Monday, 30 March 2009

LA - The Standard Droog party

Jetlag prevents me from writing coherently, so just take a look at these instead

Sunday, 15 March 2009

My favourite time: Night

When you are asleep.
When the cat miaows.
When the film has been watched.
When the world is awake.

Wednesday, 11 March 2009

Vincent Gallo for H&M

This morning on the tube I was greeted by the above image. Looking forward to the rest of the campaign...Vincent is usually such a dark horse and very un-conventional, so strange to see him in an H&M campaign!

Monday, 9 March 2009


Don't even ask...

Mike Butcher does Something Funny for Money

Mike Butcher of TechCrunch fame did something brilliantly funny for money today: Live blogging from Waterloo Bridge in his pyjamas. A few media and technology gurus turned up to support him, so far he has raised a whopping £785. You can still sponsor him here.

Wednesday, 4 March 2009

To Anon

I am the girl, but never the woman
sometimes I wonder if even I'm human.
I am the mucus, but never the spit.
I am the kettle, the blackness, the pit.
I am the needle, but never the eye
I am the hair, but un-fashionable, un-dyed.
I am the turn, but never the table.
I am the bark, the horses, the stable.
I am the mow, but never the lawn.
I am the life, but never the spawn.

I crack your bones, I bend your cable.
You are the chair and the book and the table.

I am the voice in the dark in your head.
You are the blanket, the pillow, the bed.

Monday, 2 March 2009


Jack is back

More poetry please.

Three poems that came into my life last week.

Kaylin Haught
God Says Yes To Me"

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

Margaret Atwood
"Variations on the word 'sleep'"

I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

Baudelaire: The Flowers of Evil
"To the Reader"

Folly, error, sin, avarice
Occupy our minds and labor our bodies,
And we feed our pleasant remorse
As beggars nourish their vermin.

Our sins are obstinate, our repentance is faint;
We exact a high price for our confessions,
And we gaily return to the miry path,
Believing that base tears wash away all our stains.

On the pillow of evil Satan, Trismegist,
Incessantly lulls our enchanted minds,
And the noble metal of our will
Is wholly vaporized by this wise alchemist.

The Devil holds the strings which move us!
In repugnant things we discover charms;
Every day we descend a step further toward Hell,
Without horror, through gloom that stinks.

Like a penniless rake who with kisses and bites
Tortures the breast of an old prostitute,
We steal as we pass by a clandestine pleasure
That we squeeze very hard like a dried up orange.

Serried, swarming, like a million maggots,
A legion of Demons carouses in our brains,
And when we breathe, Death, that unseen river,
Descends into our lungs with muffled wails.

If rape, poison, daggers, arson
Have not yet embroidered with their pleasing designs
The banal canvas of our pitiable lives,
It is because our souls have not enough boldness.

But among the jackals, the panthers, the bitch hounds,
The apes, the scorpions, the vultures, the serpents,
The yelping, howling, growling, crawling monsters,
In the filthy menagerie of our vices,

There is one more ugly, more wicked, more filthy!
Although he makes neither great gestures nor great cries,
He would willingly make of the earth a shambles
And, in a yawn, swallow the world;

He is Ennui! — His eye watery as though with tears,
He dreams of scaffolds as he smokes his hookah pipe.
You know him reader, that refined monster,
— Hypocritish reader, — my fellow, — my brother!