Blue and white have been in the corner of my eye lately. All photos taken from Studded Hearts, last photo taken by me. The top photo makes my yearning for California that much worse. It's funny how when you really want something, it pops up a lot through social media that you follow, consciously or not. Like I follow TOO many people who live in California or Australia. To the point where southern californians or australians are finding ME. If only what we put out in social media actually reflected real life.
All these were taken by me, except for one taken by my boyfriend. I keep getting obsessive with the aesthetic of all white, or shades of white. It's like I have a special eye for it. There are certain people who turn their entire internet presence into a matter of just monochromatic shades and it baffles me. I can't get enough of it. From time to time I like to indulge in their blogs or instagrams or what have you and just cleanse my clogged up aesthetic plate.
Everything white (or black and white) is like an alternate universe for me, and bloggers who manage to stick to rigid color schemes must find solace in the absence of excess as well. My main problem is my actual lifestyle--and how bursting with excess it really is. I'm not rich, but I have a lot of things cluttering my familiar spaces constantly. It's stressful and colorful and overwhelming.
In my mini instagram 'about me' blurb I put "a maximalist with minimal undertones." It hardly makes any sense, but it's my little way of proclaiming that I am truly a maximalist-- I love lots of jewelry, makeup, clothes, THINGS, people, love; but in the "undertones" of my daily existence, I truly find peace with the idea of minimal colors, things, and just ways of life. If that makes sense. When I strip everything down to what it's really worth, I get this primal satisfaction that no excess of anything could really gratify.
With his shopping cart, his bags of booty and his wine, I'd always
found him inoffensive.
Every neighborhood has one or two these days; ours never rants at
you at least or begs.
He just forages the trash all day, drinks and sings and shadowboxes,
then at nightfall
finds a doorway to make camp, set out his battered little radio and
slab of rotting foam.
The other day, though, as I was going by, he stepped abruptly out
between parked cars,
undid his pants, and, not even bothering to squat, sputtered out a
and that a slender adolescent girl from down the block happened by
right then, and looked,
and looked away, and looked at me, and looked away again, and
made me want to say to her,
because I imagined what she must have felt, It's not like this, really, it's
but she was gone, so I could think, But isn't it like this, isn't this just
what it is?
-C.K. Williams, "Harm"
Daily dose of culture brought to you by the wonderful artist Tauba Auerbach, equally wonderful poet C.K. Williams, and of course, my outstanding curation of both (and my ability to use interesting, relevant adjectives). I always hear on one hand people discussing how the internet is either going to make us all socially inept, indoor drones, and on the other I hear constant spewing of "INTERNET EVOLVING THE HUMAN RACE AS WE KNOW IT!!!!!!!!!!!!" crap. I'm 19 years old, and I've been logged onto the internet since I was 10 (and I'm not internet famous by now?), and I have to admit, I consider my quality of life to be a little bit on the low side when I go multiple days without logging on the computer, like I have been this week. The internet can be linked to almost all portions of my life; like interaction, school, music/art/culture, and self expression. That's why I feel at ease when I have down time to surf the web and find artists like Tauba Auerbach. Even though I'm sitting in my pajamas at my desk, I still feel the satisfaction of a constant, fresh stream of consciousness. This little blurb is kind of all over the place, but all in all, I'm happy I have this stupid little blog to share it, because I can.
Some older photos from this winter. These definitely have a melancholic twinge to them (not just the obvious first photo of Owen with a sad face). I enjoy compiling photos from the same time period that don't have much relation to each other in terms of composition or subject. That's what really lets *nostalgia* feelings/aesthetics form, it seems. I guess the only relation these have is the snow. Even after summer finally started showing its sunny face, I sometimes still feel the cold wistfulness settled in my bones... I guess winter never really ends.
Lately I've been a little obsessive over pleated skirts and fishnets. Both are from American Apparel, and my top is old F21. It's a little harder wearing [normal] outfits like these now that I'm home for the summer (even though I'm 19) because my parents still think that short skirts and fishnets are "slutty."
"It's okay, you just don't understand style" is my extremely juvenile response I usually give them. I guess we both need to be a little more progressive.
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