Old Men I'd Do

1. Marlon Brando. Admittedly less hot circa The Godfather II, but look at that dampened chest. Phwarr.

2. Jonny Depp. I don't care how old or ever-so-slightly chubby he gets, Jonny is god. Just don't think of Fear & Loathing. They magically made him gross in that.

3. Atticus Finch. He's all intelligent looking with the big glasses. And I bet he moralises in bed. Yum.

Alas to be a teenage girl!

Aware we are wilting but forced to wait

Wake up each day and trust in fate?

Pah! This is a modern era and fate died

Long ago.

We must prune and pluck and pinch.

Bra to lift and belt cinch.

I shall be fat when I am married.

And ladies shall cry, “Oh!

Is not it shocking how she has let herself go?”

And as they snicker I shall smile;

Eat a cake once in a while

(or perhaps oftener than that)

And I shall enjoy being fat

And going without brushing my hair

And seeming not to care.

But for now I must watch what I eat

I must wear shoes that hurt my feet.

I must prune and pluck and pinch,

My waist gain not a single inch,

I must draw lines beneath my eyes

And when in bed suppress the sighs

Of inevitable disappointment-

Not when I am married! Oh, no!

But oh,

When I am married I shall be fat-

And where shall be the shame in that?

Playdohsaurus

This is a little stop-motion something that my boyfriend and I made a while back. It has a whole 161 hits on Youtube so we are essentially celebrities these days.

The Luck of The Brungers by Luke Wright

I saw Luke at the Edinburgh Festival last summer doing a show called "Cynical Ballads" and he was absolutely brilliant. Even my parents enjoyed it despite having no time at all for poetry. He's totally nailed the perfect balance between great performance and great words. I wish I could write poetry like this. Maybe I'll try sometime.

Anarchy

Barren: "Bare of intellectual wealth, destitute of attraction or interest, poor, meagre, jejune, arid, dry." (Fig. OED)

Don't worry. I'm not actually barren. At least, I hope not. I'm sure I'll want to squeeze forth a couple of ankle-biters at some point when life really starts getting boring but for now, I feel that getting pregnant would be poor decision making.

It is my life itself which I just described to my good friend Phineas as "barren." Alas, I have no hobbies. All I do in my spare time is watch old films and play games downloaded from the internet. My recent favourite is called WolfQuest. But my bloody den keeps getting invaded by alien packs because I keep forgetting to wee all over it. So really that provides more trauma than comfort to my tired existence.

I'm void of mental germs, unproductive of results, bare of intellectual wealth, destitute of attraction or interest, poor, meagre, jejune, arid, dry. I produce little or no vegetation. All the definitions the Oxford English Dictionary offers apply to me. (except the bit about being unable to bear children...)

My future is barren. I have about a month left to decide what to do next year when my university finally kicks me out (I graduate) and I have no fucking idea. The advertising world it seems, does not want me. And I am very personally offended DKLowe, that you didn't even want to give me an interview. As a result, I've decided to boycott application forms of all kind.

My good friend Phineas is refusing to comfort me. He has been responding to my claims of barrenness with insipid questions like "Is barrenness a word?" and "Are you dried up?" No bleeding use at all.

Stupid Posters Should Be Defaced

Having a Coke With You

This video was filmed one moth before Frank O'Hara's death in 1962. I love this poem.


HAVING A COKE WITH YOU

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I'm with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o'clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it's in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven't gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn't pick the rider as carefully
as the horse

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it

—Frank O'Hara

Haiku

Essay due in soon

Too hungry to concentrate

Refrigerator.

Marshmallow Test

Tiny People

Grottaglie, Italy

 I'd like people better if they were only this big. Less obstructive.

sparkles

Fairy lights are one of my favourite things ever and this is a whole vineyard full of them. Pretty.

Finding Sophie's Blog

http://findingsophiesblog.blogspot.com/

they found me. shizzle.

I HATE VIDEO GAMES

I am so angry right now I actually feel like I could cry. Of course, I'm being self-indulgent and actually have very little reason to cry. BUT I WANT TO ANWYAY. I CAN BE IRRATIONAL IF I WANT. See, the problem is that I only have about 5 really good friends that I see every day. For some stupid reason the majority are of the inferior sex. Consequently, for the past two days these witless monkeys have all been playing some awful new video game which has just been released. Which would be fine, if they did that in the privacy of their own rooms, and maybe came out for a chat once in a while. But alas. Instead they've locked themselves away with Skyrim whilst I've been bored, watching shit tv on my own. And whenever they do come out of their caves they insist on conversing with each other about the game, and only the game. I've had to endure conversations about new weapons and destroying dragons and talking dogs and one-handed skill levels. I seriously need new friends.

And all this just makes me annoyed with myself for being so useless at keeping myself entertained on my own, and for just completely forgetting to get into the X-factor this year. What a terrible lack of forward planning.

Dog Food (this is amazing)

"All they that love not tobacco and boys were fools."

This is Christopher Marlowe. HOW SEXY IS HE? I think its all that wispy hair that does it. And that kinky flash of neck, not like prudish Shakespeare with his ruff.

ME

My boyfriend drew me like one of his French girls: (I definitely look like this)

Ponderation

So guess what? Yesterday I actually left my room. After staring blindly out my window/at my laptop for hours I decided to go to Tescos. I bought some feta cheese and ate it with pita bread and humous and beetroot (my new favourite thing.) I also bought some felt-tips which I decided I just had to have. Today I must ponder Oscar Wilde however, and I'm not letting myself leave the building until I have done so properly, and written at least 2000 words of aforementioned ponderation. And it just looks so grim outside that I feel like weeping.

CRAZY EYES

So I haven't been outside in two days now. And I think that I'm getting a bit deranged. I keep thinking that I hear my computer make that bleepy noise it does when I get an email but then it turns out I've made it up. I just wish people were trying to tell me things. I have an essay to write but instead I've spent the last 3 hours watching a film about Motzart. Its been fab. I am really running out of food, I need to go to the shops. But I'm protesting against freedom. Fresh air. Who needs that crap? Not I. I would however, really like a cupcake or something. Sob.

Scabby-faced Scuzzball

Once I was in the park and a homeless guy came up to me to ask for some spare change. Admittedly, I don't usually give away spare change. You never know when a single penny will come in handy and besides, giving two pence always seems like an insult anyway. This time however, I actually didn't have any change to give, I'd paid for my lunch with a credit card. I told him so. And in response he asked me whether I was expecting a boy or a girl. The scabby-faced scuzzball thought I was pregnant. I AM NOT. I do not look pregnant. I hope he felt sufficiently bad when I told him to "Bloody well piss the rubber-duck off." No reason is ever good enough to make a girl fear she's fat.