Twitter Updates

    follow me on Twitter

    Friday, April 17, 2009

    I'm not in Los Angeles, but if I was, my savings account would be in big! trouble.

    Keerstin Wintrup

    Lusting like you wouldn't believe. Birthday me, babies.

    Wildfox Couture

    Thursday, April 2, 2009

    Kate Moss

    Wednesday, April 1, 2009

    Come Away With Me

    "'Come away with me,' he said, 'we will live on a desert island.' I said, 'I am a desert island.' It was not what he had in mind." - Margaret Atwood

    Monday, March 30, 2009

    Mercy Fuck

    East of Eden

    "Maybe if I had loved him I would have been jealous of him. You were. Maybe love makes you suspicious and doubting. Is it true that when you love a woman you are never sure - never sure of her because you aren't sure of yourself? I can see it pretty clearly. I can see how you loved him and what it did to you. I did not love him. Maybe he loved me. He tested me and hurt me and punished me and finally he sent me out like a sacrifice, maybe to make up for something. But he did not love you, and so he had faith in you." - John Steinbeck

    Black Is The New Black

    All black ensembles never fail to make me weak in the knees. Swoon.

    via: Jak and Jil

    It's Raining In Love; Richard Brautigan

    I don’t know what it is,
    But I distrust myself
    When I start to like a girl
    A lot.

    It makes me nervous.
    I don’t say the right things
    Or perhaps I start
    To examine,
    What I am saying.

    If I say, “Do you think it’s going to rain? ”
    and she says, “I don’t know, ”
    I start thinking: Does she really like me?

    In other words
    I get a little creepy.

    A friend of mine once said,
    “It’s twenty times better to be friends
    with someone
    than it is to be in love with them.”

    I think he’s right and besides,
    it's raining somewhere, programming flowers
    and keeping snails happy. That’s all taken care of.

    if a girl likes me a lot
    and starts getting real nervous
    and suddenly begins asking me funny questions
    and looks sad if I give the wrong answers
    and she says things like,
    “Do you think it’s going to rain? ”
    and I say, “It beats me, ”
    and she says, “Oh, ”
    and looks a little sad at the clear blue California sky,
    I think: Thank God, it’s you, baby, this time
    Instead of me.

    Hanneli Mustaparta

    Hanneli Mustaparta wearing some beautiful Bess jeans.

    New DIY project? I think so!

    via: Jak and Jil

    Chris Jordan

    "Exploring around our country’s shipping ports and industrial yards, where the accumulated detritus of our consumption is exposed to view like eroded layers in the Grand Canyon, I find evidence of a slow-motion apocalypse in progress. I am appalled by these scenes, and yet also drawn into them with awe and fascination. The immense scale of our consumption can appear desolate, macabre, oddly comical and ironic, and even darkly beautiful; for me its consistent feature is a staggering complexity.

    The pervasiveness of our consumerism holds a seductive kind of mob mentality. Collectively we are committing a vast and unsustainable act of taking, but we each are anonymous and no one is in charge or accountable for the consequences. I fear that in this process we are doing irreparable harm to our planet and to our individual spirits.

    As an American consumer myself, I am in no position to finger wag; but I do know that when we reflect on a difficult question in the absence of an answer, our attention can turn inward, and in that space may exist the possibility of some evolution of thought or action. So my hope is that these photographs can serve as portals to a kind of cultural self-inquiry. It may not be the most comfortable terrain, but I have heard it said that in risking self-awareness, at least we know that we are awake." - Intolerable Beauty: Portraits of American Mass Consumption

    Friday, March 27, 2009

    Love Hurts

    "People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that's bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they're afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they're wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It's all in how you carry it. That's what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you're letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain." - Jim Morrison.

    Wednesday, March 25, 2009

    Pierrot Le Fou

    The Places We've Been

    Love After Love; Derek Walcott

    The time will come
    when, with elation
    you will greet yourself arriving
    at your own door, in your own mirror
    and each will smile at the other's welcome,

    and say, sit here. Eat.
    You will love again the stranger who was your self.
    Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
    to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

    all your life, whom you ignored
    for another, who knows you by heart.
    Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

    the photographs, the desperate notes,
    peel your own image from the mirror.
    Sit. Feast on your life.

    Tuesday, March 24, 2009

    Kate Moss

    Drea Faux Leather Tote

    Bought this bag today.

    Sekhmet, the Lion-headed Goddess of War; Margaret Atwood

    Perhaps my favorite poem of all time:

    He was the sort of man
    who wouldn't hurt a fly.
    Many flies are now alive
    while he is not.
    He was not my patron.
    He preferred full granaries, I battle.
    My roar meant slaughter.
    Yet here we are together
    in the same museum.
    That's not what I see, though, the fitful
    crowds of staring children
    learning the lesson of multi-
    cultural obliteration, sic transit
    and so on.

    I see the temple where I was born
    or built, where I held power.
    I see the desert beyond,
    where the hot conical tombs, that look
    from a distance, frankly, like dunces' hats,
    hide my jokes: the dried-out flesh
    and bones, the wooden boats
    in which the dead sail endlessly
    in no direction.

    What did you expect from gods
    with animal heads?
    Though come to think of it
    the ones made later, who were fully human
    were not such good news either.
    Favour me and give me riches,
    destroy my enemies.
    That seems to be the gist.
    Oh yes: And save me from death.
    In return we're given blood
    and bread, flowers and prayer,
    and lip service.

    Maybe there's something in all of this
    I missed. But if it's selfless
    love you're looking for,
    you've got the wrong goddess.
    I just sit where I'm put, composed
    of stone and wishful thinking:
    that the deity who kills for pleasure
    will also heal,
    that in the midst of your nightmare,
    the final one, a kind lion
    will come with bandages in her mouth
    and the soft body of a woman,
    and lick you clean of fever,
    and pick your soul up gently by the nape of the neck
    and caress you into darkness and paradise.