Nothing to get hung about, Strawberry fields forever
It was golden outside today, a nice touch of an old, other-worldly charm (with the help of a good, functional pair) as I walked the longer way. With measured steps and a different playlist, the world through my eyes bloomed in rare opulence. Even if it were for ten minutes. I almost forgot that house, the one where I could only see past the second gate, the one with Tudor-like furnishings, cobbles and glyphs. Lucky son of a bitch. There was also an absurd little bump of grass beside the gate, a little makeshift mountain, hiding whatever lay past the second. It was a kempt, neat little patch of Kelly green. For a moment I was wondering but no, there was no greener side. All sides are the same. Like an adventure scripted in my head, I continued walking and across the street, there it was, same as it were twenty years ago, or as long as I can remember. I always wondered, but then it only stopped there. Tomorrow is a different day.
I was up earlier than usual, and it was bad because I was giving Cixous a second chance. Now I'm getting all cautious and doubtful, a little afraid at the prospects of being like Jude, without a cause. But then, but then. Threw it all out, and went back to sleep. The air is better tonight instead. Lacoue-Labarthe will be done tonight, and then I can move on. Moving on, I have to pack my room but it will always look the same again, the library needs to get bigger though, maybe tomorrow. Anyway I left the house after that to catch something nice and still quite-kept-underground with Daryl and Vanap, which makes us wish that us 3 were smart enough to qualify for any of the Ivy Leagues although States isn't really my sort of thing, Pravda. I also realised (awhile ago) that it doesn't have to be Sussex or Oxford or Glastonbury, it could well be Reykjavik as well. Sweet-o.
Smoking is bad, but nobody pulls it off quite as tasteful as Slimane. (And also my two other droogies with their good, good chelloveck which I've never really stopped to look at but no vred or krovvy they ever meant so it's actually all quite choodessny.) I hope they will never, ever bring in MBMJ, or christen a flagship store, here. They will kill his name, reputation and everything, like they did with House of Holland. With the overall standard of living rising here, I think the Kate Moss Collection can also go in a year or two. So in the spirit of ushering a new everything from tomorrow onwards, my one wish is that they will never, ever bring in Marc Jacobs. Never. (Because fashion is for sheep.)