by fabian ciraolo

♥ fight club after such a terribly long day, it never gets old ♥ my brothers new headphones from shure, which he lets me borrow, they are completely closed both ways & so very lovely in a noisy train ♥ hula hooping ♥ this new lack of sun & getting my ghostly pallor back ♥ fresh vegetables ♥ walden ♥ sylvia plath ♥ poetry in general ♥ having a tidy room again, all this newly cleared space still delights me. i can work again! ♥ strangers smiling at you in a non-creepy way & being nice & considerate ♥ being able to skateboard! sort of. my brother has been teaching me (: & often ending up ‘facepalming’ ♥ seeing my two oldest friends again, & the absurdness that ensued ♥ tarot cards ♥ converge, been way too long since i listened to them ♥ & speaking of music, motionless in white, they are so amazing, live, on cd, in what they have to say. they have a pretty spiffy style too ♥ that my brother randomly bought me my two favourite muse albums, because he couldn’t find anything he was looking for in the cd store & happened to see them & had money ♥ also, owning a new tom waits album ♥ spotify radio, i keep discovering new, amazing artists through it ♥ passionate teachers ♥ that one of them has a muse ringtone ♥ my not-so-new-anymore classmates ♥ melancholia ♥ walks in the morning ♥ the peaceful bustle in the morning ♥ actually, really, truly being able to understand french. i realized this when i was flipping through a french vogue a couple of months ago & as i casually read some articles it was like, HEY. I CAN READ THIS. when it comes to languages french has always been my arch nemesis, so this is something that’s continually delighting me ♥ vacation starting today! ♥

there has been so much more lately, but this is all i can think of now. here’s some brilliance to feast your ears & eyes on:

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The Beige Man 

Every weekday I see him on the subway. The beige man. We get out at the same stop. This a very small town, yet I never see him anywhere else. He’s always dressed entirely in beige, shapeless raincoat, pants, shoes, baseball cap hung low over his bespectacled eyes. I’ve caught a whiff of his smell and even that, beige. Old beige to be specific. He’s rather tall, pale, always hunched over, never looking at anyone. He carries nothing but a dirty beige tote bag. No one else ever seems to notice him. To me he’s remarkable in how absolutely unremarkable he looks. I have never seen anyone with such determination to be invisible. He could be a ninja. Or rather, he could be educating ninjas.
Only once did I glimpse his face, tucked away under that baseball cap. He has a particular shade of light grey hair, like some of the beige had melted into it, with a matching mustache. You’d think he was really old, but if you managed to get a good look at him you’d be surprised. His face was barely lined, like he’d never smiled or worried. He couldn’t have been older than 35.
He always got up right after the stop before ours, swiftly positioning himself in front of the door that would be closest to the stairs, finger already on the button. I was usually the second or third person behind him. As soon as the doors opened he flew out like the devil was on his heels, not stopping for anyone or anything. We have to walk in the same direction and sometimes I’ll try to keep up with him for fun. I never succeed. By the time I’ve gotten through the gates he’d already be a couple of hundred meters further, his head sticking out like a turtles from his beige shell.
More and more I wondered who the man underneath all that beige was. So much that it was turning into an obsession. Every time I saw anything beige I imagined he was near. I could barely eat or sleep. My schoolwork was a mess. Never mind my friends. I even got pulled aside in class by our mentor. He was around the same age as the beige man, very nice, the think-of-me-as-your-friend-not-a-stuffy-old-teacher type. He didn’t say anything about my low grades, my complete lack of participation during the lessons, the circles under my eyes or new habit of wearing the same clothes days in a row. He only asked if there was something I wanted to talk about. I saw some of my friends shooting furtive glances at us from the other side. For a moment I considered telling him. I’ve seen him reading ‘The Stranger Beside Me.’ Maybe he’d have understand somewhat. Maybe he could help. Maybe he’d talk me out of my obsession.
“No, there’s nothing.”
The logical solution seemed to be to give in to my curiosity. Once I had some answers surely I would be disinterested. A plan started to formulate in my head.
The day after my resolution I stayed home from school. It was the only way this was going to work. The whole day I was restless, thinking only of what I would do later that day. A quarter past five I couldn’t wait anymore. I raced to the subway station on my yellow bicycle. I waited at the corner past the entrance. Those twenty minutes seemed the longest of my life. Finally, after the third subway stopped, there he was. I watched him fly down the stairs through the glass window. I wasted no time in mounting my bicycle. I had only averted my eyes for a second and he was already through. I didn’t give myself time to be surprised, I immediately went in pursuit. Even on a bicycle I still had some trouble keeping up with him. I followed him past the elementary school, through the park, past the lake, the first couple of apartment buildings, through a shopping center. In the shopping center someone yelled at me that I couldn’t cycle in here, young lady. The beige man didn’t seem to notice. At least, he didn’t look back for any fraction. He just kept on striding. With every stride my curiosity deepened. How far did this man actually live? I was getting out of breath.
Then, after another couple of apartment buildings, a highway and a golf club, he made a sharp turn left. We were in a neighborhood of dilapidated townhouses. He walked right up to one of those houses at the end of the lane. Like him it looked utterly unremarkable. Beige, unclean, rectangular, unkempt little garden. I ditched my bike, hurrying to some semblance of cover. I found it in a hedge on the side of his garden. I impressed myself by how quiet I could be.
The beige man was slowly sliding a key into the lock. I wished I had a better view of the door. He turned the key even slower. My heart was pounding. I never noticed anything strange about the slow, deliberate way he was opening his door. Then he sighed. I almost fell through the hedge. It was the first time ever I heard him make a sound.
“I wish you hadn’t followed me,” the beige man said softly and turned his head to the very spot where I was hiding. Blind panic. How had he known? No, that was not the disturbing part. How had he not let anything on? I decided that he must be a ninja after all. Or a Buddhist. .
He kept on staring. I really didn’t want to, but I rose from my spot. Sheepishly, might I add. The sky had already darkened and I could not make out his face at all. “I’m so sorry. I just–” I had no idea how to finish that sentence. My gaze fell to the ground.
“I understand. Eventually there’s always someone who follows me.” He sighed again. I was confused. What was this? Was he disappointed that he wasn’t completely invisible? I heard the door open. “Come have tea with me.” My head snapped back up. He was standing in the doorway, framed by a faint light from inside.
“That’s okay, I really should be off. My mother-”
“I insist.” I could feel his eyes bore into me. Something felt wrong. Still, my curiosity was as powerful as ever. So I accepted his invitation.
Once inside I felt a powerful sense of anticlimax. It looked just like any old male’s bachelor pad. There weren’t even cobwebs. The beige man didn’t pay me much attention. He just went along to the kitchen and put the kettle on like he did this every day. Thoroughly disappointed I sank down on the nearest couch. A puff of dust rose out of it. It was something, I suppose.
I scanned the stack of DVD’s on the coffee table. The Phantom Of The Opera, Judgment At Nuremberg, Kabinett Des Doktor Calligari, Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde… All perfectly ordinary and legally purchased.
Something brushed against my leg. I yelped and quickly raised my feet. A faint miauw answered me. A cat. He had a cat. It was also beige.
There was a faint whistle in the distance. Shortly thereafter the beige man appeared, carrying an old tray with all the necessities for tea. I noticed that he was still wearing his raincoat and baseball cap. I vaguely wondered if he slept in them too. He poured me a cup.
“Thanks.” I quietly added sugar and stirred unnecessarily long. The beige man didn’t say anything. I was still very confused. “Why did you invite me in?” I blurted.
“To give you the opportunity to ask me anything you wish,” he said casually and took a gulp from his black, fresh off the kettle tea without a flinch.
“Why?”
“Because you deserve it.” It sounded so ominous, especially in that toneless way he spoke. “Very few people notice deliberately invisible men like me. There is something very special in those people.”
I wasn’t quite sure how to reply to that. I took a sip from my tea, instantly regretting it.
“What did you mean when you said ‘there are always people who follow you’?” I asked thickly.
“Exactly what I said.”
“Huh. How many people have?”
“About twelve, thirteen.”
“Why?”
“They were driven by the same curiosity as you.”
“Why are you deliberately invisible?”
“It suits my interests.”
I took another sip from my tea. More pain. “What about friends?”
“What about them?”
“Do you have any?”
“I prefer solitude.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“I work for a boxing company.”
My legs started itching. “Really? A boxing company?”
“Yes, it makes boxes.” I’d say that it looked like he was getting bored, but he was as expressionless as ever.
“You haven’t always lived here, have you?”
“No, I just moved here a couple of months ago.”
“Where did you live before?”
“The U.S., France, Poland, Russia, Spain.” His lips might have twitched.
“So you move around a lot. Why?”
“To avoid questions from people who make it their business to control the world.”
“What did you put in my tea?” The itching had crept all the way to my neck by now.
“The kind of muscle relaxant they use for major surgeries. Effective, isn’t it?”
“I’d say so.” I fell sideways on the couch, unable to control my muscles any longer. The cup I had been holding in my hand shattered on the floor. The hot tea seeped through my Converse. Darn.
I could only move my eyes now. The beige man drained his own tea and stood up. He carried me to the back of the house in his arms like a rag doll. I looked up at his face. He looked exactly the same as he always had. Expressionless, slightly shifty, utterly unremarkable. His old beige smell filled my nostrils. It was as lovely as it was repugnant.
He laid me down on the cold stone floor. Then he turned on the light.
“This is why I move around a lot.”
Here it was. Everything you wouldn’t find in any old male’s bachelor pad. A chandelier made of human bones, intestines preserved in glass jars, skulls used as bowls, chairs made from human skin, a table full of metal instruments. And in the corner… I would have smiled if my lips had allowed it. In the corner was a large metal box, kind of like a coffin, thrown open to reveal the spikes in it.
Right before he stuffed me in the metal box he said, “I hope your curiosity is satisfied.”

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thanks so much for reading!

shirt: vintage
pants: toxic vision
beret: c&a
shoes: trusty doc martens
crochet necklaces: fringe
unicorn necklace: cupcakes and mace
rings: gifts, sugar mafia
bracelets: from a mcdonalds happy meal (shame these aren’t pictured :p)

this entire outfit was SO comfortable. i love spandex pants & big slouchy shirts. & of course, my trusty doc martens most of all ♥

for some reason i had horrorpops’ ‘heading for the disco’ stuck in my head a great part of the day. spandex pants, wide pink belt, she’s got the 80’s metal down. i don’t get why anyone would want to repeat this more than once…

& a direct result from the photoshoot part for school:

isn’t it lovely? lianne did such a great job. thanks again, if you’re reading this (:

her mother had been a ballerina and avid collector of vintage and their cottage was filled with beautiful things. the girl loved delving through these and dressing up in those old clothes. her favourite was a pastel tattered lace dress. especially with the woods surrounding her, it made her feel like a fae. she would often go exploring them all dressed up. if another human ran into her, they might actually think she was a fae. with her pale skin, big, round blue eyes, leaves tangled in her long hair, the magic in her innocence.

she liked to sing with the birds. they were always most friendly and accommodating to her. sometimes she thought she could understand exactly what they were saying. she also liked to climb up in the trees to them. one day she fell and broke her wrist. for lack of anything more suitable she fashioned something out of ribbons and scrap fabric for it. she was still in dire pain, but at least it looked lovely.

among the few things she had learned from her late parents was basic drawing. every day she drew in one of her mothers blank hand-made journals. her mother had shelves and shelves filled with them, she thought they looked oh so charmant. it was the one french word the girl knew. her mother had been fluent in it.

in her simplicity, the girl was the happiest around. she had never learned to be sad or unsatisfied. if you told her “ignorance is bliss,” she wouldn’t know or care what you meant. she wouldn’t know a lot of things. she wouldn’t know what a car is, wouldn’t know about mathematics or shopping centers. yet in her happiness she was probably among the wisest. she had discovered the secret so many people spend their entire lives searching for, the secret that there wasn’t one. it was a conscious choice. and that’s why she lived happily ever after.

ps. if you have an account on etsy, please comment & click on items in the treasury form of this, so they’ll get more exposure.

by viviane sassen for dazed & confused
(via fashion gone rogue)

(stupid desk)

shirt: vintage
waistcoat: handmade
skirt: handmade
tights: accessorize
shoes (pictured): h&m
shoes (i actually ended up wearing because the others were killing my feet before i was even out of the building): vans
scarf: crocheted myself (i can crochet!)
necklace: stoopidgerl
rings: gifts, sugar mafia

i just made this skirt yesterday. i feel so lazy now when i make skirts like this, because they’re so easy. but. i like these sort of simple ruffled skirts.

The 21st Century Dream
(or, all Maraluce’s pessimism in 794 words)

I’ve always been socially anxious, but the internet makes it so nice and easy to stay inside and avoid those anxiety-inducing situations altogether. My mother often told me to be weary of things that seem too easy. There’s always a catch and it’s never worth it, she said. I don’t share that opinion.

I haven’t seen or talked to another human being in months. I’ve been living on the internet in the most extreme sense. By now just the thought of another human being actually seeing me is crippling. I order all my groceries, clothes and entertainment on the internet. When the packages arrive the mailman will simply leave them on my doorstep after ringing, because he knows I’m always home. Before that I would stutter at him through the door to just leave the damn thing on the doorstep. I shudder to think about what he thinks of me. So I don’t think about it. I don’t think much about anything nowadays. What’s the point? There’s Google.

Even this one time when some neighborhood kids stole one of my packages, I still didn’t venture outside my door. I had been in the shower and hadn’t heard the bell. The mailman had been ridiculously early that day. When I spied through the peephole, I saw the kids in question on the other side of the road. They seemed to be waiting for something. I could have easily caught them. I slid the flap back. It wasn’t like that package contained anything particularly valuable or rare. It was no problem to simply place my order again.

All my communication goes digital. I’m a completely different person on the internet. It’s so easy to lie through a keyboard. While I do fearlessly upload pictures of myself, even they’re as fake as a wedding cake. You know how it is, good angle, convenient lighting, all dressed up like you never do otherwise, Photoshop for the rest. Yeah, I’m a rockstar on the internet. Not at all the ugly fat loser who doesn’t even dare go out their own house anymore. But, I mean, it’s not like there’s any real reason to go out anymore in this day and age. My feelings toward that are irrelevant. I’ve got everything I need right here.

Facebook, ebay, youtube, my xbox, food delivered right to my doorstep. I earn my money through online poker. Isn’t it amazing how much can come out of a metal box and a satellite?

I never again have to deal with the likes of old schoolmates, shopkeepers, job interviews. Dealing with people is so much more agreeable through a screen. I haven’t had a single panic attack since I stopped going outside completely. What bliss. I can’t recommend this way of life enough. Especially if you have the same kind of disorder as me.

Sure, sometimes I’ll get inexplicable suicidal urges, but I always ignore them. I know they’ll pass eventually. Valium is also nice. Why ever would I want to commit suicide? Like I said, I have everything I need or want. This is the 21st century dream.

Then my throat started to ache. Whatever, I thought. I just went about browsing tumblr. Suddenly I was flayed by a terrible fever. I permanently retired to my bed, dragging all my electronics along. Not that I even had the energy to turn my laptop on. It’ll pass in a few days, I thought. I vaguely wished I had someone to take care of me. I remembered a time when I was still in high school and had caught pneumonia. That was when I still had a scattering of real life friends, even a girlfriend. They’d visit me with all kinds of things to cheer me up and feed me soup. Being deathly ill had never felt so good. For the first time in years, I found myself missing them. Where’s my valium?

By the fourth day I thought that I ought to call a doctor. But that would require talking through a telephone and eventually face another person. Maybe more than one! My sickness didn’t look so bad compared to that. No, I’ll just stay in bed. Meanwhile I can research my symptoms on the internet and get black market medicine. I don’t need a real doctor, I scoffed.

The medicine I ordered did help, for a while. I had enough strength to play my poker. Just when I thought I was getting better, I got worse again. The fleeting thought of calling a doctor returned. No, I’d rather die than face real people again at this point. And die I did. Quietly, alone, without anyone else having a clue. I didn’t think it was so bad, yet for some reason I cried until the end.

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thanks so much for reading! constructive criticism is always welcome.

i can’t make up my mind about these pants. i thought they’d be really cool, like marlene dietrich if she worked in the circus, but, i don’t know, something just seems off about them. particularly about the front. i LOVE how they look from the back & sides. maybe it’s just one of those things of high-waisted pants & i’m not used to it. maybe i did the pleats wrong. maybe my vision is warped. maybe it’s meant to be worn low on the waist by someone with very small hips. what do you think?
(& if you’re one of those small-hipped people who would love these pants, do send me a message)

i mostly made this dress because i didn’t have anything suitable to wear to summer darkness. then i didn’t get it finished in time & i went in a goth uniform anyway. & eventually i did finish it. it’s very basic white & black & that’s exactly why i love it.

i made this way back at the beginning of my vacation. it took me almost a week. the fabric i used is a bit too supple & slightly ruins the shape, but i really wanted to use it because of the pattern on it. the design could also use a little tweaking (next tailcoat). i still love it though (: if only i had clothes that went with this…

thanks for looking!

hat: claire’s, customized
dress: two shirts pinned & tied together
jacket: episode (vintage modified)
tights: claire’s & hema
shoes: trusty doc martens (not pictured)
necklaces: vintage, bella lili
wristbands: episode, various ridiculous alternative shops
rings: gifts

i love this hat. i bought it at claire’s last year when fashion was still in the throes of alice in wonderland. because these things can always be improved, i sewed on some cards & glued different ribbon on it. my choice of cards was entirely influenced by the adicts & motörhead.

it’s a shame i didn’t have time to take better, more complete pictures. i really really loved this outfit. & i wasn’t the only one. so many awesome people came up to talk to me. one woman liked my look so much that she practically forced me on stage when the adicts called for ladies to come up & dance, deaf to my protests that i sucked at it. so i danced & sang on stage with the adicts. & some other pretty girls. i had a pretty amazing time.
the moral of this story? dress the fuck up. always. you’ll have way more fun.