This is Our Last Goodbye

On Wednesday, the great J.D Salinger passed away, and I just thought I'd take a few minutes to remember him. Safe to say, I morned him a lot more than I did Michael Jackson in June (July? When was it?) Even though he lived till 91, an incredible age for anyone, some little part of me assumed he would live forever, just like I subconsciously do about Bob Dylan and Mick Jagger (Paul McCartney can go suck it. I just don't like him.)

But J.D. Salinger, dead? It just doesn't compute. I can't say I thought about him an awful lot, but he was just there, in some crummy town somewhere. Holden Caulfield was my first real boyfriend, despite being fictional, when I was about twelve. Him and his ridiculous cynicism helped me through most of adolescence, I couldn't have made it through year 8 without him, and two years older, with most of the hell of puberty behind me, I can still see myself, or what I'm probably going to end up being, in Franny and Zooey Glass.

I don't know, it's just sad, thinking that he's gone. J.D. Salinger and Holden Caulfield, their names were always intertwined, and now one's gone, Holden is just left there, and all those generations of kids who've become him in their heads have made him real despite all his fictionality. And now the only adult who he might rather like is dead. And that totally sucks.

American Beauty

After mentioning him in my last post, I just thought I'd give a shout out to the (sadly deceased) wonder that is/was James Dean. Honestly, I think he might win my prize for sexiest man of all time - just look at that smile in the first picture! Makes me want to tear my clothes off just looking at it. Was reading about him on wikipedia earlier and have learnt that he got out of serving in the US army by registering as gay, because gayness was classified as a mental illness back then, had a ton of awesome cars and when asked about his sexuality replied "Well, I'm certainly not going through life with one hand tied behind my back", which is a) my attitude exactly and b) very handy for planning the orgies I'm going to have once I get my time machine.

Tit Smoking in the Temple of Artisan

Isn't that a totally brilliant title? And yes, the subject of this post is the wonderful photos of various people smoking. (Tits and temples not included - you can't have everything). From Johnny Depp to Bob Dylan and a ton of random models. Health dangers aside, there is something so hypnotically beautiful about that thin curl of smoke, in the hands of the right person. Not the wrong person. (Fat chavs in trakkies, I'm talking to you!) I've given this some thought, and I've decided that smoking is very similar to tattoos and facial piercing - if the person is cool already, they enhance the coolness, if they're not, then they look like a loser. Anyway, here are some pictures and people that I love so much it's retarded.

James Dean

Bob Dylan

Johnny Depp

Reminds me oddly of a brunette, prettier version of Isabella Rosselini in Wild at Heart

Very Alice in Wonderland-esque. All this girl needs is a mushroom to sit on.

Jimi Hendrix

This is what I aspire to. Can you get any more languorous?

:)

Incidentally, today is also my little sister's ninth birthday. Happy Birthday to Anna!

Each strand of her hair is really insect eyes

Midnight on a wednesday, and I'm sitting up on my own in my messy room, having done everything there is possibly to do, up to and including sewing hats for my bed-knobs and watching half of Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, and half of ghost world - internet fucked up both times. Also listening to Joanna Newsom, who I have very recently started to adore beyond measure after months of disliking, which is... odd.

I am also feeling sorry for my self rather a lot. Discovered that a guy I thought could be a real friend now things and is telling everyone that I fancy him (big headed arsehole), no one on facebook ever seems to want to talk to me, my family are being shitty, and low self esteem is at an all time low (high?).

Let's face it, I'm a pretentious twat of a teenager who has absolutly no social skills and is basically a drinking problem waiting to happen. Most of the people I know aren't worth knowing, and the few people who's opinions I care about (see big headed arsehole above) I keep messing things up with. Ugh.

Long Haired Child

Honestly, what is there possibly to not adore about Devendra Banhart? I'm in the middle of downloading his latest album, What We Will Be (slowly, song by song - damn poverty induced illegality!) and it sounds great. THis is definatly going to be the soundtrack to my summer (which, yes, I am already imagining is just around the corner even though it's january) but what the heck?

Now all that remains is for me to get some tattoos and eyeliner and dance around in my underwear.

In the kingdom of the Blind...

...A one eyed man is king.

The shittyness that is school continues, and meanwhile I have been on a huge reading spree, I seem to be averaging a new novel every two days at the moment. Just finished The Sorrows of Young Werther today, started Arcadia, nearly finished it, about to start Blood Meridian. I am on a roooollll. (like a stone :D )

Isn't everything so fine and dandy?