this'll do

I'm not going to tell you what I've been up to, I'll just let you draw your own conclusions based on these images--all of which I love and kinda sum up life these days. I know the writing has been moderate lately but I'm so enamored with all things off-line that my beloved blog has been shuffled down my list of priorities. Regular scheduled blogging and all other digital self-indulgent practices will resume soon enough. Thank you for checking in consistently regardless of the lack of updates. Love y'all. 

images via and comme de garcon installation

is this real life

Everything is getting muddied these days. Streetlights for eyes and nouns in place of verbs. I seem to burn holes in everything I write. Shit. I'm even quoting david after dentist.


Oh the word 'efficiency.' Bane of my existence sometimes. So often we're encouraged not to linger over ideas for too, not to slow down and ruminate. Instead it's action, reaction--hurry up and complete one task so there's time to move on to something else. What else? Anything else--the new, the now, the next. 

Take your brain, fraught with all its messy smear of ideas, it's only once you let dreaming take over 
to smooth out the minute details that flimsy, fragmented concepts may enter the real world. So beware creeping efficiency because if you lose the time to dream, you will eventually lose your mind.

take me somewhere nice


A glimpse of the weekend. 
Spent the last two days in a dreamy state thanks to a sunny day running around old Montreal followed by an afternoon spent eating a copious amount of cheese and wandering the grounds of Mariposa Farm.  
Now head down and back to work for this little run-around. 

eight non-consecutive days

In eight non-consecutive days this happened:
Celebrated the life and times of dear friends with a good ol'fashioned birthday bash, party hats and all.
A lot of good eating at Tennessy Willems.
Samantha Savage Smith at Raw Sugar.
Finding reasons to wear my play clothes. 
Hanging out with the fearless types. 
Dishing out dog pats.
Finding quiet moments during the big, bad bustle.  
Participating in the 24 hour brunch that inevitability turns into a dance party.

so here's my problem

I haven't been able to write anything in the last week. I'm too happy, which makes me too fucking complacent that I have no inspiration. Champagne problems, I know. But thinking, even for a second, that you're losing your voice is like vertigo--at least it's the lovely kind of vertigo that feels like being drunk off whiskey, but without the maddening blindness and consequential hysteria.