so far away.

hey there, phoebs. i'm feeling slightly nostalgic today, but not a nostalgia that is directed towards any specific time or place. it's slightly more diffused. i miss something, or perhaps a number of things, that aren't my present. i am never certain whether my nostalgia is for a concrete something, such as a past passage in my short little life, or whether i am missing something i've never even had.

that seems rather odd at first glance, but i suppose i'm in a flexible mood where fact and fiction are concerned. i just finished reading a book by a south african writer, j m coetzee, called "summertime." it's essentially a fictionally autobiography of himself that makes an interesting point on whether the autobiographical 'truth' matters, if it even exists at all. and since most of my verbal companions seem to have abandoned me (for a cooler climate, i imagine), i will offer you images to fulfill the absence of my usual verbosity. maybe they'll present a more accurate picture of my emotional portrait. or a more attractive one. i'm open to both options.

virgin suicides

margaret cameron

you know this one.

carole king! my mom has this lp. now if only our turntable worked...

die, virgins, die!

robert mapplethorpe. i'm obsessed with this photo. it depicts perfectly how girlhood innocence is brutally stripped from women as soon as they 'mature' into anything. then, all else pales before her body.

clearly nostalgia is manifested as a dull aching for seventies suburbia, school skirts, virginity, and carole king. i feel like tavi gevinson. mommy v would be proud of my wholesomeness. my suggestions for you, in addition to summertime, include the aforementioned ms king and the virgin suicides.

xx.