in my dopamine dream I roam searching for the one poem that will feel like home. #rebelfoxstorytime
Summer night of the half-light of the lonely for you only. #solstice #rebelfoxstorytime
I sleep to excess / at my best half-dressed / head full of dreams / hair always a mess. #rebelfoxstorytime
Each word I write to you becomes a siren song: ride the waves of wicked love (shipwreck along my tongue.) #rebelfoxstorytime
when the night draws in I crawl out of bed & into your head. greedy eyes & open hands curve around dreams like ampersands. #rebelfoxstorytime
#rebelfoxstorytime 5am in the softest of light. I’m a starfish staring at the ceiling. Drifting in and out, dreaming of the sea. The duvet around my ankles anchors me. How we all surrender to being tender in the quiet of dawn, embrace the gentle ruin of a summer’s morn. The city on snooze, my heart reborn.
#rebelfoxstorytime Some moments take root in your brain forever, only to bloom when you least expect them to. A record turns my blood into rain, feeds the soil of a memory, makes it blossom. Vinyl covers me in scratchy kisses and sings to me of other worlds. I see my mum dancing to ABBA in blue mascara after school, my grandad’s rough farmer hands tapping along to marching band songs. I see uni girls mouthing every word to Amy’s Frank in an east end warehouse, tipsy on wine and brimming with dreams. For me, vinyl means a shared experience. It’s about that trembling hand on the paper sleeve, the shiver at the first notes. It’s about bare limbs tangling in bed as you both stare at the ceiling while Cohen’s croon washes over you. Vinyl echoes of teenage angst, first grief, the heartbreak when someone leaves the needle down on a record before closing the door in your life, never to return. Records slow dance between souls and songs. It’s dreaming, falling, turning the record of your laughter over and repositioning the needle. Pic 📷 @octaviancarare Photobomb by 🇧🇪 Tintin #RSD #RSD17 #vinyl #record #prose #poetry #writing #recordstoreday #soho #londonstories
#rebelfoxstorytime No other place allows us to haunt ourselves like London. The city sears every surface with memories. A cobbled corner in Spitalfields -- 'This is where you danced to greet dawn.' A railway platform in Victoria -- 'This where you first held hands.' A fire-escape outside a Brixton pub -- 'This is where you got the call that changed your life.' Time as a parallel branding iron that marks the city’s skin. So that one day - years later and against all possible odds - you find yourself at the exact same tiny coordinate in London’s vast districts. You turn a corner for the light to hit the city's skin just so. Illuminating a tattoo of triumph by the Westway, goosebumps of exam nerves by the Strand, a scar of mourning under Mile End Bridge. Never any time to dwell though, only room to make a new mark... (freckles of anticipation in a Dalston café and a lovebite of unwritten lines on top of Primrose Hill....) LondonLondonLondon, you’re in my skin.
Story time – Hackney, past midnight. One day I will write a poem about them. People working in the dead of night. Bodies on the graveyard shift. Truck drivers, hotel clerks, emergency room nurses with tired eyes and gentle hands. Men and women loading freight, sorting mail. Neon lights flickering above drinks poured, cards dealt. They know how the world ticks. How fragile 3AM feels when you’re wiping dreams off countertops. The comfort of having your name remembered. One more shelf stacked, one more burger flipped. One more fare to the airport before they can clock off. They know how long the night is. What darkness does to their eyes. They know the sound life makes as it leaves us. 🌃 #rebelfoxstorytime
protect me / shipwreck me / between the devil and the deep sea / desires pulls the tide, then craves / (who knows what / bright graces will unfurl / under these black waves.) #thames #riverthames #london_pop #london_only #bankside #riverbank #ship #boat #rust #blackfriars #bridge #southwark #riverbank #beach #mooring #writing #poem #workinprogress #pretentiouspunctuation #cinematography #filmmaker #filmmaking #testshoot #film #rebelfoxstorytime
Story time: Marrakech, mon amour [4/4] - la fin In Marrakech, hidden behind the most humble of doors, lies the most stunning of gardens. I was going to write about how I lost a piece of my heart somewhere between the swaying palm trees and the towering cacti. About all the artists & writers & painters who have stood here and felt as enchanted by this city as I do. About this shade of blue called majorelle, how it makes your dreams more vivid. About all the different kinds of North African birds chirping away above. About how the hidden nooks make room for games of make-belief. About the school kids singing rhymes outside the wall. The salamander slithering past. Yves Saint Laurent & Baudelaire's flâneurs. About how I longed for a familiar hand to reach out & jump into the fountain with me. But no words capture that fleeting moment of bittersweet contentment. Nothing seems to fit. Only this -- I left feeling like life had become a little softer around the edges. Ta for putting up with my travel rambles, normal Instagramming resumes here xx #marrakech #morocco #jardinmajorelle #travelgram #adventure #africa #maroc #wanderlust #filmlocation #globetrotter #instapassport #travelingram #travelphoto #traveltheworld #voyage #northafrica #souk #medina #inmorocco #garden #rebelfoxstorytime
Story time - Marrakech, mon amour [3/4] Whichever city I visit, I'm always on a mission to find a bookshop. They are little havens of retreat to me - the starting points from which I navigate a new place. Imagine my delight when I came across this little gem, tucked away in the far corner of the medina. Right next to a stall that was selling donuts (glimpse of heaven, right there!) The shop owner mostly stocked Arabic texts, though he had a little corner reserved for French poetry. Right by the till - worn spines faded from the sun. Baudelaire leaning up against Alfred de Musset, Verlaine and Rimbaud united once again. I bought a volume that included a version of my favourite Rimbaud poem - 'Première Soirée'/'First Night'. Look up Martin Sorrell's translation - it's delightful; cheeky & warm & timeless. It always seems to return to me on sweltering Spring evenings - a poem for a head in the clouds & infinity in the palm of your hand. #marrakech #morocco #rebelfoxstorytime
Story time: Marrakech, mon amour. [2/4] Sweet languid afternoons turn into sultry Arabian nights. The sun sets on the snow-covered peaks of the Atlas Mountains. Dusk brings the city to life. I feel like Kerouac on the road. Invincible. Everything in life ahead. All I need is a pencil for my notebook & a camera in my bag. The soft pink light against the orange mud walls is mesmerising. Who needs LA when this city has golden hour, every hour. I skip hop duck down twirl around to narrowly avoid the motorbikes whizzing past in the alleyways. Some roads are no wider than five feet. I'm surprised my feet and elbows are still in one piece. Shouts of 'Yalla, yalla' when the throng of people in front comes to a standstill - no one is ever in a rush, but we can't have anyone dawdle either. A rhythmic drumming fills the air. The clamour is hypnotic, almost soothing. I get drawn in. Time is never dictated by clocks, only by the calls to prayer. A lady carries firewood and wool; you can barely see her face underneath the massive bag she balances on her back. Kids play football and cheer as they watch a Premier League match on a tiny old telly. Donkeys and monkeys and cobras cross my path. Five dirhams (fifty pence) for fresh strawberry juice. Divine. I have mastered the art of haggling - a friendly back and forth battle of words is part of the game here. You only earn respect if you negotiate for a fair price, and I seem to have become the Ultimate Blagger of Blag End (though always tip generously.) However lost I might feel, every day ends up back at the square. Djemaa el-Fna fills up with camels and boxing matches and couples out for an evening stroll. The smell of steaming vegetable tagines & bread in wood ovens fills the air. Bright light bulbs buzz into life. Groups of women make their way down to the local hammam. I look down at my sandals, feet almost black from walking and filming all day - the Marrakech dirt has seeped through to my pores. My silk scarf gets swept up in the evening breeze. Lost my scarf, lost my mind, lost a piece of my heart in the haze of this mad maze. Magic. #marrakech #morocco #travel #travelgram #adventure #rebelfoxstorytime
Story time: Marrakech, mon amour. [1/4] I keep getting lost in the medina markets. End up at the spice souks - cumin and turmeric and amber. 'Pure argan oil for the softest of skins, mademoiselle' (though the traders on the main square shout 'gazelle' to get my attention.) Fabrics in majorelle blues and deep shades of ochre. No wonder Yves Saint Laurent said the city taught him about colour. My dreams have never been more vivid. Stray kittens jump between the towering carpet piles. The most humble of doors often hides the grandest of gardens. I end up at Aicha's for fresh mint tea with pastries - they spread out blankets and cushions in the shade of the orange trees. The sun is scorching at noon. My restless demeanour is still fighting to embrace the leisurely pace of life. Where to next? And off it is again. Aching tunes of love crackle from the radios in the ancient Mercedes' taxis. Whizzing between lanes, their rolled down windows and soft leather seats remind me of my nan's old car. A teasing offer of 20,000 camels to marry the butcher's son - I laugh; t'es fou, toi. Shops like caves house blacksmiths and potters and fruit-sellers. Cigarettes are sold individually on corners. I get chatting to a man who is sweeping the pavement outside his house. His efforts are futile, really - the endless dust of the dry city never settles. Snippets of French and Arabic and English, punctuated by fiery hand gestures. His life is written in the wrinkles of his palms. When I leave, he hands me a Hamsa necklace - a psalm shaped jewel for protection. I wish him happiness and good health. Inshallah, he replies. #marrakech #morocco #market #travel #travelgram #adventure #africa #maroc #wanderlust #filmlocation #spicemarket #globetrotter #instapassport #travelingram #travelphoto #traveltheworld #voyage #northafrica #souk #medina #rebelfoxstorytime
(No storm is ever stagnant Let's transform like hurricanes Thunder carrying our bones Lightning pulsing through our veins) #ballet #multipleexposure #srsdancingface #electrichurricane #rebelfoxstorytime
I miss you better in the rain. I can blame the storm for open palms that hunger, for longing lips that lap. I miss you better knowing that the sky also has its tears on tap. #latergram #oldscribbles #musingsonimaginaryloss #rebelfoxstorytime