hurting

Martyn, Far Away

Almost close enough.

concrete heart.

Cyantific, 'Empty Streets'

What are you looking for?

unanswered questions

Kito, 'What If'

Grey days. Where does it all end?

here i am, and there you are

UNKLE, 'Unreal'

A dyed blonde with a leather jacket and a tan standing on a corner in the depths of the city lights up a cigarette carefully with fingers like glass, waiting for lights to turn green. Junkies and cold hearts on the last train home. Urban living.

set myself on fire.

vaccine, 'fever'

--

How do I tell you all these things?

it's hard sometimes

high contrast, 'tutti frutti'

Some days I feel like I can do anything and they're the best.

the bells, the bells.

four tet, 'there is love in you'

I am steadily trying to teach myself guitar. The days are long. It feels like summer. Open notebooks and wandering around the suburbs with the housemate, armed with cameras. Strange and interesting noises coming from Ableton. Remembering good times with a track from one of my favourite albums from 2010.

screaming into the eye of a lens.

--

Be back soon. Promise.

a god that plays dead.

we sit and we sigh and nothing gets done
so right so clued up we just get old
and all the while been torn asunder
nicotine and bacteria

The days burn out like the final breath of a cigarette, tossed to the side and dreamt away.

and when i dream, i dream of you.

"Limerence is an involuntary cognitive and emotional state of intense romantic desire for another person. The term was coined by psychologist Dorothy Tennov to describe the ultimate, near-obsessive form of romantic love. Limerence is sometimes also referred to as infatuation, or is colloquially known as a crush, but in reality it is something much different. In common speech, infatuation includes aspects of immaturity and extrapolation from insufficient information, and is usually short-lived. The concept is an attempt at a scientific study into the nature of romantic love. Limerence can often be what is meant when one expresses having intense feelings of attachment and preoccupations with the love object. It can be experienced as intense joy or as extreme despair, depending on whether the feelings are reciprocated."

slowly.

The light of day is slowly bleeding away into the streets. The world is silent, waiting for you to move. No birds. Just you.

wishful thinking.

Naked beneath your gaze. Watching me through glass. Fragile, steady. The train is leaving. Be careful with me.

why don't you turn your radio up?

Writing clears your head in a way that’s difficult to describe. It’s a sense of things lifted from you, a sense of freedom that’s found in the stream of electric things scribbled down in notebooks, on scraps of paper hurriedly, tucked away in coat pockets and drawers. You walk through the streets of the city with ink-stained hands and a secret smile that nobody can read, carrying messages to lovers and friends understandable only to you.

we are the night.

You're unreachable. Alive, alone.

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.

--

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.

it tastes sweet.

"We're travellers, you and I," he wrote.