Love, the poet said, is woman’s whole existence

when your mind races at night, take it all in. have a mad-hatter moment. let your thoughts buzz and create a stinging honeycomb of thoughts. lick them, ingest, swallow them whole. then, when you’re so full and all the honey rushes to your head- you’ll be able to fall asleep a queen bee. dreams dripping with sweet, quiet and all things nice.

love keeps me up at night. sweet dreams. x.


charge my batteries


Eleven o’clock had come and gone. I had to find a way to bring this conversation to a successful conclusion and get out of there. But before I could say anything, she suddenly asked me to hold her.
‘Why?’ I asked, caught off guard.
‘To charge my batteries,’ she said.
‘Charge your batteries?’
‘My body has run out of electricity. I haven’t been able to sleep for days now. The minute I get to sleep I wake up, and then I can’t get back to sleep. I can’t think. When I get like that, somebody has to charge my batteries. Otherwise, I can’t go on living. It’s true.’
I peered into her eyes, wondering if she was still drunk, but they were once again her usual cool, intelligent eyes. She was far from drunk.

-haruki murakami, the wind-up bird chronicle

if you surrender to the wind, you can ride it

Did you ever, in that wonderland wilderness of adolesence, quite unexpectedly, see something, a dusk sky, a wild bird, a landscape, so exquisite terror touched you at the bone? And you are afraid, terribly afraid the smallest movement, a leaf, say, turning in the wind, will shatter all? That is, I think, the way love is, or should be: one lives in beautiful terror. -t.capote

the wind was howling at my bedroom windows this morning. trying to tell me something, but it couldn’t translate the words. like talking underwater. muffled. it had a threatening and violent presence- like choking on water, drowning words. it kept me awake. awake with an awful awareness. not half awake but awake and still feeling in a dream. sleep can’t save you from the feeling, you can’t sleep and wake anew. so I listened to it knock and strained my ears to hear what it was telling me. x. – k


“Te amo como se aman ciertas cosa oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.
(I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.)”
—pablo neruda


once upon a cloudy day. reading poetry, drinking black coffee, working/writing, musing. i’m leaving for colorado tomorrow to visit my family and long-lost best-friends. i need to pack at some point but i’m putting it off until the last minute. crossing my fingers for colorado sunshine. here’s looking at you chicago.

this is your wakeup call

“Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to unemployment insurance and library cards, to absinthe and good-hearted landlords, to music and warm bodies and contraceptives… and to the “good life”, whatever it is and wherever it happens to be.” Hunter S. Thompson

birthday. benchmark. burton. best.

saturday night mayhem- obviously a couple pics of Figs and I taken in the bathroom?… no idea… and a chi girls group photo taken before even leaving the apt. then finally delicious truffle fries at lux bar on sunday afternoon. one of the best sundays yet in chicago- spent with lovely Figs, Whit and recovering b-day babe, Sarah. balcony nesting, ice tea drinking, nail painting, summer daydreaming and much needed/hilarious recapping. x.

saturday celebrations and inspirations

“Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only. Fashion is in the sky, in the street, fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live, what is happening.”
Coco Chanel
happy weekend everyone:) and HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY PARTY EVENING to my adorable friend Sarah Gleason. i usually never plan my outfits ahead- but i usually always mix a cocktail around 7pm and play good mood music for getting ready. now that i think of it, i might go layered with jewelry or wear different makeup tonight… enjoy the free time, i’ll be enjoying mine. x.