lost my way for a while..

my summer of love

with a taste of

I'd like a flat white, a day of pale skies and a real kiss. Inside an old house, by the seaside..

A telegram's no substitute when it comes to living proof.

everyone's invited!

yes, this will be my home. someday.

wishes for a wintery weekend and some other rattlings

Oz~Paper Mario~Shy Melon~Limette~Popsicle~Zap~Velveteen~Very berry~

Plumlikefriday~SheerButton~AuroraB~Key lime~Papaya Bob~goldilocks~

retro mulberry~gone green~forget-me-not~scotch~smoke-a-cola~

dusky leafette~flavoured screams~peacocks-in-the-sun~limelite~plumplime~

limeo~orange-who~I’ll take it~Limesun~Citronetto-Zitron~

Avocado scream~Bamtastic~Lavenderbomb~Try this limolive~Mint to be~

Sunray Rebelemon~creamsicle~wowow~Lilaquored~owl-in-awe~

go candy!~poppy peppers~cosmonauti de ghimbir~lush paper hearts~

honeysuckle~crazydaysiesintheair~windy grass~~bubblyneon~

wonder green~wavy lemos~sugary blossoms~let's make lemonade~

vavavoom~foeverandeverjaded~sesamesweet~the boo and the sweets~

emerald terracota~schmendrick~molly grue~i'm dreaming mustard~

wishes for a friday morning

could a friday morning ever be like a sunday morning? easy, with a warm ray of sunlight on my cheek and a subtle grapefruit perfume? could it could it? mm, i thought so. no, of course not. i'll just settle for the sunlight and a fortress of pillows, spinnng in our changing skins, polaroids and mistery.

Do you believe that there's treasures in the ocean?

I bit my tongue in the awkward conversation. I don't know why. I met you once and I'd fallen for your notions. That big old smile is all you wore.

wood block print, Mark Andrew Webber

blanker

“If I didn’t think, I’d be much happier; if I didn’t have any sex organs, I wouldn’t waver on the brink of nervous emotion and tears all the time.” - Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

pigs may not fly in the near future..

but they sure can swim :D

for a while

but I will try to come back more often :)

puf

Cum ar fi sa ai un inel precum globurile acelea de sticla pline cu fulgi de zapada sau praf colorat stralucitor sau pesti colorati nestralucitori, pe care le scuturi si ninge dintr-o data sau nu acolo inauntru? Si sa tot dai din deget una-ntr-una ca sa ninga incontinuu, si lumea sa se-ntrebe ce e cu mana ta, oare o fi devenind realitate filmul acela vechi cu actorul ala, Caine smth., a carui mana se intoarce din morti cu o super personalitate si ucide tot ce misca? Ti-ar placea asa un inelandru? Mie da. Doar ca as vrea ca in loc de inel sa fie brosa sau pandantiv, iar inauntru sa zburde puf de papadii pe deasupra unui camp plin-ochi cu oua de broaste verzi-smaralzii cu ochi nocturno-negriciosi.

ploaie de broaste

Intr-un moment de inspiratie ioc (si cheful de orice la fel de ioc..), dand cu ochii de cana-mbroscatita de pe birou, mi-am adus aminte de puzderia de broaste, broscute si broscoi pe care le-am cunoscut in aceasta vara in minunacioasa delta. In fiecare seara, pe strazile, sau mai bine zis strada, instelata a sfantului gh., top o broasca, top o mie, ba chiar si un milion. erau peste tot. eu paseam, ele sareau. in toate partile, de sub talpile mele si ale tuturor. muntii de nisip de ici si de colo, toti de-o broasca. laculetele, canalele, baltile si baltoacele, cu toatele erau colindate, invadate chiar, de broscarimi de toate soiurile si marimile. fire de stuf atarnand sub cate un broscoi stateau sa-si dea duhul sub cantarea cantarilor broscaroase. tenori, mezzo-soprane, violonisti si mandolinisti, reuniti sub cerul cel mai instelat. cu siguranta au incins si-o hora, si au pus i de-un spargator de nuci si de-o seherezada. mda, inspiratia tot ioc e; sa fi ramas in broscarime?

in the mood for.. monsieur hitchcock

 

 

 

I shot Andy Warhol