s i m o n e

A lovely afternoon with the loveliest of friends. She is a true beauty in every way. We like to get coffee and talk about everything and nothing. What a lady. I love her for many reasons. Her sense of humour, her ability to build tee pee's, her stunning good looks, her crazy ways. x

h e l l o

Sometimes I am so overwhelmed by life and the only thing that gives me joy is taking photo's. How lovely to have that. I get sad about where I've been and where I am now, and start thinking an awful lot about it, wishing that I had seen more or done more and become more. Become a better version of myself.

I read a quote today that I cant stop revisiting.

Throw out all maps. Rip them from your books. Rip them from your heart. Or they will break it. I guarantee. Toss all globes from the roof until you have plastic pieces. Burn any atlas. You can’t understand them anyway. They are offensive, like fairy tales from another tribe. The lines make no sense and no longer make mountains. You have come to the land where no one looks back. Remember, don’t look back. Don’t look out the window. Don’t dare turn your head. You could grow dizzy. You could fall down. Throw out all your maps. Burn them.

I have been waiting to develop a certain roll of film for so long, and when I finally had the chance today, the roll was blank. All those pictures gone! It makes me overwhelmed with sadness. I get very emotional about losing photo's, but no one can take my memories so that's the up side.

Since today's roll didn't turn out, here are so older film snaps from a few months ago.

You have the Lovers

This is Leonard Cohen reading aloud my favourite poem of his.

I found his book of poems, The Spice-Box of Earth in a little vintage shop in Portland, and would carry it around with me in my purse to read on occasion, on the bus, at cafes, and I always came back to this poem. I would read it relentlessly; as though someone was trying to tell me something.

Close your eyes while you listen. 

 Paintings and drawings by E.E. Cummings

The city is loveliest when the sweet death racket begins. Her own life lived in defiance of nature, her electricity, her frigidaires, her soundproof walls, the glint of lacquered nails, the plumes that wave across the corrugated sky. Here in the coffin depths grow the everlasting flowers sent by telegraph. 

Henry Miller

Travelling north, travelling north to find you
Train wheels beating, the wind in my eyes
Don’t even know what I’ll find when I get to you
Call out your name love, don’t be surprised

It’s so many miles and so long since I’ve met you
Don’t even know what I’ll find when I get to you
But suddenly now, I know where I belong
It’s many hundred miles but it won’t be long

What will I do if there’s someone with you
Maybe someone you’ve always known
How do I know I can come and give to you
Love with no warning and find you alone

It’s so many miles and so long since I’ve met you
Don’t even know what I’ll find when I get to you
But suddenly now, I know where I belong
It’s many hundred miles and it won’t be long

Vashti Bunyan, Train Song