Daisy, Daisy...

...give me your answer, do.

What has happened? I think I recall. I made bread, washed clothes, watered the mint and the tomato plants, devoured the last of my book in the sunshine with my cat, plumped the cushions. I went on a bike ride and gave my limbs that giddy weakness. I got crotchety for the first time all month and it was because I had to go away from home. My mama bought me things, and like always, she tried to give me everything she has.
I came back to the city with hats and herbs, and found Heart-Sick Groans to join the endless songs already singing in my head.
I spent today with a numb face and rubber lips and aching teeth and a mouth of metal. I spent it talking to strangers in a strange room about the university's plan for a social responsibility and sustainability website, and thought of my own little corner of the internet where I can write whatever I like. I now wear my boots inside the house all the time, where are my manners?

The Marrow Morosky

"If marrow were a geological formation, it would be magma roiling under the earth's mantle. If it were a plant, it would be a delicate moss that grows only on the highest crags of Mount Everest, blooming with tiny white flowers for three days in the Nepalese spring. If it were a memory, it would be your first one, your most painful and repressed one, the one that has made you who you are." - Julie Powell

Are you ever caught up all at once in several different and seemingly unattached things, only to sit back and realise where they all tie in together? This happens to me constantly.




I have recently been considering blood and bone marrow donation. Discussion about the discrimination many of my friends face in regards to donating blood reminded me; gay and bisexual men, and women who sexually engage with either are prevented from joining the National Registry as they are at risk from HIV and AIDs. This is an understandable risk, but all those I know falling into this category are scrupulous about their sexual health. These lost donations are desperately required by our health service and yet the policy remains unchanged. I can't understand.

I came home from my grandmother's house, rested and relaxed, and armed with Julie Powell's book, 'Julie & Julia: My year of cooking dangerously'. I've wanted to read it - and watch the film (which looks doused with a healthy dollop of Hollywood sickly sweetness to combat the original wonderfully offensive acidity, but whatever) - for a while. The novel is already so much more satisfying than I had anticipated. It's full of all the good things in life, written with a multitude of my favourite words and expressed as if by your very closest, dark humoured friend, the one who knows you inside out. She has a way of writing that strikes me hard somewhere, the same way I imagine Julia Child's cooking struck her. If bone marrow was a kind of woman, it would be women like Julia Child and Julie Powell.

I also finally watched The Way We Were and Barbra Streisand blew me away. K-K-K-Katie might have been more complex than the inner most interior of our bones but what Hubbell could never learn is that in life, as in Potage Parmentier, simple is not easy. And what is exciting about easy, anyway? For the most part and the meantime, I'd rather times were tough and exciting - there are enough good books, feisty heroines and pots of potato soup to see me through.

En Pointe

Tujiko Noriko - White Film

Something's A-Changin', Something's Occuring

A day of driving and Dylan, sunshine and sustenance, farm life and friends, catching up and castles in the air, Greek myths and good company, laughter and love love love!

Commercielle

I'm sick and tired of beautiful songs being seized upon by television advertisers in order to attempt to make me connote the pretty music with the product they want me to buy, to pretend the company attempting to infiltrate my mind and bank account are just as warm and fuzzy as the melody and the dreamy aesthetics.
I am claiming you back, beautiful songs. You will not make me think of endless capitalist opportunities and how I can get more for my money on my mobile. Instead, I will listen to you whilst writing people real letters, and think of nothing but the bright and breezy buttercup days you were made for.


Allie Moss - Corner


Vashti Bunyan - Diamond Day
(this is, in fact, exactly the kind of buttercup day I will be picturing)


Free Design - Love You

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court

"Busy Doing Nothing"

Nothing except filling myself with food, friends and family. Spring break!

Fury and Future Dust

Lunar sunrises, stellar curries and miracles in space. 13th birthday parties and virgin cocktails that taste like ice cream sundaes. Candy painted nails that draw blood like cat claws, and cat hair all over my clothes. Sinking back into old books like into a bed that remembers your sleeping shape exactly. The heartache of spring fever Mark Twain understood so well, the wisdom of Nelson Mandela that no number of cutting teeth will bring me, and the fullness of everything around me.


Phantogram - Mouth Full of Diamonds




(the sweetest little vintage heart-buckled harem pants, deadstock from a vintage fair; a broken earring bracelet; an old apostolic teaspoon bent into a knuckle-dusting ring)

'Not all those who wander are lost.'

- J.R.R. Tolkein

I'd Rather Be In Rekyavik

One of my favourite people on earth went on an adventure to Iceland. She saw some wonders of this world of ours and made a new friend. I love that everyone is being bitten by the travel bug; we all have so much to tell nowadays.