Moods, Rhythms, Prose…

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If you had of told her at eight, all chubby cheeked and wide eyed, that she would trace the lines of that bubblegum pink globe, she was fascinated so much by, in a self renovated van, I wonder what she’d of said? Actually, I wager she’d have been a little more forthcoming than her weary sixteen year old self, listening to playlists that tore at the angst in her heart and left her fragile, curled up on a single bed in a purposefully darkened room. That teenager would have laughed with all of the menace of an aged sinner and turned back to the lyrics where such impossibilities were painted with pretty plausibility. And then again at nineteen when just stepping out of her dorm room terrified her, I bet she would have cried at the impossibility of such bravery.

Yet, there she goes, turning up another dirt track, in a country wherein she can’t speak the native tongue but communicates with smiles and waves, with a grateful nod of recognition toward the locals in the streets. At the end is another broad leap into another vast unknown. The rigid levels of a raging waterfall, the steady opening of a vivid lagoon, the stirring depths of the vast sea. She’ll do it though, take the leap I mean, the threat of it will curdle her stomach for a second but she’ll do what she does so well now and silence the doubt. See, she conquered the demon, that was herself all along, back when that demon was her only companion. They grew to know each other and she learned to love that careful loathing, she accepted the demon’s chiding, it’s haughtiness toward the safety of innocence and instead let it push her to embrace a life void of that expected purpose.

Now, she charters her own explorations, talks to people with shaky confidence but makes friends for life, she tries new things with a perspective that is uniquely her own and laughs at all those who never thought she’d board that first flight. Her soul ebbs and flows, her ambition the most wayward tide and it’s catching. Her smiling tales wrapped in golden imagery, snaps of coves and foreign faces, words etched in a tattered notebook, all memories to conquer her own doubts when they rear their head once more. She lives for herself and the loud mystery of our world and that is the fiercest action of all.

If there was one daydream I could make a reality right this minute it would be this one. Do you have any idea how much van renovations cost though? It’s mental! One day, when I can actually drive (because that might help things just a wee bit, ay?) and have the funds. 

Light, love and wild courage, N x

Moods, Rhythms, Prose…

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Again all of these images are collected over on my Pinterest and Tumblr and what not. I’ve also featured one of my favourite instagram accounts @gabimulder which you should for sure check out. As well as beautiful summer scenes, she shoots some wistful feminine portraits too. 

Embrace that messy head and scribble your art on life. Tongue tied you may be but I will give you the ink to honour that explosive gift for written truths. Cursive and print, legible and cluttered. Give me the letters, the words, that common language that wraps itself around my daily deeds and string them together anew with mastery and imagination. Give me all you have in your heart, write me your desires, your secrets, your emotions. Let me in, write me a window, write me a passage through those whirlwind thoughts. I’m here for you, for all that you can design and create for me. I’m hungry for your foreign lines and lofty scripts. Give me verse and prose, novels, just a simple phrase. Give me the puzzle, that is you, prettily packaged on pages of type. Give me the grit and the horror of the world that surrounds us, on the back of a supermarket receipt. A poem on a napkin, the corner tarnished, used to wipe up your brew. Give me the racing action dancing in your eyes through the coffee shop window. Give me myself remastered by your divulging fingers. That elevation of observation you master so well. Give me spills of soul and the jagged, dragged out pain of your denial. Give me rhyme or bland simplicity but just give and give and give, despite that self doubt. I’ll smooth out the crinkles in that bunched up wad of a masterpiece and frame it for the world to see. What you have? It matters. So stop where you have to and write with the tools you grab, be flighty and blunt and dismissive of all that gets in your way.

My little mini mix here is a compilation of some of my favourite lyrics. It’s a bit mish mashy and I just grabbed at the ones that popped into my head first so I definitely left out some of my favourites but nevertheless I hope you enjoy!

Light and Love, N x

Moods, rhythms, prose…

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The last post like this was simply titled ‘inspiration’. It was a way for me to utilise the mood boards I make when I’m overwhelmed by everything leaving impressions on me. But I had an idea! I’m mesmerised by us women, our different quirks and how we, and the things we pour ourselves into, express who we are. So I thought why not create a character from what I collect, incorporate the ever changing facets of who I am and what’s interesting me and combine it with the scribbles I accumulate whilst people watching and the moods and scenes the images paint. It’s one of my most expressive tools as a writer, to look at an image and unravel it, paint the backstory and give the subject life. And seeing as it’s International Women’s Day (All the love to my fellow chica’s) I thought it was the perfect time to post one. Let me know what you think.

She is a solitary creature this one. A myriad of musings painted by her features, a whisper of a smirk, an appraisal in the subtle tilt of her brow, defeat in a minuscule hunch of her shoulders. With gentle grace she pours admirable patience into the life she so desperately needs to surround herself with. Potted palms in every corner, every room of her home a conservatory. Her existence is measured in shades of evergreen, sage, olive. In the yard she tends the soil with bare hands, dirt beneath the bitten nails, the glue to bound what anxiety unravels. This is her way of encouraging life from her breaking. A way to purge the loneliness, the doubt and in turn find budding shoots from this mangled suffering, the ugliness blooming into something to sooth, something she can nurture.

The seeming meekness is just an introverts protection though and if you were to spy, on a lazy Sunday afternoon, between the shutters of the bay windows, then you would see a damsel of independent certainty. The record player crackles out folk melodies, that she spins to, lulls the plants into a gentle sway with her lofty tones and fairytale whistles. She’s barefoot and grazing the carpet, in just a shirt, hair a mess atop her nymph like face. The smile is foreign, unleashed from its confines in the security of home.

The off balanced wooden bookcase behind her has life etched into it, with splits and cracks in the white overcoat. On it, the spines to manuals of varying botanical topics are visible in no particular order, interluded by vintage spray cans and a picture frame of pressed daisies. The walls are white, the carpet a light hazelnut, the only colour injected is from leaves that boast unique patterns and budding blooms of whites and muted pastels. There are no ornaments, no personal photographs or trinkets, everything is precisely there to benefit her work, her pleasure, her purpose. Around her, love thrives, her patience and maternal core a focused thing, a rare thing.

Love to all my green thumbed Goddesses, N x

 

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Words on my Mind: Kindness…

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We’d escape into the evening in just our pyjamas, climbing over the broken gate to the neighbours yard where she’d stand in her doorway clutching her tea. Our parents would wander out soon to investigate as we jumped through twilight skies to catch fireflies. They’d of course slip through our fingers and twirl away in the moonlight. In my mind they were tinkering a laugh and playing along with us. They were trickster fairies delighting in our young hearts. Maybe none of it was in my head. “Don’t hurt them, dance with them. Be friends.” She’d say, a kind smile on her aged face.

In the morning we’d stretch out bronzed limbs in the same garden, weeding flower beds and following her lead as she tells us to encourage the flowers to bloom with kind words and gentle hands. As a teenager she would stroll passed me in the square, my vulgar hands ripping at the leaves of a bush. “Remember kind words, encourage them to grow. No one likes a bully.” I smile and it isn’t taunting, it’s reminiscent of golden days and soft hours chasing magic in every corner of her yard. Now the summers are long and lonely, cinema dates with friends and afternoons with my head buried in books.

Today I pass a garden over run in natural bliss, somewhere in New Zealand, magic manifested in colours and blossoms that I can’t identify and I smile and whisper “You’re beautiful, keep blooming.” As I hurry on past. It’s spoken spontaneously, barely a thought before it’s a phrase but it loops around me for the rest of the day. If a kind word can encourage the plants to grow, imagine what it could do for a human.

N x

Inspiration…

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I’m such a visual person and I’m constantly making these daft little moodboards, I lot of it has to do with me living on a backpackers budget and having limited space for clothes. I love style but have to do what I can with a handful of pieces. This is my way of indulging in that side of my interests. I’ve included a wee mixtape too. There are a lotta old tunes on it, I’m not much into listening to new releases right now but instead I’m taking comfort in the familiar tracks I can belt out in the shower. Maybe you’ll find a few gems in there anyways or maybe rediscover an old favourite.

P.s. The new MGMT album though. Still not fully convinced but there are some refreshing as hell, interesting, sounds in there. Not that I’d expect anything less. Opinions? Anything I should be listening too?

All the love, N x

Words on my mind: Vanity

The bleak lighting highlights the bags beneath my eyes and the access skin above them. Tired and hooded, a dull state. My skin takes on a vulgar orange tint, the nooks and crannies obvious under the scrutiny. My long hair curtains around my round face and protects it all from analysis. My long hair is about to be taken from me. It’s vanity, it’s severe conditioning from an anonymous source, or, rather, from unlimited sources. Years of clutching to thinning strands, scared of the scissors and laying it all bare. Years of hoping for mermaid hair, princess hair, pretty hair. Acting like hair is the single defining element that makes me a woman. How misguided?

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My lovely hairdresser Emma double checks the new length, a length I asked for, and I nod a little numb, my stomach flipping. I lower my head as instructed, the only evidence of the action is the snipping of the scissors. The sound had never haunted me quite so deeply. It’s so strange to have such fear of losing a thing that renews itself everyday, takes barely any time to grow. It’s so bizarre to think my femininity lies in the length of it, in the style, the texture and colour. It’s sickening the amount of money I pay to maintain it. My confidence is at stake in those five minutes sat in a chair, paying for my security to be stripped away from me. But it’s part of my internal revolution. Part of my rebellion against who I’m supposed to be. In the end it’s liberating. I look so different, so I can act so very differently too.

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The shards of my armour scatter the marble floors but the sight doesn’t effect me, I just stand up and brush off the remnants, thank Emma and even leave her a tip. Instead of heading straight home as planned, I amble around town, peeking at my reflection at any given chance. Girls with curtains of light satin locks and others with waving dark tresses don’t spark any regret or envy in me. My new bob bounces when I walk, my head feels lighter and there’s something very delicate about the shape of it. Something maybe even a little more feminine than all that matted length.

Embrace a moment of courage and take the risk. You’re more than your physical vessel.

Positive vibes, always. N x

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Books for a youer you

Hello there lovely folks,

January has hit once more and with it come unmanageable, unrealistic resolutions and this overwhelming sense that we have to change or start anew. We don’t. You can quite easily go on as normal and ignore the whole cliche New year, New you vibe. In this post I’m focusing more on the self love, self realisation topic. I scoured by bookshelves for titles that made me feel empowered or had me reaching within and embracing or enhancing, the already pretty splendid, me. There are no diet guides here or cringe self help books but instead, three diverse types of literature, each with a little something to inspire you, as an individual, this year.

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Cut out the Bullsh*t

Sarah Knight ‘You do You’

It’s all in the title really. The perfect New Years read to give you a bit of a self worth reminder, especially after a season that’s all about giving and socailising. Knight has a bit of a reputation already and though this is the first of her books that I’ve read I’ve seen quotes and references to her earlier two publications all over social media. She’s a no fuss chick with wit and charm that never falters throughout the whole book. I’m not an avid reader of the self help variety so I went into this one a little apprehensive. But the content was honest and the author isn’t unrelatable and detached like a lot of others in the genre. The section on reclaiming the word selfish (pg. 62) was one I was particularly on board with. I read it a few times because it resonated so well:

‘Why spend time you don’t have, with people you don’t like, doing things you don’t want to do?’ Yes gal! ‘You can’t please everyone, so you’ve got to please yourself.’ That’s one hell of a New Years goal.

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Dig Your Wild Side

Nikita Gill ‘Wild Embers’

My next pick is a poetry book by one of my most beloved modern poets, Nikita Gill. The pieces in this collection are rich in feminine mystery, empowerment and self love. Her poems embrace myth and magic and the wild woman is ever-present throughout. Gill rewrites fairytales in which the female characters are not done justice, she gives them a purpose and personality more admirable to the modern woman. Like Knight, her work is everywhere online and I scouted her out after falling head over heels for one of her shorter works ‘Wolf and Woman’. I went from wanting to be a woman in a Gill poem to feeling like I was one by the end of the book. It’s the most fitting choice for a January read, to encourage your own faith in your gender and identity. All of the love for this one.

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Choose Your own Journey

Carolyne Faulkner ‘The Signs’

And last but not least is an astrology book. I know this is a bit of a controversial one but it’s a topic I’ve always found captivating. If the new year isn’t a time to dig deeper into your own identity and your own possibilities then when is, hey? ‘The Signs’ isn’t some mediocre horoscope book either. It’s a guide to reading deeper into your stars. In the first chapter it introduces you to your birth chart, breaking up each element so it’s easier to digest. All of the jargon and complexities come out when you start looking this deeply into astrology but Faulkner is ace at taking it back a step and making it easier to decipher and fun to dig into. She isn’t a rigid believer that everything is dead on either, instead she encourages you to partner your stars with your intuition to make your own decisions about what is presented to you.

‘The map will provide the clues to help you find your personal treasure chest, but you have to navigate your own journey and take responsibility for your own decisions.’ pg. 9.

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So these are my top picks for January, the books I’d recommend most. If you have any of your own please link them below, I’m putting together my 2018 ‘To Read’ list and I’m open to pretty much anything.

What do we think, should I keep on posting book reviews here? I’m having a little experiment with content to try and cover more of what I’m passionate about. It would be great to know which are your favourite type of posts on the blog.

All the love and groovy vibes, N x