L'esprit de l'escalier
Twenty-something year old living between Bristol, London and Paris. I've realised that this is mainly a place for me to go when I'm bored. It's strangely therapeutic and an efficient time waster, I guess?
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❝ You’re born with a ton of fucks to give, so you spend them like a kid with a credit card. You give fucks about your friends, about your grades, about your fashion sense, about strangers’ opinions. You give way too many fucks about way too many things. You have so many. Then, as you get older, you have maybe 10 fucks per month, so you learn to budget them. You allocate fucks to family and career, but there aren’t enough fucks to give to the newest fads. Oh, someone at work has something they need my help with that’s outside my job title? I’ll do my best to allocate some fucks, but this month is pretty tight. Then, as you get even older, you’re down to 1-2 fucks per month, and those fucks are pretty damn precious. You give them to your family and your hobbies and your job, and that’s kinda it. It’s not your fault – fucks expire too quickly. I would’ve liked to save my fucks from when I was younger but I can’t. Then, you hit fuck insolvency. You’re getting like 1 fuck a year, and you have to make it last. So you go without, and even previously fuck-worthy things, you just can’t give a fuck. Some people run out really quickly, Some people have a fuck trust fund that pays out a decent amount even into old age. But at some point, the fuck faucet runs completely dry and you’re out of fucks to give. It’s just basic Fuckonomics.


- Unknown English Teacher

Reminds me of this humorous/harrowing performance poetry piece by Shameaca Moore called “Give a Fuck”

(Source: swarthyvillain)

sunday bedhead
❝ We had dinner plans so we kept them, and I finally understood all the times I had waited on couples who sat across from each other and barely spoke throughout their meal, some mix of love and longing, and mostly caution, in the air over the table. We spoke only when necessary, expelling words gently, apologetically, as if they had to walk over shards of broken glass to reach each other.

— Josie Curtis

Primrose Hill PSA

Blog post letting you know that I’m off the radar sorting out my temporary silly mindset and nothing else.

"I was traveling between the European and Asian sides of Istanbul, Turkey, by ferry," says Your Shot contributor Merve Ates. “I was sitting on seats outside, accompanied on my journey by seagulls. The boy on the right was sitting next to me. I was listening to the screaming of the seagulls and smelling the sea air and taking several shots but also waiting for a particularly interesting moment, and suddenly I noticed the window reflection. It seemed like the man and the boy were sitting side by side. In reality, the old man was reading the Koran, while the young boy had a worried look on his face (maybe about his future—who knows?). Two separate lives, together in the same frame.”

Mels van der Mede

The windy smoking area of the Dover-Calais ferry..?

Tokyo, 1996
Harry Gruyaert

and when the night is overand everything is said and doneand you’re looking sweet and sullen, suave in your suitand i’m looking daring and and a little drunk, feeling dangerousthe allure of my dress drawing you to meeyeliner slightly smeared, once-perfectly curled hair now tousledscared, i feel a thrilling chill down my spine at the look in your eyesthen we’re leaning against your carour breaths hot and apparent in the skyand i can feel the raindrops, cold against my bare backi can’t help but shiver a littleand i can’t tell if it’s from the fifty degree airor your lips on my neck.