“Message in a Bottle”
We were excited and the air was filled with anticipation. The 3rd annual Emerging Trends Europe was about to begin and so soon we and hundreds of industry professionals were about to discover some of the most talented designers of 2014. Our front row seats promised for an uninterrupted view of the catwalk, I prepared my camera as the lights dimmed and turned blue. The beat started and out came the first model, confident and striking. The air filled with the sounds of hundreds of shutters closing and light bulbs erupted at the end of the runway. This was the beginning of something extraordinary.
The first designer was the American Nevada Couture, a great example of chic city girl outfits, perfect for a spontaneous yet ultra modern and sophisticated look. Garments were a simple elegance: soft pink tops with silk white shorts and ankle strap stilettos, ballerina skirts. I loved…
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IF YOU DON’T SHARE YOU DON’T CARE.
I’ve just started recommending a few of my wordpress pals, and their writings. I still resist the word blogging because it sounds like slobbing. Web writers are amazingly talented, from all over the world, and all ages. I’ve learned about the cultures through their stories from: India, Russia, Brazil, Ireland, Scotland, Europe, and the Middle East.
Interesting facts about the life and work of Dylan Thomas
1. Dylan Thomas was born in Dylan Marlais Thomas, in Swansea, in 1914. His middle name was Marlais, which was a nod to his great-uncle, William Thomas, who was also a poet. William Thomas’s bardic name was Gwilym Marles.
2. One of Thomas’s first published poems was apparently plagiarised. Thomas took the poem, ‘His Requiem’, from a magazine called the Boy’s Own Paper and, er, republished it in the Western Mail under his own name four years later. This act of literary theft wasn’t discovered for 40 years. As Jeff Towns writes on the blog site of the Dylan Thomas Society, ‘It was some 40 years later that the theft came to light when his friend Daniel Jones included the poem in his new edition of Thomas’ Poems [Dent 1971]. The daughter of the true author – Lilian Gard, happened to…
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Oscar Wilde was born on this day in 1854, so we’ve looked through the literary library here at Interesting Literature to bring you our ten favourite Wildean one-liners!
I am so clever that sometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I am saying. – ‘The Remarkable Rocket’
The books that the world calls immoral are the books that show the world its own shame. – The Picture of Dorian Gray
To be really medieval one should have no body. To be really modern one should have no soul. To be really Greek one should have no clothes. – ‘A Few Maxims for the Instruction of the Over-Educated’
Hard work is simply the refuge of people who have nothing whatever to do. – ‘The Remarkable Rocket’
The final mystery is oneself. When one has weighed the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped…
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Audrey. Photograph By Edward Quinn
I asked the sky to send the Thinker. Then it rained in southwest furry, small white knots of hail and dark feuding winds. The thinker heard and whistled to me. It was a sweet flutist tone, and he appeared in black and grey, the silver lining of his head like a crown of light. Flashing the boyish grin, he opened his wrestling toned-warm fins to my goose bumpy arms, and I swam along side tentatively. Even though it was my chime, I was unsteady, unwilling to climb on his back, so we swam on our toes, around my house, and the Plaza. We battled sharks from Beverly Hills, whose fins were frozen from love and kindness; we faced one of our own school, who would not lend a dollar on good faith and loyalty for their Merlot Cabernet fish oil, and we strung pearls around each other necks, with a clasp that is easily unhooked. The current drove us through three more days of rowing backward, sleeping quietly without intertwinement, and meeting as friends instead of lovers.
The absence of touch, struck like a lightning storm. I didn’t see it coming, and I may be wrong. To read the Thinker is to understand his language; a circumcision of predictability, logic, or reasoning. Like a tsunami, uncharitable waves of enlightenment he doesn’t even understand drown his soul.
I understood that he airbrushed my appearance, and dropped deep into my eyes as they widened for him. I blushed before he engulfed me, and pressed my undertow.
If tonight was the last swim because of a storm I didn’t see coming, or understand. It is because my eyes blurred by his presence.
The tide goes out, but it always come back. Sometimes it touches where we left off.