Journaux Des Fétichismes

Edgar Allan Poe was a brilliant mind, and today, writing this post, I fancy nothing else than a little poetry and some dreams of winter... Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow- You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?                                                           - A Dream Within A Dream, 1849 Chi Chi London dress // Mango stiletto

Oh what a frantic last month has been... For an indecisive girl like me, I’m always between places, switching between favourites and swapping preferences like scarves. Bucharest used to make me miss London, but now London makes me miss Bucharest. However, I cannot help but congratulate myself on this sudden pause where I feel no need to run away but simply, stay. Then I read this back and fear I’m writing in riddles, which makes sense I suppose, as my emotions are an endless labyrinth.  One morning back home, I had the chance to take these lovely winter wonderland shots. Bright and early that morning, we were able to see the untouched thick layer of snow along the park that had decorated the city overnight. The sky was clear and blue, the winter sun was mild and warm. Gelid drops of dew were falling on the green turfs looking as beautiful as pearls.  I was so happy to see the snow after such a long time.  It started indeed to feel a little bit chilly, but I didn't mind;

A boundary breaker, a true artist, David Bowie's presence filled up the world with magical glitter dust.  Everyone loved Bowie because you knew if it was alright for him to be David Bowie, it was just fine to be your true self.  He represented everything loving, accepting and different about the world..now it all just feels so empty... © Thuany Gabriela/Flickr I've never been the sort of person who mourns after the deceased. No matter how close they were to me or my family. I am among those who are most free from this emotion. It usually resulted in utter shock. This was mainly because the force of extreme sadness inevitably stunned the whole of my soul, impeding its freedom of action. It happens to us when we are suddenly struck with alarm by some extremely bad news; as one of the writers most dear to me, Michel de Montaigne would put it,  "we are enraptured, paralysed in all our movements in such a way that, afterwards, when the soul lets itself go with lamentati