Saturday, 20 December 2014

Baba Yaga/Blair Witch

Photos from a forest in Berlin I forgot existed until like 2 seconds ago. 

Wednesday, 17 December 2014

Purgatory's kind of like the in-betweeny one. You weren't really shit, but you weren't all that great either. Like Tottenham.

This scene? This scene! This scene! Depression is inherently unoriginal, the only original thing I have to say on the matter. (HAHAHA) Depression is unoriginal, this is why David Foster Wallace is very, very, popular, this why he is so popular when no one has READ him, reading does not happen when you're depressed (too much effort/not enough motivation). Other people's words are a good medium for depression: quotes, the reblog butt(on). There is a manuscript on my laptop (mine) that I should probably read (I won't). I finished it a year and a half ago, long time! I thought I was going to be an actual writer then, a novelist, awards (nobel/noble) delusional is an insult but psychosis and unwarrantedly high self esteem are two different beasts, though I have experienced them both in equal measures. I have written novels and dissertations and clever essays but write now the only thing I want to write is another person's quote. I do not feel creative, the tiniest violin because who cares, I care! (No one cares that you care tho?) But better consume another person's cult of personality than cultivate your own, cultivate your own and watch it tumbleweed, that shit's depression. Jesus. Save yourself the trouble. Because the rhythm of heart is saying fuck you pay me and I just can't stop pulling my hair out.

Silas Inoue/Springsteen school photo/I like America and America likes me, Joseph Beuys

Tuesday, 16 December 2014

Self Preservation Society

"Dying Young Is Lame

You know who's a great actor? Michael Caine. He’s consistently churned out great films in every decade, started fashion trends, won two Oscars, made a fuckload of money, married beautiful women and has lived a life that’d be the envy of anyone on Earth.

You know who overacted in a couple of teensploitation movies and died covered in cigarette burns aged 24? James Dean. You know who was also kind of melodramatic? Kurt Cobain. You know who’s pretty cool? Sixty-five-year-old Brian Eno. Nelson Mandela got quite a lot of shit done after he was 30, didn't he? The list goes on. Because while some young deaths are – of course – tragic and unavoidable (still got love for you, Biggie), a lot of people need to understand that the “live fast, die young” mantra is total bullshit that’s been sold to you by record labels and jeans companies.

Wanting to live as long as possible in as good health as possible doesn’t mean you’re Cliff Richard. Really, it just means that you’re somebody whose understanding of the human condition goes beyond wanting to join “the 27 Club” and getting immortalised on the side of a bagel van in Camden. The fact is that “live fast, die young” is a pathetic notion perpetuated by the kind of people who wear rosary beads and call Amy Winehouse by her first name alone, despite never having met her.

Is that who you wanna be? No. 
Try to live as long as you possibly can, dickhead. Life might be kinda shit, but overdosing on skag in Wolfman’s bathtub is immeasurably worse."
-Clive Martin (a.k.a. my fave writer)
(random highlights my own-suicidal ideation: 0, Beth: 1)

Monday, 15 December 2014

The Poem That Is Not A Poem

The Poem That Is Not A Poem is self conscious
The Poem That Is Not A Poem does not rhyme
The Poem That Is Not A Poem is copy and pasted

The Poem That Is Not A Poem makes declarations to its friends,
that is does not 'get' poetry

(or theatre too for that matter)

The Poem That Is Not A Poem was educated at a comprehensive school
And resents people who say swearing is a substitute for feeling

The Poem That Is Not A Poem starts a sentence with:
you know I'm not good at this sort of thing,
(because it isn't my sort of thing)

The Poem That Is Not A Poem does not trust phrases like:
Ice Breaker
Community Dance Troop
Tickets to the theatre on Friday

In short, the The Poem That Is Not A Poem does not like poetry very much at all.

Saturday, 13 December 2014

Swans and Roses: 3 Years

I'm feeling a bit 'meh' about the internet right now tbh: the relationship between writing and crappy capitalist systems where think pieces are pay per click, and outrage is carefully constructed(the weird hypocrisy of it all). I'm bored of think pieces and websites and just everything! It all feels so toxic. I love writing but I don't want to be (inadvertently or otherwise) part of such a horrible culture. I'm not sure what this means for my writing. Maybe I will just write for me, and a small circle of people who share my world. I think I would like that. 


My blog is going to be three years old next month and as I gain more experience I recognise the corruption and abuse behind so called 'enlightened' circles and it disgusts me. 

Language has always been an important way to express myself, as someone with learning difficulties who struggled with my speech until my teens getting words to do what I want means the world, because it means I can create a world. 

But I question if online writing is always a good place for this? I have no intention of replacing a hostile irl world for a virtual one. That would be silly.

This was not a cryptic 'I am quitting blogging' kind of post, but I might take more internet breaks and make less internet based work for my own mental health, I'm just thinking out loud I guess. 

But yeah enough of this introspective nonsense! Let's mood board!!

I hope you bbs are well and safe and warm, I love you lots even though sometimes I feel like I'm talking to myself on here haha,

Love Beth


dolce and gabbana f/w 2014, Lora Hristova, Self-Portrait (Money Shot), 2011, thousands of ice sculptures left to thaw in the sun, Nele Azeved Kyary, Viktor and Rolf, Mary Kate and Ashley, can’t go home, angels ribé, 1977 John Baldessarri: In 1970, John Baldessari cremated all his paintings, baking some of the ashes into cookies. Documented as a cutoff point in his career by the photo piece “The Cremation Project.”

Thursday, 11 December 2014

let's call this a poem it'll feel less awkward for the both of us

shopping list of things i lost along the way:

1. innocence x3
-or age 3?
(either is fine)

2. life (willingly)

3. delusions (unwillingly)

4. aspirations (same as above on both counts)

5. hair (a bit of both-pull-pull-pull)

A shopping list of things lost, not things gained, isn't a shopping list at all.

It also is not a poem,

but u knew that all along didn't you?


Winter Water Witch

It's funny how the song 'lord i'm 5,000 miles from my home resonates so deeply in deepest darkest suburbia! And I tried to photoshop out the dark circles from eyes and my face went blotchy, and my face looks stupid, i would like to photoshop my face out and crop the sadness out. 

i wrote this yesterday, i like it, not because it is 'good' but because it is an honest portrait of my current coordinates-

I wrote this crying on the 47 bus

It may be hard to believe but you will never be this young (or this lost) or this mentally ill again. I kno that’s crazy to believe but that’s because you are crazy! And u will always be crazy! We both know that, but stay with me.
Because there will be a time when u get regular hair cuts, eat breakfast that don’t consist of bourbon biscuits, a time when when your trauma is not caged in ‘read mores’ on tumblr, a time when u don’t have to psych yourself up to go to the postbox, or movie montage motivate yourself to go to the bathroom. In short there will be a time when you are not a suicidal 23 yr old.
And even tho being such a thing, occupying that space, is huge and terrible (u could never figure out the definition of the sublime at undergrad but maybe this is it?) yet to think of it passing also feels unspeakably sad.
You left the house for the first time this week to go see the paddington bear movie of all things! Freelancing pays little and your assets consists of some old snowman stuffed toys and the selfies on your desktop. You are unhappy. You think about killing yourself a lot. You say your best friend is your cat without a lick of irony. Your hair is damaged. You have a lot of split ends. You go to bed during the day, sometimes because you are tired, but mostly because it is warm and safe. You pull your hair out and trace the wet bulb around your lips.

You will never be this young or this miserable again.

So tell me why does this impermanence feel so terribly, unbearably sad? This too will pass is a cliche comfort so why is the title of this word vomit “I wrote this crying on the 47 bus”?

U need to get off in 3 stops, blow ur nose put ur Banana phone away and breathe out.
oh and in other news-a new mood board! felt i hadn't made one in forever! a mood board on feeling lost and sad, a mood board to complement that word vomit-

welcome to night vale, Erwin Blumenfeld: Eyes of Youthundercover, The Master and Margarita - Mikhail Bulgakov Artwork by Iker Spozio, John Baldessari, Less Than Perfect (from the Goya Series,) 1997. Computer print on paper. Stedelijk Museum, Hyein Seo’s BAD EDUCATION, unknown, Kate by Nathaniel Goldberg for W, May 1997, 
 Calvin Klein Sport 1988 by Bruce Weber,  Maison Martin Margiela. unknown (i had the reference somewhere but now can't find it??) jennifer medina, The Rain People poster, unknown :(, kim hyuk soo for vogue korea october 2007, Beyonce's insta, kishin shinoyama, 1997 starring Chiaki Kuriyama,  La rivoluzione sessuale 1970,