If you are going to bother with all this valentine’s business then I really think that you should write what you have to say on a banana. It’s win win. Because even if the love (love?) is unrequited you still got to write on a banana.

It’s all bullshit anyway. All people do is fill cards and folded pieces of paper with words and fluffy, empty sentiment. I love words but they rarely mean anything in the end, not really. When you’re left in a crumpled heap with one batman DVD missing.

You can say them over and over, in whatever order you want – it doesn’t mean that they’ll stick. And you can keep them on scraps on paper, hidden away in shoe boxes as proof but sometimes it’s better not to see that you mattered once for a bit but not in the end.

You can look down at the words scratched into a leaf ripped from an exercise book and see them existing when the love no longer does. Meaningless squiggles against a backdrop of rash decisions.

Bananas perish when they’re supposed to, way before the love.



Write clues on the back of your hand and on scraps of paper, scatter some where people might see.

I swear, I swear, that mostly all lonely bones want is someone to do the crossword with and to feel the warmth of some other skin sometimes.

To fill in the blanks.

Sometimes. Sometimes.

But mostly it’s fine just one and piles of creased paper.



This is a map of one of my favourite places.
I found it for 50p in Oxfam.
Then I covered myself and scraps of the map in glue and stuck in onto this giant letter.
Then I covered everything in glue again.

Neat little present, huh.

Album Review : Cults


Title: Cults
Label: In The Name Of/ Columbia
Released: May 30

Rating: 8.0

The beat comes drifting in. Swaying amid the warm breeze, in sepia tones.

This self-titled debut from the Brooklyn-based duo starts strong with Abducted, which pads in like the titles at a drive-in-movie, scales back to a feminine lilt and bursts forward with perfect timing. A well-judged blend of sound that cuts through the entire record, in waves.

Elusive by nature, the style of Cults and this album are not neatly slotted away. The hint of slow-motion calypso rhythm, the echoes of by-gone era after by-gone era and the monster mash dance off into the shadows, leaving plenty of room for their own big sound.

Madeline Follin’s voice bounces of itself like the gentle light in a vintage photograph and there is a playful, fairground swagger, even in moments of heartbreak. It’s the sort of record that will marry well with warm days, rolled down windows and open roads.

It is peppered with catchy one-liners, pauses for natty handclaps and a twist on the dance floor. The maelstrom of classic influences, throwback sounds and glockenspiel often intersect with grainy samples, reverb and cutting vocal.

Yet there are darker elements in the backdrop. On the surface it is a deceptively cheery listen but as Jim Jones’ voice dips through the innocent glock notes, self-deprecation lurches to the front and expletives are thrown out in an ocean of sound, the edge becomes more apparent.

The vocals weave playfully around each other throughout, picked out beautifully on stand-out track Bumper, which is straight out of another era and deliberately so. Follin’s voice ducks and dives between Brian Oblivion’s deep, grounded sound. As she croons “maybe I should start my life with someone new” you double take somewhere between standing on the shoulders of the Shangri-Las and a Beach Boys’ style TV theme tune.

Big anthems like Rave on, are based on a more traditional marriage between vocals, stripped back guitar and a big chorus. Whereas the glorious, huge, otherworldly You Know What I Mean would not be out of place as the last dance at Twin Peaks’ high school disco. Knocking the lights out at the end of the quick splash of Cults on your stereo.

So low key and yet so big. From beginning to end it rolls out of the speakers like a Santa Ana wind coming in from the California desert. A warm breeze full of cherished memories and a refreshing change all at once.

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thewhiteboardproject

Reblogged from Whiteboard Project
I think this, often.

I think this, often.