simple distinctive (floating world)

My headache pounds with the same force of a kick-drum and my eyes look dark and blank, ringed by circles from exhaustion. The blur of scenery outside the train windows is too fast. I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong.

That said, here are a list of things I am grateful for.

Taking acid on sunny, Sunday mornings with two of my favourite people. Recon missions for pancakes while tripping something shocking and scaring the normals out in the wilderness. The strawberries that came on top of them. Sitting in sunny playgrounds shooting the shit with these two wonderful creatures, playing on the swings and hearing their voices come to me from three metres above the earth, quietly humming You Do Scribble to myself and feeling like a little princess. The sight of a bird's wing splayed perfectly across a glass window in your loungeroom, the way the sunlight lit up every single feather. Wondering at it's beauty as it takes off in flight. Almost falling asleep peacefully on an 9:10 train to Epping and waking up in a glorious sunlit morning, ready to take on the world.

What are you grateful for?

always loved a film.

Maggie is a doll and I'm a big sister, I'm a little girl, and I'm a little princess.

The night is deep and the sound of your footsteps make me quiver. I have to remember how to breathe, sometimes.

the sun does not yet know it is a star.

(photo by matthew strong.)

the rhythm of legs moving in the sun
the rhythm of an engine deep and throaty
the rhythm of a summer that you walked in
the sound of a barking dog on a loop
a plane rises in the crystal blue
the rhythm of keys swinging in your hand
the rhythm of light comin' out of your fingers—

light in the west, light in the east.

On overdrive. Taking in so many things (small, fragile moments; the beautifully elusive nature of the written word) that it feels as if my heart will collapse under it all. The trick is to keep to the corners and the shadows, quietly observing. Keep breathing. Listen to your thoughts.

descent.

(photo by ginger caravan.)

Beneath the cold concrete again, halfway through the underpass. An eerie, orange glow cuts across your cheekbones, razor-sharp. In your black coat and wrapped in steely remoteness, you’re the one clear detail in the nightmare.

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Scuba soundtracking a lot of late nights, recently; the gaps in between consciousness and half-dreams, covered by darkness. Moody, beautifully-produced sort-of dubstep: crisp beats and innovative rhythms, moody and urbane soundscapes. Headspace/innerspace music.