ladelentes

all the things that are wrong in the world as the end of the year approaches (this list is not exhaustive)

2011-12-23T08:45:00.001Z

earthquake in new zealand
floods in philippines, and tanzania
breast implants in france
nature mourning in korea
elections in congo
bombs in iraq
baby milk in USA, and the presidential candidates
unrest in libya
financial crisis in europe
drugs in nappies in ecuador

laziness

2011-12-21T14:19:00.001Z

i spend all my hours waiting for something to happen that i know won't happen. that is the sum of my laziness.

have a little sleep.
write an empty post.
feed you a line.
pretend he's not around.
listen to the latest song.

somewhere in my brain there is something that's not waiting, i know it. and i once wrote him in a poem. gazing out to sea, drinking a little wine, brushing sand off my skin, enchanted with the day.

grayson perry at the british museum

2011-12-21T08:52:00.001Z

suitably visited following a very british day including, but not limited to, service at westminster abbey, sunday lunch at the flag & lamb, drinks at the french house and all manner of eyebrow raising behaviour

See more progress on: see more art

masks

2011-12-15T16:45:00.000Z

a dark line from the medial canthus, lifting upwards, thickening, skybound

winterland

2011-12-07T15:58:00.001Z

a man stands on a murky sidewalk, staring through a luminous window across the road. what is he waiting for? i imagine an invisible wall of cold regrets prohibiting his transit into the warmth of a home perhaps no longer his.

a rivulet of just-used air extends from my lips into the landscape, clouding over a cat's silky trip along my path.

it's not enchanting to know we travel so alone with one another, lost in thoughts of winter, death and hope.

lengthways

2011-12-04T17:59:00.001Z

toes curl
knees tremble
thighs melt
hips sway

spines tingle
guts wrench
chests beat

arms wave
shoulders shrug

heads shake
minds blow

on the steps of st pauls

2011-12-02T19:06:00.001Z

sitting on a folded up copy of grazia magazine purchased earlier in the day as i set off to nothingness, to obliterate my brain, heart, memory, existence...

sitting on a folded up copy of grazia magazine, covering - with my fashionably toned-up bottom - a £500 pair of jeans, or trainers, or handbag...

sitting on a folded up copy of grazia magazine, breathing cold autumn air stopping to take in this outdoor lecture by manuel castells, found by chance after taking the firstfuckingbustocome because i truly can't care less where i'm going or how i get there...

i look at the tents to the right, and listen to this tiny man talking of the future, and the past and the collapse of everthing.

i look at the other people on the step, wide angle shot of london landmarks behind me, unseen by me, photographed by a million tourists.

a man shouts abuse at the speaker, who responds 'oh i hear the echo of the past', spanish spice.

i materialise from my disappearance, present to the current movie playing out on my personal screen... the dystopian future. the children attached to their screens. the rebellious tribe. the landmark taken over by the movement. paranoia as the only logical conclusion.

"expect the best, prepare for the worst"

now, as i write this, i remember a song from when i was young and i also didn't care, but for different reasons.

El futuro llegó hace rato
todo un palo, ya lo ves!

Patricio Rey y sus Redonditos de Ricota

Untitled

2011-11-30T16:52:00.001Z

free time
passionate people
open ended stories
an invitation
my American friend in pajamas
spaghetti with foresight
old recipes

See more progress on: be grateful

budín de pan...

2011-11-21T08:46:00.001Z

...reminds me of my mum

mixed media. skype, google, cooking ingredients.

collaboration between mum, little sister, big sister and i.

special thanks to guests who didn't eat bread for breakfast.

outside the jaime roos concert

2011-11-12T15:53:00.001Z

i once met jaime roos. i was, for some reason, invited to the pre-concert rehearsal before a show. i wonder who else was there? he came to the group and i said something stupid to him. about liking his songs. or about how one of his songs made me feel nostalgia for uruguay, even before i left for good. a previous knowledge of how i'd feel. a constructed memory. he was ok, let me gab a little about london and then moved on.

after the concert, i left the place with my friends. outside, a mess of people, cars, hazy light. a car ran over one of the drunken boys. as he was hit, his body flew up, describing a perfect arc across the pavement, falling limply like a leaf a few meters away.

silence fell on the scene for a brief moment. and then the boy got up, dusted himself off, and walked away.

i often wonder about this memory. is it real? did this happen? dream world takes me over. perhaps the boy was me? perhaps i never left? perhaps one of us is still suspended, mid-air, drawing a slow motion sky bound curve, never quite falling. fulfilling some ancient prophesy of ascent.

wuthering heights

2011-11-12T11:11:00.001Z

where’s all the passion from the book? strangely slideshow-like. lovely song at the end.

See more progress on: Go to the cinema every week

spam reading

2011-11-10T17:57:00.001Z

Sexy Woman. Hey hey! I am far from you. I am lovely and wonderful. I have a personal page.

three emergency wards

2011-11-09T08:42:00.001Z

july, santo domingo

d and i had met the day before, for the first time, for the umpteenth time. fevers of all kinds surrounding us.

at the ward, a child white and faded on his mother's lap, a girl with legs streaked bright raw red, a confused old man sleeping on a chair, and me, waiting behind the curtain.

exams, a kiss, an angry rich mother from the states, giggles, an injection, a breathing mask removed, another kiss...

doctor tells d it doesn't look like malaria, but it could be; and it doesn't look like dengue, but it could be... and with this - and other uncertainties - we emerge from the emergency ward blinking into the blue light of the Caribbean sun

august, istanbul

little sister has a pain in her ribcage. a doctor is called in. doctor and assistant arrive, ER-style with ambulance, defib, and speed. deliberation concludes trip to hospital warranted. little sister strapped in back, big sister sat by driver. siren, racing down the tram tracks, uphill cobbled streets, loudspeaker, pedestrians running, reversing, cars swerving out the way, two continents covered...

back in the ward, a gentle doctor tells us it's nothing serious. another injection. a hug. a long distance call to one other continent. and a slow mosque-lined taxi ride back to Europe, dinner and rest.

november, london

i was so happy enjoying my first ride on my new bike, and suddenly (it's always suddenly) a big black car appears in front of me, turning left into my path. i break. i go into cab. i fall.

for a moment, i close my eyes and decide i'll stay there forever. lying on the tarmac, feeling tiny drops of drizzle on my face, people asking questions... but i must be responsible, and must not worry others unduly, and must do the things normal people do. self-preservation.

so i open my eyes and a woman is asking if i'm ok, and a man is leaning over, and another has my bike. lovely khalid and nigel hall help me put my bike in a safe place and take me to emergencies.

...no long waits when broken bones suspected, the mechanics of triage. X-rays show ligaments stressed, bones well.

diagnosis: a sling, friends and painkillers.

exercise

2011-11-06T22:00:00.001Z

in order to write a story words are needed. plentiful adjectives. a few nouns. adverbs, to be sparingly used.

in order to write a story a character is needed. a strong character. adversity. an obstacle to overcome. a resolution. or not.

in order to write a story a narrative arc has to emerge. a stage, a landscape. structural devices. an architecture of ideas.

in order to write a story you need neural synapses to be unoccupied, yet alert. oblivious to ringings and beepings. ready to spark as the fingers reach down to the keys.

route

2011-11-06T17:17:00.003Z

white
then tall
then deep
then arty
then mystical
then lush
then millenarian
then wet
then hot
then sexy
then green
then slightly dangerous
then trees
then desert
then political
then swamp
then falls
then home
then land stretching everywhere
then cold
and finally white again

tic toc

2011-11-05T12:53:00.002Z

we met. i talked. you whispered. i sighed. we stopped. you started. i walked away. it rained. it rained. it rained. i slid. you frowned. you took. you failed. we crashed. i left. you came. we stopped. i watched, quietly. i punched a mirror. i broke a chair. i screamed my head off. i slapped your face. you stopped. we barely touched. we... i left. it stopped.

there are many ways this is not going to end, and only one way it is.

portraits

2011-10-30T19:10:00.001Z

1. me, lying on the floor, broken up, light shining on a trail of blood slowly meandering from underneath, beating heart just showing out of a gaping void, breath slowing down

2. me, having an ice-cream at a parlour, friends mothing around, a little bit of lemon juice dribbling down my chin, drip dripping right into the inside of my bra

3. me, sitting at a kitchen table, pouring tequila shots one after the other, typing with the other hand, astonished, drunk with you

4. me, travelling at the speed of sound, criss-crossing continents, riding whales, creating chaos and sparks, before finally resting up on a sandy beach, under a swaying palm-tree

5. me, on a hotel bed, in a city with lots of bridges and a pinkish faint glow far far away

true

2011-10-29T15:03:00.001+01:00

"The only way out is through"
Margaret Atwood

contagion

2011-10-28T19:13:00.000+01:00

two wheels, good

2011-10-26T21:04:00.000+01:00

a couple of weeks ago my bike was claimed by the greater london forced bike recycling scheme.

i picture it alone, in some lock up, being subjected to bike plastic surgery. the removal of ugly stickers. perhaps a deep clean (to think about the day i spent cleaning that chain with a toothbrush in the sunshine) someone may think to remove my girly, and frankly ugly, decaying seat.

every night i dream of wheels, thieves in masks, electric chainsaws, lost property, pliers, high speed police chases, prison cells, keys, spiralling falls, sense of loss, gasps, angry words.

the cd

2011-10-20T16:38:00.001+01:00

i got this urge to find a sound in the middle of my greatly imperfect silence. i got piqued by a noise behind a noise behind a conversation. i got a cd, and i stare at it, and i caress it, and i entreat it and it just doesn't work.

drive

2011-10-17T01:09:00.001+01:00

cool, unexpected, soundtrack, smile, jacket, fear, speed, sadness, pleasure.

See more progress on: Go to the cinema every week

seeds (#BAD11)

2011-10-16T13:54:00.005+01:00

when i was little, my mother told me if i ate seeds a tree would grow in my tummy.

apples became the enemy. oranges were fearsome foes. watermelon to be avoided at all costs. no seed was a good seed.

a tree would grow in my tummy. its roots shooting down my legs, the branches up my arms. a bird's nest perching on my clavicle. perhaps a treehouse, with children climbing up my hip.

a tree would grow in my tummy and i would disappear. shaded by green leaves between my hair. a spiky clavel del aire clinging under my left arm. monkeys visiting occasionally.

a tree would grow in my tummy and perhaps, one day, i might bear fruit.

melancholia by lars von trier

2011-10-09T10:51:00.001+01:00

beautiful, haunting, thoughtful, sad, logical, lonely, mirror

See more progress on: Go to the cinema every week

difficulty

2011-10-07T10:45:00.003+01:00

"It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare; it is because we do not dare that they are difficult."

Seneca

being alone

2011-09-19T10:12:00.000+01:00

with music, with words, with sunshine, with the city, with sighs, without you.

a story

2011-09-18T09:12:00.000+01:00

a girl sits facing a boy just outside someone's front garden. the boy has curly blond hair, blue eyes and a pocketful of confusion. the girl wraps her arms around his neck. they kiss.

paul

2011-09-15T18:27:00.001+01:00

paul is 41, and he loves Michael Jackson. paul wants to become a support worker and get a job at the local hospital. but right now he has a can of beer, and a planned visit to the betting shop, and he knows it's not good, but he's a Christian and you've got to take the good with the bad. and he can sing like Michael, and he wants to heal the world, and he wants me to educate him. but I can't do that...just lend him my ear and my time and share a little space in the sunshine with him, on my way back home, this lazy afternoon.

reviews

2011-08-31T21:32:00.000+01:00

'uncool'
'disappointing'
'waste of time'
'what an arsehole'

ice

2011-08-29T13:34:00.000+01:00

the sheer cold delight in watching a pair of blue eyes looking hungrily at you from their posting just above your left breast

drowning

2011-08-28T13:34:00.000+01:00

i want to feel the levels rising until all that's left is the tip of my nose and a stray strand of white hair floating above the waterline. drowning in a sea of news and hopes and human frailty. disappointments and success. teeming with creatures too fantastical to see the light of day swimming into my eardrum, tickling the tips of my toes.

i want to take a deep breath of warm, salty water, fill my lungs with this substance of everything. a dream-world drowning. theatrical curtain call. a last word of warning and a slow-motion shot of my body sinking into the dark black depths.

2011-08-26T11:32:00.001+01:00

from xkcd.com

over and over

2011-08-17T07:24:00.000+01:00

Waking to these sounds again
I wonder how I'll sleep
Passing out is taking off into the stubborn deep
I'd like to meet a human who makes it all seem clear
To work out all these cycles and why I'm standing here

I'm falling over and over and over and over again now
Calling and over and over and over and over again now

Running through my life right now
I don't regret a thing
The things I do just make me laugh and make me wanna drink
I'd like to meet a mad man who makes it all seem sane
To work out all these troubles and what there is to gain

I'm falling over and over and over and over again now
Calling and over and over and over and over again now

Projecting what I want is always hard to know
But when it comes between my sights I'll let the damage show
I'd like to meet a space man, who's got it going on
Sailing through the stars at night 'til our world is gone

I'm falling over and over and over and over again now
Calling and over and over and over and over again now
Over and over and over and over again now
Calling and over and over and over and over again now

Morcheeba, Big Calm

quote

2011-08-16T00:14:00.001+01:00

if you like your job, you will be happy forever.
if you like your husband, you will be happy for about a year.

turkish salesman (who also asked my little sis if i was her mother)

coffee

2011-08-16T00:12:00.000+01:00

the waiter tells me to turn my cup over on the plate, and to wait.
fear, excitement and butterflies.
he turns the cup back round when the muddy remains are almost dry.
a heart appears for all to see, bright as daylight in the blackened rim.
gasps all round. giggles dissolve.
your work life is happy, he says. and you will soon have a boyfriend.

dispersed

2011-08-15T16:26:00.000+01:00

there arent' enough synapses or enough heart cells in my body to think and feel all the things that i'm thinking and feeling today

hierapolis

2011-08-08T16:19:00.001+01:00

calcium carbonate, iron molecules, sulphur, mimosa trees, oleanders, pines, a scabby bitch, sunshine, family strife, Roman baths, rosemary, lavender, fancy cameras, shrieking laughter, covered heads, crazy tourists, paragliders, soft, melted, shimmering, gone.

greek episode

2011-08-05T13:55:00.001+01:00

the hypocrites speak under their masks. murmurs. the world spins as i lay my head in the warm sand. castles growing nearby. a seagull. a child. the farewell sound of a ship's deep horn. three times and it sails. electrons everywhere. a skirt riding up some endless legs. passionate embraces. a stroke of luck. deep mediterranean blue. white walls.

so it is

2011-07-27T16:22:00.000+01:00

é madeira de vento,
tombo da ribanceira
é o mistério profundo,
é o queira ou não queira

jobim - aguas de março

el piropo caribeño

2011-07-26T05:52:00.001+01:00

walking past the colmado in bayahibe, somebody wolf whistles. coming back, they whistle again. a third time, and another whistle. i start thinking, well, i must look quite good today. one more time, and i look to see... where is the whistler? who might they be? a last whistle and i see him, a beautiful, large, green parrot, perched under the shade of a quietly smiling palm tree.

que arrases con todo

2011-07-25T00:04:00.001+01:00

que la comida sea sabrosa y abundante
que los amigos sean divertidos
que la cama sea blanda
que los espejos sean grandes
que haya blueberries y helado de postre
que el beso sea largo y mojado
que la billetera esté hinchada
que el agua y la sombra sean frescas
que alguien cuente algo que haga reír
que salgas de compras en países extranjeros
que la heladera esté colmada
que la piel sea suave, oscura y olorosa
que el fin de semana haya una megafiesta
que esté él
que la ropa sea nueva y esté de moda
que tu cuerpo se vea espléndido al moverse
que sientas como siente un animal
que te guíes solamente por el tacto y por el olfato
que goces como una perra
que seas profundamente triste y salvajemente alegre
extremadamente agitada y absolutamente tranquila
que haya música moderna cuando tengas ganas de bailar
que los desconocidos saluden y digan "hola"
que brillen las estrellas
que nada te preocupe
que no esperes nada
que vos des el primer paso
que solamente lo hagas
que no pienses en nada más que eso
que no pienses en nada
que no pienses en nadie
ni en vos misma
que ya no tengas miedo
que arrases con todo.

Esteban García - California (que el cielo existe)

baby - for lennie, who thinks i'm beautiful and should be photographed

2011-07-23T01:27:00.001+01:00

my baby speaks seven languages,
and he's learning a few more
my baby can walk on his fingertips,
elegantly balanced for hours on end
my baby has written a prize-winning novel,
which he's too modest to show
my baby is in talks with israel and palestine.
where others have failed he will succeed
my baby is small like a bean but doesn't fit in the whole world
my baby is beautiful and fragile
and small and mighty
and here to stay

travelling

2011-07-14T08:30:00.000+01:00

he travels all the way from the tip of her toe to the nape of her neck. he travels across the mountains. he travels by foot into guarded territory. he travels in time from then til now and waits for more travelling tomorrow.

and what's underneath that?

2011-06-27T08:37:00.000+01:00

cold, uncaring, boring

jessica

2011-06-22T18:27:00.000+01:00

jessica digs her fingers into my neck and says, you will remember me for the rest of your life...

curious

2011-06-20T09:26:00.000+01:00

broad shoulders like a landscape, a school classroom, strong hands kneading french-manicured toes, an infinitely large notebook, a girl - heart shaped mouth - dropping off into a dreamless sleep, a gift unoffered

propinquity

2011-06-19T10:19:00.000+01:00

it's just the nearness of you...

bronchi

2011-06-16T18:19:00.000+01:00

coughing up flowers, stars, tiny bits of glitter, snowflakes, chocolate peanuts, butterflies, dandelions, dreams

succint

2011-06-14T14:15:00.001+01:00

We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen

DH Lawrence, from his book Lady Chatterley's Lover

music boys

2011-06-14T07:40:00.000+01:00

it doesn't surprise me, but it does surprise me, that i get my music bug almost exclusively from boys, and from macbeth

situation

2011-06-12T14:15:00.000+01:00

situated in the centre is a glass half full of strawberry juice. to the left, a blond man reads a newspaper, highlighted in orange for the best bits. a slow, buzzy fly does the rounds. a woman enters and drops a jug full of mung beans on the floor. the glass shatters and beans scurry in all directions to escape. the audience look right and left. the first row starts picking up the beans. a woman backstage starts singing a song.

the box

2011-06-11T23:02:00.001+01:00

i don't want to forget this big box. big enough to sleep in. big enough to have a retreat. big enough for a few pilates movements. big enough for you, me, and everybody else too.

chest infection

2011-06-11T21:42:00.000+01:00

coughing, talking on the phone, eating cake, looking for a kimono, chatting on skype, eating cake, sleeping, answering emails, sleeping, eating cake, finding new music to love, playing scrabble, coughing, sleeping, writing, reading.

countdown

2011-06-10T08:24:00.000+01:00

in 9 hours' time, goodbye costume, hello bbq
in 2 weeks' time, scuba diving
in 5 weeks' time, dominican republic and a big catch up
in 7 weeks' time, turkey and greece and little sister
in 10 weeks' time, the future

the moth

2011-06-09T14:26:00.000+01:00

curved body green furry

nc-lines of flight: Yvonne Rainer in Peckham's street dance

2011-06-08T22:55:00.002+01:00

my beautiful friend who is a dancer now has a blog
nc-lines of flight

balance

2011-06-07T09:40:00.004+01:00

Dancing on a tightrope requires that one maintain an equilibrium from one moment to the next by recreating it at every step by means of new adjustments; it requires one to maintain a balance that is never permanently acquired; constant readjustments renew the balance while giving the impression of “keeping” it.

Michel de Certeau, from his book The Practice of Everyday Life

productivity

2011-06-06T23:11:00.001+01:00

as the weight decreases, the writing increases. and the drama explodes. this. is. productivity. this. is. fucking. men.

the shoulder

2011-06-06T23:02:00.000+01:00

on the right hand side of everything is the shoulder. a curve upwards and inwards. a tense mound. knotted tendons. cartilage. bone. pain.

dreamland

2011-06-06T10:17:00.001+01:00

i want to be old. fragile. white haired. slightly fuzzy at the edges. acquire a careful step. measure my words. lose myself in my thoughts. i want to walk by the sea and feel the salt in the air and not give a damn that i'm not working. doing. creating. i want to have brittle bones and stories to tell. i want paper thin skin covering my sagging muscles. i want a slightly dysfunctional heart. palpitations in the night time. a good diet. i want to have cats without being ashamed. and feel their tiny paws on my head as they wake me up from an unexpected afternoon nap on the crochet covered armchair. i want to be the witch in the creepy house. children afraid to walk past. i want nobody darkening my doorway. nothing in the post. i want to talk to myself and grow roses. wearing a huge sun-hat and very faded blue jeans. i want to have ten locks on my front door and forget where i put the keys. deliveries daily. egg cartons accumulating by the gate. a quizzical look through the half drawn curtains. i want to be found, peacefully on my bed, dead and wrinkled and beautiful. wearing nothing but a weary smile.

golf

2011-06-06T08:31:00.004+01:00

so, in the dating world all these men are into swinging very long sticks and hitting ridiculously small balls into impossibly far away holes. i don't understand.

waiting room

2011-06-05T07:41:00.000+01:00

this is no fun. i wait. i read books. i stare out of windows. i dwell back on old pass times... back to cooking, back to drinking, back to lazing in the sun, back to searching, back to toenail painting, back to drawing on the sky, back to twirling my hair, back to sighing, back to conspiracy theories, back to writing.

dream diary

2011-06-04T09:21:00.000+01:00

making bread with the whole family. the bread is lovely and quickly runs out. i find a jug of water filled with yesterday's rising dough, and get ready to make a few more baguettes. i roll the dough with my hands into tube shape and when i cut in i find a bright red substance in the middle. at first i want to ignore it and bake the bread all the same, but then i decide to dig it out and find out what it is. the substance is a worm-like thing, cut in half. i extricate it from the bread and it turns into a worm/grasshopper, with LED eyes staring at me, asking why i cut it out

influence

2011-05-31T09:53:00.000+01:00

in all four corners of the earth there are people that remembered one word you said and made a fantastic, epic story out of it

how life came into my life

2011-05-30T09:28:00.004+01:00

i used to lie by the pool, one hand and one foot dropped into it, my body catching the late morning sun, channelling water cool up my left side, my right side tracing fingertipped lines in the puddle spilling out from under me. a name spelled out. heart shapes. clouds. closing and opening. focusing on the shapes, trying to read the message inside my eyelids. flowing from red to green to ice cold blue. sliding down the shape of my waist as it rounds into my belly. just melting there, into the grey slate stone, into the pool, into the sun, into the far away future.

writing

2011-05-27T08:22:00.002+01:00

in the winter, we put shiny tights on and hitched our skirts sky high. days would pass crossing and uncrossing legs, catching them taking a look. sighing as we wrote word after word after word and killed time until the late afternoon. piling on a bus east bound. siestas at a friend's house, couples spilling out to each empty corner, quietly exploring the ways in which sleep can be feigned while adventures take flight.

fitting

2011-05-26T10:34:00.002+01:00

Yo te conozco de antes
desde antes del ayer
yo te conozco de antes
cuando me fui
no me alejé
llevo la voz cantante
llevo la luz del tren
llevo un destino errante
llevo tus marcas en mi piel
y hoy solo te vuelvo a ver

Fito Paez - Mariposa Tecnicolor

daydream

2011-05-22T10:00:00.000+01:00

a slow morning watching twin peaks brings forth a restful daydream, a concrete slope, covered in a concrete slope, a gap big enough just to crawl through. a challenge to go up all the way, and sleep in between, sleeping back hooked to the gravelly surface, dreaming of sliding all the way down.

spam reading

2011-05-15T19:41:00.000+01:00

eharmony matches now go straight to my spam box

730am waffles

2011-05-15T09:02:00.001+01:00

Made with whatever you can find

See more progress on: find at least one thing each day that makes me happy

encounters

2011-05-14T07:44:00.003+01:00

P5080388
Originally uploaded by ladelentes.

five billion lives ago, a girl in a pink dress met a boy in faded blue jeans at the gare du midi in brussels. a sigh dropped from her heart onto the tracks and in a single smooth athletic motion he picked it up and held it up. a star-shaped balloon - from a hen on the last train - watched it all from the station ceiling. imperceptibly bouncing there, against the tiles. 'no escape' emblazoned across in glitter letters. next train arrives and they both get on, him clutching the wispy thing, her wanting to hold his hand. doors close and the train goes, all the way to the atomium.

Untitled

2011-05-08T18:03:00.002+01:00

Matisse shaped skies

See more progress on: find at least one thing each day that makes me happy

expectations

2011-05-07T16:46:00.001+01:00

daydream, history and divinations. the gap between expectation and creation. not so long ago, i was here, and you were there, and he was nowhere to be found. a small, forgotten thought at the end of a tangled dendrite. a tiny spark-of-contact away from full-blown reality and mystery.

growth

2011-05-07T10:33:00.001+01:00

young leaves of a plain tree, furry, warm, curly, potential.

freesias

2011-05-05T15:40:00.001+01:00

one day we slept on the beach until it was too cold, and on the way back he bought me some freesias, from the corner stall.

chocolate and blackberry gooey cookies (or, the real cookie monsters)

2011-04-28T20:34:00.003+01:00

Originally uploaded by ladelentes.

my baking more and more resembles muddy monsters, volcanic lava, submarine creatures, frightful feasts...

what's going on

2011-04-28T20:28:00.000+01:00

and what's not going on. a dog barking in the distance. grayness surrounding this heart. blood dripping from an angry knife. there is something going on somewhere and i'm not there. a boy is sitting alone in the corner of a favourite old pub. a tall barman beaming at some other girl, some other species. a play is playing. voices drifting in. angry, apologetic. a bird continuously singing out a doomed love song. as if. stretching the distance travelled between those years, the letters, the airplanes, the kisses, the kind words. the distance measured in miles, kilometres, steps taken, words spoken, teardrops and sweat. your hands drawing me closer. tracing a link between these voids. a million singularities. explosions. you. me. us.

fjords and comets

2011-04-26T17:51:00.000+01:00

rhyming dictionaries. bursting sunflowers. harsh words. thumbnails. magic noses. large ducks. fingernails digging into a not-so-soft thigh. the distance between this. and that. a forgotten song. disappointment. a red dress, discarded. a lifetime disappeared. fjords remembered. comets yet to come.

dating diary

2011-04-25T23:00:00.000+01:00

running late. curtains. cold feet. waterloo sunsets. things stuck in your teeth. not so wowed, after all.

bites

2011-04-25T10:00:00.001+01:00

coconut flavoured yoghurt. a mexican smile. the pleasing pattern of bricks shaded in the sun. a waterfall.

See more progress on: find at least one thing each day that makes me happy

happiness

2011-04-22T22:20:00.000+01:00

a smile lingering on the corner of these lovely people. a shared meal. gifts wrapped in gold and silver. a hug. warm words spilling out of everybody. love. trust. faith. friendship.

dating diary

2011-04-16T12:39:00.001+01:00

a mouse scurried past the corner of my eye. black and swift and urgent. let's get out of here, the mouse said. and so i left.

dating diary

2011-04-09T23:14:00.001+01:00

the champion's only woman holding her dimming lamp. a tempting barman. heads sticking above the average crowd. a desire to write. a desire to break in and go down into the lonely space below. to climb a steep curve. guerrilla exploring.

dating diary

2011-03-31T18:35:00.003+01:00

innovate or die. pyramids. tokyo. raspberry tart. having what they're having. building muscle. Arnie. and he walks in.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/28386649@N00/5576924153

longing

2011-03-22T17:34:00.005Z

For some, perhaps there was a moment when they realised that the old longings had become little more than a habit and that they were not yearning to go home but had been home for some time.

Rebecca Solnit, from her book A field guide to getting lost.

battersea

2011-03-22T08:25:00.000Z

sunday. southwark bridge road. red light. blue balloon hopping across pedestrian crossing, wind-blown into life, one line at a time, covered in stars. women going sunday church. war memorial. right turn. speed down. blurred landscape. squirrels racing round. a pause. heat. slow climb. a companion. a wish. a stop.

pea

2011-03-18T10:45:00.001Z

when i was a girl i had a little secret growing inside me. shooting tendrils into my tummy. resting itself in it's tiny home. stretching out in the evenings.

fear

2011-03-18T09:39:00.002Z

Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond measure.It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It is not just in some; it is in everyone. And, as we let our own light shine, we consciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Marianne Williamson, from her book A Return to Love

dating diary - coffee. brownies

2011-03-16T12:38:00.000Z

coffee. glorious. teaching. immigration. pilates. insistent phone call. landmark. brownies. st patricks. glorious. insistent phone call. rush. angel. no.

getting out

2011-03-07T01:19:00.002Z

really really really get in first, so that when you get out you are really really really out. and leave the most amount of people previously inspired and engaged wondering wtf.

the kiss blowing policeman, or misinterpreting signs

2010-12-28T12:03:00.000Z

lorry drivers blowing their horns to alert unsuspecting women of potential dangers? men with taut and tanned rounded bellies looking you up and down to check there are no spiders on your clothes? a motorised policeman so filled with love he blows kisses to passing strangers through a bushy black moustache?

on cakes

2010-12-01T13:00:00.003Z

i have just finished baking two cakes. which have decided of their own accord and probably in cahoots with each other to fail to rise. flat cakes. flat aromatic chocolate cake. flat syrupy banana cake. tasty, snow-busting, cold-removing, happyness inducing, flat cakes.

connection

2010-11-23T21:26:00.000Z

two young men on the 7.46pm train at brondesbury park, sharing an earbud each, connected through a faint ripple in their shoulders, an occasional shared glance, a half smile lingering. men of various heights and weights checking out the football scores on phones and papers. a woman from newcastle sorting her night out. a child banging her boots against the seat, testing its sound. a rhythmic passing of lights across a window and bones rattling, forgotten, on the sky.

living space

2010-09-28T18:48:00.000+01:00

inhabiting a corner of my flat, a bunch of balloons has taken up residence, slowly dying amongst the spiders, who have also recently moved in. various sports implements and books have scattered themselves around the sitting room, and lying is the preferred default position. one single solitary fish looks towards the entrance, feng shui distorting with its spiky fins. a living space constantly changing, like the flickering of a television through the drawn curtains of the flat below.

the impossible dreamland

2010-09-07T09:47:00.000+01:00

in my dreams trains become cause for celebration, babies grow out of yellow spoons, the milky dew of the morning sun filters through my velvet window, heavy with tears which just won't come out, a small man is a mountain and an overpass and a cliff, bodies move elegantly and tired, my skin melts. in my dreams, i am made up of good things and bad things and i am alive. in my dreams.

skin

2010-07-13T10:38:00.002+01:00

layers of time and dust. grime from the road. hardness. impenetrable armour. chip away. decay. salty white flesh. unholdable.

distance

2010-06-25T07:31:00.000+01:00

i stand in my parallel line, grounded by invisible tattoos on the soles of my feet, attached to this manifestation of the soil, comets flying overhead shooting sparks, hoping that spacetime will curve just so, by some unusual interaction of a given arrangement of quantum particles... curve just so that my fingertips can reach for your fingertips, you grounded on your parallel line, invisible tattoos threading you to that manifestation of that soil, watching the comets go by.

2010-06-10T23:08:00.000+01:00

impalpable interstitial

2010-06-09T10:11:00.003+01:00

sometimes a word or two take up residence next to you. sit by you on the bus. ride on the back of your bike, exchanging comments on the landscape. perch on your shoulder as you do the washing.

interstitial: the in-between, the gap, the space separating you and me. impalpable.

my name

2010-06-05T18:44:00.000+01:00

my name expands and contracts. it twirls and twists and unfolds into vowels and consonants different in every language. such a simple thing, a name. such an apparently insignificant random event. the naming of a baby girl. the calling out to a sister. whispers in a lover's ear. an outline drawn by sleepy fingers on a bus window, on a foggy morning ride. a warning.