Whenever I read ‘The Waves’ by Virginia Woolf I look up from the pages feeling that I am dead. And I am not really sure why. Having your head filled with the strong, narrative soliloquies of so many interconnected, disparate voices is disconcerting. The distinctive pattern of your own thoughts becomes Othered, becomes even repulsive. So I am on a bus headed towards the city of Melbourne and my head is not my own.
7:08 am • 18 June 2013
I found, on the itunes on the family computer, an album from the band my dad was in when I was a little girl. I was a fairy footed and devoted audience member in those old, country halls of dark wood and dim, warm light where beautiful dancers wove in and around each other. I used to cry and beat my little fists against the floor when I was taken home to bed. Somehow, suddenly, all of the layers which I have accumulated since vanish. It’s an comforting sort of nakedness.
9:17 pm • 17 June 2013
Vintage Underwater Pinups photos by Bruce Mozert
To promote Silver Springs, Florida’s crystal clear waters, Bruce Mozert took a series of creative underwater photos in 1938, depicting scenes of leisure one can partake in with no oxygen required. Prints of his work can be purchased over at his website: mozertstudio.
(via: Visual News)
8:56 pm • 17 June 2013
Today I was given this excellent soap dish from my excellent friend lily.
5:38 am • 17 June 2013
Anonymous asked: It's strange, the things that seem to matter to you (literature, family history) don't really matter to that many people.
8:44 pm • 16 June 2013
Yesterday I went to Grandma’s little house with Mum and sat around the kitchen table (a big, sturdy table. We all sat around one end, no one wanting to take the chair which is still so many years on considered my Grandfather’s place.) I learned that my great-great-great-grandfather had left Unst at the age of 12 as a cabin boy on a sailing ship and been around the world before settling in Australia. I have always been fascinated by the opportunistic men who would escape onto the high seas and see unimaginable things. It is what I would have done. Every visit to Grandma’s I get her to tell me a little more, add a little bit to the canonical vision of my family which I hold in my mind. A family full of bold eccentrics, small heroes of very small towns, a sprawling mass of characters I can get lost in.
8:39 pm • 16 June 2013
Coming home (to Newcastle) is the most beautiful thing. Winter in Newcastle has a really distinctive smell which only my absence allows me to identify when I’m back here. Last night when I was coming back from my nighttime pilgrimage to a few spots around the suburb which I must visit every time I come back I was struck with a flashback to the night when I had snuck out of home (lol) and was caught by my mum twenty metres from my house. The streetlamp spilled over the pavement in exactly the same way and I felt the ghost of the twin feelings of adrenalin and guilt which sort of marked teenagerdom for me.
8:27 pm • 16 June 2013
Giovanni Ricci (Giampietrino) 1525 The Death of Cleopatra (detail)
(Source: c0ssette, via damnedwhoresandgodspolice)
8:14 pm • 16 June 2013
So I am beautiful and some shining individuals are beautiful and we just glow together. , and will do until the end of our times.
11:02 am • 14 June 2013