come and find me

[febrae]

binary febrae

[febrae]

a page from the first zine

[febrae]

I didn’t know it would be the last time maybe i should have sat longer in your car Asked you about the quiet Lived through you a little 

[febrae]

it's love, I swear

[bebs-art-gallery]

Cat that Reads (1860)

— by Wincenty Sleńdziński

[febrae]

promise

I'm not in love right now, but the way it lingers around me feels like a promise.

Generations before never knew what's in store. The luxury of loneliness, while I lie on the floor. It takes everything in me to keep open the door but its just an empty room, what was it all for? It's not always present, but equally persistent. I know that they notice the lack of existence. It might be a part of this thing that we live through, but sometimes its nice to have someone who knows you.

[febrae]

one of the bedside visions came true they read as a slowly nod off mundanely spectacular  but i had dreamed of that orange glow for months

[febrae]

Gladioli I think we met when we were 11, but maybe even younger. I have this blurred memory of sleepy hair and metal shirts. I do however, clearly remember your laugh, as it reverberates around the music room. I think sometimes I can still hear it, whenever it's just quiet enough.   Do you remember? When you asked me if you should get her flowers, you said you needed another girls opinion.  I think gladioli were her favourite, and you left them on her doorstep with a note, it was truly a fool proof teenage plan. Or when you came to stay during your first tour and all the crew raided my student house. We got so drunk, we slept in a doorway and you threw your band mates shoe on the van roof. Always causing trouble, you. It was Christmas when I found out, that you'd had this, weighing down. Reconnecting felt easy, like no time had passed. Swapping demos and talking about the future. None of this seems fair to me. Sometimes it feels like that version of us died with you. Like the rest of us can’t carry its full weight without you. It's like we're politely waiting for the permission of nostalgia to let us just have one last hit. One last cigarette in the basement     One last debrief after a party  One last night sharing songs  and one last time to say it  But see, it's getting colder now, and it bites a little harder this year; because now when I look back, we aren’t the kids we are in my head anymore.

[febrae]

go ahead and drink already

[febrae]

its getting cold again

[febrae]

she's always with me she holds my left hand tight with anticipation she's dreaming about me overflowing with expectation she hold me right hand beaming with unbridled pride she used to dream about me the tears have now long since dried

[febrae]

Remember we’d climb to the roof, playing that old card game Now when I look at the moon, I swear that she says your name

You ask me her favourite flower, cos I know something you don’t  Fresh faced forever now You tell me you’ll call, but you won’t. I claw at the bathroom mirror, screaming he was only young  Learning just how to live, sharp like his mother's tongue You’re owed your twilight years, but now you know something I don’t  If love could've saved, it would now the unshared joy dies with you 

[febrae]

all I could focus on the whole flight was how beautiful the sky was from the plane's camera

[febrae]

a photobooth hates to see me coming

[febrae]

collaging is the key to my soul btw

[febrae]

get out of bed the world is ending

[febrae]

I'm back

I used Tumblr religiously growing up, every day after school I'd run to the computer room in our house (the spare room too small for a bed, so instead had a little desk with a laptop on it and shelves full of books I had no interest in reading) and scroll through images and videos of people much older and much cooler than me do much older and much cooler things. Endlessly reblogging what's now lovingly called indie sleaze, cigarettes and parties and ripped tights and Alex Turner mostly. I longed that my adulthood would start so I could make all of those seemingly fun and edgy images a reality that I could live and breathe.

I'm now 27 and have the itch to reblog again. This time I am much older and much cooler than I was the first time I was here, at least I feel like it. I got to smoke the cigarettes and go to the parties and even saw Alex Turner in real life, twice! I think 16 year old me would rather my hair still be pink but I can live with that.

With getting older, it also means my confidence to make art and music that reflects who I am has sky rocketed since I first started day dreaming about being on stage with bleach blonde hair and dark roots, with a leather jacket and disco shorts on (it was 2014 in these daydreams remember, although I think I could still rock the American Apparel classics) so I thought it was about time to bring that daydream to life and give 16 year old me the life she wanted, the life I still want 11 years later.

I'm in a part in my life where I can literally feel the creativity pouring out of me, I love making music, art, little crafts and writing (which I now do for a living, believe it or not) and I just need somewhere to put it all, for my own reflective, nostalgic, and somewhat neurotic self, but also in case the art I put into the world might resonate with other people.

While it's changed, I don't think there's any better place for me to find my little corner of the internet than on Tumblr. Somewhere I can learn and grow and be inspired and just try things out to see what sticks. Anything big or that I'm super proud of will still go on my instagram (so real life friends can see what I'm doing) but sometimes I stop myself incase what I put out isn't up to the imaginary standard I've given myself.

So here's to sharing, creating and living