Friday, 30 September 2011

labels i'm loving : Sika designs

I'm in love with this line!!! The stuff is fab, fab, fab!!

if I don't stop here I will reproduce the entire website. The tailoring looks so on-point! and with Michelle Obama wearing african print dresses, we'll take over the world soon,lol! 

Thursday, 29 September 2011


Kanye sings – memories made in the coldest winter. Have some of those, but it was a rather mild winter. How about memories made under a ceiling fan? Those on a brown rug, sitting on the floor? Some in a hard chair, in class, passing notes? some at a party, gossiping? No where? Some place? Memories are so close, the person even closer, the era a thousand miles away.
Texts. Smiles. Conversations. Stories. Jokes. Notes. Arguments. Clothes. Movies. Disagreements. Walks. Anger. Hugs. Runs. Rides. Pictures. Outings. Meals. People. Gossip. TV. Laughter .
A very good friend.
That saying about not knowing what you have until it’s gone, not here. Knowing the value of a friend is important. I just never realized how much space was occupied. Space which I have no interest in filling. Space which cannot be filled. A vital jigsaw piece, though a single part of a set, links to the others and leaves the whole puzzle rather incomplete.
Previously there was so much to say. Silence was just a break. Now a break from the silence takes such superhuman effort, so only a word or two make it. ‘hi’, and the silence envelopes again.
The words I wish could make a difference now don’t matter. I’m left wondering why I won’t move on, seemingly unscathed as well? Wondering when my life got so empty that one person, though so remarkable, could create such a vacuum.
On lonely nights like this I fade.
Good bye my friend, will you ever love me again?

(wrote this about 2 or 3? years ago. was missing a friend very much. it was about 4am and everything was still and quiet but my thoughts)


I’ve always known who I am, I just wasn’t sure of myself.
Now I find that I have to rediscover it all.
It makes me wonder, now as always, if everyone has the same struggles behind their breezy composure.
When I knew who I was I loved to write. It was my escape; I could be my sick, twisted, dark self or my sickly sweet-good-as-gold self. Best of all

I could make you fall in love with me. You would call it a character; I knew it was a splinter of me. I could compel you to think deeply or snigger, you would be under my spell. When it wasn’t an escapist measure it was simply to express myself. Now I hide. Why am I so afraid? I’ve always been alone, so your companionship shouldn’t mean this much to me. But I still hide,, unwilling, to be vulnerable.
Now that I know who I am, I cannot write or create. My mind is fragmented, in conflict: constantly engaged in a battle with itself. I really need two vessels, for both sides of me are not in harmony. One calls me a hypocrite and the other finds me completely soulless. To tune out the bickering I try not to think but I do nothing but ponder my peculiar(?) problem.
In my mind I am accomplished, well-rehearsed, and together but outside it I am not lost, but I am unsure of where I’m going, indulging in destructive spontaneity. I have no time but I am nothing but idle.
This all makes sense, and yet it doesn’t. This quagmire that sucks me in, deeper each day. A rescue will be inevitable, but will it be a knight or a kindly maid, perhaps a motherly matron? Will anyone come at all? It’s possible that I might drown in this swamp of bewilderment. Only then will I discover if I am a phoenix. But my worry is that there is no all-consuming fire from which I can rise. I cannot even burn, merely sink, deeper, the filth suffocating me while I smile and laugh and let nothing on, holding it completely together.