sartorialist

boy o boy.

You are right, thom thom is really in the know. Send him my love. I'm actually even starting to miss Thom. I was thinking about the apartment, I was thinking about you... it's not fair that you two have moved on and I am still here. Nothing but precipitations! Remember... full, fill, fulfillment. Here was 29.09.09 entry:

"High class games of sorrow. Thank you Bowie. I guess that would require one to evade life in the name of romantic ideals. Paris? New York? Your back yard? In the end we created it all in our heads and it never existed. Who is calling? Perhaps we imagined that too. (music note) All you pretty things...(music note) Books bound by golden bonds, knots tied in lace. God knows I love you, whoever you may be."

this is for you.

Baby, you know how I am so good at telling you the most useless facts and comments about myself, life, and my observations. This is what I've dedicated this blog to... since you are miles and miles away and I can't share the little nothings with you like I used to. I know I've pestered you with all those emails and I know you actually have to spend your time with being proactive... so this is my compromise.

of the moment.

firstsnow

I thought it was snowing today. I always fool myself. I'm assuming that it's just around the corner. Like every year, every first-snow, I will probably call my sister Alice as soon as I step outside and scream "Go outside! It's snowing". Oh that little tad of excitement before the impending doom we call winter. Especially here in Montreal. It's a combination of emotions. Seasonal depression is also lurking somewhere in the changing leaves. I will try a vitamin D remedy but the truth is... well what is the truth? It's winter at that point. No point of truth then; it's still, white, coldness. So deep inside my heart also becomes still, white, and cold.

Park Hyatt Tokyo library