Rock n roll suicide

And she said, smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette. Puff, puff, puff and if you smoke yourself to death, tell St. Peter at the Golden Gate that you hate to make him wait but you just gotta have another cigarette.

Truth be told, I'd quite like to do just that right about now. Unfortunately, it happens that I'm as sick as a parrot. And as that persistent cough continues to do amazing job at restraining me from smoking any fragrant tobacco, I've been left in a limbo of daydreams. Chocolate and cigarettes, cigarette holders and matches.

The Dreamers by Bernardo Bertolucci

For the interest of those who can, and do, smoke (or even if you don't), the cult tobacconist Sol Levy is an adventure into a world long gone. They sell pipes, delicious tobaccos, cigars and cigarette holders not unlike Eva Green's in The Dreamers. And everything a smoker could dream of. They will even mail order, for those of you outside Sydney.

Last night I dreamt that somebody loved me.

I also dreamt that the world was flat and I turned one year older. We woke up and hid under the bed sheets. Eggs and beans and black pepper bread. He wore suspenders and black rimmed glasses. We listened to Mingecock and Norks and I drank coffee inscribed with a message of wishes. We bought picture hooks from an old man in a cramped hardware store. I lit my tobacco with a zippo. Found shoes in a city of vintage and wore gloves from an 80s party long gone. Together we lay down shoelessly watched a movie in a cinema of pillows. Walked into a pole that told me not to stop. Licked salt and sucked on lemons. We came home to a lovingly baked strawberry sprinkled cake.


What oh.

Dress: thrifted
Scarf (as head band): Hibernian markets in Surry Hills
Brooch (on head band): Grandfather's gift from Venice
Gloves: Gift from wonderful housemate, ex 80's party prop
Shoes: Local second hand store
Hood: gift (i think it is shakuhachi)
Belt: buy-by-the-kilo thrift store
Old binoculars bag: thrifted