It would be nice not to feel like I have to go around holding onto things in order to remain standing. How do people go through life without pinning themselves to things? I suppose they don’t, although some seem to be under an illusion of otherwise. 

How badly do you want to be the person others believe you to be, how much would you rather escape your skin altogether? I don’t want anything but this to work out; for these days to be collectables. Now I’m not alone, now there are two people at the next table, loudly telling each other about all the things that they know.

I want you to notice me lying on the floor in the sun and cover me with thousands of feathers; the kind that are still sticky on the ends, with tiny bugs from the birds and a waterproof coating.

This Is A Public Service Announcement

In case you didn't know about it already, I have a Pinterest account. And while their constant redesigns frustrate me, I find it an incredibly valuable place for curating constrained pockets of inspiration, and images that I want to remember I've seen.

I have categories such as 'Words That Bind' and 'Illufrustration', 'Muted' and 'Dolce Far Niente' (the beauty of doing nothing). Strangely, or perhaps not strangely, I'm really proud of it. I feel like it's possibly the best way for a stranger to get to know me, because it's how I've evolved creatively over the last 4 years or so.

Follow You Somewhere

There are days when what I'm doing doesn't make sense, but then there are days when I'm absolutely certain that if I was doing something different, I would long for this existence like a heartache. The time I spend feeling like I can't possibly be doing enough does not, ultimately, help. So I keep on, telling myself that until someone shouts at me to stop, I will keep going.

While I wait for the internet to be set up at my new apartment, I'm spending more time in cafés and in the homes of accommodating, helpless friends. Today, working from a coffee shop with the most perfect height of table, I watched as a couple in their sixties came in, ordered two identical coffees and sat down, before taking out their respective newspapers and reading them in the most perfect, wordless companionship.