It’s not in my nature to be weightless and I don’t want to pretend that it is.
I want to reach for aesthetic approval and share beauty and magic but I don’t want to eliminate ugly context; it’s important to me to not be, not try to be, try not to be a ‘perfect life’ blog. Not that I’d come close by accident (I am too lazy/too impatient), but I don’t want to do things by accident. I want to, on purpose, be unpretty with the pretty.
I bought this wicker basket, and I think I showed it to you. I use it to gather garden veg, I use to to carry just about everything.
It makes me feel mori-ish and moominous and delightful, but –
I also use it to carry my sweaty socks and old tissues about, and rotting kitchen waste vegetable matter. I am about to show that to you.
I don’t want to lie & I don’t want to fake elegance. What I love so much about this basket, and looking at pictures of me with this basket, is that it’s genuinely really a garden produce basket. I truly bring in peas with it, like a storybook character. I reach too far for beans and nearly fall over. It’s adorable. I get dirt in my golden shoes. It’s not a prop, it’s actual real life, and it’s still pretty. But not ONLY pretty.
The big opium poppies are going over and every bloom’s a handful. I think this is why people get married in June.
I like looking at mori girls on tumblr, and I like imagining pristine lives, but that’s never gonna be what I can offer. I want to post pictures of myself in outfits that make my mum say “you look so cuuute!”, with my basket, and be like ‘yeah hey internet, isn’t it awesome to be reminded of feelings by what people wear?’ but I can’t tell you I’ll do it without mentioning that the majority of broad bean pods I brought in an hour ago were covered in shit because they’re under a bird-feeder, or that now I’m going to get that waste matter on my hands when I shell them.
I guess no-one’s expecting me to.
I can’t do illusions.