Wednesday, 28 March 2012

Patti Smith

"I don't consider writing a quiet, closet act.
I consider it a real physical act.
When I'm home writing on the typewriter, I go crazy.
I move like a monkey.
I've wet myself, I've come in my pants writing."
                --Patti Smith

Jane Birkin

Vintage style

Sunday, 18 March 2012


A lonely handshake,
blurred dance and fuzzy embrace.

Hearts yearning.

Heads turmoil.

Souls destruction.

In beds of dying embers 
my heart lies bleeding.

I wait.

I wait.

A lost connection,
of thought, of hope,
of lucid transparency.

Seeing me clearly,
and wanting me as I am.
With clear headed ease you succome to me,
becoming the piece I had lost.

Two hearts bleeding and burning as one.
With certainty and conviction.
You trust in my eyes.

I will not deceive you.

I will not disservice you.

I wait.

I wait.

For a stuck still moment.
Inhibitions take flight, numbed senses finally tingle in arousement.

Holy Mother!

Christ!The Bones, The Blood!

True ecstasy.

Total combustion.

Apocalyptic hemerage.

Fatal kiss.

I wait.

I wait.

Blossom and Blue

The blossoming sweetness of stars and sky
and all the rest

falls in front of the hillside before us like a basket.
and turns the abyss below to blossom and blue.
                     -section of Mystic
Arthur Rimbaud

Sunday, 17 July 2011

To purge on your loves bleeding heart.

I want to grasp your pain inside my clenched fist, with strained white knuckles and nails digging into fleshy palms.Grasp it so tightly that it cannot escape back into you and eat you up and make you ill.I want to steal it from you, make a boat for it to sail away on , watch it go into the distant horizon and never, never return.isa x

Owning Everything.

You worry that I will leave you
I will not leave you
Only strangers travel.
Owning everything,
I have no where to go.

Leonard Cohen

I have moved back to Auckland City to be near the ones I love.Most of these photographs were taken by Nicholas my lovely partner, on a day trip to Devonport to play on the hills with the toadstools and pretend we are in marioland.The poem is from a book of poems by Leonard Cohen called 'Stranger Music '.Which I was reading whilst sitting at the top of the hill in the sun.I love Leonard's poetry almost as much as his music but I guess they are interchangeable anyway.You can't have one without the other in my opinion.I will try and post more often once I get settled.I am living between a few places at the moment with my possessions packed away and seem to be constantly carrying bags of clothes and art supplies with me where ever I go.Anyway to any of you out there who happen past my humble blog thanks for looking and please feel free to isa x