seen from Italy
seen from Germany
seen from Poland
seen from Peru
seen from Greece
seen from China
seen from Poland
seen from Ukraine
seen from Argentina
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Maldives
seen from Italy
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from Finland
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
Beach weather.
A chink of sun splits the cloud.
The wind whips the stones.
We're still proud.
Towels pegged down, on our knees,
a thermos of tea.
Dogs bolt free.
Couples hunch into the view.
Kids wade in the foam,
fingers blue.
A stone beach still heaves
as wind breathes.
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I have typed over 10'000 words today. Woo. I only have about 3500 on an actual document.
At least when I write on paper my brain is happy as I can see what I've done. That even 1500 words on paper, cut and scrambled and re written and expand and corrected for spellings and grammar may look a mess but it still feels like I've done something.
Sure typing is doing that but with less mess but when you step back it just feels like you've done alot of work for barely anything.
Writing a story (short-ish) about the importance of names and small acts of love.
If a character doesnt have an english name. Do i need to write it phonetically each time or can i trust the audience to learn alongside a 4 to 20 year old? or google (the main 2 boys are childhood friends and the story follows as the grow) I made sure it was a simple name, that is easy to say. When they meet they introduce themselves. If anything I'd say the Welsh names are harder to pronounce. But like i dont want to be disrespectful, and i also dont want to alienate the audience. Pinyin will only be used when the letter writing starts and only as the Addressee, nickname used in the letter. for instance the 3 main characters are Xīnyí, Dafydd and Briallen. I could anglicise some basic names but I thought these were already quiet simple and the story is about the importance of names, their meanings and what they mean to the person.
Random Snippets
It was the sound of a woman who lived in the music, not behind a pane of glass.
Random Snippets
She noticed the silence first.
It was the absence of the warm-up scales that used to wind through the apartment like morning incense...
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Random Snippets
Perdita was living up to her name. She was becoming lost.
Ransom Snippets
The name Mia meant ‘bitterness’ but also ‘beloved’ and she was feeling both so strongly, equally and endlessly.
"Holding Itself Together”
Winter Collection
Winter is trying to flood us and cling on to our cheer, and with it, the familiar sensation that my personal biomechanics are being run by a committee of particularly slapdash poltergeists. This season, however, I’ve moved on from the frankly literal horrors of last year’s punk-tape reinforcements. (Shh, ignore that we've only made it to month two) One can only have so many mornings squinting in the mirror to realise the “edgy” skull-eye-and-hand print has aligned to suggest a dismembered ghoul, mid-nose-pick, his own eyes popping in eternal, judgemental horror. So passé. So obvious.
This year, the theme is Symbiotic Collapse, a delicate fusion of the botanical and the anatomical.
The foundational elements are these small, orange, five-petaled flowers (dreadfully common, I know, but they pop against the death-pallor) with the occasional optimistic green leaf. They provide a suggestion of vitality, which is the first rule of fashion: always suggest the opposite of what is actually occurring.
Let us begin with the Architectural Face. The key piece is the strategic Jaw Cradle. A bifurcated strip of floral tape where the top anchor on the cheekbone works in elegant, tensile harmony with the lower section to form a supportive - yet forgiving - gondola for one's mandible. It’s less “orthopaedic device” and more “gentle reminder to the lower half of your face to maintain a vague social consensus.” Allows for the essential movements: sipping tepid tea, muttering obscenities at the weather, and the slow, inevitable slide of existential dismay. Pure genius.
From this anchor, the collection cascades with narrative intent. The Throat-Guy winds its twin prongs from behind the ear to the collar bone, a necessary vertical to the face’s horizontal. A singular, bold floral on the shoulder acts as a caplet. The elbow and wrist receive a mix-media treatment: tiny leaves battling sketched tendon-strands. Over the ribs, a delicate tracery of botanical spider-silk (for flexible, terrified breathing), while the back features a more stark, Gothic latticework - purely for architectural interest, you understand.
Finally, we reach the lower kinetics: robust knee-cap stabilisers (flower-chains are surprisingly supportive) and intricate ankle rotation cuffs (the final motif). Head, shoulders, knees, and toes are all referenced, all meticulously failing together.
The right side, of course, remains untouched. A blank canvas of impending chaos. It’s called balance. One must have a statement side and a side of statement neglect. It’s editorial.
