Thursday, 12 February 2015

I rolled and I tumbled



So I'm ill! Hooray! (Wow. When was the last time anybody said hooray? Evens sarcastically? #bringbackhooray) I thought it was a cold but nope it must be flu because whenever I'm really ill I can't stop singing. I'm been wailing and sniffling through Bob Dylan's 'Rollin and Tumblin', which is perfect considering that's what I've been doing the last few nights in bed. 

So what do you do when you're sick? You get up at ridiculous o'clock even though you kept waking up during the night, you shower and then you open your webcam and moan about being ill and how you have no bone structure on blogger: I'm ill and I have no bone structure. :( 

I'll walk you through my "outfit". I'm wearing a vest under a long sleeve yellow top from H&M basics under a jumper from H&M under a hoodie from H& -  oh, it's from Primark. A kente cloth is on my lap, on top of that is a pink fluffy water bottle. Underneath these are jeans I haven't washed in forever, underneath those are tights and socks and socks and unshaved legs which where supposed to keep me warm (damn you! *shakes fist*)  and my creepers because they're loose enough for me to put on without untying! And now you see how being ill makes me sarcastic and more narcissistic than usual! I'm semi-delirious as I'm writing this and contemplating whether or not to order a pizza. What a world we live in. I want a pizza, somebody cooks it and then brings it right to my door, and places it in my hands and then I put it in my face. What a fucking world!

Ah I sound like a douche, kinda. I'm ill! Also: I love how there seems to be a consensus that if you act a little bit dickey, as long as you admit it, it's kind of more socially okay? I mean you all are probably having a lovely day and then I come in all grumpy and complaining on the internet. But then I remember some people make their living off of that, (*cough* Marc Maron)**  so if any money people are reading, I can do grumpier. Money people. Wow. I told you I'm ill.

I might regret posting this when I am well again but right now let's just say, I'm showing another side of me. A side that has ran out of pills. Please forgive me. See you all on the flipside of this illness! There'll be cake, or something. I don't know but it will be sweet. 

Aida
x



**he's hot? Yes. To me. He is an attractive man to me, Delirious ramblings. Marc Maron... kinda hot. Also saying 'hot' in my accent is just wrong. Some words do not sound good in this "British" accent. Like 'Chandler' and 'ass'. Oops okay bye!

Wednesday, 4 February 2015

Baby Love

Listening to Petite Meller's Baby Love over and over again. 

The video is stunning and was directed by A.T. Mann and Napoleon Habeica. It's filmed in Kenya and normally when I see videos for European artists filmed in Africa this weird feeling rises within me, a mix of suspicion and annoyance. That's how I felt when I first started watching it. But I was also really curious because yes, I am African, my mother and my (deceased) father are Ghanaian immigrants, and I have only been to Ghana once when I was too young to appreciate it's beauty and just wanted air conditioning. So I get really curious to see portrayals of Africa that aren't just dust and poverty but at the same time aren't ignoring that to show how Africa is 'catching up with the West'. 

You're never going to find that full representation in ONE video or documentary or film, but I really liked the video to Baby Love. There was an aesthetic that I don't know how to describe in a full sentence but perhaps can try in a jumble of words: art, clarity, joy, attitude, beauty, style, colour















Saturday, 31 January 2015

Time present and time past



Everything is from H&M except for polo neck which is just random.



Doc Martens

Reading T S Eliot's Four Quartets
the continuum of time
circles
history repeating itself
I am like a palimpsest?
and in a way everything that I have ever been lies faintly underneath. 
incompletely scratched off and something new written on top



I was planning to do a 2014 diary post but that fell through. I keep my diaries and zines in a Doc Marten box and last year I kept about 6 journals. I also became really interested in the diaries and letter of writers



I am a visual person but my journals have been recently just pages and pages of messy writing. One reason, I guess, is lack of time. I'm often scribbling while rocking back and forth trying to fight off sleep. Another readon, is that I'm become les reliant on images to fill up the space. When I firt started journalling, I bought a huge molesine sketchbook and consequently became so intimidated bu the huge blank sheets that it's till half empty. As I dedicated more and more time to journalling, my diaries became smaller. I started using the graduate sketchbook which was not as scary, and also just normal oxford exercise books.


After watching Lost In Translation



After watching Her

Studying Samuel Beckett


This i my hournal at the moment. I'm about to fill it and start February with an Oxford book. My mum bought this for me when I went home for Christmas. We were talking about how she used to buy me exercise books from the corner shop when I was little and she bought me this Silvio.




What I've been reading:
T S Eliot's Four Quartets
Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited
Voltaire's Candide

What I've been listening to:
Tweedy - Sukierae
Nick Lowe - Stoplight Roses
Vampire Weekend - Modern Vampires of the City
Leonard Cohen - Chelsea Hotel






What I've been appreciating:
David Shrigley



a: I Thought I was Doing Something; b: Lost Filofax 1998, c: Untitled, (please excuse the terrible injustice) 2010; d: Untitled, 2014

So how are you all doing?
Also sorry for the poor picture quality for the diaries. I think my iphone is giving up on me or something

Aida
x

Friday, 23 January 2015

What is the Word

*peeks out from behind the door*  Heyyyyyy, can I come in? I know I haven't been around for a while. I brought cupcakes. 

WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN

Been trying to minimise my wardrobe.
I bought two plain white t shirts and two pairs of black jeans.

I've always been a more is more person, my room is full of shit, I like layers. I'm 'the kind of girl' (ew) who wears a top hat to a lecture. 
Or at least I used to be. 
I dunno
Something's happened. 
I guess I'm feeling overwhelmed by studies and my impending graduation and inauguration into THE REAL WORLD.
and so doing things simply has felt liberating.
So now I'm trying to convince myself I am an ArtBaby and all I need is a book and a pen and a uniform.

I have a writing streak of more than 160 days and that matters to me more now than presenting myself as... I don't know.
I don't feel the NEED for everything I am to be visible immediately. 

That was my problem, and still is with social anxiety. I read somewhere that introverts (btw I'm not equating social anxiety with being introverted, they are just linked in my case) tend to dislike small talk. 
I FUCKING LOATHE SMALL TALK. It just feels like: we're all dying at different rates, there are so many horrible and amazing things in the world, let's talk about The X Files

Why are we talking about the w e a t h e r and how terrible the traffic was?? I dunno. It's a fear of being misunderstood. Small talk doesn't allow me to convince you or try to make you believe that I am worthy of your love and attention (which is what I want. give it to me please)


I guess this blog has changed. But that's because I've changed. Don't get me wrong. I still love clothes. No, I mean, I really still fucking love clothes... But yeah. 

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes. 

Look at him. I simultaneously hate and admire him

Studying Samuel Beckett last semester changed my life, I not only realised I could have slightly sexual dreams of the most RANDOM people (I mean Samuel Beckett, tho?? Come on! Yet I can't quite delete this picture of him from my phone),  I learned that despite my intense anxiety, fear of failure and of being misunderstood, I would rather struggle with words, stutter (metaphorically, although sometimes physically) and splurt them out, than not speak at all.

Here's a poem for you:

WHAT IS THE WORD


Samuel Beckett


for Joe Chaikin

folly -
folly for to -
for to -
what is the word -
folly from this -
all this -
folly from all this -
given -
folly given all this -
seeing -
folly seeing all this -
this -
what is the word -
this this -
this this here -
all this this here -
folly given all this -
seeing -
folly seeing all this this here -
for to -
what is the word -
see -
glimpse -
seem to glimpse -
need to seem to glimpse -
folly for to need to seem to glimpse -
what -
what is the word -
and where -
folly for to need to seem to glimpse what where -
where -
what is the word -
there -
over there -
away over there -
afar -
afar away over there -
afaint -
afaint afar away over there what -
what -
what is the word -
seeing all this -
all this this -
all this this here -
folly for to see what -
glimpse -
seem to glimpse -
need to seem to glimpse -
afaint afar away over there what -
folly for to need to seem to glimpse afaint afar away over there what -
what -
what is the word -
what is the word

Copied from my essay on Beckett: 

In a letter to a friend Beckett wrote:
I am not ashamed to stutter like this with you who are used to my way of failing to say what I imagine I want to say and who understand that until the gag is chewed fit to swallow or spit out the mouth  must stutter or rest. And it needs a more stoical mind than mine to rest. (LSB: 134)[1]
I want to suggest that Beckett’s work represents the attempt to chew the gag ‘fit to swallow or spit out the mouth’ and that in What Where, with Bam’s monosyllabic ‘Make sense who may’ (476), there seems to not only be an acceptance of the failure of words, but a sense that it no longer matters.  What matters is the stuttering, of which Beckett creates an art form.




[1] Salisbury, Laura. Samuel Beckett: Laughing Matters, Comic Timing. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Pg 90


Please excuse the pretension, but this is what I need to do: make art through and an art of my inability to communicate. 

So here's to not knowing how to say what you think you want to say.  Cheers.

Sorry for no pic if you've forgotten what I look like in my absence.  I just don't have the bone structure or severe eyebrows to go with this kind of musing.