Thank you so much for 10K!

(Source: galinaontheinternet)

Bicycle Love: Olivia Kijo’s bike on Flickr

Pre-Birthday Birthday Day; parts I through VII.
Click for captions.

For my birthday, Jack took me on a “Yorkshire Appreciation Day” - we had breakfast (bacon) in Haworth; shopped at a vintage fair in York and had dinner at The Star Inn in Harome - which was incredible food. It was brilliant! Jack bought a really cute mug and some jam in Haworth and then he found an adorable “I love my keyboard" badge in York! Then we drank hand made lemonade and saw a man playing an upright in the middle of King’s Square - he played the Star Wars theme, which was awesome (and note perfect).

Euan's Kingdom

Euan's Kingdom

I Don’t Know (Things I Like About Writing)

Let me get colloquial with you, reader. Writing feels so fucking pretentious sometimes. It feels like pretending to be able to spin a beautiful wordy yarn when I can barely string together one thought and the next. That doesn’t sound good, does it? No, well it never does when I say it aloud. It doesn’t even in my head. Only on the page. But how do you put your feelings in writing in a down to earth way? Like, I don’t write like I speak - I speak in stutters and shudders and long silences. How can I write - how can I express - the way I stare fiercely at you as possible, willing my eyes to burn my feelings into the skin stretched over your collarbones? There are no words for the way I nervously let my tongue slip over my lips to wet them, prepare them for words that will never come because I can’t make the sounds. I’m just pretending. Just pretending to have caught my breath long enough to stop spinning in my mind and put words on the page. In the right order. Jumbled not up much so. Not so jumbled up, even. The most common words in my mind are not beautiful. They’re not meaningful.

They’re, “I don’t know”.

Aren’t they everyone’s? So why is writing so damn good? Why does it make me sound so eloquent? Why does it feel like I could whisper droplets of liquid ecstasy in your ear when I put my pen on a blank page? It’s like being free, from the binds around my mouth that stop me from saying the things I want to, that I don’t know how. So please, don’t believe a word I don’t say - I’m not like this in books. Just love me between pages. Because in person, I am just as scared and small as everyone. I’m just as “I don’t know” as everyone. But I keep writing. And there, I feel a bit more myself. A bit less anxious. A bit less unloved and beaten and broken and scared, a little more human. Get on my level. Read between my lines.

Like Lust | Movement

When it feels like lust

What colour are your eyes?



Don’t tell me the sky’s the limit when there are footprints on the moon.

Paul Brandt


A kind of work in progress that kind of has a smudge on it.

A kind of work in progress that kind of has a smudge on it.

Human Fly | The Cramps (Cover)

One and a half minutes of buzz, buzz, buzz

Another birthday card, for my grandad (who makes amazing red wine for wine circle competitions).

Another birthday card, for my grandad (who makes amazing red wine for wine circle competitions).

I got accepted at Goldsmiths UoL 👽