The Etagi Hostel and Loft Project is a creative space with art exhibitions, cafés / eateries and an establishment to provide food and lodging at a low cost, relatively central in the city. All of it is housed in this traditional soviet building. I had an absolutely lovely strawberry and basil lemonade in their terrace café today, it was all very fresh and there were even vegan options. It’s amazing development for a city that hasn’t even been accessible for many years!

Art SmockThe Pains of Being Pure At Heart

You dropped some pounds
and the people that you used to hang around

Two: Deep, deep emerald green hues encapsulate my surroundings, the leaves reflect the sunlight in waves that shimmer, like being submerged in a sweet-smelling pond: water plants creep at my heels and intertwine in my hair as I envisage floating peacefully, through the murky depths of imaginary marble-floored underwater grottos. The Summer Gardens are the sound of splashing water in fountains and the feel of cool marble and warm leaves under my fingers.

Two: Deep, deep emerald green hues encapsulate my surroundings, the leaves reflect the sunlight in waves that shimmer, like being submerged in a sweet-smelling pond: water plants creep at my heels and intertwine in my hair as I envisage floating peacefully, through the murky depths of imaginary marble-floored underwater grottos. The Summer Gardens are the sound of splashing water in fountains and the feel of cool marble and warm leaves under my fingers.

Typo Series: Live, real-time recordings of me typing short thoughts, as they occur. The rush to get words on a page, mistakes and pauses included.

Typo Series: Live, real-time recordings of me typing short thoughts, as they occur. The rush to get words on a page, mistakes and pauses included.

Hello my love, how goes it in the land of Russia?

@newttimes

Hello! Saint Petersburg is very hot this year. It has been very hot since we arrived in the city, staying at about thirty degrees every day. No rain yet, which I would like to see - I’m sad to hear I’m missing out on thunderstorms at home, they’re my favourite. We didn’t get the WiFi sorted in the flat until the end of the second day, so I have to say that the feeling of isolation was pretty exaggerated that first night! Since then it’s been absolutely fine but I’ve tried not to spend all my time glued to my laptop. It makes me grumpier if all I do is dwell on what I’m missing (and wow, has it taken me a long time to learn that!).

On the first weekend we went to a jazz festival called, ‘Petrojazz’ (presumably a play on ‘Petrograd’?) at the Peter and Paul Fortress - the original citadel of St Petersburg, I think, which has a cathedral and a mint inside, as well as a beach! The beach looks out on the River Neva - I did get some tanning in whilst I was there. We went back for the second day and had a picnic on the grass, listening to jazz. It was cool! 
We’ve also visited The Museum of Telecommunications, The Museum of the Arctic and the Antarctic and The Museum of Non-Conformist Art. And walked to the Summer Gardens, which is like a huge park with fountains and statues. That was absolutely lovely. We visited my babushka, her grave, as well this week. She is buried in such a pretty cemetery, overlooking a little lake and lots of flowers. I cried a bit but I told her everything that had been happening lately, and I feel so close to her again when I do that.

Tonight we intend to see a kind of light show on the River Neva, very late in the evening, and then stay to watch the bridges open (which I’ve never seen before, despite coming here every year)!  Then we hope to see The Museum of Zoology (which has a free admission day on the last Thursday of the month) and The Hermitage - the best museum of all, and my absolute favourite. That will be the following Thursday, just before I come home.

I am a little homesick. But it’s only a month, and a busy one! 
One: The tide kisses my feet, withdrawing its tender tongue then returning to taste my toes again, pulling on my heels as it leaves, enticing me to walk further into the waves. The beach on the River Neva - hidden away behind the Peter and Paul Fortress - is a seducer, I’m certain.

One: The tide kisses my feet, withdrawing its tender tongue then returning to taste my toes again, pulling on my heels as it leaves, enticing me to walk further into the waves. The beach on the River Neva - hidden away behind the Peter and Paul Fortress - is a seducer, I’m certain.

London; Part III.

Jack’s birthday Moleskine Postal Notebook, front, back and assembled.

I just do art because I’m ugly and there’s nothing else for me to do.

Andy Warhol

Real

It is often said that you should endeavour to find someone who talks about you like you put the stars in the sky. Someone who is your world. Someone who makes you feel “complete”. He is none of those things. He is the stars in my sky: tiny pinpoints of brightness in an endlessly vast, dark and confusing eternity. The only thoughts I can connect. He’s not my world. A world is the space in which I can live, and I can move away from my world even in my mind. No, he is more like a universe. He envelops my existence and I cannot escape it, not even if I wanted to - I wouldn’t know how, because how does one even think about not existing? I don’t mean dying. I mean my matter being dispersed across all aspects of time and space that I have ever been in, converted into new, different energy. That is an impossible thought, because I feel so real. He doesn’t make me feel “complete”, he makes me feel real. I exist, in his universe that I am so enthralled in, and I have no intention of ever not being his reality.

"Letter From My Ex-Boyfriend"

I missLetting you kiss the spotI would gladly markBeing mine to kiss. Come home.I will drag you— You, weak loner, To me. Your face is my passion, justIt seems my loveHas gone: Nothing is you, You never smile. Naked, I fall in loveWith your memory.All I can touchIs longing. I longFor you

"Letter From My Ex-Boyfriend"

I miss
Letting you kiss the spot
I would gladly mark
Being mine to kiss. 
Come home.
I will drag you— 
You, weak loner, 
To me. 
Your face is my passion, just
It seems my love
Has gone: 
Nothing is you, 
You never smile. 
Naked, I fall in love
With your memory.
All I can touch
Is longing. 
I long
For you

This was fun. And there’s no feeling like having your name on the back of a t-shirt two years in a row. Taken by the lovely Kirsten, best friend and “proud mother" figure. 

This was fun. And there’s no feeling like having your name on the back of a t-shirt two years in a row. Taken by the lovely Kirsten, best friend and “proud mother" figure. 

Even the writing about writer's block is beautiful. Your words are precious and beautiful and you ARE significant. I'm not a star and I wish I was, and if I was I'd tell you just how important you are.

@Anonymous

Wow thank you, I really needed to hear that today (or any day, really). I think every creative person feels insecure and insignificant or like their work doesn’t have integrity or isn’t meaningful, but these messages make all the difference! Have a great day.

Writer’s Block

I’ve finally grasped at the clock hands; acquired hours upon hours of time; collected seconds of my own under the mattress. But instead of letting my creativity finally spill over, I feel useless. Everything I write might as well be written on the back of empty packets of coffee and other items in the pile of screwed up ideas I keep throwing out, traced in the dust of burnt out incense or emptied out down the drain. I can’t write, I can’t even speak. I peel my lips apart each morning to greet a cup of coffee and another day where pen doesn’t touch paper without being mingled with tears of frustration. I am just a writer in a sea of writers, drowning. The words are blunt and hard to wield, and I feel as a single droplet of water echoing against the walls of a cave, insignificant and fleeting in existence.  ”I am significant!” I shout through my window, demanding of the stars, but I know when they don’t answer me, that I’m not at all. 

Far From Any Road | The Handsome Family (Cover / Mixed by Jack N.)

Remember True Detective? Remember how good that was?