodies surrounded and enfolded us- within moments we were carried through to a blocked off parking lot where the next option was to run. I still have bruises on my side where camera-laden purse smacked unyielding flesh. The crowd on the other side absorbed us, and like fugitives we tried to blend in. The smiles came out and so did my lens.

(Click for colour)

Oh and the shoes! Of course, the shoes.