Last Night of my Twenties.

On my walk home this evening, the last walk home after work of my Twenties. It means nothing really but I do want to mark it. Something is being said goodbye to, all the events that live in times now passed, all the people and places that are now gone. There's something about turning Thirty that offers the possibility of starting anew. Illusion maybe, but both nice and scary too.



This is the Thames again and I wish I could say it was this colour but actually it was very brown. It's the camera that's made it nice colours.

Observations #2

I'm getting tardy I know, but there are reasons.
Some observations recently in words:

So many birds in cages, birds singing gloriously, nailed to a crumbling wall, above the ancient woman who keeps them there.
Birds in cages outside the petshop. Chorus of competing singing and chirping to the accompaniment of terrifying Greek traffic on a tuesday morning. Birds calling to be noticed in cages.

A lone cockroach outside the supermarket. Retreating from the pavement as we pass. Returns to its position when we are gone.

A basketball court at night with the stars just visible despite the floodlight. Tall metal arms holding the hoops and their shadows falling over the court, one arm's shadow intersecting with an oilstain, interconnected, a centipede makes a quick scuttle across both and into the dark on the other side.

A rusty drain pipe protruding from the middle of a balcony four floors above us. Showering the street with soapy water. At midnight there were rivers of the stuff making inky landscapes all over our walk home.

A fish with a tail of fine silk billowing out behind it, locked in a never ending forward motion in a glass bowl. Glassy eyes that don't register me.

One Hit Wanders

On to one photo posts at the mo, though I think the last couple of shots are strong enough to withstand it ;)

Woke with strange dreams of filming slugs and fishes in rising cave water this morning.

I have been thinking a lot about the semiotics in fashion recently. I am imagining that we, as in the person we think of ourselves as, is not to be found within our bodies, and instead we are purely responses to everything around us. I imagine that we turn ourselves inside out so that skin becomes flesh, then this exchange we are imbibed within impresses itself onto our pliable natures or putty-like brains and the indentation then creates a delta or rift or mountain range of peaks on our surface for more stimuli to travel over, react to. This is what I think we are.

Fashion likes to mirror this basic process of interaction that makes what we are and displays to us the currents and trends of the time, taking into account of course the non-trendy trends, using visuals and identification to attract us or repel us as each case determines. I like the thought that something fashionable can travel over and through humans like a viral game of tag and sometimes we join in and sometimes we don't. I don't think we can choose. That woman with the red shoes that I saw tonight has infected me.

Hello, welcome. This blog is to try and make something of what goes on in my head and record it. I have a history of writing about myself, diaries and blogs, but am feeling resistant at the moment to sharing. We shall see then what happens between some conflicting interests. I hold that we are vessels for what goes on outside of ourselves and that we mirror, mimic, the world at large. This enables me to write, as the oscillation between inside and out is where we live and how we make sense.

On making sense I am not particularly interested in being coherent. It's been a tough winter and I am shattered; this is a beginning and an axiom. I suspect what starts off very raw and messy here will be edited into something more solid in time, but for now, pictures are easier as expressions and I'm wondering if keywords, labels and tags are the new criticism.

Luna