fake it!

be beautiful!
be strong!
be adventurous!
be wild!
be witty!
be happy!

on the northern line

lorenzo speaks to me. the couple next to him look at me quizzically (do you need any help? no, it's ok, i can handle it) lorenzo can't read or write, but he can spell his name: l-a-w-r-e-n-c-e. i tell him he should learn, he says he can read...lips! and he laughs a great big laugh. he raises his can of cider and tells me he's an alcoholic. he can't help it. he needs to get through 15 cans every day. do you drink wine he says (of course: he's from the glass-of-white-wine-for-the-lady side of life) no, i drink beer, i say. how many pints can you drink? oh, maybe 4, i say. maybe 5 on a good day. good on you, he says, you never know when you're going to die. he tells me of his friend, who has cancer which has spread to his bones. they live together in holborn. he tells me how he's a lot irish, and a bit spanish, lawrence-lorenzo. he calls me señorita. he makes me laugh, and i want to cry for him a little bit, but he's on his way, chirpy and twinkly, and he'll be alright. i'm sure.

fucking christ-mas

xmas yucca
Originally uploaded by ladelentes.

no xmas tree
no xmas dinner
no xmas row
no xmas presents
(ok, just the one and a half)
no xmas illness
no xmas kiss
no xmas snow
no xmas games
no xmas fun
no xmas

away day

something has been on the tip of my tongue all day and it's still there. and i can't work out what it is exactly. but it tastes nice.

lazy morning in bed

phone conversations
music browsing
knitting
snoozing
soft-boiled eggs
and toast

there are no werewolves

there are no vampires calling out for blood
no witches incanting wicked spells
hallows wailing in despair
or screaming banshees...screaming

there is just me, the creaking house, new knitting needles, four hours of quite unnecessary brain activity, and the planes.

indecent proposal

back against the wall. heels planted on the ground. skirt slightly raised. stay like that. don't move. here's my number.

work-related rant

i really don't understand what joy people may get from getting all worked up about things and making them worse by stewing about them inside. it just seems to me a total waste of precious energy. not to mention how it makes other people's lives a misery.

if you are unhappy with something: change it.
if you don't like the situation you're in: move on.
if you're upset with somebody: tell them.

for crying out loud! that thing towards the bottom of your face is called a "mouth", and, among other things, it can be used to do something called "talking". useful little wet thing...

there. a-hem.

"ok high-horse, you can stop your mighty galloping now, so i can quietly get off..."

taking risks

parapente
Originally uploaded by ladelentes.

jumping from an airplane
leaving your job
walking barefoot in the winter
climbing a mountain
painting your toenails blue
swimming with sharks
swimming with piranhas
eating snails
turning your phone off, or on
falling into his arms on a moving escalator
driving in a blizzard
putting in that extra chilli
having a conversation, having a conversation
closing your eyes and putting your hands forward
opening your eyes
motorcar racing
people smuggling
knife swallowing
sleep

gotta have you

update: well it's not happening...i guess there's another one of life little messages to me...

seasonal light

blue and orange
Originally uploaded by ladelentes.

there was a time when things were clear and transparent. there was a time when i was clear and transparent. there was a time when my thoughts were clear and transparent. translucent. bright. unquestionable. certain. reflective. now it's all twinkling and sparkling and mysterious, like farylights in the london fog.

the lock

was busted open...
stop it with the metaphors, will you!

unexpected

the thing about fog is that you just can't know what may be hiding behind all those glittering droplets, waiting to pounce right into your path...

tarot

the cards lay on the table and spoke:
all is well in your life
keep doing what you're doing
enjoy yourself

ha - ha - ha!

i hate this time of year

hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it. i hate it.

hands

carpenter hands scratched and rough and heavy. hands that shape and mould and work. beautiful hands offered and withdrawn.

vamos a lo de...

and we all pile up in a mass of legs and arms, not quite grown enough, waiting for the movie to start. and there is the whisky to get hold of, and the cake that mum made. and oh it's not the movie you're expecting, it's always the same. the boys all overexcited, the girls knowing, the legs and the arms all confused and kissing and hugging and hands and movies. and i would sometimes catch sira's beautiful brown eyes, watching it all in the dark, puzzled at these teenage rituals. wasted, learning afternoons.

graduation?

sometimes it feels like i'm constantly waiting to complete some sort of training course on life. forever saying the wrong things. always making false assumptions. never learning to watch my words. hide my feelings. play the game.

cards all on the table. in disarray. your turn.

lingering

scents
motions
images
words
songs

thoughtful

it's full of thoughts. thoughts running around. gathering my thoughts. thoughts out in the playground, pretending they can't hear the bell calling them back in. one last hop on the black square. one more throw of the marble. one more kiss behind the shed. thoughts growing up, learning thoughts. me standing with the blue teacher's coat. calling the thoughts. calling the shots. calling out. come back in.

in the middle of the night

i wake up next to a puddle, i ask the puddle, are you ok? the puddle says mmhm, i'm ok, i steal the covers off from the puddle, listen to the planes, move to the edge of the bed and go back to sleep. next to a puddle. wet.

night out

out on the roof terrace under the stars, london watching as we play tag. high heels clip-cloppeting on the decking. chasing the little girl with her smooth dark hair and an easy smile. you're it!

the strange story of the pair of gloves and the evil scarf II

the gloves are nearly dead. they really got a battering. they are dishevelled, dusty, disintegrated. but they did it. they unravelled the evil scarf. they got it down to it's final thread. the balls of wool can finally be remade. one bit at a time. what a mess. what a terrible mess. we'll spend hours unknotting the threads. hours. hours. hours.

my friends

are beautiful
are tall
are understanding
are fun
are intelligent
are into junk food
are not so tall
are always ready to listen
are sporty
are artistic
are good with their hands
are gourmets
are party animals
are mothers
are enlightening
are mad
are musical
are good kissers
are sweet
are full of smiles
are good humoured
are scary
are inspiring
are print-makers, web designers, writers, directors, actors, campaigners, business brains, fundraisers, housewives, producers, lawyers, pr gurus, ice-cream engineers, english teachers, agents, market researchers, vagabonds, free-spirits...

i want to bite into you

Originally uploaded by ladelentes.

happy xmas

see? i don't really take myself seriously ALL the time...

dotty

P1000858
Originally uploaded by ladelentes.

that's how i'll become if i keep going this way. all dotty. dot-matrixy. scattered around. pixelated. black and white. on and off. beep.

fat is coming to get you

ok, so now we have to have MRI scans to see if our internal organs are fat. organs can be fat even if you look thin, don't you know. oh, go to hell. burgers and fries anyone?

the perfect knitting sandwich

knitting in bed after breakfast, sun streaming through the window, sarah vaughan in the background
pop film in the afternoon with lovely mad friend
spot of shopping
hilarious early dinner at jimmy's
walk around fitzrovia
pint in the king & queen, interrupted by crazy irish long-beard
walk around soho
quiet moment in the french church
pick up some falafel from gaby's for later in the week
goodbye to lovely friend
bus-ride home listening to prince
knitting in the sofa, motd on, cheering the boys on with every stitch

still

a tableful of beautiful girls sucking on the helium of the party balloons.

the strange story of the pair of gloves and the evil scarf

the a pair of gloves was tired of living in the bottom of the big black bag. the pair of gloves had been shoved there carelessly about a week ago and by now it was throughly fed up (specially since the day-old banana had no conversation and was starting to smell). musing about the effects of global warming on the personal life of winter accessories had got boring, specially since the mp3 player would tediously pipe-up with nonsense about how actually there was no proof that new technologies were causing waste and there was an ice-age coming and really it was all down to cosmic rays and blah blah blah. god! it was murder down in the black bag. the pair of gloves was seriously considering unravelling and letting go...there was nothing left to do.

so there we have the pair of gloves contemplating ending it all when, right out of nowhere, a pair of needles and a couple of wool balls make an unexpected but welcome appearance. the wool came from faraway places and they had both been trained in cabaret style performing, so soon they were keeping the contents of the bag enthralled with their singing, dancing, magic tricks and stand up jokes. the pair of gloves was ecstatic, the banana had rotted and been removed at last, the mp3 player's pompous speeches drowned in a riot of joyous accessorized laughter. even the keys joined in clattering away at the end of every act.

but (there is always a 'but', isn't there), the needles, the needles...

the balls of wool gradually started to get thinner and thinner. the pair of gloves wondered whether the balls were anorexic (they were performers after all, the pressure of the limelight...) but it discarded the idea, as the balls would always heartily tuck into the shared meal of bottom-of-the-bag fluff and mystery crumbs which was shared by all the accessories every day at lunch- and dinner-time. the pair of gloves did notice, though, that the needles had become very pally with the wool. in fact, almost stuck together. and making patterns! what could this be?

oh you can all see it coming. yes! the balls of wool were being painfully abused by the needles to create a scarf. an evil scarf! a two-coloured scarf!

the pair of gloves was in two minds. on the one hand, the balls where individually so cool and sophisticated and the instinct to save them from unravelling and disintegration was very strong. however, a scarf may provide that long-term (even life!) partner that the pair of gloves had been searching for in vain for so long and the need for which had become so acutely apparent in that last solitary weeks where the only companions where a rotting banana and a pain-in-the-ass mp3 player...

spot the difference

click

lucky really

• it's lucky i don't bite my nails
• it's a good thing my hair's too short to twirl
• it's handy i'm too sleep deprived to get too hyper

because by now

• i would have no nails left
• my hair would have fallen out
• i may have broken some bones from jumping up and down

waiting sucks!

spam reading

trifle. comparison. don't stop doing it.

space

mum needs her space. she wants big cupboards, vast rooms, huge gardens. i am the opposite. the tallest girl in the family you'd have thought i'd need even more space, but ever since i was a child all i've ever needed is a book and that's all the space i want. curled up into as small a ball as i possibly can, sinking in a sofa or under the table or behind the bathroom door. i like cocoons, caves, cubbyholes. i like arms wrapped around me hiding me from the world, under the duvet. i like dark, cosy places, preferably underground.

unless i'm dancing, then move away cos i need all the space i can take...

the little backdrops that life sometimes throws behind your stories

the neighbour is soldering his bicycle outside my bedroom window. he's been doing this for days. there is a little whirr, and then a flash of lightning coming through my curtains, like fireworks. the first time it took me by surprise. the second time it came just at the right time. much better than the sawing he was doing the week before.

shrugging your shoulders at the right time

when someone asks you if you know where it is and you don't
when you don't care whether you have it or not
when you don't want to say if you're ok or not ok
(although it often gives it away)
when you know you can't win

just shrug your shoulders and let it go

hopefully the upward motion
will sort it out

more sleepless nights than you can shake a stick at

jesus fucking christ
2am
3am
4am
5am
6am
am
am
i am
you are
it is
isn't it?

lyric

you said you would love me until you died
and as far as i know you are still alive, baby
shakira - illegal

one walk in the rain, a spliff and four bottles of pink champagne later...

it's all about the lifestyle, honey
it's all about finding a friend waiting behind the door at the right time
and spending a few moments exchanging crazy talk
it's all about searching for that posh hotel bar in the rain
it's all about spilling out of taxis giggling

it's all about fun

or at least that's what the bikini beach band told me

bienvenidos!

isabella and alistair, alistair and isabella. wow. wow.

the line between right and wrong

lies somewhere between your hands round my neck and my hands round yours. blurry.

first day of the last month

time for recounts, recaps, nightcaps.