i’m having a black kind of day. everything i want to wear suggests i’m on my way to a funeral. the sun is finally peeking out between the clouds after a GRIM morning. possibly it’s telling me to bring some color back into my life. i’m in the process of revamping tennessee st. with tessa but it seems like we can’t get it quite right. aesthetic can be a finicky friend. i suppose i’ve been looking to a pair of my favorite style icons today for inspiration mk&a. as for this evening i have a dinner date with some of my favorite chi girls- alex, sarah and whit. happy thursday! tomorrow is near. x
i woke up to gray sky. feels like a storm is on its way. at least i have coffee, toast and a cozy apartment. i’m working on some poetry and i should have something up by the end of the day. i have three new pablo neruda books to go through. they were valentine’s day presents and a lovely gift. his poetry is like music and has a way of leading me back to memories i’ve forgotten. i’m trying to find a way for this gray to be beautiful but thus far i’ve been burning candles and praying for snow. x
put your sunnies on. it’s saturday and the sun is flooding my apt. i’m spending the day chatting and drinking coffee with the beau, alan and close friend trent. is it wrong to want to wear my sunglasses inside? as for tonight, i’ll be out and about with the lovely alex figley- a true genius when it comes to the classics. alex knows her neutrals and plays nice with modest makeup. i’m impressed by her ability to make black look fresh. anyway, cheers to restarting BINGE. my newest blog and more personalized approach to blogging my interests and daily jibber jabber. visit often. xxx
Each mind is its own place
Mine a motel in Tempe, Arizona
A nomad A nudist
Pacing the lot tracing ghost lines,
Hunchback and Sunburnt.
A pool collecting Cracker Jack rings
Hair ties Band-aids
The hair in the drain.
An old sheet pinned to the clothesline
The dirty wind that soils it warm,
The desert dark pulling shadow-covers
Over grand-canon back alleys,
Mining through trash.
And the homesick sand thumbing
Spine silhouettes Ghost carriages
original poetry by Hogan
Over the years I have learned that what is important in a dress is the woman who is wearing it.
Yves Saint Laurent