Thursday, June 23, 2011

June Gloom - The Like

image source: everybodyisugly, hedislimane fashion diary, sofiacoppolatumblr,
1. Vivienne Westwood by Tim Walker.
2. Sofia Coppola. 
3. Rory Culkin by Hedi Slimane. 
4. Lindsay Lohan. 
                   Not really going to address the pictures except in terms of their 'pretty evident' ability to inspire, like when Lindsay was young and wearing flatforms and not the Lindsay NOW. BUT addressing the fact that THE second image is my fave' pichurrr of Ms Coppola. I watched Twelve and felt the same sense of eerie doom when I watched Remember Me. And seems I'm getting to a point where quotes will define my life. Not really, as stoic and far-fetched as this one is. Just my usual digression, dilly-dallying and fusing fashion inspirations with respected dead authors and their books that have become a part of my consciousness. I remember copying this quote down some years back when I was studying, it was intended for the foreword section for one of his novels but later omitted which he afterwards remarked that he would die of shame if ever really written. BUT Mr Lawrence, I think it encourages introspection, more so for the generation you've left times when maybe you feel rather stoic and adamant about certain things, and you want to put out something in the open - like you can't stand GLEE and you want to.. generate blog posts like this.
" My great religion is a belief in the blood, the flesh, as being wiser than the intellect. We can go wrong wrong in our minds. But what our blood feels and believes and says, is always true. The intellect is only a bit and a bridle. What do I care about knowledge? All I want is to answer to my blood, direct, without fribbling intervention of mind, or moral, or what not. I conceive a man's body as a kind of flame, like a candle flame for ever upright and yet flowing: and the intellect is just the light that is shed onto the many things around. That is why I like to live in Italy. The people there are so unconscious. They only feel and want; they don't know. We know too much. - An extract from D.H. Lawrence's Letters.

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