they fade with the dream of you.and the burning bed floats higher

"Y ella es flama que se eleva
Y es un pájaro a volar
Y es un pájaro a volar
En la noche que se incendia,
El infierno es este cielo
Estrella de oscuridad
Heart running on empty
So lost without you"
Burn It Blue. Frida.

Caetano Veloso & Lila Dawn

It snowed today. Snow and rain make me feel free. Like the sky is releasing any tension and just pouring it all out. During study hall I took pictures with my friends in the brick and ivy atrium, and sipped apple cider. But as soon as I got back into class with teachers reminding us to look at the board, not the snow I returned to the dull reality of work. It just goes on an on in a circle and I can't rest. I feel like I'm wasting my time.

By the way if you haven't seen Frida with Salma Hayek you should. It's so passionate. The paintings melt into the movie scenes and I wish life could be like that. With everyone stopping for a moment to glance around at each other and marvel or cry.

Without Hope

The Two Fridas

She really was an amazing person. And her paintings are tantalizing. You want to know what she was thinking when she painted each blood stain, each frill of lace, each bit of bed.

a gigantic white stallion appears mysteriously to a Traveller

This is an old photo.

I do not want to go to school tomorrow.

I just want to run away with gypsies and eat baked beans.

Like out of my favourite movie when I was little about two Irish boys and their white stallion Tír Na NÓg.

shut up its windows and drawn shades in an old maidenly preoccupation with self protection which bordered on mechanical paranoia

"The gentle sprinkler rain filled the garden with falling light.

Until this day, how well the house had kept its peace. How carefully it had inquired, 'Who goes there? What's the password?" and, getting no answer from the onely foxes and whining cats, it had shut up its windows and drawn shades in an old-maidenly preoccupation with self-protection which bordered on a mechanical paranoia.

It quivered at each sound, the house did. If a sparrow brushed a window, the shade snapped up. The bird, startled, flew off! No, not even a bird must touch the house!" from There Will Come Soft Rains.One of my favourite short stories.

where the future plays it all night long

Fed up with your indigestion.
Swallow words one by one.
Your folks got high a quarter to five.
Don’t you feel your growing up undone.
Nothing but the local DJ.
He said he had some songs to play.
What went down from this fooling around.
Gave hope and a brand new day.
Nothing was the same again.
All about where and when.
Blowing our minds in our lives unkind.
Gotta love the bpl.
When the smoke was all baton
Remember how this all begun.
We wore his love like a hand in a glove.
Where the future plays it all night long.
-Great DJ by the Ting Tings

The next few pics are stolen from my friend's Facebook...

Pins:HEMA,my 7th grade spanish teacher
and a Colplay concert
Rosette:Kitsch Kitchen
Jacket:Silence+Noise at Urban Outfitters
Tee shirt:Fruit of the Loom
Pantaloons:black velvet Seven For All Mankind
Shoes:Steve Madden {a gift from Solestruck.com)

The amazing Daniel of http://www.solestruck.com// gifted me with these Steve Madden heels. Dank u wel!

then practice losing farther, losing faster

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster
-One Art, By Elizabeth Bishop

Dress:Vevet Torch
Peacock clip: Urban Outfitters
Tights:American Apparel
Shoes:Corso Como

I'm so prone to clutter.

a narcissistic post

self portriat

I was tagged by the supercool Grafitti {thanks!} to reveal...

Six Random Things About Me
1) Unless someone is inside, I turn off the

lights in school bathrooms.
2) I'm a vegetarian.
3) I always set the volume of my speakers in multiples of three.

4) I want to be fluent in Spanish.
5) I love eerie music.

6) I keep a list of things I like, things I don't like

and quotes I like in my writer's notebook.

Six Random Things I Like
1) Digressions
2) People who say thank you
3) Rainbow sprinkles
4) Blustry Fall days
5) Eating fresh snow. I'm a freak, I know.

And that ryhmed.
6) Black cats

Six Random Things I Don't Like
1) When you smile at someone on the street and

they glare at you or don't smile back
2) Crowded, sunny beaches
3) Malls
4) When girls pretend to be stupid
5) Rules for the sake of rules
6) Mechanical pencils

Six Bloggers I Tag
1) Miss Rebel Angel Ella
2) The ethereal Madison
3) Tavi! Even though she has

probably already been tagged.
4) The Wandering Sam
5) The lovely Bojana
6) And the street style snapping Kamel

sitting careless on a granary floor

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

-From Ode to Autumn by John Keats

dress:Free People.

Seriously if I could buy that whole store I would.

socks:unknown

Shoes:Corso Como

&

Some inspiration...

across her skirt and tinsel bodice

These self portraits {below} are a hint of whats to come. I have lots of ideas floating in my head and found lots of props in my basement.

Across the floor flits the mechanical toy,
fit for a king of several centuries back.
A little circus horse with real white hair.
His eyes are glossy black.
He bears a little dancer on his back.

She stands upon her toes and turns and turns.
A slanting spray of artificial roses
is stitched across her skirt and tinsel bodice.
Above her head she poses
another spray of artificial roses.

-From Cirue D'Hiver by Elizabeth Bishop

The drawings I do every year in math class are probably the reason I always end up with a C. But I just can't pay attention to sensible math talk.

I really really truly wish I could open my own school. It would be held in a perfectly disassembling old mansion and all the desks would be these gaudy old things from thrift stores and have little lamps on them. We would wander around outside reading Elizabeth Bishop, Sylvia Plath, Sara Teasdale, Robert Frost and loads of short stories. Some rich old woman would donate millions of dollars so we could get a school jet and then we would travel to India and Italy and Iceland and interview the people and learn about their culture.

And yes, I do think about this a lot.