Sentimental reasons.

'Reason is powerless in the expression of love'-Rumi

Image via a thousand goodnights.

Life's fitful fever.

I just finished a case study on Australian photographer, Max Dupain. He is marvellous. My favourite of his photographs would have to be Jean in Wire Mesh, 1937. I love how shadows fall across the figure and how peaceful she looks.

While researching I came across Olive Cotton who was an assistant for Dupain, married to Dupain for a short time and also an influential photographer herself. I loved this photograph so I thought that I would share it with you.

Olive Cotton Photograph.

A world in a grain of sand.

'To see a world in a grain of sand, And a heaven in a wild flower.'- Blake

Image via Love From Emma.

I got the rockin' pneumonia.

I got the rockin' pneumonia,

I need a shot of rhythm and blues.

I caught the rollin' arthritis

Sittin' down at a rhythm review.

Roll over Beethoven they're rockin' in two by two.

-Chuck Berry, Roll Over Beethoven.

Oh darling you send me.

I had a marvellous afternoon. I walked home after selling shoes and put some spinach and cheese puffs in the oven. Watched an episode of The O.C.. Fed Moe, the over sized cat. Set myself up on the grass, helmet secured to my head, skateboard handy. So I practiced a few ollies and then went inside.

For reasons that I can not exactly clarify I kept my helmet on and made my way to the front of the house. Here I went through my Mother and Father's vinyl collection one by one. I love vinyl. Need I say more?

So these are the sweet tunes my ears heard:

Chuck Berry

Sam Cooke, Live at Harlem Square 1963 (my personal favourite)

Elton John

Bob Dylan

Nancy Sinatra

A Jazz collection

The Beatles

and a few more.

If I could I would just always listen to that beautiful record-player.

After keeping my helmet on all afternoon my skull feels lonely.

P.S. I found a 45 that my Mother bought of The Carpenters. It was swell.

Photographs by Anooke.

These chromosomes don't make me who I am.

So I won't cry, I will just pretend, that I'm still the one and that we are in love again- Darwin Deez, DNA

Image from Kate Loves Me.

Breakfast.

Via I heart love.

An embrace to last a life time.

Via I heart love.

Fishes swimming through your veins.

As I was scrolling through past posts of LeLove this very afternoon I found a comment that someone had posted and it went a little something like this:

"I read somewhere once that love feels like a million little fishes swimming through your veins"

I just don't know. I think I would be happy to just never be in love. Be has said that I am silly in saying that I don't want to be in love. That holding hands in cinemas is one of the best feelings. But I think I can live without it. If I do follow this plan I may eventually get lonely and sure I would love to be one of those old couples that hold hands through the supermarket and speaks loudly to one another as they buy soy beans and chocolate biscuits.

My young cynicism may be toxic but I am sure ill get over it.

Image via Weheartit.

Deeper and deeper.

It is sunday morning. I have just finished drawing circles in ply wood to build a blimp. Tomorrow is my first day of filming for my major work.

I'm shaking in my boots.

I hope it goes well. I have prepared a fish, a man, a costume, screen directions and various other things.

Outside there are sparrows jumping around. As you already know, I don't particularly like flying creatures.

And I have just changed fonts. Something I will probably regret.

Photograph by Peter Lindbergh.

Kung fu saturday nights.

Last night I watched Kung Fu Hustle with my Mumma and Pappa. Even though I had seen it twice before I couldn't help but find it absolutely brilliant. A great film indeed.

I want to be cool like you.

Lula Magazine photos.

You must have good genes.

Emma Roberts is utterly beautiful.

Postal services.

All great historical love stories have one thing in common, that being letters. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. Fannie Brawne and John Keats. And the most memorable of all, Abelard and Heloise.

Their tale is so harrowing. I had heard of them before but it was only this evening that I did some light research on them. They are a quintessential part of history, if you know not of them yet I suggest that you too explore the wonderful world of the Internet and discover something you do not already know.

Photograph by Anooke.

Do not be fooled.

It can be real, however it simply will not.

Image via love is the answer.

Aims.

The future is getting closer by the day. This means my aims are getting closer to grasp, though still a little far away.

1. Have Melvin (my marvellous sausage dog).

2. Get a driving licence to drive a hearse.

3. Drive my acquired hearse around with Melvin at my side in his cravat that has his initials embroidered on it.

4. Work for a few years to acquire some funds.

5. Build a glass house in a spacious area surrounded by wild flowers.

6. Spend every day reading books, sipping tea, eating baked goods, loving Melvin and starring into a star-crossed lover's eyes who was happy to follow my plan.

Photograph by Tim Walker.

I want a boy who builds coffins.

My boy builds coffins, I think its a shame

That when each ones been made, he can't see it again

He crafts everyone with love and with care

Then its thrown in the ground, it just isn't fair

My boy builds coffins, He makes them all day

But its not just for work and it isn't for play

He's made one for himself

One for me too

One of these days, He'll make one for you.

-My Boy Builds Coffins, Florence + The Machine.

Image via Weheartit.

Fluent in three languages.

via Fairy Bread.

One year and counting.

It has almost been a whole Three Hundred and Sixty Five days since my first post. Thank you Lella & Zee and thank you to my beloved readers.

Image via bits of beauty.

Nothing novel, nothing strange.

No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.

Thy pyramids built up with newer might

To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;

They are but dressings of a former sight.

Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire

What thou dost foist upon us that is old,

And rather make them born to our desire

Than think that we before have heard them told.

Thy registers and thee I both defy,

Not wondering at the present nor the past;

For thy records and what we see doth lie,

Made more or less by thy continual haste.

This I do vow, and this shall ever be:

I will be true despite thy scythe and thee.

-Sonnet One Hundred and Twenty Three, William Shakespeare.

Image via Vanessa Paxton on Flickr.

sha la la.

Image via Weheartit.

Letter of love.

Dear Pernel Sanders,

Picture this:

It is mid-Spring. Melvin and Badgley are running about our garden of wild-flowers, the sun beaming its way though the light cloud coverage, dancing amid the rich nature.

You are dressed in a cream boat-necked frock. As you mix cake batter in a large bowl, your dark-brown locks bounce around your lovely face.

As the sun teems through the glass pane of the window it highlights the tiny particles of flour in the air.

I sit at a large orchastratic piano in my lederhosen, gently stroking the keys (which are not made from elephant tusks), singing "My love, my golden rough. Take me away from it all when I feel I can't cope"

P.S. We have an endless supply of Freddos and Caramelo Koalas.

Always yours.

Mayer Hawthorne.

... Glory be. Last night Vladimir told me about this talented boy. He has stylin' glasses and wears lovely suits. His sweet tunes flow like honey.

Let the merryness abound.

The weekend has come upon us. The week has been very busy.

There has been five apples, five repetitive apples, the same apples that I have consumed for the past x amount of years I have been in the schooling system. Cold, speechless lunch times when Svensen was unable to attend because of sickness bought on by the terrible weather conditions. Juniors punching school buses, throwing chairs and slamming doors. Vladimir with kind words of a reassuring nature. Watching a film with my darling Mammy.

And now the weekend draws and I know what it mostly holds. Waking up and finding rain making little tracks down my frosted window pane. Getting dressed to prepare for receiving paper-cuts and selling shoes. Eating lunch after breakfast to avoid my stomach consuming itself whilst selling shoes. Returning home, smelling like I have been cooking donuts. Then solving a rigorous amount of maths equations. thinking about building a blimp. And last, though not in the least of love, analysing the recidivism of crime.

I hope, my dear readers, that Your weekends are abundant in glorious things. Bis bald.

Tim Walker Image.

Mathematics.

...is disgusting. Expressing ones feeling through mathematics is just plain wrong.

Suitcase brown.

This afternoon I watched Jane Campion's film, 'Bright Star'. Oh boy! It was beautiful.

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art —
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors —
No — yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever — or else swoon to death

-John Keats, 'Bright Star, Would I Were As Steadfast As Thou Art'

You should be salty.

I can't sleep. My tears don't even taste nice.

Image via Weheartit.