The Big Picture;

VERY IMPORTANT WEBSITE

Albert and Gillian Maysles

at home in Harlem. Albert is a filmmaker; Gillian is a therapist. Their home is what the inside of fairy's minds looks like. The most elusive fairies.

 The art of selecting a pan.

 How incredible to have so many books they have to live on the ladder!

Summer has come in the form of an ice-cream van that sells drugs whenever the jingle is from a film.

It's a once in a lifetime experience!

Only if you want it to be

Parker;

"Excuse my dust."

Her proposed epitaph for herself, quoted in Vanity Fair, 1925.

Trini;

'Me really happy for everything and nothing at all. Maybe it’s because spring is coming I don’t really know, but honestly I am feeling quite positive these days.'

Tomato sauce;

pictures from the thinking tank

The hippie and the hipster;

I posted that I really wanted a yellow mac yonkiedonkieyears ago and my sister sent me this in the post! Oh god I just love it. I'm so excited about life in this coat. I'm considering creating a separate blog entitled 'Anna the Banana' and just document all the adventures of this wonderful wondrous object of wonder. Thankyouthankyouthankyou, Sarah. 
OH, I just really didn't want to make this a vain see-how-great-my-style-is blog but look, here I am, a giant banana, prostitute of the PVC fruit world. Hopefully by smiling I've made this less myspacemirrorcringe and more brand new coat!

Had a busy couple of days in uni, slammin them deadlines straight out all over the show, and oh this is just genuinely making me want to gush my thanks and love and faith in humanity (a new coat is probably the only thing that'll do this). Here's to sisterhood (quelle cringe).

What does Resistance feel like?

First, unhappiness. We feel like hell. A low-grade misery pervades everything. We're bored, we're restless. We can't get no satisfaction. There's guilt but we can't put our finger on the source. We want to go back to bed; we want to get up and party. We feel unloved and unlovable. We're disgusted. We hate our lives. We hate ourselves.
Unalleviated, Resistance mounts to a pitch that becomes unendurable. At this point vices kick in. Dope, adultery, web surfing.
Beyond that, Resistance becomes clinical. Depression, aggression, dysfunction. Then actual crime and physical self-destruction.
Sounds like life, I know. It isn't. It's Resistance.
What makes it tricky is that we live in a consumer culture that's acutely aware of this unhappiness and has massed all its profit-seeking artillery to exploit it. By selling us a product, a drug, a distraction. John Lennon once wrote:

Well, you think you're so clever

and classless and free

But you're all fucking peasants

As far as I can see

As artists and professionals it is our obligation to enact our own internal revolution, a private insurrection inside our own skulls. In this uprising we free ourselves from the tyranny of consumer culture. We overthrow the programming of advertising, movies, video games, magazines, TV, and MTV by which we have been hypnotized from the cradle. We unplug ourselves from the grid by recognizing that we will never cure our restlessness by contributing our disposable income to the bottom line of Bullshit, Inc., but only by doing our work.

Weekend;

Beautiful weekend! Night Jar had a cocktail gathering beyond one's wildest dreams! I made a stunning cocktail with martini and grapefruit with about seventeen limes swimming around in there: GRAPE EXPECTATIONS. It was so disgusting. We danced and watched tacky old videos and it felt like the 80s. We drank out of teacups and painted jars and it was great. 

Friday I woke up as fresh as the underside of a pig's tongue and trotted to the train station (Liverpool). Had a pleasant conversation with the elderly lady sitting next to me. The English are so nice! 

Sorry for the crapshot snapshot, but see how the design of the new building was modified to incorporate the view of the tower behind - which I think is the bluecoat chambers. I'd never noticed before but my dad basically shouted at me until I fully appreciated it. I think I probably took this picture to just make him think I was totally immersed in its greatness. So that makes this picture FAKE ART. Heartless artless. I am so sorry. We then went to the bar in the Hard Day's Night hotel and he bought me a White Russian (the capital letters there are very important) which was fucking scrummy. Hard day's night hotel is so cool, every room is Beatle's themed. The Lennon suite, just sayin'. 

The Beatles are dying in the wrong order. Discuss.

My dad always says that the amazing thing about the beatles wasn't that they had two of the greatest song writers in the history of all song writing in the SAME BAND- but that they had three. Oh, George. 

On Sunday we went to a laser exhibition at FACT. That cone thing in the top picture, well there were mats underneath that and we crawled in a lay on them and looked up at the crazy shit that was getting projected from some magical place. I can't cope with art; I found it slightly awkward lying on the floor in a dark room next to strangers, particularly after a generous amount of chinese food (I don't know why that was an issue but it just was). AT FIRST ANYWAY! I was soon cleansed with the spirit of creative inspiration and could have stayed there forever, really. 

And then back to Leeds yesterday afternoon. Sari day at the market tomorrow so will go and lust after the deliciousness. Got this at the market at junk day last week

Don't really know what it's for/when to use it. It's rather big, even for a laptop. I carried my books home in it and felt like a massive nob like all I needed was a coffee and some black skinny jeans and a goddam STI or something. But I digress. It was 50p!