Wednesday, 22 May 2013
Sunday, 19 May 2013
Hay fever makes me sad. Hay fever makes my nose runny and that's not really funny.
Hay fever makes my soul tired and my hands weary. Hay fever go away and let me get back to my non complainy Eleni state. But while I'm on it, I could just as well use a haircut, one week under the scorching hot sun in bathing suit, and a new Grandaddy record. (a Jason Lytle one would also do).
In the meantime, allergic rhinitis is obviously responsible for lethargic reactions against pants heming thus rendering any flats-ballerinas adoption obsolete, albeit allowing even booties tucked in way under till Winter gets back.
Today it's 86 F but I'm in no California. Anti-histamines you're no friends of mine.
Wednesday, 15 May 2013
Saturday, 11 May 2013
Though in many natural objects, whiteness refiningly enhances beauty, as if imparting some special virtue of its own, as in marbles, japonicas, and pearls; and though various nations have in some way recognised a certain royal preeminence in this hue; even the barbaric, grand old kings of Pegu placing the title "Lord of the White Elephants" above all their other magniloquent ascriptions of dominion; and the modern kings of Siam unfurling the same snow-white quadruped in the royal standard; (...) yet for all these accumulated associations, with whatever is sweet, and honorable, and sublime, there yet lurks an elusive something in the innermost idea of this hue, which strikes more of panic to the soul than that redness which affrights in blood. This elusive quality it is, which causes the thought of whiteness, when divorced from more kindly associations, and coupled with any object terrible in itself, to heighten that terror to the furthest bounds.
Excerpt from Moby Dick by Herman Melville
Monday, 6 May 2013
And I made up lies
So that they all fit nice,
And I made this sad world
Wearing vintage sequined sweater find a similar here, distressed jeans Attrattivo, sunnies Vans, espandrille wedges Zara, handmade beaded clutch, (last photo holographic clutch H&M)
Little ditty from Kurt Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle
Saturday, 4 May 2013
Never. Oh, never. Nothing will die. The stream flows, the wind blows, the cloud fleets, the heart beats. Nothing will die.
Quote from Merrick's mother last lines in Elephant Man
- Cloudline Chic Flows
- Cloudline Chic Flows is a blog about self consciously deconstructed reformist mannered elegance, swings, distant sound of dogs barking at sunset, smell of freshly cut lawn, peaches at dusk, long walks on dusty country streets,perennial drives, cupcakes, pylons, echo of empty classrooms, 1997, the dream, suburbs,treehouses,flying in sleep, ice-cubes, wooden fences at noon,birdies, peoplespotting, cicadas in summer yard, absurd subversive poetry, singing alone, keep self at home, cats and straight highways.