The Legacy of Freud.

Michael Jackson, the modern day Peter Pan is dead. News flash! So, I figured it's probably a suitable time to clean out my own little slice of Neverland, and do away with my freakishly child like room. 

Which means, I think I want to throw out everything I've ever owned, ever. 

Although, I've come across some wonderful things. 

Which, I probably don't want to do away with forever.

Dear internet, here is my ode to Freud. 

It's a mans world. 
Every dog has a bone. 
And You got none.
Leaving you hungry, 
The future is blown. 

Something is missing, 
Ignighting a fear
Castration, Castration
(Daddy, I love you.)
Where too from here?

//It's a girl thing. 
//You ain't got it. 
//Gender fixation. 
//Clitoral Stimulation.
//You'll never possess it. 
//So on your knees bitch.
//Caress it. 
//(Rugburn!! Rugburn!! Hey Freud, I have Rugburn!!)

Breasts, inferior.
Your dad, superior. 
But baby, 
He don't want you.
Make yourself pretty, 
For another man. 
How do you do it?
Down girl, Down. 
Rugburn! Rugburn!

//It's a girl thing. 
//You ain't got it. 
//Gender fixation. 
//Clitoral Stimulation.
//You'll never possess it. 
//So on your knees bitch.
//Caress it. 
//(Rugburn!! Rugburn!! Hey Freud, I have Rugburn!!)

Hey Girl!
You got Penis envy.
Penis envy, 
A girl's disease. 
Gender separation.
You know how to fix it.
Down girl! 
On your knees. 
That's right. 
Down girl!
You need rugburn!

//It's a girl thing. 
//You ain't got it. 
//Gender fixation. 
//Clitoral Stimulation.
//You'll never possess it. 
//So on your knees bitch.
//Caress it. 
//(Rugburn!! Rugburn!! Hey Freud, I have Rugburn!!)

Rugburn, Rugburn.
No Penis?
You need rugburn!
Hey bitch, 
Where's your rugburn?
Oral fixation.
For your situation. 
Rugburn! Rugburn!
Caress it. 
Rugburn rugburn rugburn rugburn

Alex Mack.

I swear, at some point in the night I managed to be something other than a puddle of dissolved, drunken mess on the floor of a club. 

Contrary to photographic evidence.

Pending good behaviour bond.

Pending breaking parole.

Meow.

This little persian has a bit of domestic in him. 

The perfect little Willow.

Sold.

Should probably stop naming pets in pet stores.

Bones.

London fashion graduates have everything to offer.

This time they're putting the skeletons back in your closet, where they belong. 

Matthew Miller, Skeleton Shirt. 

Cute.

I can just imagine a good set of bones beneath it.

geographically unconscious?

Maybe.

But, 

Los Angeles - Las Vegas - Mexico - Nashville - Baltimore - New York - London - Scotland - Bristol - Japan.

Pipedreams.

Drunk Dial.

Somewhere to go if you need reminding that peoples' lives suck more than your own.
textsfromlastnight.

Starry Eyed.

.
.
.
...

How much faith can we put in the stars, when they're thousands of miles away?

...
.
.
.

We can wreck our minds.

And you break me into lines

We can shake our bodies 

And wreck our minds

I'm a bitter man, I know

But listen honey, you're no fun. 

I will never love like you

But you will probably hate like me

Oh lovelessly, and empty

Full of god, and god makes plenty

You will go on searching

For someone to keep you killing

If you love me, won't you leave me?

'cause I want to settle down

First you

Fade into the background

Wouldn't even call me

Had the nerve to leave me

Go ahead and love me

I'm a hungry man

Ever since you went away. 

- Raised by Wolves, Voxtrot. 

Oh, what a sweet poppy mess.

The Cool Kids.

Ah. Some kids are way too cool. 

Straight Hate.

Oh, blogging. You're so cutesy. 

So forgive me if I get a little hateful over here.

It's str8 up h8n. 

Love B.Wrecks and I.

WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH!

Quit it with the admiration.

This will be the last time I applaud New Zealand fashion (this week, at least).

I wish it would stop being so good. (Don't stop!)

Now, I have one more New Zealand love affair to confess to.

Blak, a label which captures elusive cosmopolitan practicality.

Must get my hands on the zipper batwing dress (top dress, but in black).

Sending out emails as we speak, and visiting the Moku Boutique as soon as my law degree permits.

Sex with sheep.

Stolen Girlfriends Club, feel free to steal my heart. 

You pretty much already have. 

And, if you don't, the first boy I see in the sequined cardigan will.

Denim. Leather. Sheer. Structure. 

So sexually charged. 

Fuck. 

New Zealand have done it again. 

Images blatantly thieved from pedestrian.tv.

I don't want to eat it.

Romanticised by the dense, 

Idealised by the obtuse. 

Envied by the bland and urinated on by vagrants,

Hallowed by the cliched and littered with the depraved.

I'm what New York used to be. 

.

.

.

.

New York, I love you. 

Parklife.

 Current Lineup: 

A-TRAK

AEROPLANE (DJ Set)

ART VS SCIENCE

AUTOKRATZ (First ever Australian show)

BENI

BERTIE BLACKMAN (Sneaker Set)

BUSY P (DJ & Host)

CLAUDE VONSTROKE

THE COOL KIDS

CRYSTAL CASTLES

EMPIRE OF THE SUN (First ever live show)

EROL ALKAN (First ever Australian show)

JUNIOR BOYS (First ever Australian show)

KASKADE

LA ROUX (First ever Australian show)

LADY SOVEREIGN 

LITTLE BOOTS (First ever Australian show)

METRIC (First ever Australian show) 

METRONOMY

MSTRKRFT 

SHAZAM

THE ASTON SHUFFLE 

THE GLIMMERS

THE RAPTURE

TIGA

Since when did a pill-popping, fake-tanned festival which is in direct marketing cahoots with Raben shoes become about the most exciting Australian festival? Oh my.

I think I will regretfully be buying tickets to this, (again).

Let them eat...

...candy.

Designer candy, no less. 

For that added deliciousness.

Chanel Green Apple

Louis Vuitton Watermelon Slice

Yves Saint Laurent Caramel and Wild Cherry

and, 

Gucci Juicy Pomegranate.

Saint Valentine.

I sound like a jaded lover,

which I promise I'm not.

I'm no lover to begin with.

I fight,

not hug.

Chocolates?

No, thank you. 

I want, 

Cheap girls, cheap boys, cheap booze. 

Romantic dresses, torn at the seams. 

Bruised arms, with broken hearts.

Mud pies, and dead roses. 

Love voodoo, with loveless literature.

Romantic sentiments, ripped apart.

Hand-holding? Abandoned! 

Loving gazes? Shot down!

This is a very unromantic picnic. 

To which you are uninvited.

Oh.

A such a hopeless unromantic. 

Revolution/Resolution.

These hard times.

Where mediocrity reigns,

And revolution is the most important word in our language. 

Perhaps it is time to applaud thinkers, not business. 

Embrace art, not money. 

Band together, and think of the future. 

Perhaps...

It is, however, definitely a time to cover yourself in glow in the dark body paint and dance.

Patrick Wolf - Hard Times

Cocaine.

Cocaine on sale on the shelves of Western Sydney supermarkets. (Funny how this picture pretty much sums up Western Sydney youth.) 

Oh my. 

Yet, leading drug and alcohol experts are saying consumers are being exploited. And rightly so. Cocaine is a sham. Merely 80mg of caffeine, which apparently gives you an instant sugar rush, and caffeine high which will last 5 hours. I've been abusing caffeine for years. Your sugary promises mean nothing to me.

Give me the real thing. 

Always the real thing. 

Coc(aine)-a-cola?

Drawing Blanks.

"...where there was nature and earth, life and water, I saw a desert landscape that was unending, resembling some sort of crater, so devoid of reason and light and spirit that the mind could not grasp it on any sort of conscious level and if you came close the mind would reel backward, unable to take it in. It was a vision so clear and real and vital to me that in its purity it was almost abstract. This was what I could understand, this was how I lived my life, what I constructed my movement around, how I dealt with the tangible. This was the geography around which my reality revolved: it did not occur to me, ever, that people were good or that a man was capable of change or that the world could be a better place through one's taking pleasure in a feeling or a look or a gesture, of receiving another person's love or kindness. Nothing was affirmative, the term "generosity of spirit" applied to nothing, was a cliché, was some kind of bad joke. Sex is mathematics. Individuality no longer an issue. What does intelligence signify? Define reason. Desire -- meaningless. Intellect is not a cure. Justice is dead. Fear, recrimination, innocence, sympathy, guilt, waste, failure, grief, were things, emotions, that no one really felt anymore. Reflection is useless, the world is senseless. Evil is its only permanence. God is not alive. Love cannot be trusted. Surface, surface, surface was all that anyone found meaning in... this was civilization as I saw it, colossal and jagged..."

- American Psycho, Bret Easton Ellis. 

A fucking amazing piece of english.

Society is feeling a little like a personality disorder. 

No wonder it was so easy to empathise with the psychopathic. 

From Russia With Love.

New russian love affair via Vogue Russia. 

Micro-Mini.

You've got micro bats.

I've got micro squirrels. 

Squee!