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in the flowers by animal collective

 Lately I've been trying to enjoy spring, trying to watch lots of films and trying to make art when I'm not doing school work.

pants are thrifted, shirt is from american apparel.

P.S. thanks to everyone for the encouragement/kind words on my last couple of posts! ♥

Peach Buffalo

This is taking a lot of courage but this is a short story I wrote last summer as a submission for some things. I write all of the time and I feel like there's a big absence of my writing on this blog... So I wanted to post some stuff, and I feel like this short story is a good way to start. To be honest, I don't like it that much, but I don't like anything I write, so I'm just going to go ahead and post this. Feel free not to read it, I know text-heavy posts can be boring. I'm just... tryin' it out.

Peach Buffalo

Peach Buffalo looked at her shoes. They were pink. They crisscrossed, they sparkled. They had little daises on them. She walked away from her school, satisfied, excited, and hungry for a change. The sticky air enveloped her and weighed her down, making her pink crisscrossed daisy sandals move slower along the pavement. Even the pavement seemed to be thick with perspiration.

Summer In the Sun, Sweating Pavement, Pink Sandals, Peach thought, mentally christening her future memoirs of adolescent summers.

Peach's hair lay heavy on her back. It was black and thick, with wavy curls that were sometimes pretty and sometimes not. Peach wore a long thin dress in the exact colour of periwinkle, and a jacket that was her grandmother's in sunrise pink. Peach had large, hazel-coloured, almond shaped eyes, which she painted every morning in bubblegum pink and thick layers of blue mascara, and which she took great pride in. She had softly shaped lips, and cheekbones she liked to admire in the mirror. Her teeth were crooked, her eyebrows were dark and untamed. She did not want to be beautiful. She only wanted to be Peach.

Peach never left home without her pink cat-eye sunglasses, even on cloudy days when she was going to the library. It was crucially important for a future celebrity like her to remain anonymous. Peach reached into her cobalt blue satchel and pulled out coral lipstick. She applied it liberally and decisively, standing on the curb before her house, which was really quite tacky, with a green roof and walls that her father had painted peach after Peach's birth, though Peach couldn't see it. Her name was Peach Buffalo, after all, so she was oblivious to such things. She skipped to her front door and entered her home. Once in her room, with her pink crisscrossed daisy sandals kicked off, and Edith Piaf playing, Peach stared at her ceiling, which she had painted to look like a summer sky, with clouds you think you could take a bite out of, and blue that looks like it goes on forever. Peach dreamed of foreign environments, of skies that might be a different blue than her own. She dreamed of the Eiffel Tower and baguettes, of museums and tea lattes in small, local cafes. She dreamed of languages to learn, blooming and intertwined. Peach Buffalo dreamed of different coloured grass, of wild animals, and potent mountains. She loved her little tacky home, and her room (Peach's room was her most favourite place. She sprinkled flower petals over every surface and flung silk scarves and vintage nightgowns around as art. The walls were plastered with photographs, postcards, maps and magazine cut-outs, stickers were everywhere, there were little statues of angels all around, and stacks and stacks of books. It was pink and adolescent and cluttered, but it was Peach's clutter, so she loved it.), but her heart craved novelty. Peach was sick with wanderlust. She could feel it in her bones; she could feel it in her blood. Sometimes, while floating through her sky-painted-ceiling with dreams, fear would dampen her heart. A fear of being trapped like a circus animal in a cage. A fear of being bottled up like a genie in a lamp. Peach feared an indifferent, nondescript life. She craved chaos, cringed at calm. Her yearning to stretch her fingers across the cultures of the world filled her with a motivation, but she lacked focus. Every scattered thought of hers hugged her imagination of lands that look like a fairy-tale, of different continents, and future memories that would nest inside her and shape her. But Peach could not plan, she could not activate. Her heart was lost in a sea of dreams, and though every day she searched the horizon for the ship that would carry her dreams to reality, it was yet to appear.

Peach Buffalo spent her first free afternoon of the summer on her lawn, reading poems, drinking carbonated water with grapefruit flavouring, and listening to Ella Fitzgerald on her father's old record player. Peach's mother interrupted the fleeting freedom by casting a cloud of dark questions over the afternoon.

'Peach, what are you going to do with your summer?' Peach's mother asked.

'I'm going to make memories. I'm going to watch foreign films. I'm going to work on a book. I'm going to memorize the globe.'

'Peach, all you're going to do is hang around, like every summer. What are you waiting for?'

'My One Great Love, That Perfect Idea, a land of fairy-tales, a shove outside of my comfort zone, clarity, ugly perfection, to be enshrined in quiet beauty, the earth to shake and differentiate me.'

'Peach, you could achieve all of that if you look for it.' Peach looked at her mother as though she had manifested something brilliant (this made her mother very happy).

After a moment of contemplation, Peach said resolutely, 'I will. I'll paint my own sky a different hue, I'll push myself out of my own comfort zone, I'll shake my own earth.'

The next day, Peach painted her ceiling a new blue. A beautiful blue on every day, a foreign blue, a refreshing blue. It was the blue of a dolphin, the blue of some one's eyes Peach hadn't yet met, the blue of clarity and ugly perfection, a quiet beauty of a blue, and it shook Peach Buffalo's earth.

An old pink suitcase, browned rose petals, cough-inducing dust, one two-way train ticket. Peach sat on the edge of her bed, rocking her head vaguely to The Dixie Cups, staring at this sight, this saving ship, this earth shaking beginning. Peach loved beginnings, whether to stories, songs, adventures, or lives. Peach packed ribbon, she packed a cookbook, she packed all of her favourite clothes. She filled the pink suitcase with her most beloved possessions, her most secret feelings of home. Three treasured records, too many books, one comic book, four pairs of shoes, binoculars, her golden harmonica, and a disposable camera. Peach Buffalo packed a case of beads, a hot glue gun, a bedazzled pair of fabric scissors, and way too much glitter. She packed a brand new magazine and an old one. She stuffed in a blue notebook, a poster of Anna Karina, a carefully-wrapped half-empty bottle of floral perfume. Peach put on a mint-green cable-knit sweater and matching pleated skirt, white lace knee-high socks, her pink crisscrossed daisy sandals, and her trusted pink cat-eye sunglasses. She slung her cobalt blue satchel over her round shoulder. A deep breath, a bony hand run through tangled black hair, a blurred, adoring look around, and one last swig of carbonated water with grapefruit flavouring.

With kisses on the cheek, tight, long hugs, crowds whizzing by, a knot in the stomach and a catch in the throat, Peach bid adieu to her mother. She rolled up her mint sleeves and ordered her pink crisscrossed daisy sandals to climb into the frenzied train. She forced her mind to forget the suburban summer it was leaving behind and focus on the beginning it was embarking on. A smile involuntarily tugged the corners of Peach's messily red-lipsticked mouth. Her fear of being capped was almost a distant memory now, she was overconfident in her ability to set things in motion. She flirted with the scenery out the window of the train and felt like the protagonist in a film, contemplating her future. Peach contemplated. She contemplated for a good five minutes, until feeling so satisfied with the fate of her summer that her pink crisscrossed daisy sandals danced and tapped along the dirty surface of the train floor. Her destination may not be one of a foreign language, it may not have a rich history or a different climate than her own town, but it was not a synonym of her world. It may not be the lands Peach imagined, but it was new. It was different. It was new sights and ideas, new people, new experiences; it was a change, it was fresh and exciting. It may be Peach's aunt's seaside cottage, but it was varied, it was a new world in an otherwise steady stream of congruency. New fears threatened Peach's adventure, but they were an exciting kind of fear, like a roller coaster, and Peach invited them on her journey, she looked them in the face and welcomed them, because this kind of fear was part of the package, and Peach loved it all. The idea of novelty felt snug in Peach's gut. She put on her pink cat-eye sunglasses and settled in to memorize the sights out her window, like the sign that read “Peggy's Diner,” and the tall grass that Peach could almost hear rustling in the summer breeze. Peach felt the kind of happy that she knew was contagious, the kind of happy that was glittery and upbeat. She was most certain that her aunt's town would have a wonderfully different coloured sky.

As mentioned in several previous posts, I've been feeling pretty uninspired lately. Even if I get inspired by something, it kind of disintegrates eventually. I've been dressing much, much (much) simpler lately, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but I don't like it when I feel bored with my clothes. And yet, I have no motivation to  do anything about it. Normally, I have certain vibes and aesthetics I pertain to at any given moment. I journal about it, think about, dress accordingly, listen to fitting music, etc. However; lately I have felt so muddled in the aesthetic area. I miss the clarity, and I hate complaining. In Tavi's latest post, she says: "...create memories that are aesthetically pleasing and cohesive and perfect and synesthetic, each element in place ... so that the nostalgia will feel extra good. The other is to be as many people as possible, until I'm nobody at all."

Though she is saying it in a different context, she kind of put words into my mouth as to how I'm feeling. I want so desperately so feel cohesive, and yet I am too many people, resulting in a prominent feeling of being nobody at all. As I said in my comment on Tavi's post that I am trying so hard to live, to have Teenage Experiences, that I am actually not. I'm trying so hard to be cohesive and aesthetically perfect and to see the beauty, so hard that sometimes I can't.

You see, I want to be so much, and yet I am so little.

Wander - Tame Impala

I'm not sure how this happened, but here is me as a ghost.

All photos taken randomly from tumblr or google and have unknown sources, sorry!

Francoise Hardy <3

Wes Anderson. I had a dream last night that someone had him come to my school for my birthday. That was a good dream. Feel free to make it come true.

The Zombies album cover.

What The Water Gave Me by Frida Kahlo (one of my favourites)

Still from The Royal Tenenbaums.

Sam Shuckusky's watercolours from Moonrise Kingdom.

still from Daisies.

film stills

Today I wanted to take some photos that look like film stills (or at least try to take photos that hopefully look like they could be film stills). I guess you could say it's one character at different parts of the (imaginary) film. I'm semi-pleased with them, which is nice.

I really want to be a filmmaker. I want to do directing and screenwriting. At this point in time, it feels like the only natural thing for me to do with my life. In third grade I decided I wanted to be an author, and in eight grade I wanted to work in fashion. I feel like film perfectly combines the two things that I want to do most/love most/am most passionate about: stories and aesthetics.

This dream was only realized this year. Wes Anderson has definitely been a huge influence on that, I feel like he has shown me just what films can be, you know? There are definitely a lot of other things I want to do, and hopefully they'll all be done. Who knows if I'll ever be a filmmaker, or a good one, but I'm certainly going to try, and it's nice to have something to aspire for.

Myth by Beach House (a song you could listen to while you look at these if you like).

(also, these photos were largely inspired by this.)

I took this through red sheer fabric.

Thanks for reading.

stuff I'm thinking about

Hey guys. This is going to be a really strange post that I am probably going to delete later, but I just felt like I had to sort of get my feelings regarding my blog out.

Hollie's post got me thinking a lot about my blog lately, and I relate to a lot of what she was saying. I feel like a lot of time I only post stuff for the sake of posting, and often times I  feel like I really don't like my posts, which bothers me immensely. I look at other bloggers, who are all incredibly rad and talented, and I feel both like I want to post more, cooler things, and also like I want to give up altogether (this is definitely stemming from a place of insecurity, feeling lame, etc).

I'm not taking a blogging hiatus and will probably be back next time I have something to post, but I definitely need to sort out my feelings about this blog (or myself?) and try to post things I like/not just for the sake of it.

p.s I'm not looking for validation here, just wanted to share what I'm thinking.

Lots of love and glitter,

Eryn

Queen Of The Neighbourhood

Hi! It's been a while. Here I present to you some photos that Teddy took of me today.

Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill (a song to listen to while you look at these photos)

Bitchfacin'.

Smiling??? Never before seen! get it here first, folks, a half-smile from unpopular blogger Eryn!!

Ah, that's better. I am comfortable with my bitchface (aka my school face)

Wearing skirt from Topshop, Shirt from American Apparel, Vintage shoes and handmade necklace.

the daisies are growing and so I am happy!!!!

This was actually quite badass because there is NOTHING KEEPING ME FROM FALLING INTO THE WATER. So yeah, be impressed.

Also, you may/may not have noticed that the title (though not the url) of my blog has changed. I've been tired of the old one for some time now, as I'm not very into fashion anymore (I made the title like a month before I even began blogging). I like the word 'style' to fit my type of blogging better. Aesthetics are (and I think always will be (vanity prevails in me)) an important component of my life, but I pay hardly any attention to the fashion industry anymore. I like the word orbit (because I like space and) it implies my changing style. I don't think my changes of style necessarily happen in an elliptical rotation, but my personal aesthetic trends are definitely constantly fluctuating. Let me know what you think, cause I'm not completely sold. Changing my title feels dramatic.

Side note on the vibes: I think it's important to recognize that the Riot Grrrl movement was in no way a perfect feminist movement, and often very exclusive (I tried to find articles with criticism of second wave feminism but couldn't find any good ones and I'm in a hurry to post this so look it up yourself okay I highly encourage you to do so). I like the empowering, angry side of Riot Grrrl, but feminism that isn't intersectional is not effective in any way. I don't want to ignore the problematic side of second wave feminism (and how it has continued into third wave feminism), so let's talk about it!!!

this bird has flown

Happy belated International Women's Day! I organised a little event at my school, we had a bake sale to raise money for a Sexual Assault Center, empowering music playing, posters with facts (that I spent a great deal of time on but approximately three people read), and a pledge for people to sign (pledging to treat all people equally). I think it was a success, overall. I wore a gold tinsel star crown (because gold/orange is the official colour of International Women's Day, signifying a new dawn), a Riot Grrrl necklace, and my 'Now' pin. It was fun, but stressful to organise (I learnt to ask for more help and give myself more time when spearheading an event in the future!).

Emma and Angela signing the pledge (cutest humans)!

Okay, now for some vibes, I'm still (still - ugh) feeling rather uninspired, despite doing my best to inspire myself (good films! Music! Doodling! Glitter! and yet, nothing). However; it is now spring break (yes that needs to be bolded) meaning I have a full two weeks for creative projects and fancy free fun. So I decided to put together some photos to try and start off spring break with some good vibes (kind of similar aesthetic to this post). They're all pictures I saved from tumblr, so I don't know any of the sources (apologies). Please listen to this song, which I think fits the featured vibes, while you look at them (if you decide to do so, but if you don't want to that's totally cool):

Ghost World

Petra Collins

Joni Mitchell

Courtney Love (I love this photo)

Wes Anderson

Cherie Currie and Lita Ford of The Runaways

Hotel Chevalier

I adore this photo.

The Royal Tenenbaums

Ella Fitzgerald

by Petra Collins

The Royal Tenenbaums (again)

Joan Jett

Favourite.

Frida

Francoise (again)

These colours are perfect.

more of Joan Jett being rad in a room, which needs no explanation.

Bowie

Stevie Nicks in high school.

In other news, I'm currently on the hunt for a Tree Fort to live in for the summer.