Language sex

"There's no right language or wrong language any more than there are right or wrong clothes." - Stephen Fry



Great video for writers, copy editors, pedantic period pushers and so on.

Foodish behaviour

Food photography is a future passion project. My food blog on Snappetite.com.

Rotterdam retrospective

 

Roughly two hours and exactly 30 Euros later I stepped off the NS train to meet a perfect sunshiny Sunday afternoon in the vibrant city of Rotterdam. Slap bang in the city centre I made my usual inquest excursion to the railway's information desk to find out 'where to' and 'how'. Greeted by a middle-aged information clerk - and like many of the Dutch – she was terribly abrasive and quite curt (read unfriendly) but highly skilled at the art of informing. She let me in on where to go and how exactly to get there - all in passable English.

 

I finally met up with Lisa

Bow

Online thrift store, Cafe Creme's pretty shoes and photo.

Vincent

Modern-day daddy of expressionist treats, Tim Burton's 1982 short film Vincent.

The intro song has Funkadelics' 'You scared the lovin' outta me' written all over it.

Wed

"I was naturally a loner, content just to live with a woman, eat with her, sleep with her, walk down the street with her. I didn't want conversation, or to go anywhere except the racetrack or the boxing matches. I didn't understand t.v... Parties sickened me. I hated the game-playing, the dirty play, the flirting, the amateur drunks, the bores."

— Charles Bukowski, Women, 1978

Musing

In the wake of my obsession with feathers, the arrival of Kanye West's new  video couldn't have been more timeous. 

000 - 8

Adrien Savage <-- TNS blog.

Tom Ford should've taken some notes from A. Savage before making that perfume-ad-for-a-wet-dream-movie 'Single Man'.

Throwback up (and around)

Taken by my Father circa 1989
(Father, mother, brother, me)

Locks

Quoteskine

Beep Beep

Potty

Picture by my favourite photographer Kwesi Abbensetts
(FYI: Don't click on the link if you're prone to seizures)

Blah Blah Black Sheep

Me by Me

Lovers*

Listening to Christmas carols in the beginning of Autumn. Subconsciously excited about resting on the warmth of his body. My neck and head and ears and shoulders anticpate reuniting with the cusp of his armpit and the plane on his chest and the groove in his collar bone. There’s something so special about that part of his body – as if sculpted and moulded exclusively for me. I’m bumping Silent Night on a quiet October night...

*Lovers is the title of 15-year-old Olivia Bee's photographic essay.

Language is dead*

*Tetro

Unfortunately Mr. FF Coppola I disagree.

Slightly off topic: What is it about Vincent Gallo... ?

Cycling in the rain retrospective

Cycling in the rain minutes after I just picked my ‘fro. What was I thinking? Cycling in the rain is only a nuisance when it affects my kinks to show its kink. Brazilian blow out blew my fro out but the rain's left it a big fat nap.

Cycling in the rain. All I can see in my bike's headlight is misty grey, some green, orange leaves, and, oh I think I just spotted a wild bunny. It’s almost midnight.

Getting lost is hard, feeling lust is easy. Lust is a found emotion with no confusion to it.

The ironic and even upsetting part to all is that the only reason I’m lost, at midnight, cycling in the rain with a nest on my head is because of lust.

Tuesday's tale

Young black girl addicted to Youtube at the age of ten. Mama put her on it so she wouldn't bother her again. Five years later mama's nearly gone insane, when she discovered her daughter shaking ass for Youtube fame.

Whose Music is it Anyway?

Land of a 1 000 Dances - written and recorded by Chris Kenner, made famous by Cannibal & the Headhunters, covered by thousands. This being one of my favourite versions/perfomance.

An article on music appropriation by Jessica Hopper [article]

Monday musing

Photographer Rachel Bee Porter's scrumptious mess

*I stayed up all night/slept in all day

Softy the boxed bunny

... lives in my backyard.

Thrift stores I

Last week I stumbled across a dainty vintage store in Eindhoven called Hilliebel Vintage. It's the best vintage/thrift store in the city I think - but secretly hope not.

I took home this grey leather jacket with gold details and pretty stitches for just 20 Euros.

:-)

Children of the sun*

I have so much downtime in Eindhoven. I am so pleased by this. It's quiet and tranquil. What more could I ask for? The solitude is refreshing and necessary.
I haven't felt this secluded since living in Cape Town - my most inspired years. Seclusion is a catalyst for my creativity.
*Mandrill

 

Inspiration

Hello!

You see now, from spring I gently fell into fall by way of a very big bird. I skipped three seasons and one hemisphere to safely land on new land. Like a stalk delivering pretty babies – this iron bird birthed me  to my new family. Wrapped in high-waisted ill-fitting blue jeans, brown sandals a black T-shirt and navy blue blazer, I had arrived. Not in a basket on the doorstep of my new family’s home but rather patiently seated at that signature red and white post at Amsterdam’s Schiphol airport waiting for my new daddy to take me to my new home.  

I gave up a lot to escape.  I gave up security to be unsure. I gave up love to be alone. I gave a state of confusion to get lost in the unknown.  This can only be... what it is. 

From here on out I shall document where I am and where I was.

Noone

‘Noone’ should be a word.

I type this as I avoid correcting ‘no one’ in a quiz titled ‘Is she a friend or a foe?’ Someone, everyone. Then… no one. I wonder if this word would confuse people into pronouncing it noon with a silent ‘e’. or nooné maybe? Would the ‘oo’ have people not knowing their arse from their feet? I highly doubt it. I think we would positively pronounce it noone instead of reprimanding the one and leaving it oh so isolated.

Annie Don't Wear No Panties

A superbad bassline, just for you...

To do...

I’m fascinated by checklist people. The type of people who draw lists for anything and everything. My checklist obsession is hereditary. First seen on pieces of yellow scrap paper which my granny-slash-guardian would chop into perfect little rectangles (approximately 6 x 10 cm).

At the top of each rectangle she would neatly jot down in her favourite dark blue Parker pen To Buy: – followed by a list of four arbitrary items such as milk, pink polony, gum glue, Freedom pads. This list and money would usually go to me or my older brother.

Upon return from the local Shoprite (on the border of Charlesville and Montana) we would have to produce all the items; the exact amount of change; the slip; and of course the yellow piece of paper that Ma would stow away – just in case those exact four arbitrary items might need to get purchased again.

They never did.

Hurt people, hurt people *

*Greenberg left me so empty and satisfied. I can't explain why or how it did it but I have a feeling  Noah Baumbach had something to do with it.