glass in the park

we sing to bless the morning

hands and knees

sunday

star star

(There's a storm raging outside but I'll be having friends over and I'm listening to this.)

saturday

sundays

(Reading Brideshead Revisited and Lolita and listening to this.)

parties

(Sometimes when I'm tired down to my bones, I reach out for Katherine Mansfield's 

The Garden Party or F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby or Virginia Woolf's 

Mrs Dalloway and, despite their literary merits and stunning depth, choose to 

focus on the sparklingly expectant feeling of getting ready for a party. 

Because there are few mornings as hopeful as the ones before parties.)

kind of blue

happy saturday

(Reading Auden

[you shall love your crooked neighbour / with your crooked heart]

and listening to this song and writing this infernal personal statement.

Thank goodness I have no school next week. 

If I'm lucky I'll catch the coattails of an Indian summer.)

sunday

A Sunday made of revision, Hemingway and tea. And the Sunday papers. (I don't think I've ever discussed my intense love of newspapers? It's untamable to the point of absurd.)

windows and rooftops

Some pictures to get me writing something lengthier than fragments or blog posts. (About summer and bicycles and endings, I think.)

Incidentally: I would like to sleep in a hammock. I would like to have the sea just outside my window.



(Also, there is this. A video from the London riots. Sky News reporter Mark Stone approaches looters in Clapham Junction to ask them if they're proud of themselves. This whole thing is so sad and fucked up I can't even.)

ilman sinua olen lyijyä