i couldn’t be without you
and the light shines around you;
no, nothing ever mattered more
than not doubting that tonight:
the streets are ours.]
and no-one else can haunt me the way that you can haunt me.
Category Archives: photography
so i kiss goodbye to every little ounce of pain.
Draining are the moments in life when you know not what the future holds. When you know nothing of the crucials, like where you are going to live or where you are going to work or who you are going to meet. In moments like that – or, indeed, months – you learn to live with an acutely heightened awareness of fate. And fate can be prickly thing; control, an abstract. And then, of course, things start dipping into place. Some stay in place, some don’t – but something is better than nothing (and as the erstwhile holder of nothing you are in no position to complain). You would like to say these are the fates aligning – but that would be one part surrender and another part crass. You snatch a glimpse of the future and suddenly you breathe again (only just aware that you had been holding your breath). A little knowledge of the future takes the edges off, at last.
that makes me think of you somehow
and i play it on repeat
(until i fall asleep,
spilling drinks on my settee)
i’m a heavy-headed girl
Otherwise inconsequential walks down the road are doused in a new hue. There are trifling trips to the British seaside / picnic tables in anchoring market pubs / trains too hot or trains too cold / tanned shoulders in spaghetti-strap camis / impromptu backyard parties / late-night running / the south of France / shandy. Thank you, sunshine, for reminding me where the hope is kept.
the moon is hanging in the purple sky.
June is imminent, which can only be a good thing [despite the weather’s attempt to convince us otherwise] as it promises a crop of delights. John Power is paying an acoustic-clad visit to my hometown [for me alone, surely], there’s another flirtation with The Stone Roses to be had on some big London plain, plus an inevitably brilliant reunion with that little-known Somerset farm at the month’s end. Even my anorak’s excited, frankly. Meanwhile, I beg, do walls get any better than this?
well i followed her to the station with a suitcase in my hand.
April. Food (as ever), booze (as ever ever), weather (at last), streets (only the best). Photos below. Do enjoy! Meanwhile, I’m very much looking forward to May. It’ll bring more of the above/below, plus the birthday of the year and some much-longed-for visitors. And as for June, I am yet to find the words.
no pop, no style; all strictly roots.
Still can’t believe I have the weekends to myself for the first time in years. Finally allowing myself to remember what all the fuss is about [after so long chiding those who live-for-them]. So, allow me to sound smug for a moment as I say they’re especially good when: they last four days/you wake up on various sofas and find yourself watching Soccer AM with the giggles/you’re with your favourite old friends and new friends and family/your nails are neon and your dancing wheels are go/you play the taking-turns music game until daylight/you’ve tried to facetime everyone you know/you wake up to find the DJ’s business card in your purse. This is what they look like.
your beauty is a colour surround.
into the the half-light,
another velvet morning for me.
