More poetry. I know, I know.
In other news, I have a presentation to write on William Wordsworth and a meeting with the warden of Trinity Hall, both scheduled for tomorrow morning, what joy.
In better news, John and Edward are signing CDs in Dundrum on Friday. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Please suggest what I should say/do/wear/ask them in advance, as I don’t how likely I am to become starstruck in the presence of their hair. And cheekbones.
Now, to the poem.
What is Taken, What is Left Behind
You are the last of the old life.
You have seen me in school uniform
with middle-parted hair and sadness
and you see me now, emergent,
tacky with jewellery and velvet,
hairsprayed and sexy.
There have been tennis courts at night
and phone calls in train stations,
glasses of wine in strange apartments.
We are the last of the old life and
know things the others cannot know.
I see you now across the Front Square
handsome, carrying a newspaper. I am thrilled
that we have fooled them; they will believe
that we have always been this way,
this unassailable, this sure.
Oh. It’s a poem.
A Note: This poem is called “The Truth,” and it is the truth. If anyone to whom this might be relevant is reading, how did you find my blog? Also, stop reading now.
The Truth
I would like to lie with you
as you have done with her:
she facing the bedside cabinet
and you facing the back of her white neck
and her perfumed hair.
There is no malice in this.
I wish harm on no one.
If you love her, then
it is good to have love in the world.
Do not flinch at this longing
I have for you, please.
I wish that you could take it as it is
a small and constant thing
only to hold it and know
what I have felt.
I’m sorry that it’s like this.
I know you thought that I
would be unlike the others,
that I would understand; that I
was different. They all think so
because I eat alone and
play guitar and never brush my hair.
But I am the same, really,
human like she is, and you are.
You never should have
trusted me not to love you.
I suck at blogging.
Velvet dress (okay, it’s a top, wevs) €12. Cream blouse, €25 (a|wear). Shoes, €23 (Penneys).
I look so melancholy because I miss JD Salinger.
Let’s follow one another in the contrails of a spark
This bleached-out sheet of streetlights that we call the modern dark
As the Twitter bar to the right of this post should amply tell you, I’m a little under-the-weather at the moment. As a) my health is not a very interesting topic for a blog and b) it is somewhat preventing me from posting something more productive, my entire post shall today consist of this:
I have a very dear friend called Laurena. Laurena has a new blog called Racy Haze. Already boasting fans like Sky Ferreira and the Postelles, if you don’t read this blog now, you will end up pretending that you read it by this time next year. You can also follow Laurena on Twitter or on her Strokes fanpage. Do it.
Elegy in Winter
Bareheaded in the evening sleet,
the city is a fever dream
an exotic alphabet of
lamps and faces.
I long for another summer
on blue-fronted beaches
and the fields of wild dry grass
around my father’s home.
This is supposed to my serious music post of the week, in which I prove my indie cred to all and sundry. Sadly, I have no indie cred, and sundry doesn’t read this blog. We’ll soldier on.
1. Vampire Weekend: “Cousins”
This shit is official right here, so don’t even feel guilty. Scrappy pop from everyone’s favourite New York hipsters. Wait, MGMT haven’t released Congratulations yet. Looks like VW will have to do. (I kid, I’m totally crushing on Ezra Koenig and their fabgasmic new album Contra).
2. Sky Ferreira: “Happy Dre”
This is available for your listening pleasure on Sky’s MySpace. Diamond-cut vocals and killer production make this possibly my favouritest Beatles cover in existence. Plus, she has offered to write a song for Jedward and has seemingly at least kind of been taken up on this offer. If this news does not make your entire life, get on meds.
3. Independent Wombats: “Part Two, So Crazy Right Now”
This had to be posted eventually. I don’t think I can even bring myself to embed it. What you are about to see, if you click this link, is a video of myself and my favourite bloggettes (and sometime modelettes) miming along to the Destiny’s Child track “Independent Women”. This video is JEDWARD APPROVED. It also features some awesome girls.
I would now like to leech your credibility by pretending to have heard of the bands you recommend in the comments.
I promised further instalments of my sort-of photo-shoot with the brilliant tweetettes Saoirse and Grace and today, readers, I am fulfilling that promise. Go team!
Saoirse is an exceptionally fun person to photograph.
She wears a vintage full-length black velvet dress belonging to Grace. And how. More after the jump. read more…
“So what kind of poems do you write?”
“Different kinds.”
“Do you write about nature?”
I was sitting on the bed with a notebook in my lap. “Not really.”
“Do you write about animals?”
“Um. No. I don’t know. No.”
“Okay. Are you mad with me?”
“What? No. Not at all.” The notebook was a pretence. I never did any writing in a notebook. Jay was sitting against the wall opposite the bed.
“I’ll go,” he said.
“You don’t have to,” I said. “Don’t.”
Silence.
“Do you write about love?”
“Kind of. I try.”
“Do you write about us?”
Silence.
“Well, would you want me to?” I said.
“Well, what kind of things would you write? Nice things or bad things, it depends.”
“True things.”
“Then we probably wouldn’t want you to.”
I laughed. Jay watched me. He was always watching people laugh with this half mimicky expression on his face, like someone watching a firework and making the shape of a firework scream with their mouth but no noise coming out.
“It’s kind of cool, if you think about it like, you could be writing all the time about all the people you know thinking your own little things about them and they’d never know.”
“That’s not really cool,” I said.
“If you think about it.”
“It actually sounds crushingly lonely.”
“What’s crushingly?”
“It’s an adverb. It means crushing.”
“Crushing like…”
“Disappointing or sad.”
“Right. I don’t think I’m going to try and remember that anyway so it’s okay.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. He was wearing high-top sneakers. “I don’t want to know any more words for sad than just one.” He jiggled his feet a little bit. “One is enough I think.”
My gorgeous and delightful friends Grace and Saoirse of the gorgeous and delightful blogs Graceful Ramblings and Swequence let me run around after them taking pictures yesterday. It was so much fun it warped my mind. I’ll be posting the photos in what I like to call dribs and drabs, but here for your perusal are some shots Saoirse took of me, sitting on a toy cow rocking horse.
.
.
Oh, the fun and merriment we had. More to come. Hang on in there.
Faux fur coat: Penneys
Jumper dress: Topshop
Vest: New Look
Shorts: American Apparel
Tights: I found them at the back of my wardrobe, they’re just black tights
