Wednesday, October 14th, 2015
acid hands and coffee souls
dazed nights spent worshiping the records that played just for us.
Dirty hair and clean slates.
Surrounded by tall boys with guitars in their hands and cigarettes in their mouths, wishing our names would float through their lips even half as elusively as that smoke.
Fed by city lights and late night reveries alone;
I’ve never been frightened by solitude, but hearts on sleeves and brains on hold —
we danced together anyway.
I’m sure you have all realized by now that I’m a bit peculiar. Sometimes it’s a good thing, sometimes it’s a bad thing, most of the time it’s just odd. From blue lipstick to my urge to adventure whether it be in Paris or at a 7 eleven, my little obsessions make up who I am as a human. I worked extra hard on this post which made me think of some of the things that everybody loves, that I might be just a bit over-passionate about.
One of my favorite obsessions is film — Polaroids in particular. No, no, not those Instax cameras. I mean don’t get me wrong, I like those as well, but they’re just not the same as the good old-fashioned, real thing. (omg am I becoming my parents?) I love film photography because it’s a one shot deal. There are no retries or take backs. I almost enjoy the fact that film is expensive as hell, because it truly forces me focus on the shot at hand instead of taking one photo a million different ways and having to sort through it all later.
But Polaroids are my favorite type of film because, honestly, they take no real skill. It’s all point-and-shoot and hope for the best. But they never turn out horribly, for me at least, because the Polaroid that my dad gave me that he bought 496723486 years or so ago, makes every little square shot feel a bit nostalgic. Polaroid was Instagram before Instagram was Instagram. Of course I still take “bad” shots, but those are the ones I write on and use as bookmarks or craft with. There is honestly just no going wrong with Polaroids; however, my favorite part of the Polaroid isn’t the instant gratification of an instant photo or even the nostalgic feel of the final image — it’s the classic white border that leaves room for me to date the picture or to write about it. There’s just so much room for memories.
Which leads me to my next obvious obsession: absolutely anything handwritten. Seriously, anything. From birthday cards to love letters to hate mail there’s just something so personal — so intimate about taking a pen to paper. Those are the things I keep in boxes to look at when I’m sad. My favorite letter I have ever received was a list of book recommendations from a near stranger the second time I met them after realizing how much we had in common. When something is directly handwritten to you, like Polaroids, there are no take backs, and in at least that moment, that person was thinking about nothing but you. In a world with no attention span, where writing in pen isn’t usually necessary, they could occupy their time doing nearly anything else, but instead, they’re filling their moments with you in hopes that when you read their words, you’ll be filling your moments with them.