Getting started again

Not blogged in a while. I'm feeling really well rested and no longer suffering from a summer neurosis and "What am I going to do with my life?" kind-of-situation. All the panic has been abeited and I've set out lots of lists and exam prep - the royal mail is now the biggest bain in my life. Since coming back across the atlantic, black literaure has been making a resurgance in my bookcase; parelleling the race season on channel 4 and Nick Griffin's infamous appearance on Question Time. Aside from Pan-africanism, colonialism and the getting to grips with global zeitgeist - Betty Grable gives me some welcome relief in the way of uber realism and flowing aqua gowns. So, I thought I'd add a bit of sparkle with some screen stills from various films of hers across that WWII era.





I plan on recreating the outfit in the last still, but at this moment in time I'm chanelling more of a Carmen Miranda look.
Cha Cha Ciao!

Late night blogging in Manhattan.

I'm finally out of the suburban scope on the outskirts of Philly and sitting decidedly alone in my hostel room in Manhattan. I don't know how to articulate all the thoughts that are buzzing through me - while sitting down to brunch with my friends and discussing the ins and outs of youths narcissism's, I felt this pounding pain in my gut, my head swelling and my lower eye lids ready to wash away all the mistakes I've made these last few years. It's not the realization that disturbs me but the fact that there is still an open wound, unwilling to heal itself until I full take action. I thought going to New York and discovering all the literature, people, yellow cabs and endless streets which go so far into the distance, you fear you're on the tip of a ledge- would help my new resolve make me mature, whole or together. It's not an overload or homesickness but the sickness that delving deep into your past and mind brings. I can talk the talk and give off reels of advice on anyone else in the same situation, stubborn and set in my thought processes but unable to let those same platitude's mend something faulty inside. All these statements and sirens, along with the humming of the air conditioning seems to be putting me into a weird mediative state. Earlier on, I was quite content with puffing away on Marlboro lights and discussing tantric sex moves on a bench', while laughing hysterically at the pigmentation of pigeons. But Snigger's, ironic jibes and the thrill of being wanted and noticed, just no longer seem to make sense; even the laughter drunk friends tends to irk me. The only way to to truly enjoy life is to be a part of it and that's what I full intend to do. Here's to New York and all it's idiosyncrasies!

Ways to politely exit from yourself when having a panic attack.

In the last couple of weeks my mind and body have been on assualt course of broken toes, sun stroke ( credit due to the Marseilles heat) and the dreaded return of PANIC ATTACKS. Writing this post is a simple excerise in trying to exorise the anxiety that pulsates through my temples, my mind, sending so much kinetic energy through me I begin to shake and illuminate so bright, that all that surrounds me seems abstract and alien. Having just got back from the pub in order to avoid another one of those embaressing and emotional onsalughts; which would make any god-fearing person take a sabatical! I feel it is my duty to document my taking control of the situation. Does that make me superhuman? Being confronted by a mental film reel of every single fear and encounter that others try to hide and forget withing their subconcious, but instead, I, can now cope with it and almost forget it. As more letters dissapear into this document the further away I repel all of that angst. My pupils are no longer dilated and all seems to be back into perspective. I'm looking out onto a birdseye view of my life, standing ontop of the empire state building, the wind cooling down the acidic fire of fear which tries to burn through my chest but instead of my lungs searing into ash, I just breathe. It's all very, very, very stupid and erratic but talking about it seems to help. I hope this will be a joke, a chapter I look back on and laugh at rather than my entire life. Maybe, just maybe; I could be deleting this entry in a few weeks, so proud that it is no longer relevant to me or to anyone else but instead an objectification of my youth- ridden neuroticism.

Life is funny and deeply, deeply impulsive with its attacks. BUUUUT In words of Franklin D. Roosevelt ~ "There's nothing to fear but fear itself"

Over and out.

Ill rain

I've spent the first half of this month climbing out of my brothers window onto conjoining balcony and trying to tan. Alas, British weather is shit and it's been raining with a sprinkle of thunder n lightening, helping to propel my nocturnal anxiety and keeping me skin stuck on shades of creme caramel and bamboo. August better roll on quick, I'm going Stateside - New York to be precise. A speedy transatlantic reincarnation.


My monthly taste seems to revolve around Common, lets keep the summer rollin' and take it easy....




I will finally be posting up pictures I've taken, just need to scan them. Don't worry this blog will get better? Peace x

Bantu knots

I bantu knotted my hair last night but it still hasn't dried. Gurn. I'll cope and continue to paint my nails luminous colours which give friends around me a nostalgic trip into the 90s.

The last week, I've been listening to The Last Poets non-stop, plus so some Gil-Scott Heron and countless other syllable molesters; there's always a place for socially concious "nigger" poetry that gets you thinking.



If you enjoy the video, check out this website and educate yourself on some more poetry;

http://www.ctadams.com/

another great site is

www.poemhunter.com

Street life on 110th street.

Pam Grier is how I wish to look now and act - like one "mutha fucker" - hopefully forever. Once this relaxer grows out I might be a little closer.

it's gay, get over it?

Yesterday, after finally awaking from an alcohol induced coma, I went up to Shoreditch to visit a few friends and continue the abuse of my liver for at least a couple of hours. I managed to slink back home at a reasonable hour and see the amount of shit lying around my room in the fading light of day, but instead of cleaning anything up I thought I'd go through every TV channel on my telewest continously until I found something worth watching. This all went on till around midnight when the BBC decided to show a Bette Midler spectacular; a camp afair full of spotligts, execessive facial expressions and hand gestures called, "Isn't she Great?". It's a film based on the life of Jacqueline Susanne - the queen of pulp fiction, of 'Valley of the dolls' fame. But that's not important the most important part was this pink wiggle dress she wore towards the beginning of the film. It was a shade of bubblegum pink with a sheer neckline and a couple of decorative flowers, that part paticularly made me swoon; I started to get butterflies, felt my body temperature rise and started spasming each time I drew closer to that screen, I couldn't take my eyes of it. I sat there for 10 minutes in a trance, like the times when I'd fantasize that pharrell williams decided to move to London, live next door to me and drop his producing to write a song for how beautiful his world is now that i'm a part of it - alas I think in both cases the love is unrequited. But I won't stop, like an all-too-eager sperm i'll carry on travelling on in the hope I reach the all time climax of finding that dress and wearing it, behold my second conception as a 50s, camp goddess! It really is the symphony of the human anatomy, it has to be mine!

Anyway, I'm done.

bonjela and gum contractions

I haven't been on this blog for a while, neither has anyone else for that matter. Reading my first post it's understandable - a bit of a pointless mantra set out to dull the pains of boredom and 2 days without sleep; now I'm in search of a home remedy to kill pain of giving birth to these wisdom teeth, I think my ovaries and gums are having it out WWE style on my body. Apart from all this, things have been pretty hectic the last month and i've had Blu & exile "Below the heavens" on constant repeat - this album is the definition of dope.

Dope moments of the past few weeks (minus pulling whitey's)

- Seeing Q-Tip DJ, downing unknown Asian beer and dancing all night to Pete Rock, A Tribe Called Quest, Apache etc Hoping your blisters don't give way at the bus stop and having eye sex with orthopedic shoes

-Gaining a stalker, watching a 5 year old out dance everyone to Barrington Levy and downing my body weight in red stripe.

-Rediscovering my love for beer; corona, red stripe, carlsberg, I don't think I've got the stomach to reconcile with Carling, just yet.

-Trying to steal my dad's loafers

- Going to the tate, jammin' at Southbank and watching some serious break dancer's poppin' n lockin'.

-Queing for no paticular reason and then running away from fresh men at bus stops

- Hip hop, Soul, old school slow jam cotches and a free yard

-Having a photoshoot by Southbank and having my mate ride the sand with a massive cock and spunk drawn into it

The line of the month has to be from a man working at a sex shop in Soho

" I'll rip your pussy up like Wolverine"


But whoever bothers to read this blog, stay tuned for a night we're organising soon "Babylon", it's all night old school dubstep, trojan reggae, funk, hip hop n soul; we'll even put on some serious break beats for anyone who wants to have an epileptic fit to the beat.




PUT UP THE BASE AND ENJOY THE SUN, IRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!

Blogging virginity has been sorely taken

I decided to start "blogging" about my life and really begin selling my existance, just like on any other social networking site. Apparently this wave of internet prying has become acceptable if not necessary; living your life 100% in the real world is far too vulgar. Though my experience with myspace left me socially redundant. I began to realise that I should spend more time with my friends rather than re organsing my top friends. But it's that beautiful, irrational notion of the validitiy I feel when gushing these self-aware syllables that enrich my life and somehow clear me of the following complaints : insomnia, boredom, a mild dust allergy, dwindling supplies of bobby pins, cheap wire hangers and the repition of "I".

I hope this blog will at least amuse someone if not myself. I'm at that stage of the evening where my keyboard and I have decided to enter into a platonic relationship, i'm not going to lie it is comforting. So, I'll stop explaining why I'm here and get assertive; I intend to post hidden gems from a spectrum of my passions:

-Film -From the socially conscious 'kitchen sink' dramas of the 60s, exploitation and dealing with Russ Meyer's tit obsession. Being thrilled by Hitchcock, challenged by Godard and moved by Elia Kazan, foreign liasons and being in awe of Anna Karina.

-Music - Feeding you all good northern soul for the soul, rhythm and blues, psychedelia, garage rock, real punk, new wave, no wave, blues, jazz, poetic/socially concious hip hop etc, reggae/ska (Trojan records).

-Clothes - my fettish for headwear (especially discovering the perfect 40s turbans), proper leater shoes and an infinite obsession with trenchcoats, dresses, dresses, dresses, hoisery and good tailoring

-Beauty - Constantly trying to create mine via vintage hairstyles and lashings of eyelinerand rouge; looking at too many photos of Peggy Moffit and pin-ups of the past has given me a complex.

I'll continue into the field of culture, art, literature (take delight in some poetry) and poli-tricks + lots of nice photos.

Alright, I think I've covered all the bases as quickly as I can. I'll wrestle with my ego and write something worth reading once I understand how to actually use this site.

Over and out?