{& it is exhausting.}

{& it is exhausting.}

3 notes

yawninglily ♥ paintyhands

yawninglily ♥ paintyhands

26 notes

things i don’t want to forget #1: the uncontrollable giggles i had as jake told me about when he accidentally took his little sister to a “love hotel” in tokyo.

things i don’t want to forget #1: the uncontrollable giggles i had as jake told me about when he accidentally took his little sister to a “love hotel” in tokyo.

3 notes

i don’t trust this feeling,
it mutates effortlessly & it avoids my gaze,
it is loudest at night & it keeps me awake.
and when it crawls out of my mouth, it is always clumsy.
but just like a new puppy
that you can’t stay mad at
when it eats your shoes,
i keep letting this feeling
get away with it.


i don’t trust this feeling,

it mutates effortlessly & it avoids my gaze,

it is loudest at night & it keeps me awake.


and when it crawls out of my mouth, it is always clumsy.


but just like a new puppy

that you can’t stay mad at

when it eats your shoes,

i keep letting this feeling

get away with it.

3 notes

5 notes

(Source: dopefreshtunes, via phenomenaaa)

112,064 notes

(Source: instagram.com, via directorsnarrative)

98,343 notes

25TH AUGUST 2014.

when i’m sitting there
with dew-covered feet
the cold pinching my cheeks,
 i think of the little happy tears
that warmed them as the fireworks popped
and whizzed over my head hours earlier
the way an arm hugged me here
and a kiss appears on the top of my head
and looking across at my sister
through the dark in the middle of the crowd
and she stretches out a hand and says,
'don't cry' and i say 'i'm so happy'
and i’m not watching the fireworks
but my dad and brother illuminated
in the car headlights in the field
working together to create such a show
the whooping and cheering swirls around me
the crowd shouts ‘speech! speech! speech!’
but i shake my head smiling
using my fingers to stem the tears
under my eyes. there is the taste of electricity
cutting a square cake as if it was round
accidentally worrying my aunty with
the casual way i dance with the knife
as i make a wish. a quiet beautiful moment at the piano, my red
cup with ‘torridge’ on the side. (the silly wonderful
nickname that stuck last time there was fireworks
and i felt the cold pinch my cheeks on a rooftop
in brooklyn.) barefooted, i make outlandish requests
when no one is watching (birthday whims for a 
whimsical girl) and it feels like a game
where i win. and my name appears on the air
growing and growing, “tori… tori… it’s time for the cake.
where ARE you?” i rush inside to the hallway,
they’re waiting, the candles, the familiar faces,
i can’t do it in one go, my sister complains her arms
are tired from holding such a big cake. there are
balloons made of icing. again, the shouts of 
"speech! speech! speech!" and this time i indulge them
i don’t remember what i say - i’ve had too much whiskey -
but i know i feel gratitude bubbling inside me & i feel overwhelmed
so overwhelmed. my cousin tells me my friends are crazy, 
my uncle has memorised all of their names and it makes me grin,
they produce the biggest bottle of prosecco i’ve ever seen,
i pop the cork & it hits the ceiling, i take a big swig
and feel so uncouth but i’m thirty and maybe it’s time i admit
that sometimes being messy feels fun, 
and sometimes it’s okay to drink out the bottle
when there are no more clean glasses. the lounge fills up
and my dad makes his way through the crowd with his guitar
singing happy birthday. and, in that wonderful way, 
everyone has slightly different timing, a slightly different key,
but they’re singing for me & it’s unforgettably sweet, 
and that gratitude feeling is growing so large,
i can feel it up against my skin, my heart a balloon,
my face aches from smiling, they yell, “speech! speech! speech”
and i laugh. “i already did that!”
"do it again". i say something along the lines of
'i wouldn't be here if it wasn't for all of you' and i mean it
oh how i mean it. how each one of them has taught me something
and nurtured me and supported me and made me laugh
and i pass round the prosecco, watch as everyone drinks from the bottle,
feel so enamoured with all of it. 
the inevitable goodbyes start to speed up after midnight 
though it feels like 1am and i check the time and it’s 5
and those who are left find a spot on the floor to camp - blankets
and pillows come out. there’s a foggy memory of one moment being 
in my dress and the next in my onesie and the next day row tells me
that her and matt changed me and she made him close his eyes
the whole time. before long everyone is asleep, some are snoring,
i try to close my eyes but my mind just keeps going around and
around. so i make a cup of tea, and another, and another,
make a mini mountain of all the baklava left on the dining room table
and carry it outside, the grass thick and wet, my shoes soaked through, 
i sit at the table listening to the birds, texting one of my favourite souls,
who doesn’t know he’s been keeping me together lately, even then,
i make no sense in my tired drunk words until right in the middle
an amelie analogy and there it is, right there, the burning question mark,
what do i want, what am i supposed to be doing,
i’m a birthday milestone cliche to a tee. i cry a lot for an hour or two after that. a sort of
release? i think about the sunflowers, two bunches, sitting
combined in a big vase on the kitchen bench. how each time i said,
"sunflowers? they’re one of my favourites" and each time they said, 
"i know" and then i thought about the dutch sunflowers rotund in your hand,
safety in numbers, the words i have been trying to assemble for a month,
how it has been two years too long and too quiet, too 
brusque, but all the colours are here and vibrant,
i am, i am, i am. 
my heart thumps to a strong rhythm,
it takes no prisoners. but still, i can’t deny there is also an emptiness,
a marked absence, there is still a broken promise i can’t shake off,
this is still plan b. are you thinking of me? 
how could i find that empty space in 
all of those people, all of them gathered together, 
i have lost count of hugs and kisses on cheeks 
and envelopes, drinks, gifts thrust into my hands,
i’ve lost count of the number of times i’ve said thank you
and never meant it more.
i walk to the farm, hoping i don’t wake the neighbours with sobs,
a little part of me hoping i do. there’s a fine mist bobbing over the fields,
my favourite tree, a cobweb adorned with droplets. and i laugh at myself too.
oh how i laugh. i think of the note i wrote, a goodbye disguised as a thank you in loopy handwriting, i clutch the gold key in my pocket, the mug in my hand,
what was i thinking? “she went out for a walk and she never came back
on one of the happiest nights of her life.”
did i really consciously consider where i’d put my passport? it was only a minute. and where would i go really?
i laugh again. a belly laugh. a few more tears. and then i walk home.
a staggering giraffe with a cup of tea & uncharacteristically good eyebrows
i feel sort of perfectly me. and i think everything is going to be okay.
laura makes pancakes, we dissect the night before, my sister tells me
she can’t take me seriously dressed head to toe as an animal,
little emily, who’s not yet one, doesn’t know what to make of me either,
but soon we play peekaboo in the mirror and i let her wipe her 
hands on it because she seems to enjoy it
leaving little grubby hand prints that i can’t bring myself to wipe off
making her smile never gets old. 
and everyone packs up and everyone leaves
and we cover the red wine soaked tablecloth in white wine
we clingfilm the cake, we wash all the glasses,
we lament that we forgot to put out the olives
and the salmon pate, dad eats all the leftover camembert for breakfast.
it’s 3:30pm in the afternoon. my body aches, i’m covered in bruises.
i take off my make-up. i put on my pyjamas & clean my teeth.

and i can’t sleep.

25TH AUGUST 2014.

when i’m sitting there

with dew-covered feet

the cold pinching my cheeks,

 i think of the little happy tears

that warmed them as the fireworks popped

and whizzed over my head hours earlier

the way an arm hugged me here

and a kiss appears on the top of my head

and looking across at my sister

through the dark in the middle of the crowd

and she stretches out a hand and says,

'don't cry' and i say 'i'm so happy'

and i’m not watching the fireworks

but my dad and brother illuminated

in the car headlights in the field

working together to create such a show

the whooping and cheering swirls around me

the crowd shouts ‘speech! speech! speech!’

but i shake my head smiling

using my fingers to stem the tears

under my eyes. there is the taste of electricity

cutting a square cake as if it was round

accidentally worrying my aunty with

the casual way i dance with the knife

as i make a wish. a quiet beautiful moment at the piano, my red

cup with ‘torridge’ on the side. (the silly wonderful

nickname that stuck last time there was fireworks

and i felt the cold pinch my cheeks on a rooftop

in brooklyn.) barefooted, i make outlandish requests

when no one is watching (birthday whims for a 

whimsical girl) and it feels like a game

where i win. and my name appears on the air

growing and growing, “tori… tori… it’s time for the cake.

where ARE you?” i rush inside to the hallway,

they’re waiting, the candles, the familiar faces,

i can’t do it in one go, my sister complains her arms

are tired from holding such a big cake. there are

balloons made of icing. again, the shouts of 

"speech! speech! speech!" and this time i indulge them

i don’t remember what i say - i’ve had too much whiskey -

but i know i feel gratitude bubbling inside me & i feel overwhelmed

so overwhelmed. my cousin tells me my friends are crazy, 

my uncle has memorised all of their names and it makes me grin,

they produce the biggest bottle of prosecco i’ve ever seen,

i pop the cork & it hits the ceiling, i take a big swig

and feel so uncouth but i’m thirty and maybe it’s time i admit

that sometimes being messy feels fun, 

and sometimes it’s okay to drink out the bottle

when there are no more clean glasses. the lounge fills up

and my dad makes his way through the crowd with his guitar

singing happy birthday. and, in that wonderful way, 

everyone has slightly different timing, a slightly different key,

but they’re singing for me & it’s unforgettably sweet, 

and that gratitude feeling is growing so large,

i can feel it up against my skin, my heart a balloon,

my face aches from smiling, they yell, “speech! speech! speech”

and i laugh. “i already did that!”

"do it again". i say something along the lines of

'i wouldn't be here if it wasn't for all of you' and i mean it

oh how i mean it. how each one of them has taught me something

and nurtured me and supported me and made me laugh

and i pass round the prosecco, watch as everyone drinks from the bottle,

feel so enamoured with all of it. 

the inevitable goodbyes start to speed up after midnight 

though it feels like 1am and i check the time and it’s 5

and those who are left find a spot on the floor to camp - blankets

and pillows come out. there’s a foggy memory of one moment being 

in my dress and the next in my onesie and the next day row tells me

that her and matt changed me and she made him close his eyes

the whole time. before long everyone is asleep, some are snoring,

i try to close my eyes but my mind just keeps going around and

around. so i make a cup of tea, and another, and another,

make a mini mountain of all the baklava left on the dining room table

and carry it outside, the grass thick and wet, my shoes soaked through, 

i sit at the table listening to the birds, texting one of my favourite souls,

who doesn’t know he’s been keeping me together lately, even then,

i make no sense in my tired drunk words until right in the middle

an amelie analogy and there it is, right there, the burning question mark,

what do i want, what am i supposed to be doing,

i’m a birthday milestone cliche to a tee. i cry a lot for an hour or two after that. a sort of

release? i think about the sunflowers, two bunches, sitting

combined in a big vase on the kitchen bench. how each time i said,

"sunflowers? they’re one of my favourites" and each time they said, 

"i know" and then i thought about the dutch sunflowers rotund in your hand,

safety in numbers, the words i have been trying to assemble for a month,

how it has been two years too long and too quiet, too 

brusque, but all the colours are here and vibrant,

i am, i am, i am. 

my heart thumps to a strong rhythm,

it takes no prisoners. but still, i can’t deny there is also an emptiness,

a marked absence, there is still a broken promise i can’t shake off,

this is still plan b. are you thinking of me? 

how could i find that empty space in 

all of those people, all of them gathered together, 

i have lost count of hugs and kisses on cheeks 

and envelopes, drinks, gifts thrust into my hands,

i’ve lost count of the number of times i’ve said thank you

and never meant it more.

i walk to the farm, hoping i don’t wake the neighbours with sobs,

a little part of me hoping i do. there’s a fine mist bobbing over the fields,

my favourite tree, a cobweb adorned with droplets. and i laugh at myself too.

oh how i laugh. i think of the note i wrote, a goodbye disguised as a thank you in loopy handwriting, i clutch the gold key in my pocket, the mug in my hand,

what was i thinking? “she went out for a walk and she never came back

on one of the happiest nights of her life.”

did i really consciously consider where i’d put my passport? it was only a minute. and where would i go really?

i laugh again. a belly laugh. a few more tears. and then i walk home.

a staggering giraffe with a cup of tea & uncharacteristically good eyebrows

i feel sort of perfectly me. and i think everything is going to be okay.

laura makes pancakes, we dissect the night before, my sister tells me

she can’t take me seriously dressed head to toe as an animal,

little emily, who’s not yet one, doesn’t know what to make of me either,

but soon we play peekaboo in the mirror and i let her wipe her 

hands on it because she seems to enjoy it

leaving little grubby hand prints that i can’t bring myself to wipe off

making her smile never gets old. 

and everyone packs up and everyone leaves

and we cover the red wine soaked tablecloth in white wine

we clingfilm the cake, we wash all the glasses,

we lament that we forgot to put out the olives

and the salmon pate, dad eats all the leftover camembert for breakfast.

it’s 3:30pm in the afternoon. my body aches, i’m covered in bruises.

i take off my make-up. i put on my pyjamas & clean my teeth.

and i can’t sleep.

8 notes

cloudhair:

Dear Friends,

It is with great pleasure that I introduce to you “Mind Games”. 

A song originally written and composed by Liz Smalls and Spaceship which became very dear to me and which they very kindly allowed me to record. The whole process took place over a few days in Somerset, and I was very lucky to have some wonderful people design, direct and create a music video for it. Thank you to everyone who made this a reality from song through to video - you know you are and I cannot thank you enough.

This is a bit of a double announcement: I am delighted and a little terrified to announce that work is well under way on my second album, which we are looking to release later this year. Mind Games is the first single from this (as yet unnamed) album. It has been a soul-searching and emotional journey so far, but I look forward to what lies ahead.


In the mean time, please like, comment, give your opinion and share, share, share. Be sure to follow me on Twitter and on Facebook for all the latest updates on the new album.
Thank you again for your unwavering support. This is for you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. 

35 notes

"My mouth is a fire escape.
The words coming out
don’t care that they are naked.
There is something burning in there."

Andrea Gibson, The Madness Vase (via observando)

(via smudgeofpaint)

5,873 notes

ozlemhaluk:

hitrecord:

“Saturday afternoon”

teşekkür ederim!  <3<3<3

ozlemhaluk:

hitrecord:

Saturday afternoon

teşekkür ederim!  <3<3<3

111 notes

Advent 4

By David Wilson

Music by Keaton Henson

3 notes

paintyhands:

directed performed and choreographed by Me &amp; Celia 
watch the film here:  https://vimeo.com/96119832

paintyhands:

directed performed and choreographed by Me & Celia 

watch the film here:  https://vimeo.com/96119832

34 notes

Trout Heart Replica [cinemagraph]
captured from the music video: here.

Trout Heart Replica [cinemagraph]

captured from the music video: here.

6 notes

more than meets the eye
*
[Compass &amp; Lace is the moniker for collaborative work made by Özlem Haluk &amp; Tori Watson.]

more than meets the eye

*

[Compass & Lace is the moniker for collaborative work made by Özlem Haluk & Tori Watson.]

(via compassandlace)

16 notes