Nollywood.
By Pieter Hugo.
I never really saw his face.
My idea of beautiful.
The world is for us.
A girl can dream, right?
Forgot to tell
I have purple hair now.
Roam where you roam.
X-(wo)men.
Like the angel.
I could use someone like you.
Cat in a hat.
New Camera.
Unedited.
As was intended.
La la la la la
If I had my way
You would still be stuck on me
But when I run myself
don't say I dreamed of you again
La la la la la
You know you tore my heart
You did just what I always thought
La la la la la
If I had my way
You would still be stuck on me
But when I run myself
don't say I dreamed of you again
La la la la la
You know you tore my heart
You did just what I always thought
La la la la la
#13
That song came on. While I was at the beach, that song came on.
That song that were you.
It did not remind me of you, it actually were pervaded by the essence of you.
Out to the song's little fingertips, in every corner of the song.
In every beat, rhythm, in every lyric.
I could not shake it off, even if I wanted to. (But that was not the case.)
I danced and sang along, with you.
Even though it might have seemed like it - I was not alone.
You were there, dancing and singing too. And smiling.
Nobody knew that this song was for me and you.
That song that were you.
It did not remind me of you, it actually were pervaded by the essence of you.
Out to the song's little fingertips, in every corner of the song.
In every beat, rhythm, in every lyric.
I could not shake it off, even if I wanted to. (But that was not the case.)
I danced and sang along, with you.
Even though it might have seemed like it - I was not alone.
You were there, dancing and singing too. And smiling.
Nobody knew that this song was for me and you.
Friend.
I miss the way you understood me and where I was.
I miss the way you laughed, kissed my cheek when you were drunk.
The way you told me everything would work out.
Told me you were happy to see me, and that I should take care of myself.
Told me she was blind and deaf about me, because you knew I thought so too.
And it has been too long girl, it has been to long.
I miss your tiny face and your thoughts and the way we talk.
I miss crying when you left, because I could.
I miss our hi's and goodbye's.
But I know you are there.
I know you are there if I only reach one hand out and call your name.
And I know you are not lost. I know you would grab my hand too.
That, for me, is comforting.
To know that you are there.
Some day when I am broken, battered and bruised.
You would be my 911 call. My ambulance, my rescue.
I miss the way you laughed, kissed my cheek when you were drunk.
The way you told me everything would work out.
Told me you were happy to see me, and that I should take care of myself.
Told me she was blind and deaf about me, because you knew I thought so too.
And it has been too long girl, it has been to long.
I miss your tiny face and your thoughts and the way we talk.
I miss crying when you left, because I could.
I miss our hi's and goodbye's.
But I know you are there.
I know you are there if I only reach one hand out and call your name.
And I know you are not lost. I know you would grab my hand too.
That, for me, is comforting.
To know that you are there.
Some day when I am broken, battered and bruised.
You would be my 911 call. My ambulance, my rescue.
Be my Nick and I'll be your Norah.
The way you are looking in your sleep, the way you are looking when you leap.
The strange Illusions that you keep. You don't know that I'm noticing.
I am strong enough.
Or at least I am strong enough to pretend that I am strong enough.
All that ever mattered to me was his touch and his gaze.
Even if it were for just a split second, that split second could have lasted a month.
But I knew.
Deep down I knew, his touch could never be permanent.
His gaze looked straight through me.
Still he kept coming back?
Then again, so did I. And we both knew.
I despise you. That is what I said. (At least it was in my head.)
Fuck.
The strange Illusions that you keep. You don't know that I'm noticing.
I am strong enough.
Or at least I am strong enough to pretend that I am strong enough.
All that ever mattered to me was his touch and his gaze.
Even if it were for just a split second, that split second could have lasted a month.
But I knew.
Deep down I knew, his touch could never be permanent.
His gaze looked straight through me.
Still he kept coming back?
Then again, so did I. And we both knew.
I despise you. That is what I said. (At least it was in my head.)
Fuck.
Evidence Of Things Unseen.
Pictures By Simen Johan. I think these pieces are truly extraordinary.
There is not a thing about them I do not love. Therefore I had to show it to everyone.
Hey, Celebrity.
Pictures by Terry Richardson.
Trenchcoats.
I am in love with the one to the left, I really want one like that.
Except I am not a fan of dots.. They sort of work on these two though.
But a black trench like the one to the left, hand it over.
From Dolce & Gabbana.
#12.
"Look at her boots"
"What is up with her hairband?"
"She has too much makeup on"
I love how people do not get me. But I get all of them.
And that is what I love.
Because they cannot help to comment. And wonder.
Why do I always seem to matter?
My style is a mystery and so am I.
You think you know me, but really, you do not know anything.
(You can read my blog a million times. Count my thoughts like sheep over fences.
Speak to me about heaven and earth. That is just one drop in the ocean.)
But I love that. How people speak their minds about what people wear.
Because I love nasty comments bouncing off my back.
It makes me feel invincible, in a way.
When I am alone and I smile at the people who talks shit on me.
It makes it even more funny that I usually have little respect for people.
Generally, I think a whole lot of people look extremely silly on a day to day basis.
And I do not even mind looking silly. I wear silly on my sleeve and I love it.
Especially when I am surrounded by silly people, who wear silly like a
fucking piece of toilet paper stuck to the backside of their shoes.
Quite frankly (or quite hilariously - I do not even believe that is a word)
they themselves have not got a clue about this.
Or maybe I am the delusional black sheep who watches the world behind beer goggles.
What the hell do I know?
Back to scratch.
I will look however I feel like looking and wear whatever I feel like wearing.
And girls like me do not grow on trees.
Get with me and you will lose your mind and break your head.
Cry your lungs dead and turn yourself blue, get lost in the concrete with me.
I am a mystery and nobody has solved it yet. But you can try, darling. You can try.
"What is up with her hairband?"
"She has too much makeup on"
I love how people do not get me. But I get all of them.
And that is what I love.
Because they cannot help to comment. And wonder.
Why do I always seem to matter?
My style is a mystery and so am I.
You think you know me, but really, you do not know anything.
(You can read my blog a million times. Count my thoughts like sheep over fences.
Speak to me about heaven and earth. That is just one drop in the ocean.)
But I love that. How people speak their minds about what people wear.
Because I love nasty comments bouncing off my back.
It makes me feel invincible, in a way.
When I am alone and I smile at the people who talks shit on me.
It makes it even more funny that I usually have little respect for people.
Generally, I think a whole lot of people look extremely silly on a day to day basis.
And I do not even mind looking silly. I wear silly on my sleeve and I love it.
Especially when I am surrounded by silly people, who wear silly like a
fucking piece of toilet paper stuck to the backside of their shoes.
Quite frankly (or quite hilariously - I do not even believe that is a word)
they themselves have not got a clue about this.
Or maybe I am the delusional black sheep who watches the world behind beer goggles.
What the hell do I know?
Back to scratch.
I will look however I feel like looking and wear whatever I feel like wearing.
And girls like me do not grow on trees.
Get with me and you will lose your mind and break your head.
Cry your lungs dead and turn yourself blue, get lost in the concrete with me.
I am a mystery and nobody has solved it yet. But you can try, darling. You can try.
#11.
Hard? I might be. But I am not impossible, you see.
I saw him. No conversation, my eyes just spotted him.
My very own Mr. Big - as one of my friends very nicely put it.
Shwooping by me as if I was not even there.
It is funny how I have not seen him in ages still I know that
if he had seen me that day, it would have been good.
Would have, Could have, Should have.
I would have stopped him if I was not paralyzed by his existance.
I could have shouted his name if I did not know it would not make anything different.
I should have talked to him.. if I did not know I should not have.
I had not seen him in forever.
Still I knew, exactly when I sighted him.
It is you.
A bit longer hair, a bit shorter beard, quite possibly a bit more ignorant.
But it is you.
And then I just let it go.
I saw him. No conversation, my eyes just spotted him.
My very own Mr. Big - as one of my friends very nicely put it.
Shwooping by me as if I was not even there.
It is funny how I have not seen him in ages still I know that
if he had seen me that day, it would have been good.
Would have, Could have, Should have.
I would have stopped him if I was not paralyzed by his existance.
I could have shouted his name if I did not know it would not make anything different.
I should have talked to him.. if I did not know I should not have.
I had not seen him in forever.
Still I knew, exactly when I sighted him.
It is you.
A bit longer hair, a bit shorter beard, quite possibly a bit more ignorant.
But it is you.
And then I just let it go.
