and get yourself free

Thursday afternoon, after a nap; my two favourite things come together in one frame. Stanford, my once again thriving flower basket, and this lace bandeau I have been wearing around the house for days.

A War Against February

I finished reading Shane Jones' Light Boxes a few weeks ago, and have been harboring these delicious photographs for some time. The novel is so magical and endearing. My heart was broken and repaired several times over, and I felt as if I were one of the members of the town, joining in the battle against February. Balloonists, kites drawn on arms to remember flight, underground tunnels, and villains living day to day life above the clouds are what make up this delightful short novel. I don't think I'll see another hot air balloon without imagining Thaddeus' plight.

how long has it been since you have stared in awe at flight?

I'll write you harmony

Last Friday found my roommate Andrew(quite the stylish chap) and I on a dazzling adventure to see Metric. We were a little late (missed both the openers) mainly due to our chatty nature and random inclination to take these photos to commemorate our night. It was a lovely time,  as we got to spend the entire show lounging on our picnic blanket, except towards the end where we went a little dance crazy. Our dancing carried on (to excessive amounts of Whitney Houston, Hall and Oates, and Mariah Carey) until morning at the always inventive Atlantic, on Dundas, where this weeks added quirk was a black light and body paint. My white blouse will need copious amounts of dry cleaning. Speaking of white, congratulations to Andie at Heartbeat Melody on her engagement! (If you haven't yet, you should definitely head to her lovely blog!) In other white dress news, I am still on the hunt for a Birthday Dress. While I was thinking about giving up the search, UO's A New Dress campaign seemed to be the universe's way of telling me to keep at it. I have made a tradition of buying myself a new dress every birthday,and it does seem like too darling of a tradition to break. please excuse the mediocre post, my mind is birthday crazed.

I'm glad to see you

This morning I dance on printed rosebuds, while one floor below pedals bloom in the kitchen. I reenact a balcony scene. I am sure this is what has given life to the flowers once again.


*more from this morning on flickr...

Neopolitian Dreams

What a weekend full of surprise. A Friday in the park, writing a confessional letter. A Saturday afternoon spent biking to the beach as well as thrifting a few treats to send overseas for a lovely girl's belated birthday. A late night (or early morning) rooftop adventure (bruises are proof of my bravery) featuring swaying to this darling favorite. A Sunday evening heart to heart with my favorite girl in the world, followed by some biking down Shaw street and neopolitian ice cream.

Here are the stories for the collages I posted last week. I won't be reposting the photos, so let it be a fun little challenge to guess which image matches which story! These are definitely still a work in progress.

"All that was seen of her was done so behind curtains of lace. Revealing a lip here, a shoulder blade there, the fullness of her composition was sectioned off by threads. "

"Her words came out upside down, and rested themselves upon the collection of daisies. Like in glass, the words took a foreign shape. "

"His cornea became scratched with flecks of paint from her window sill. His almond eye still looks for her."

"As she buried her face in the sand, the grains crystallized into shards that embedded themselves in her skin. The wind blew it's ribbons in full gust, but they were not shed."

"The flowers nestled themselves in her navel. They split themselves and returned, multiplied by the water that pooled in her hips."

*I had a random lovely thought (or at least I think it is lovely) after leaving my bike locked outside a boys house all day while I was at work. I wasn't sure at what point I was going to go back this evening to get it. Suppose he had seen the bike there throughout the day, and then at one point left the house for a few hours. When he comes home in the evening,  it is gone. Evidence that I had been there. Maybe it's just me, but I find something truly romantic about knowing that someone had been in a particular place at a particular time just by an object that they have left, or in this case taken with them.

Do you suppose she's a wildflower?

Now that we're finally in July, I feel that I can start planning my birthday without the worries of feeling too self obsessed! I have wanted to have a tea party forever, but in the last few years I think I have been trying to shed my little girl image, thus have opted for more 'mature' themes. Not this year. Why not embrace my love of floral sundresses and cupcakes on my twenty third birthday? Think tea at grandma's house meets Lux Lisbon. This year's party will be a tea and picnic outing at Trinity Bellwoods (most likely with wine in lieu of actual tea). These photos are my inspiration for the (hopefully!) wonderful day.

I am in love with the idea of getting my hands on as many pillows and blankets as possible to sprawl about the park. How charming would that be?

I absolutely adore this. I am hoping the afternoon will last on into the evening, and if so these lanterns would look so enchanting. I'm thinking of using glass jars with candles for this effect, but in light of the whole wine instead of tea thing, it might be a tad dangerous!

And of course this is just wonderful. Streamers sloping from trees, rosebushes, dancing and flowers in hair.

I hope we capture the whimsy of this photograph.

List of Supplies:

pillows, blankets, cupcakes, teacups and teapot, jelly beans, mini sandwiches, bubbles

wine, twister, streamers, sparklers, macaroons from Nadege

punch bowl filled with delicious punch (spiked of course)

all of my lovelies

*speaking of Birthdays, my wonderful roommate Andrew's just passed, and this is what we made him.

I believe I mentioned a secret surprise in an earlier post. Well, this is it.

It's quite embarrassing, but to be taken in good humor.

don't say in a letter what you can't in my ear

These are some collages I made the other day for a project I am working on, that will hopefully be coming to life in the next week or two, called Letters to Bellwoods. At first I didn't like them at all, but after stepping back for a day, I have grown a bit more fond of them. Each one will be accompanied by a two or three sentence story, but I'm still working on those.
enjoy! xoxo

*All of the images were compiled from an assortment of Nylon magazines lying around my living room.

that I'm a gardener, I'm a man in your eyes.

It has come as a great surprise to me, this overwhelming desire to get out of the city as the summer sets in. I can't help daydreaming about running away to some deserted farm house with this man, and starting our lives together. I can tell just by the way that his shoulders slump forward when he greets me, or by the half smile that tortures his lips as we sit on my porch in silence, that this escape would be good for him too. He, the carpenter, would build our wooden house with his hands. In summers to come, the white paint peeling from panelled siding would show the success of our flight.

Since it doesn't seem this daydream will come true in the near future, this will have to be a substitute.

princesses, florals and ducklings

Back from a most lovely weekend away cottaging! My bests, Lindsay and Jessica, and myself got out of the city for a few days at Jessica's cottage. What probably should have been three relaxing days turned into thrifting, mini putting, karaoke-ing, and an adventure to a twelve year old's birthday party. In between all that wildness, we managed to lounge in the sun and frolic about the cottage in sparkly crowns that Jessica bought just for the occasion. As always, I brought along a disposable camera. I just love the anticipation that comes along with getting the photos developed! The following are my favorite from the batch, and were taken at the absolutely adorable Taylor's birthday bash. There was twister, cake, duckies, and one little girl in a floor length dress and gloves that was just too cute for words!

I also managed to check quite a few things off my summer to do list. One, I got the bestest pair of sunglasses that I absolutely love (which are in basically every photo because I didn't take them off after the second of purchase!). Two, I finally got a floral bandeaux which I'm sure will be appearing on the blog very soon. And finally, Lindsay and I worked on a top secret project that we have been talking about forever! (it is ultra embarrassing, but maybe I will post it just for the sake of spreading laughter to all you lovelies). Oh, and an added bonus was this lovely floral jumper (in the last photo) that I came across in a tiny thrift store in town. I think it works like magic with the purple crown...Though it was such an enchanting weekend away, I can't wait to catch up on what all you wonderful darlings have been dreaming up while I was away!

*one tiny but great part of the weekend was when this came on in the shop where I got my glasses and bandeaux. I think I jumped for joy then exclaimed that 'it was my song, how perfect'. I need to start keeping my behaviour in front of strangers in check.

She Has Just Turned into a Puddle

The rain that I woke up with, pitterpattering against my little alcove window has stopped, much to my dismay. I think maybe I just longed for some consistency. If my day started out with a downpour, I would prefer it stay that way. Also, don't we all have those days where navigating through puddles under the shelter of an umbrella seems like the most fun? I always tend to feel like Jeanne Moreau or Jean Seberg when I have to venture out in the rain (though I'm not sure exactly why raindrops lead to French film in my mind)...here is a picture I found of my sister and I playing at our Grandparent's house on a rainy day. I wish I still had that yellow umbrella!

On a slightly related note, this song has been cheering my rainy work days for the past few weeks. It's fairly old, but I don't think I used to care for it as much as I do now. It seems to describe a sort of middle state that I have been in regarding a certain boy in my life. The song seems to make light of a fairly dismal situation, which I guess is what I have been doing the past few weeks (maybe in my rainy bliss as well!). It would be a lovely day if the rain would keep up and I could skip through the streets to this...

the desk where you sit inside of a frame

I escaped the city for a few days this past weekend, staying at my parent's house in Queensville. It was definitely the little break I needed, and involved many hours of sunning poolside and sitting in the grass with my dear puppies Charley and Buster. It always amazes me how each time I stay in my old bedroom I find a little treasure from my childhood that somehow manages to still fit into my modern aesthetic. This time it was a porcelain picture frame that I painted at a friend's birthday party when I was around six or seven. The peach color of it is too perfect, as is it's shape. I was tempted to bring it back with me, but thought it best to leave this little gem behind, it being one of my favorite parts of my old room. My family has also discovered my love for thrifting, and offered to drive me all over town in search for newly found treasures to bring back with me. My bounty included:

A set of sheets and pillowcases with an adorable pink rose pattern (not thrifted, but from the bargain shop)

A cute green and cream purse with a gold bow clasp (I'm not sure how much use I will get out of it, so I may just use it for makeup)

A darling coral dress with matching belt that my dad so kindly offered to buy me (after being shocked by the low prices that value village offers on, as he put it, 'really great stuff')

I've been innocently learning your language

we only know one another in the microcosm of my bed.

and it doesn't hurt.

photograph by Sofia Ajram

you lost a man you loved him so, his beard down to the ground

I've been saving these little joys for a rainy day, such as this one. Nobody at theWheel  features random little thoughts typewritten on used scraps of paper. They range from the romantic to the absurd, and these are just a few of my favorites for all you lovelies.

 

I'm not certain that things like these are aiding to pull me out of the meloncoly mood I have been in lately. Some of them do make me smile though, or at least feel like braving the rainy day. On the bright side, I'm not alone in my sluggish ways, my vet referred to my bunny as being lethargic too as of late. I also had an offsetting dream that desperately needs to be shaken off.

*raindrops of inspiration: soko, bubble bath, lily's eyes

in my leisure suite, we can press repeat

Aren't picking outfits for concerts the most fun? I am lucky enough to be going to two (hopefully) amazing shows in the upcoming weeks, She&Him as well as Free Energy, Warpaint, and Elliott Brood at NXNE. Concerts for me have always seemed like such all-out magical events, with so much anticipation and awe. In the days leading to each its taking all my strength not to spend all my time dreaming up pretend outfits for the shows. Playing dress-up is fun!

For She&Him I am planning on embracing my oh so girly roots, as I'm sure nearly every girl will be as we stare up in utter awe at Zooey Deschanel. While I currently don't have any dresses that I adore as much as this one, I'm sure I'll be able to muster something up to suit the occasion!

Okay, so granted I took the easy way out when picking this NXNE by going with an already styled Urban Oufitters look, but it was just too perfect to mess with. I came across it when I was compiling my annual UO birthday wishlist (as requested by mumsy). I have been wanting to wear a bandeaux top with a highwaisted skirt for so long now, and I think the sheer cardigan makes it a little more appropriate for a nighttime concert. I find it a little hard to embrace my 'rockerish' side (which I found out last year while dating a guy in a quote on quote 'rock' band) so something like this will  have to do.
I'll keep you posted on what I actually end up wearing!
kisses!

heart of a river

For the past few months I have been really into river imagery. I think most of the blame for this obsession can be placed on the Modern American Experience course I took this past semester, where Mark Twain and William Faulkner lit my nights with images of rafts and coffins barrelling down rivers of the American South. Equally at fault may be this lovely song that can frequently be heard outside my window on those extended nights that find me feverish and tired but unable to sleep. You can imagine the warming in my heart when I came across the video below. I'm not a big fan of the song in particular, but more of the narrative in the opening sequence. The story told evoked so many images in my days following viewing it, and I just love the raw folklore aspect of Justin Rutledge's telling of it (even if it may not be true). I would love to know what you all think about the story as well as the song mentioned above.
Does anyone else share in this fascination with rivers?

Kites

A lovely afternoon writing in the park, ending with me walking by a group of five or six little girls in floral dresses flying pastel kites. perfection. This is a piece I have been working on for quite some months, tweaking here and there, taking long breaks between writing. It is still incomplete, but walking away from the park to get a popsicle treat, I think I discovered the ending. That however has prooved to be a curse in itself, as I now try to stop myself from rushing through the rest of the story to write the ending. I'm very nervous about people reading my writing, but hopefully your criticisms will help improve the story. It seems fairly long for one post, but here it goes.

“tell me about yourself” he said, and she spoke of words once written on her skin. Tell me about yourself, and she remembered waking in a night soaked room beside him. Waking to this foreign lamp, to the right of her, which she had imagined to be circled by slivers of grass. She saw five lamps of varied heights, and some from the depression, and some from a Grecian goddess Artemis, and one that she remembered from her Grandmother’s bedroom, a vague outline of the room pounding in her thoughts. When she saw the lamp, she really saw the five outside, arranged and glowing on a slope of hill, her ankles illuminated as she weaved between. Seven minutes past twelve he had noticed her sleeping. Reaching over the body, he balanced his weight on his palm, not wanting to touch it. His hand sliced into the cool open air of her vision, monstrous beside the small glowing orbs of her imagination. One by one his fingers sent each lamp plummeting downwards, the only proof that they were once there being the trail of white cord which coated their electricity. The momentum of the fall in one final jerk, ripped each metal prong from the sockets that suspended themselves between rows of oak and the stars. The light he created in the room, beside her, illuminated her spine, which had often mysteriously bruised as a child. He was reminded of his motivation.

A white raised curve of his finger print left identical marks between each vertebrae. He had five fingers on each hand, and he aligned each with the knobs of her skeleton. She, already writing this moment in the past, found the same spine merging with vertical lines of bark that riveted from their roots and burst into the sky sprouting life. It had always been a delicate trick, placing her spotted back against the embrace of a tree. The tree would not mould to cushion her left shoulder blade, which seemed at this moment to protrude more than its twin. The battle between flesh and nature continued, with temporary truces; until the hushing sounds of life and leaves reminded her of an aching tear in muscle beneath her alabaster neck. She forfeits each time and leans forward. Trees don’t often surrender.
His fingers, still the same five on each hand, combed between the jagged wooden chips which had replaced her skin. He would never see her surrender. He didn’t see her eyes become teary from an insect caught between her two white pages. The speck of apple blood that wedged itself in the blank loop of the last ‘e’ in the word ‘there’. Moments such as these couldn’t exist in him, and so he took the same blood of a thousand springtails and traced it down her back. Over the scaly surface he felt from his nylon fingertips, the imprint of a red serpent gorging itself on every vertebral column. As it consumed the roots of her movement, she lay breathless in his bed.

In the next act he attempted his final reclaiming. Before this he took his hands back from her, for she had thought them her own. And so often had she used them as thus. Once, on a summer night that ruined them, windows closed to the screaming of wind which inevitably pressed itself against the pane, he saw her use his hands. They inched forward like wicker towards the hands of his brother. Not paternal, these four thumbs could belong to anyone. Could it be that because it was through his door that it infuriated him so? That the faint sound of friction between her index finger and his knuckle was sounding across his living room? Now, in the adjacent room, she lay and he sat. And in her quiet slumber she suspended her body across plains of grass. When she finally slept, every third night, beside him, this is where she would go. Body raised above a field. The small white pedalled flowers that she didn’t know the name of tickling her thighs. They reached their graduated arms to the largest of the glowing orbs of her dreams. The weight of her nocturnal being distributed over thirty one stems, nine hundred and twenty two pedals. While she rests he searches for the longest blade of grass. In one swift motion, he plucks the green stalk from its dopple ganger root that hides in the dirt. And so he repeats this process, collecting blades of comparable lengths. He forms them into a tapestry stronger than any tow rope on any oceanic liner. He crosses her wrists at the base of the serpent and ties. The grass rope is knotted around the most slender and delicate part of her arm.

its a cruel cruel world, but you're a sweet sweet girl.

A friday afternoon, getting ready to go to work. I wanted to walk the whole way there, but was forced to ride the streetcar after a panicked call from work telling me we had no music so could I please please bring my laptop. I love playing dj at work, mainly because it makes my day go by faster and smoother (and customer compliments on my musical selections don't hurt either). Off to the park now for some much needed writing time. I'm hoping to post what I'm working on later this evening...
enjoy your day everyone xox

    

p.s lately I have been reviving The Libertines into my daily intake of songs, which explains the title I guess.

Permanent Bedtime

It's been a blah few days, and the down turned leaves outside my window are not beckoning me to come out of my bed. Maybe some live music tonight, provided by the lovely roommie Baby June, will help.
Here is a strange list that has been floating around my uninspired head lately.
Favourite Boy Names:
Beckett
Finnegan
Wyatt

All my favorites right now sound like characters out of a Mark Twain novel. What are some of yours?
Do tell.