disappearing heuresthe time was left in bomb-ay!
a few nights ago i dreamt that i had to go through a very dark, long passage with just a torch to guide me. i had to do this with esmonde. neither of us knew what the convoluted passage would lead to; it was something we knew had to be done, and we knew there would be terrifying things along the way. we set off; somewhere along the way, he turned into sunil and michelle.
people living in the last kampong in singapore pay $30 for their monthly rent.
there's going to be a rolls royce facility at the seletar air base estate.
Charleston! Charleston! Charleston with me!!!!!!!!!
Swing dresses and loopy hop steps may take over bamboo sticks and knives.
What was Enid's darkest story?
Bob dylan singing scratchily on the record player is the bestest sunday night.
When people of the past had to slowly aim the delicate record player needle on the glossy black surface of a record and stand there for a while listening to the crackly marvellous sounds of it starting and watching the black lovely delicious disc spin with such elegance, they were probably more calm at heart than they would be if they had a grey and white itunes screen organised in boxes and grids. the circle invites a hug, and a mug of chocolate.
'the empty-handed painter from your streets, is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets'
p
And The BFG exists; he eavesdropped on us that night, right outside my window.
No comments:
Post a Comment