the personal hurricanes of kirsty mitchell.

I know I spend a lot of time thinking about and talking about being strong on my own but today I...

Wed, 22 May 2013 17:16:51 +0100

I know I spend a lot of time thinking about and talking about being strong on my own but today I have been thinking about connections, temporary and otherwise.

making my way down the hill, wearing a friends’ jumper in the cloud-closed grey heat, I started thinking about all the things in my wardrobe that have belonged to others. there are dresses from almost every woman in my family, a t shirt of my little brothers, countless items stolen from ex boyfriends. there are the things from people I don’t know, left behind at houseparties of mine when I was a student, forgotten and left for a year in the first pub I worked in, bought in secondhand shops from Portsmouth, to Glasgow. every time I put on one of those pieces i’m retracing those tiny connections, I thought. and if my wardrobe is democratic, what else is?

I traced through my kitchen, my bedroom, thinking of things given or made, or found. even the seashells were found and kept for me by a lover. and this is just the surface of it; just the things I own. this superficial landscape has been built by a fair few hands, and they’re just the ones I can’t conceive.

so how much of the underneath has been found, or gifted, or inherited in similar ways. I try very hard to dictate to myself who and what i’m going to be, but there’s a comfort in knowing that I may not have had the entire say in the components I’ve been gifted to work with.

lately it’s been the conversations that keep me upbeat. from the big, long, deep ones with people who have known me a while, to brief and silly little back and forths in the shop, on the bus, at work. I like who I am in relation to other people. I overspill my allotted slot to touch others, and when I do the warmth is pleasing. if there was a way for me to hold on to that feeling and keep it with me for the times when I feel like nothing can reach me I am pretty sure I would have this whole thing figured out.

"That’s great. Tell me about it. I hate my life. I’m at the point where I want to hear..."

Wed, 22 May 2013 12:05:03 +0100

“That’s great. Tell me about it. I hate my life. I’m at the point where I want to hear about other people’s lives. it’s like switching from fiction to biography. The beginning of the end.”

- Don DeLillo, Americana.

"I couldn’t help suspecting I had manufactured the whole thing, my need for him, simply to..."

Wed, 22 May 2013 12:03:29 +0100

“I couldn’t help suspecting I had manufactured the whole thing, my need for him, simply to avoid what I considered to be the alternatives. This is one of my very annoying traits. I can’t sit back and let something grow of its own momentum and eventually reveal its truth or horror. I must probe it from the outset.”

- Don DeLillo, Americana

"She means everything literally. Don’t kid yourself about that lady. She means everything..."

Wed, 22 May 2013 12:02:10 +0100

“She means everything literally. Don’t kid yourself about that lady. She means everything literally.”

- Don DeLillo, Americana.

designstroy: (via 912greens)

Wed, 22 May 2013 11:58:05 +0100

designstroy:

(via 912greens)

When a colleague takes credit for my work

Tue, 21 May 2013 14:31:13 +0100

londongrumblr:

Thanks to @antonperreau!

anybody who takes credit for my work ceases to belong in the colleague category.

feministfashionista: tinytruant: fuckyeahfeminists: Shout out...

Tue, 21 May 2013 13:53:50 +0100

feministfashionista:

tinytruant:

fuckyeahfeminists:

Shout out to the Nice Guys (tm) out there who need to see this.

THIS.

mudwerks: (via Au carrefour étrange: Carnavales Mexicana)

Tue, 21 May 2013 12:03:31 +0100

mudwerks:

(via Au carrefour étrange: Carnavales Mexicana)

I am tired all the time at the moment; I get in, fall deadly asleep before I can read so much as a...

Tue, 21 May 2013 11:56:39 +0100

I am tired all the time at the moment; I get in, fall deadly asleep before I can read so much as a page of my book, sleep through all my alarms, and still wake up feeling exhausted.

i tell myself it must be hormones, because i’m getting all my vitamins, and i’m looking after my body, and i’m not pushing myself beyond my limits, as i have a tendency to do. it’s frustrating not being able to focus on things the way i want to. i tell myself i can’t be getting sick, because i haven’t the time.

Marcus came into work last night, and i actually managed to have a sustained conversation with him, and we made vague plans to go for a drink. i always feel awful when he comes in and i’m too busy to talk; i’m conscious that it could look as though i’m doing it consciously. i don’t want it to seem like there’s ill will there. he and i had a good time, i just enjoy being exclusively my own person too much. and it feels like such a long time ago anyway. the beginning of last winter. we were finally at the stage yesterday where we could talk about some of the time we spent together.

and the odd thing is, it didn’t feel too dissimilar to talking about past events with my dad on sunday. both conversational parties tentatively trying not to overstep the mark, making sure to keep it on safe, happy, ground. avoiding the subject of the parting of ways; not bringing it up, because the clearing of the air would be too much of a sharp, cold, shock, for a public place. human relationships are a strange thing. i often wonder if i just struggle with them when they reach a certain level of complexity or intensity. when they necessitate a certain amount of either sacrifice, compromise, or forgiveness. perhaps my broad-scale tolerance and patience has given rise to an inability to manifest it in personal relationships. it wouldn’t surprise me.

it’s funny, on Saturday afternoon i was lucky enough to talk to jeff for an hour or two, and he always levels me out, because he has this knack of seeing right to the quick of things and being able to talk about them, whilst making it seem like a point he’s casually circled around to. we were talking about relationships and dating, and about people who are out for a lifetime monogamous partnership in that respect, which he correctly pointed out, was probably neither him, nor me. the point he made was that those people, in having that ultimate goal, are probably more equipped to make relationships work, by virtue of having it in mind during the tougher times. and i mean, he presented it as neither a good nor a bad thing not to be possessed of those kinds of qualities, which is one of the beauties of talking to him; just because he can see the rationale behind all kinds of behaviour, doesn’t mean he outwardly condemns or approves of it a lot of the time. it was a good conversation; he goes in the category of people i just like listening to. there’s always something to take away and mull over.

i saw pepi at the bus stop again last night, and she was far more agitated than usual. i’m noticing, in fact, that there is a pattern; i’m more likely to see her early in the week. i noticed it because i made the connection that i always see her when i’m last out of the place, when i lock up alone and have the least energy for the walk to Tottenham court road, which gives the conversations a kind of hallucinatory, haunted quality. she was talking about herself last night, for the first time. about how she felt depressed, and was having a hard time focusing on her mother’s conditions because she couldn’t find the energy herself. she talked about getting herself some help and i nodded, and said that it was probably the best thing she could do. i said that having someone to talk to is probably the best thing you can have. she said to me that now she sees me coming down the road because of my red coat, she said it was nice to be able to pick someone out of a crowd at that time of night. i didn’t know how to feel. when my bus came i wished her luck getting help, climbed the stairs, and slumped into my tiredness.

two boys, far too young, good looking, and energetic for my tastes, sat beside me and asked me if i knew ‘that lady’. and i said ‘i guess you could say i do’, and they asked me how, and i said ‘just through talking, the same way anyone knows anyone, really’, and they looked confused and went back to their own conversation, and, against my better judgement i let my eyes close.

they didn’t open again until archway, a blind moment of panic until i realized i had a way to go yet; and that disorientating feeling of feeling like you only closed your eyes for a few minutes, and realizing you lost an hour. i never thought, when i moved to London, that bus stops and bus journeys would feature people i knew. i thought the city would be too big for that, the holes in the net too big to get caught up that way. it’s interesting to be proved wrong.

and today i’m echoing around my house, enjoying a brief reprieve from being bombarded with notes and messages about things by virtue of being the only person around. i can feel a minor fluttering of wings in my ribcage lately; everytime another thinly disguised order pops up on facebook message, or a post it note, a little voice in my head whispers ‘you could just leave’. that’s a difficult feeling to ignore, once the seeds have been planted. it’s like when i was talking to jeff about the end of a relationship. once you’ve seen the breakup in your mind, once you know you could do it, that it’s a possibility and that things make you feel that way, it’s an impossible thing to unthink, and it haunts everything. nothing makes me want to get out, to just get out, and away, more than thinly veiled passive aggression. that has too many memories for me. I’ve seen it too many times before.

the-big-striptease: stripteases here

Mon, 20 May 2013 14:30:07 +0100

the-big-striptease:

~~strip~~tease~~s here~~

needed stodge this morning so put leftover refried beans, salsa,...

Mon, 20 May 2013 11:48:00 +0100

needed stodge this morning so put leftover refried beans, salsa, and guacamole on my bagel. plus a kale, cucumber and banana smoothie, and super strong coffeeee.

London is showing me it’s funny side at the moment. from the bus driver who used the intercom...

Mon, 20 May 2013 09:52:18 +0100

London is showing me it’s funny side at the moment. from the bus driver who used the intercom to talk to everybody all the way through Bloomsbury, to the guy messing around with a really fast remote control car in Camden high street last night, there seems to be something weird and humourous to everything and it’s making life feel a bit lighter.

i’m not sure where last week went. I was left in charge a lot more, and it seems to make the time pass faster than normal. I have been very disciplined with my routine, eating right, sleeping right, and living, for once, in a clean and tidy room. it’s helped me a lot.

and life, lately, has been full of changes of scenery: I’ve been to places I don’t normally go, met new people, and tried new things. yesterday morning was waking up not alone, drinking coffee and chatting in bed, and traipsing through Alexandra park in the sunshine, down to crouch end in search of breakfast. the walk felt good, the sun felt good, having the views and the trees and the beautiful streets on my doorstep felt good. north London is beautiful. sitting in a café playing the smiths, luxuriating in the small things, eggs benedict and a cappuccino and the benefits of being able to sleep with someone and not have to deal with some massive agenda of theirs. I always wonder what people think about how excessively polite I am to the waitstaff. it must seem odd to the uninitiated.

and then the afternoon, my plans to lie in bed watching French films and eat chocolate ruined by my little brother calling me up for beer and football (his shout, or so he said). making my way into central in the sunshine; wandering through covent garden thinking ‘tourists will stop and look at anything, jesus’, and finally finding the pub he was in, only to realize I had been completely set up, and my dad, who I haven’t seen or spoken to in a year was there. at which I promptly burst into tears, which ended about as abruptly as they started.

it probably was too public a situation to address the issues and say why I was so angry, so I didn’t. I just let him buy me beer and half filled him in on my life. the quality of pub we sat in improved when I started recommending places (it’s my business to know these things), and we went for Mexican food. he didn’t have his glasses, so I read through the menu for him briefly, and basically ordered for him; and we talked about how i’d done a trial shift in the restaurant, about how I was happier where I am now. it’s funny when people visit me and my brother at the same time, because basically the things we do together and the places we go afford no real glimpse into how I live my life in the city. our tastes are so different that we meet on neutral ground.

nonetheless the ice is broken now. and I wandered out of my little brothers house at the end of the night to find a bus home, still not wearing my coat, because I was warm, and realized how tired I actually was. my life these days seems to involve a lot more climbing into bed before midnight being too exhausted to straighten things out before my head hits the pillow. and that’s fine, if the side effect is that I have more time in the morning to sit and drink coffee, read short stories, draw the covers tighter around myself and focus on feeding my mind. the routine at the moment is slow, comfortable, and thoughtful. i’m not as afraid of or upset by things as I have been. I get tired at the right times.

"I love lipstick. I want to write an essay about the politics of lipstick. I like lipstick that’s..."

Mon, 20 May 2013 09:32:47 +0100

“I love lipstick. I want to write an essay about the politics of lipstick. I like lipstick that’s deep, deep red. I like lipstick that’s purple, lipstick that’s black and dark for when I want to dress up my melancholy. I like sharing lipstick with sisters. And I laugh at boys that think I wear lipstick for them to notice, I laugh, lipstick is an art you can’t ever understand. From picking out a color, testing it on the inside of my wrist, pursing my lips during the application of it. I like when I kiss a baby and leave lipstick on their cheek, when you hug someone and leave lipstick on their shirt, when it gets on your teeth and you use your tongue to get it off, when you sleep in lipstick and wake up with it on your pillow case. In 1997, Mama left for Ethiopia to see her mama for the first time in twelve years. I was six and I cried the entire way home from the airport. And when we came home there on the kitchen table was the teacup Mama had been drinking out of. At the bottom a sip of tea and black cardamom seeds, there on the rim of the cup the lipstick imprint of my mama’s kiss.”

- Nomad Manifesto (via perfumedsecrets)

comicallyvintage: It’s None Of Your Business!

Fri, 17 May 2013 09:42:09 +0100

comicallyvintage:

It’s None Of Your Business!

"Meredith was not so secure in her maturity that she did not suffer those periods of despondency and..."

Thu, 16 May 2013 10:55:23 +0100

““Meredith was not so secure in her maturity that she did not suffer those periods of despondency and doubt which seemed to weave through the lives of self-reliant women.””

- Don DeLillo, Americana.

"…it occurred to me that perhaps in this city the crowd was essential to the individual;..."

Thu, 16 May 2013 10:52:00 +0100

““…it occurred to me that perhaps in this city the crowd was essential to the individual; without it, he had nothing against which to scrape his anger, no echo for grief, and not the slightest proof that there were others more lonely than he. it was just a passing thought.””

- Don DeLillo, Americana

last night was interesting. i’m not really sure what it was, but we kissed, and he said it was...

Thu, 16 May 2013 10:18:20 +0100

last night was interesting. i’m not really sure what it was, but we kissed, and he said it was nice to kiss somebody, and I said it was nice to just kiss somebody. same problem, different angle. never sure how much of a lifespan these things have; we’re both restless with an eye on the horizon, he barely drinks, I make a living out of it, but it’s a fun notion to entertain for a while. and walking through the city letting it get dark and seeing the lights come out, talking and just taking it all in, it was a good, uncharacteristically sedate way to spend an evening.

hearing about other women he’s seen lately, because men always seem to want to talk about those things. not offering up stories myself, because the only men that even make good stories are men who have actually managed to get close to my emotions, and therefore deserve the respect of not being anecdotal. the rest is just a shopping list, not entertaining at all.

it’s fun when life is as simple as how cute you can be drinking a gin and tonic, listening intently. i’m reading Americana by don delillo at the moment, and also privately obsessing over film stills. so this kind of double play of how things look, real or like a tableaux, is forefront in my brain at the moment.

coming home without reapplying my long-gone lipstick, I climbed into bed with a shivery-cold glass of pinot grigio (I am trying to invoke the sungods, okay), and watched a Belgian film that desperately wanted to be a Hitchcock, lost myself in overly made up, high camp female fear for a bit, dreamed of having sixties eyelashes, and idly thought about the weekend.

I am enjoying the way I look at the moment. my days are taken up with elaborate beauty rituals, putting myself together for work, sorting though all the powders, paints, and potions I have. I feel playful. and given the strain of the last few months, I make no apologies for not being serious if I don’t hav to be.

from la rupture, claude chabrol, 1970

Thu, 16 May 2013 09:25:00 +0100

from la rupture, claude chabrol, 1970

from la rupture, claude chabrol, 1970

Thu, 16 May 2013 09:22:00 +0100

from la rupture, claude chabrol, 1970

from la rupture, claude chabrol, 1970

Thu, 16 May 2013 09:21:00 +0100

from la rupture, claude chabrol, 1970