Highland rape

Alexander McQuenn 1995 collection... second show = groundbreaking!
But i can't find any pictures?
Help would be appreciated .. then I will post!
xxx

Christmas past

A note on christmas..
It is gone and over yet the shops still play the festive tunes. They don't make me feel happy any more . Christmas is over. Not that it really felt like it ever began.
I don't remeber a happy christmas. Not really. (I must stop writing in these short sentences but it is the way it feels right.) Of course I remember a happy christmas when i was tiny but then Christmas was nothing to do with me. I didn't have complicated in my life, there wasn't confusion, convultion, contradiction.
I like the lights leading up to christmas and I like the feeling of chritmas in the air. I like being with people I love at christmas but i seem to love the wrong people and I'm just not one of those family girls. Apparently I can't fit in. Well I'm never going to if you keep telling me... it isn't my fault I am different from you. I just feel so RESTLESS. And i do bad things.. and I think bad things... and the only reason I can think of for doing then is to emphasise how uncomfortable I feel. To emphasise how being at home or what should be my home is the wrong thing and living my life for me is the right. I am essentially selfish but I still care about people. But what exactly is wrong with being myself.
The problem isn't that I don;t get on with my family.. well I don't. But I do! You see its just when I am living with them. I am so sure of myself and they can take everything out on me. Because I am that one person who isn't quite a child any more. Who can take it? I suppose.
I don;t really care about presents anymore... I mean i need the things i need and I love pretty things but they don;t make me happy when i feel so restless.
I don't believe in christianity.. so I can't sit there and celebrate Jesus' birthday.. even though i think its a lovely thing. I can't stand religion. I get frustrated at the views and the beleifs and the ridiculous hope.
I hate christmas dinner... I hate beign fed up.. I hate the putting on weight that seems to be so expected.. I think everyone ese thinks there is something wrong wiht being thin. Yes there is. But not if its the way you are supposed to be!
I love my family.. I really do. just happy to be back where I want to be. Where I can be an adult.. or behave like a child without anyone worrying. Happy to be back. And so so so happy for the new year.
xxx

down the rabbit hole..

If I had a world of my own everything would be nonsense...
Nothing would be as it is because everything would be as it wasn't
What it was it wouldn't be and counterwise...
Don't you see?
....



If there was only one role in the whole wide worl that I could play it would be Alice.. because I just am. Wonderland isn't just a book it can be your whole imagination and Alice is everything I would want to be. It is a sad state of affairs but I am so terribly jelous of people in films... or at least films I want to be in and so terribly critical because in my mind I could do it so much better. Not that theres anything wrong with them.. just I want to be there. The same goes for thatre. Its just becuase character is in my sould.

.. I sitill enjoy it.. March here we come..Tim Burton Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter ..what could be better..we will see about Alice!

desperately wanted...

becuase it's just tooo pink...







American Apparel
xxx

why not try it all if you only remember it once...

Fattened up
Shored up
Shoved up
my body decompensates
my body flies apart


no way to reach out
beyond the reaching out I've already done
you will always have a piece of me
because you held my life in your hands
those brutal hands

this will end me
I thought it was silent
till it went silent



how have you inspired this pain?
I've never understood
what it is I'm not supposed to feel
like a bird on the wing in a swollen sky
my mind is torn by lightning
as it flies form the thunder behind

Hatch opens
Stark light
and Nothing
Nothing see Nothing

What am I like?
the child of negation
out of one torture chamber into another
a vile succession of errors without remission
every step of the way I've fallen
Despair propels me to suicide
Anguish for which doctors can find no cure
Nor care to understand


I hope you never understand

Because I like you
I like you
I like you

still black water
as deep as forever
as cold as the sky
as still as my heart when your voice is gone
I shall freeze in hell
of course I love you
you saved my life
I wish you hadn't
I wish you hadn't
I wish you'd left me alone

a black and white film of yes or no yes or no yes or no yes or no yes or no yes or no
I've always loved you
even when I hated you

What am I like?
just like my father
oh no oh no oh no

Hatch opens
Stark light
the rupture begins

I don't know where to look anymore
Tired of crowd searching
Telepathy
and hope
Watch the stars
predict the past
and change the world with a silver eclipse
the only thing that's permanent is destruction
we're all going to disappear
trying to leave a mark more permanent that myself

I've not killed myself before so don't look for precedents
What came before was just the beginning
a cyclical fear
that's not the moon it's the earth
A revolution

Dear God, dear God, what shall I do?

All I know
is snow
and black despair
Nowhere left to turn
an ineffectual mortal spasm
the only alternative to murder
Please don't cut me up to find out how I died
I'll tell you how I died
One hundred Lofepramine, forty five Zopiclone, twenty five Temazepam, and twenty Melleril
Everything I had
Swallowed
Slit
Hung
It is done

behold the Eunuch
of castrated thought
skull
unwound
the capture
the rapture
the rupture
of a soula solo symphony
warm darkness
which soaks my eyes
I know no sin

this is the sickness of becoming great
the vital need for which I would die

to be loved
I'm dying for one who doesn't care
I'm dying for one who doesn't know
you're breaking me
Speak
Speak
Speak
ten yard ring of failure
look away from me
My final stand
No one speaks
Validate me
Witness me
See me
Love me
my final submission
my final defeat
the chicken's still dancing
the chicken won't stop
I think that you think of me
the way I'd have you think of me

the final period
the final full stop
look after your mum now
look after your mum
Black snow falls
in death you hold me
never free
I have no desire for death
no suicide ever had
watch me vanish
watch me
vanish
watch me
watch me
watch

It is myself I have never met, whose face is pasted on the underside of my mind

please open the curtains

kitsch

Contradiction

CANCER

Your element: Water

Your ruling planets: The Moon

Symbol: The Crab

Your stone: Moonstone

Life Pursuit: Constant reassurance and intimacy

Vibration: Moody

Cancer's Secret Desire: To feel safe (emotionally, spiritually, romantically and financially)




Description:
Those born under the sign of Cancer, ruled by the mysterious Moon, are one of the zodiac's enigmas. It is fair to say that most Cancers are a bundle of contradictions. Compassionate and caring with friends, family and lovers, yet they can cut to the bone with their jealous remarks and ever-changing moods. Endearingly eccentric on one hand, and on the other, insecure about how others see them. Like their astrological symbol - the Crab - Cancers can appear hard and insensitive on the outside. However, for those of us who know and love a "Moon Child", we understand that deep below lies a softness and sensitivity that makes them so very special...

Just as the Moon goes through many changes as it moves from its new to full phases, Cancers too go through many new and full phases of experience. Life doesn't stand still for this sign, even if they remain in one place, because they live so much in their internal oceans of emotions. Their link with the Moon often makes it impossible for them to operate on an even keel from day to day. Up and down like the proverbial yo-yo, most Cancerians feel one way one minute, then sometimes totally different the next. But this characteristic is part of their charm.

Love and romance matter more than anything else to this sign (but this occasionally shares first place with having lots of money in the bank). No other sign romances better, equally though, no sign takes it so badly when romance turns sour either. But with their changeable natures Cancerians are fascinating, mysterious, stimulating and extremely alluring. This sign is one of the most magic of all and once their magic has reached you, they are the most beguiling companions. After all, isn't the Moon the most talked about and romantic galactic identity?

Maybe... but I care most about success

No edits

Crossed stars merge into madenning rays of violet whispers.
It is out there. I think you found it... for now.
Sheer beauty;
IMPERFECT perfection; dreaming time.
Is it just a feeling?
What reality can I create or is it planned?
Fear of pain but striving for danger.
Is my blood destruction or is it just constant need to feel alive?
Emotional ecstasy; just feeling anything.
NOT HAPPINESS but maybe something better
Something only I have found or few care to find anyway.
Hearts bleed but isn;t it just expereice. Everything dies in the end.
I'm not scared; that's a contradiction...
Longing to hold on to what I have got but needing or feeling to find so much more.
Selfish pushing, pushing time and space.
Risk. Heart. Beat. Control. Stop
But I can't!
Too Beautiful
Pure Euphoria
Dancing Time

Angel

stop fast fashion

"If you ask me what I think people should be getting next season. I'll tell you what I'd like them to buy—nothing. I'd like people to stop buying and buying and buying...
There's this idea that somehow you've got to keep changing things, and as often as possible. Maybe if people just decided not to buy anything for a while, they'd get a chance to think about what they wanted; what they really liked."
Vivienne Westwood

THINK

Transience

the state or quality of passing with time or being ephemeral or fleeting
an impermanence that suggests the inevitability of ending or dying

On Transience
By Sigmund Freud

Not long ago I went on a summer walk through a smiling countryside in the company of a taciturn friend and of a young but already famous poet. The poet admired the beauty of the scene around us but felt no joy in it. He was disturbed by the thought that all this beauty was fated to extinction, that it would vanish when winter came, like all human beauty and all the beauty and splendour that men have created or may create. All that he would otherwise have loved and admired seemed to him to be shorn of its worth by the transience which was its doom.

The proneness to decay of all that is beautiful and perfect can, as we know, give rise to two different impulses in the mind. The one leads to the aching despondency felt by the young poet, while the other leads to rebellion against the fact asserted. No! it is impossible that all this loveliness of Nature and Art, of the world of our sensations and of the world outside, will really fade away into nothing. It would be too senseless and too presumptuous to believe it. Somehow or other this loveliness must be able to persist and to escape all the powers of destruction.

But this demand for immortality is a product of our wishes too unmistakable to lay claim to reality: what is painful may none the less be true. I could not see my way to dispute the transience of all things, nor could I insist upon an exception in favour of what is beautiful and perfect. But I did dispute the pessimistic poet’s view that the transience of what is beautiful involves any loss in its worth.

On the contrary, an increase! Transience value is scarcity value in time. Limitation in the possibility of an enjoyment raises the value of the enjoyment. It was incomprehensible, I declared, that the thought of the transience of beauty should interfere with our joy in it. As regards the beauty of Nature, each time it is destroyed by winter it comes again next year, so that in relation to the length of our lives it can in fact be regarded as eternal. The beauty of the human form and face vanish for ever in the course of our own lives, but their evanescence only lends them a fresh charm. A flower that blossoms only for a single night does not seem to us on that account less lovely. Nor can I understand any better why the beauty and perfection of a work of art or of an intellectual achievement should lose its worth because of its temporal limitation. A time may indeed come when the pictures and statues which we admire to-day will crumble to dust, or a race of men may follow us who no longer understand the works of our poets and thinkers, or a geological epoch may even arrive when all animate life upon the earth ceases; but since the value of all this beauty and perfection is determined only by its significance for our own emotional lives, it has no need to survive us and is therefore independent of absolute duration.

These considerations appeared to me incontestable; but I noticed that I had made no impression either upon the poet or upon my friend. My failure led me to infer that some powerful emotional factor was at work which was disturbing their judgement, and I believed later that I had discovered what it was. What spoilt their enjoyment of beauty must have been a revolt in their minds against mourning. The idea that all this beauty was transient was giving these two sensitive minds a foretaste of mourning over its decease; and, since the mind instinctively recoils from anything that is painful, they felt their enjoyment of beauty interfered with by thoughts of its transience.

Mourning over the loss of something that we have loved or admired seems so natural to the layman that he regards it as self-evident. But to psychologists mourning is a great riddle, one of those phenomena which cannot themselves be explained but to which other obscurities can be traced back. We possess, as it seems, a certain amount of capacity for love—what we call libido—which in the earliest stages of development is directed towards our own ego. Later, though still at a very early time, this libido is diverted from the ego on to objects, which are thus in a sense taken into our ego. If the objects are destroyed or if they are lost to us, our capacity for love (our libido) is once more liberated; and it can then either take other objects instead or can temporarily return to the ego. But why it is that this detachment of libido from its objects should be such a painful process is a mystery to us and we have not hitherto been able to frame any hypothesis to account for it. We only see that libido clings to its objects and will not renounce those that are lost even when a substitute lies ready to hand. Such then is mourning.

My conversation with the poet took place in the summer before the war. A year later the war broke out and robbed the world of its beauties. It destroyed not only the beauty of the countrysides through which it passed and the works of art which it met with on its path but it also shattered our pride in the achievements of our civilization, our admiration for many philosophers and artists and our hopes of a final triumph over the differences between nations and races. It tarnished the lofty impartiality of our science, it revealed our instincts in all their nakedness and let loose the evil spirits within us which we thought had been tamed for ever by centuries of continuous education by the noblest minds. It made our country small again and made the rest of the world far remote. It robbed us of very much that we had loved, and showed us how ephemeral were many things that we had regarded as changeless.

We cannot be surprised that our libido, thus bereft of so many of its objects, has clung with all the greater intensity to what is left to us, that our love of our country, our affection for those nearest us and our pride in what is common to us have suddenly grown stronger. But have those other possessions, which we have now lost, really ceased to have any worth for us because they have proved so perishable and so unresistant? To many of us this seems to be so, but once more wrongly, in my view. I believe that those who think thus, and seem ready to make a permanent renunciation because what was precious has proved not to be lasting, are simply in a state of mourning for what is Lost. Mourning, as we know, however painful it may be comes to a spontaneous end. When it has renounced everything that has been lost, then it has consumed itself, and our libido is once more free (in so far as we are still young and active) to replace the lost objects by fresh ones equally or still more precious. It is to be hoped that the same will be true of the losses caused by this war. When once the mourning is over, it will be found that our high opinion of the riches of civilization has lost nothing from our discovery of their fragility. We shall build up again all that war has destroyed, and perhaps on firmer ground and more lastingly than before.

A Harlot's progress...

Work it out for yourself...

an old woman praises her beauty and suggests a profitable occupation...

a mistress with two lovers...

a common whore on the point of being arrested...

prison...

disease...

peace... aged 23.
William Hogarth

a vunerable partnership

bwautiful but totally twisted...