Part 3... The Appeal of Fragility...

She paced, she stopped and she turned. She did it again, at least 20 times as she pressed her phone through her matted hair and against her ear. As much as she would rather throw herself into the traffic that carelessly sped infront of her than turn to him for help; she needed him. Of all the thousands of emotions she had felt for him in the past, she had never needed him. Between hating him and lusting after him, always breaking him and saving him, she had never ever needed him. Until now. 

Disaster seemed to follow her but now all the awfully destructive situations she had previously got herself into seemed to melt away in comparison. She turned to face the house behind and with one resentful glance at the front door she remembered how they had laughed when they fell through it last night. How they had undressed before the top of the stairs and as her empty brown eyes scaled the house to the bedroom window… she thought about how they had parted. She had just left him, lying there cold to the touch as a fatal indentation was etched into her life forever. Sickness filled her soul and she once again clutched her phone to her face. Why wasn’t he answering? Maybe she had pushed him beyond return this time…

She prided herself on pulling him too close and then reminding him it meant nothing.  When really it meant everything. She would never admit it though and no matter how overwhelming it was to watch him leave, heartbroken with a trail of blood and guilt; it was what it was. A lethal concoction of raw lust and tainted love and so she found comfort in using him, abusing him, consuming him. Some may have called her heartless but the truth is she’s just learnt to use her heart less. But now she needed him and she wished for nothing more then him to be there because there was just something about them. Something magnetic that she would never want to tarnish with explanation or expectation. Just something. Something that made her know that even as the confusion and fear echoed around her now, she would never be alone.

He was there at the end of the phone and he would answer. Vulnerability disgusted her to her very core but she was beginning to understand the appeal of fragility. Her pulse beat deeply with her veins and with words and confessions on the tip of her tongue, she knew they could only ever be for his ears. She had a million faces it was true, always one and the other at the same time. But he knew what her real face looked like… and it was when he stared into her soul she couldn't deny the power he had over her.  Laid bare below him, his eyes would pierce into her; she knew that he saw her and all she could do was squeeze her eyes shut and turn away. It is easy to be strong until someone shows you just how weak they can make you. And as she lay there and let him manipulate her, they both knew that away from those lustful moments; she was forever uncontrollable. Every last insecurity and every inch of her, he felt it all and he had never left her. She both loved and hated him for it but... she had never needed him... until now.

She needed him now, she needed to tell.

Part 2... The Noise Outside...

What a beautiful morning, what a beautiful man. She spent many an AM in this position, and as the world spun around them they were at rest. Silence and stillness was a rarity when she was with him, and to see him now unaware of his vulnerability, uncaring of his status and unafraid of their closeness was a sight to behold. She had awoken this morning with her face tucked into his chest and his arm folding her into him. The sun must have been shining on them for hours as their sticky skin held them together as one mass of flesh and fascination. She looked up her man and with disbelief she thought of how luck had also shone on her the day they had met.  Some people speak of life and love as a painful struggle between self-indulgence and self-sacrifice, but they had never met him. It was as easy to love him as it was to breath and without thought, reservation or sense she loved him. She loved him so much. To her, love was black and white and it was as simple and as foolish as that.

He looked so peaceful when he slept, and as his chest rose and sunk under her face she could almost see him exhaling every complexity from which he had build his life upon. There was no doubt he was damaged, but she had put her heart on his scars and although they were gouged deeper than she could ever see her warming love had healed his surface. She would never understand him and this was clear from the day they had met, but she understood what he needed. Stability, security and a safety net; the only three things he was incapable of providing for himself.  He was far too reckless to know when to stop or even recognize where it started and the blurring speeds at which he moved were alien to her, she could never understand him but she embraced him all the same.

Her eyes lowered now, past his beautifully tattooed chest, over his muscular shoulder and out of the window. She sighed deeply, because she knew that out there people stood with their accusations and judgments. Outside these four walls of calm, she would have to brace herself for war. A war of overly opinionated people who try to tear down these very walls that she had invested time and effort to build whilst carrying him all the way. But in her heart she knew that none of it was true and so she would caste her dignity to the side and defend him until the end. She held him high with one hand and kept down all the nonbelievers with the other, pushing them with a force so strong and cutting they never came back. Friends, colleagues even her own sister had tried to convince her otherwise with their stories of his pretense… why didn’t they get it? She would never listen because she preferred the silence.



As the morning drew on and the sun continued to rise, she delighted in their serenity. She wrapped her legs around his and snuggled into his neck embracing him once again. His flaws flew out of the window and although every now and then she would gaze past him to the world outside, she never stared for too long. The noise was deafening out there…. He began to stir and rolled over to face her. His large frame now blocked out the sun and the window; she refused to look through him for fear of what she might see. Instead, she closed her eyes and turned over too, they really did make the perfect spoon! Once again, all sound was in the distance and as he pulled her backwards towards him she knew that he would always protect her from them, just as she would always protect him from himself. Once again, silence. They lay like this for as long as they could, until their silence was disturbed by the ringing of a phone. His phone. In the pocket of his jeans that were strew on the floor his phone was vibrating violently… His eyes tore open - he knew it was her.

Part 1... He's Dreaming of Fire...

He has nothing to say, there was never anything to say. It was a flickering flame that was lit by fate and would be blown out by that same bitterly fateful gust of reality.  Storming home he laughs to himself as the realization hits him that it was all in his head. He grasped onto nothing, a thought that manifested into a feeling and manipulated the shreds of moral judgment he had left. It was all in his head, all of it. Its funny the way we psychologically construct these situations to fill in the gaps, but he knows better than anyone that they will eventually fall through and the same soul bearing holes remain, with the spot light of guilt and regret shining through each of them in a blinding ray. There’s no way to avoid it, he’s been a mug - replaying situations and finding lost comfort in the idea of her, but its just an idea, an ideal. In reality, she is far from that but more of a distraction from the aching lack of satisfaction that is numbed by nights he spends in the arms of his adoring girlfriend.

His girl is really great, but what’s great if he can’t relate? The shadows of his past cause his eyes to wandering as he creeps home back to her once again by the light of the moon. Step after sordid step along the same road they’ve walked down together time after time, hand in hand. She’ll probably be asleep when he gets back, she always is – tucked away from his touch she’s safe. As he peels back the duvet and slides gently next to her, his skin is still frozen from the bitter winds outside but her warmth engulfs him completely. She is always warm and he loves this about her, but after a while warm just doesn’t do it for him; familiarity kills passion. He wants fire and as the testosterone and narcotics pumped through his veins tonight, eventually finding and polluting his heart, her warmth was distant and dull to him. He had all the heat he could handle as many times as he wanted, but fire can melt a heart of ice, or burn pride to the ground. In his case both, she was under his skin now and as he pulled his girlfriend towards him with her tiny hand resting on his chest, his heart below was still thumping for someone else.

And there they are again, those soul holes allowing spotlights to shine right through him. How can he avoid them? They dissect the very core of his being from guilt to confusion, every hole, another mistake, another uncertain moment. On nights like tonight, he’ll hold his beautiful girl as close as he can and keep plugging those holes that reveal the truth. But sooner or later they reappear bigger and more soul scathing then before. So as he drifts asleep with her but without her, the distasteful winds of reality blow straight through him. All these distorted emotions have caused a draught with a breeze so sharp that it hurts against the edges of the very holes that make him who he is, or rather who he’s not. With a chaotic dispersion of innate affection and utter selfishness, his eyes slowly close. The bullets of regret rain down around their bed landing upon his tired heart and mischievous mind and with a final sigh of exhaustion he’s once again dreaming… dreaming of fire.

T B C

Back To The Future...

It has been a while, but I thought I would step outside the vortex of doom formally known as revision to share this little ray of sunshine with you all! Everyone loves old photos, whether they take you back to a place where your cares were once scrawled in Crayola or you are just plain nosey, old photos capture moments that have passed us by unknowingly. Rolling around in the mud, butt naked, aware that you are being snapped and with a look so cheeky you might as well be screaming GIVE A SHIT! What I would give to time warp it back there especially when right now the only place I am rolling up to is the library, fully clothed and fronted by face jaded with the realisation that now I actually have to give a shit. But, you can never go back in life, only forward so I guess it is worth filling those cold blank pages with informed knowledge, so those blank stares can melt into relieved smiles. It will all be over soon! Until then, I will leave you with this snippet of creativity. Argentinian photographer Irina Werning shares my love for old photographs, but instead of just staring at them adoringly she has dedicated the last year of her work to people who wish to  reenact photo's that take them back to their very own naked patch of mud! She is extremely talented. The whole concept is somewhat revolutionary as she manages to escape the passage of time and relieve feelings trapped in moments of the past. If this can give me seconds of reflection between the bellowing pillars of political philosophy swelling around me, then I am sure it can make you crack a smile too! Enjoy! x

Vivienne Westwood Show - LONDON FASHION WEEK A/W"11

Vivienne Westwood’s unparalleled ability to wow was in full swing at LFW A/W”11 with a collection that did not fail to continue her legacy of wild and wacky fashion. Think Alice in Wonderland falls down the rabbit hole and lands bang smack on a busy London road where everything has been twisted into a beautifully backwards ensemble. Overstated make up was smudged onto the models faces and multi coloured hair sprouted from every angle imaginable under wonky trilbies and ballooned crown hats.

As the equally eccentric audience including the likes of  Paloma Faith and Boy George gazed on with admiration for this bent fairytale, the somewhat clichéd boyfriend cardigan was revolutionized as-if by magic in front of our eyes. Westwood coupled this overplayed look with brilliantly tartan and kilt skirts that provided a breath of fresh and funky air to the style! The classic pinstripe suit was also revitalized and daringly distorted patchworks and stripes stole the show, giving new meaning to the word ‘clash’. This collection was a great display of Vivienne Westwood’s fearless technique; she is forever pushing boundaries and her A/W”11 collection was undoubtedly a comment on the straight-edged designer.

Ties were placed crookedly, with courage on top of many pieces and leopard prints leapt off of the kooky models that wore them. After a fluttering of coloured feathers and with nearly 70 years of life experience Vivienne Westwood has returned to LFW, bringing Wonderland with her!

Jaeger Show - LONDON FASHION WEEK A/W"11

The London skies turned grey on Saturday afternoon over eager Brits hustling their way to the Jaeger Show A/W”11. However, his exquisite collection thankfully reminded the audience that the British heritage is far more then just clouds and crowds! The style was demure yet outstanding and the distinctly dark choice of colours paid homage to the navies, reds and military greens that make our country what is it!

Elegant and reserved models rained down the runway giving a new take on the winter coat that sported oversized lapels and were to be placed on top of uniquely textured knits. Jaeger’s creations were softened with strokes of yellow and gold that graced their collection with a gentle touch and prevented the dark tones from being too overpowering. The dogstooth and Prince of Wales check prints that have understandably become the brand’s signature provided a gorgeously British display of pattern.

Inspiration for this collection came from, ‘the rich landscapes of the British Empire,’ and this was portrayed excellently by flashes of jewel tones that sparkled against the duskier colours on belts and accessories. As silk blouses fluttered and elegant capes fell perfectly with every step of the models spat and piping detail shoes, Jaeger was consistently classic. This LFW A/W”11 collection not only made us proud to be British, but gave us a reason to smile through the rain!

House of Holland Show - LONDON FASHION WEEK A/W"11

The master of fun, Henry Holland, has once again returned to LFW with a flavor for everyone. His models sauntered to and fro in an array of cool pastels that undoubtedly left everyone craving a Fruitella or two! Those lucky enough to receive his invite that was cheekily printed on a Bingo card were certainly in for a delectable treat. As soon as the first outfit burst onto the runway, spotted with bingo balls and the catchy 60’s tune filled the air both models and audience alike were left bouncing with excitement.

Mr. Holland admitted that the muse for this quirky collection was his Grandma and his tongue in cheek combo of old school tweed and clashing prints, depicted this kooky time warp with pizzazz. Playfully pleated dresses were splashed with iconic faux pearl embellishments and were soon followed by squirts of mustard and beige that added a more savory taste to his collection.  Then came classical wide-legged trousers and in true Holland fashion a sweater depicting the hand-sign for sex, casually worn over a bitterly lemon chiffon dress.

However, the element of surprise was saved for last as knitted blankets covered in crazy and colourful crochet retained the light-hearted humor so familiar to the designer. This mischievous mélange of candy crochet, pick & mix patterned tights and tasteful tweed satisfies the palette of grandma’s and fashion guru’s everywhere. Whoever said the elderly aren’t cool has obviously never been to one of Henry Holland’s bingo nights with his Nan!