The restaurants in Madrid frequented by the local Spanish people serve simplistic dishes that are full of singular, intense flavours. Fresh ingredients are centre stage; olive oil, sea salt and lemon are complimentary additions. The traditional paella is rich with dark, cooked tomato. The cuisine is modest, down to earth, and is absolutely all about the act of sharing food and drink with good company. Food bursting with love! Beautiful Madrid.
I was swimming in your eyes, at the heart of the storm, until the earth washed me up in the belly of a beast. I was dancing in your eyes, at the brow of your mind, until the earth drew me back through the turnstile.
We’re just kids in heat, bodies in a reckless beat. We’re just kids in heat, waiting ’til we find our feet.
Let me wipe away your tears, lick the salt from your skin, until we can’t tell where you end and I begin. I’ve been dreaming of your eyes, in the blue of the storm, instant replays in my mind are unsuitable sin.
We’re just kids in heat, bodies in a reckless beat. We’re just kids in heat, waiting ’til we find our feet. We’re just kids in heat, bodies in a reckless beat. We’re just kids in heat, waiting ’til we find our feet.
Listen to ‘Silent Type’ EP by Hannah Lou Clark:
I am writing this as I watch McQueen’s show ‘Dante’ – my mother is passive-aggressively banging things around the living room. The lights at the show have come up – the drums have started so I have just paused the video so I can go and get my headphones. I think this will make the experience more intense…
The headphones are on.
First look is out on the runway. Second and third, looking around as if stumbled upon this throng of old people, poorly-dressed people. Arrows pointing up and down the body and sheers revealing the very finale of the back, McQueen’s famous bumster. I love the long hair like thick rope swinging across the back. The fit of these trousers is perfect, how is that? The fur collar and cuff coats are so sexy but I hate the shoes. Although it also helps me understand how McQueen wanted to portray women.
A model has come down the runway in mini skirt with her legs bare, it’s so attractive. And horns and lace are beginning to show up on the pieces. The loitering males are all shorter than the women and staring at the women. I love the mix of grey and sheer nude.
6:09 – the skeletal mask clasping across a lace face, maybe the most iconic look of this show. I love her. I love the grey and nude so much.
The first black model of the show appears like a flame and sticks out her red tongue as she strokes the low arch of her back – power. McQueen obviously directed the women to hold and stroke their bodies throughout the show, as they have all been doing it.
A female model has just clutched the face of a male model like he is a sorry child and she has no sympathy.
There are pieces here I don’t like but I think that’s the idea.
The purple is garish and even more so used as a pinstripe fabric – but pale lilac corset. These women look like the sadistic office workers of the underworld. They file your sins into alphabetic order.
A purple arrow clearly points down into the floor, down to the woman’s vagina, down to hell. Am I reading too much into this?
The lights have gone down again, flickering around the church window depicting Christ, there is bizarre shouting and an out of tune concert seems to play. Oh my god.
Satan’s imp stumbles down the runway with black unicorn horn – grey faces. Does this model realise what jumpsuit she wears? Pointed spikes boned corset zip back. The tight denim mini splattered with bleach, the high neck sleeveless vest like sex on legs!
A woman hides her hand beneath her blazer onto skin – sheer nude backs look like nothing. There are people in the audience talking???
That bare back again, bare chest on sheer embroidery. It gets better and better. Another woman handles a male model like a flea in her way whilst more arrive with their knees and thighs and lots more flashing out from trailing coats – they hold their space between their legs, in her hand over her fishnets, made you look!
I can’t get enough mini skirts.
Lace face arrives again to eat your heart.
It’s going too fast for me now and I can’t keep up.
This beaded piece at 20:47…. overtaken by the roaring priestess in black widow lace! Lace drapes her horns! She has stolen the show. Her fingers curled as she raised her head like a bull witch, matadors flooding the runway to tame the beast! And a high-collar corset clenches at a woman’s waist and breasts and slows her steps to…
Has a man ever felt the pain of corset and heels? I mean the pain to hold it in? Hold in your body, hold in your toes. Strings are playing. Final call. McQueen walks out. I have shivers from the top of my brains down my thighs, shins, back to my eyes again.
About to watch ‘May’ on Netflix again. I last watched it on a strange, sunny morning at home, and had to pause it for lunch. It is so peculiar and addictive. The perfect horror movie. I am painfully hungover and wanting something to get lost in and inspire me. Currently listening to Coheed & Cambria for this reason. Also have watched every Grimes interview I could find on YouTube. It all seems to be working.
Enjoy the uncomfortable sensation of the inanimate object tiptoeing the brink of life. Here are just a few. Click on the images to enlarge.
Whilst ‘Ultraviolence’, Lana’s last album, rode a theme of desperation, loneliness and unrequited, abusive love, ‘Honeymoon’ is about a love laced with quivering hope, freedom and vengeance – so only more tormenting. Lyrically, Lana has somewhat brought back the sass of her debut album ‘Born To Die’. Melodically, she has not returned to pop, and sings longing, legato notes in her high, Marilyn-esque pitch. For tracks such as ‘High By The Beach’ however, we do hear the lower end of her range, pining over distorted, hip-hop beats. Throughout the album, the epic, natural string section that Lana is so well known for is occasionally quietened, making room for either mellow electronic organs or exotic percussion, concocting visions of The Godfather films, especially the song ‘Salvatore’. The all-consuming obsession with Americana and its darkest corners remains the overbearing force behind Lana’s work, and ‘Honeymoon’, despite being not as dreary as ‘Ultraviolence’, is somewhat more haunting for this reason. ‘Honeymoon’ paints a vision larger than “the other woman” from ‘Ultraviolence’, depicting instead a tangled story of hazy nights out, anonymity as a ‘Freak’ in California, and the desire to run away and have it all. The theatrical tone is chilling and strange. In the interlude ‘Burnt Norton’, we listen to Lana recite a philosophical monologue about the nature of time, of present, future and past, over the top of psychedelic sounds and vibrations, and the mirage of drugs, neon lights and the glamour of sadness thickens. Successfully again, Lana will pull you into her world of self-made illusion, that grapples onto beauty in a tragic reality. Her music’s openness about suffering from irrational infatuation, and from one’s vicious disenchantment with their existence, is what continues to make Lana Del Rey’s work, and the ‘Honeymoon’ album, so uncanny and addictive.