that final flicker in your eyes before you kill the lights
the white heat of the mind, the dark pulse of the heart.
mood: the way the sun catches on the curve of the hollywood hills. palm trees piercing the purple skies, power lines buzzing overhead. no wonder Anaïs Nin wrote some of her best work in Silver Lake. there is something about the life & light in this little corner of Los Angeles that sets the soul on fire.
bye, LA. back in London. doing a little last minute set tomorrow at Farr’s in Dalston. doors at 7.30 x
‘they’re stacking up the chairs / wiping down the bar / I never got to tell you / how beautiful you are’ 💌
if it’s the light that leaves me undone you are my sun
‘I mean - maybe I was holding all the aces, but what was the game?’