Fuck. I’m telling you– you made me come back from the dead to nag you!

I don’t want to be a fuck-up anymore.

God’s Own Country (2017) dir. Francis Lee

I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.

Bright Star (2009) dir, Jane Campion.

me_irl

Fleabag (2016-2019), written by Phoebe Waller-Bridge

2019 Emmy Winner for Outstanding Writing for a Comedy Series

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- The End of the F***ing World (TV Series 2017-)

Created by Charles Forsman,  Charlie Covell.

The End of the F***ing World (Season 2 Episode 7)

My friend wrote a review of one the best concerts I’ve ever been to <3

Jack Peñate, The Louisiana, Bristol (23/10/2019)

Imagine you’ve had a friend, a very dear one, who went for a long journey away. Sure he wrote, he sent postcards telling he’s fine, but not very often, not enough. So you waited for his return, eager to hear all the stories. One year, another year… He wasn’t coming back, not yet, maybe next year. A decade passed by and out of the blue he’s back in town, a vivid postcard comes beforehand announcing the return. You set up the meeting and full of hope, disbelief and joy go to see him…

This little tale is how Jack Peñate’s fans must have felt about /dealt with his comeback. Ten long years yet the information came like a fresh breeze on worn wanderer’s face. So were the songs ‘Prayer’ and 'Murder’ when they were released. A shaman dancing calling his gathering back to the circle. The show was the meeting, the show was the ritual. The preacher and his faithful flock. Sceptical at first, like the friend from the tale above, wondering if the one on stage is still the one he loved. Then came the reverence of the dance, the voice proving the wonderful soul is shining with bright new colours and audience was hypnotised, gave in to the trance. Enthusiasm took over - 'Be the One’ was the seal. The tales told from the stage, even the ones ending with 'I don’t even know where I was going with this’ or ones like 'ten years, I could have had a kid, he or she would be in second year now…’ , in not very big Louisiana made the gig so intimate, familiar, like it was friends chatting at the house party. Some songs were asked for and missed and wish wasn’t granted (like’ Let’s all die’, Jack laughed and answered 'I forgot about that one’ or 'Lay your body down’). One wish was granted though and 'My Yvonne’ enchanted everyone. 

One hour passed as if it was a second. Too short, too quick yet so rich, filled with laughter (what else when you heard Jack asking about Thekla, venue - boat, if it was still there and rocking, with odd sparkle in the eye when he said about a gig there on ketamine and added shortly after that he didn’t do that anymore), dancing ('Did anyone learn the dancing routine yet?’ he asked showing the moves before he played 'Murder’). Left fans with few promises: new album ‘After You’ coming soon, signing in store and more shows. Breath of a fresh air in sweaty, boiling club in Bristol. The swag, the voice, the music that was missed and welcomed back with tons of relief and happiness.

ART

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The symbolism.... straight chills

Do you know who you are?

Jeff Buckley photographed by Merri Cyr at a New Orleans college radio station (December 2, 1994).

Well named Rosefinch bird, looking like cotton candy in the snow, photo by.