you you look like the future

be still my heart by lori field

sweet jesus, check out lori field’s website

or flickr. she’s quite something

makes the blood turn over into glowing amber nectar

watch this birdlike strength:

i’m so so excited to have the internet again! ! a move from londre to melbourne was more epic than i expected. this year is going to be very wonderful, i feel it in the numbers, in the bones.

Don’t like talking about things i’m going to do, so i’ll just tell you i’m excited!!! & thank you, lovely lovelies for being the magical cogs, helping me hatch this egg..i’m so excited, stay finely tuned with me

eeee!

serious ecstasy these fine days. i’ve also been writing some of you letters in gold pen, you lucky fuckers.

alexander mcqueen..his life gave the most amazing amount of beauty.

if that isn’t spirit i don’t know what is.

a Conversation between David Bowie & Alexander Mcqueen

YES I LOVE THIS PINK UNICORN! i must have a vagina

why style is an ugly word for a wonderful thing

- i think that what you wear is important, for you. It’s ridiculous to pretend you don’t have any persona in your outer world, you just do. so why not make it easier for your dreaming, messy imagination to thrive in your upper world by wearing it on your sleeve?  aw i wanna start making clothes man. thing is, if you don’t cherish what it is you do, & very much dressing yourself, if you don’t feed magic into your movements, then why are you getting changed? how do you want to live?

i just know that the more i stoke my passion for meaning, gnosis, beauty, art..the more heavenly the world becomes. i think style is, very ironically, the soul.

littlelostlove.blogspot.com is wonderful & she even has her most recent post with clothes that i’ve been trying to find again. have a look!!

Song for Myself by Walt Whitman

1

I celebrate myself;
And what I assume you shall assume;
For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my Soul;
I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.

Houses and rooms are full of perfumes—the shelves are crowded with perfumes;
I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it;
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume—it has no taste of the distillation—it is odorless;
It is for my mouth forever—I am in love with it;
I will go to the bank by the wood, and become undisguised and naked;
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

2

The smoke of my own breath;
Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine;
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs;
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore, and dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn;
The sound of the belch’d words of my voice, words loos’d to the eddies of the wind;
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms;
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag;
The delight alone, or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides;
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the earth much?
Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me, and you shall possess the origin of all poems;
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun—(there are millions of suns left;)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books;
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me:
You shall listen to all sides, and filter them from yourself.

3

I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end;
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

obsessed with this song my friends

LITTLE RED LOVEGEMS