The world needs fantasy, not reality. We have enough reality today.

ridiculous photo booth tendencies
peter pan collar tee; £12.50; american apparel via ebay. floral denim shorts; £28.80; topshop. cardigan; £63; carven via sample sale (almost cried at spending that much money). masquerade necklace; £9; elsie belle. skull bracelet; £11; made via ebay. blue and gold ring; £8; topshop.
For those of you who may not have noticed, Look Magazine is holding a competition offering the chance to blog front row from their LFW show. And this is my shameless entry for it. (As well as a little bit like an extended "About Me")

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on the meaning of the word "home"

rebecca cohen edouard plongeonrebecca cohen edouard plongeonrebecca cohen edouard plongeonrebecca cohen edouard plongeon

photos of louise by edouard plongeon

speckles on the physical barrier between myself and the world, reflecting the blue flashes repeatedly until their urgency is irrelevant
thigh highs and low rise
stagger out of sync
running in front of buses, through pollution and into brief euphoria

i've just made myself a cup of tea in the starbucks mug i liberated and i'm going to watch wednesday's gossip girl and i'm going to ignore the weird amount of texts i'm receiving for 1:14 in the morning.


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starbucks is a glorified babysitter

new look american apparelnew look american apparel
outtake, close up and words

The remains of an unwitting cover up
Blown across the stage.
Last night's curtain,
a rain shower,
Has hidden everything else.

The performers slumber in reality,
Art for art's sake
They care not for the intricacies of regularity
Stirring already
black. grey. navy. white.
Dampened nighttime misdeeds.

I don't really like posting my poetry here, but some people said they'd like to see more (and my friend said he liked it)

Today there was drama at work (involving two resigned policemen), I went to a BBC recording of Jarvis Cocker and Steven Merchant, and I currently have a wagamamas baby.

dress (worn as tee); new look kids. belt; charity shop. cardigan; charity shop. skirt; american apparel. nail polish; nail inc (it had been on for a day, and I can't be bothered to edit photos today)
I did have a "proper" outfit shot (+long socks and boots) but I decided against posting. You're not missing out on much.

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little lamb on a hill

rebecca cohen
Sometimes I wish I was small.
Not so small that I didn't exist, because that's selfish, mercenary and I'm not a coward.
I just wish I was small enough to remain unnoticed at times.
So that I could be carried around in someone's pocket.
Casual observer.
Removed.
Remote.
Reserved.


My status on facebook at 22:07 yesterday was "little lamb on a hill", which is a line from Yes, I Am Blind by Morrissey.
I can't find the original on youtube, so this will have to do.

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together/apart


Photo: Sonia Rykiel fall 2011, courtesy of The Cherry Blossom Girl

I spent a long while today making a present for a friend's birthday today. Patti Smith was my soundtrack to my labours, an album recommended to me by a friend. There wasn't anyone else in the room while my oil pastel smudged fingers shaded the various areas of the page, but I was still unwittingly surrounded by their influence.

I was having a discussion earlier about whether friends are worth it. He was saying that he doubted he'd keep in touch with anyone when he moved on to university in September. Maybe one, maybe two, but he wouldn't really make that much of an effort to try and retain the closeness that he'd built up over the past seven years. I wondered if I was an exception to this rule, or if I were just another person who was an annoyance in his day to day life.

To me, friends are inextricable from me. So what if sometimes they're annoying? They are integral to my progression, they make me happy, they make me sad, they anger me, and I've cried myself to sleep over them. Songs remind me of them, and my walls are littered with photos of us.

The photo below was sent to me by one. I have no idea where it's from. All I know is that it's saved as "me and jo". I think that's all I really need to know about it.

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mundane

The reason why I don't write much in each blog post is because I'm a boring person really.
There isn't exactly anything new when it comes to learning about my life.
Here are some insipid facts that make me "me":
  • I am currently studying English Literature, History, Art, German and Russian, and often leave the latter's lesson in a state of disarray and incertitude.
  • I find it very difficult to talk about myself.
  • I am deemed to be "baggage"
  • I currently have someone else's passport next to me.
  • I cut off the circulation to my toes earlier this evening in the name of "art", and couldn't walk for about 15 minutes.
  • I would give anything to have an eight day week (no Beatles reference intended) so that I can attempt to heal friendships.
On a slightly different note, I had an argument with one of my friends earlier. She's immature, stubborn, spoilt, sheltered, and vacuous. She refuses to believe that others may not want to do what she wants all the time, and she stamps her slipper-socked foot in fury, and her hair emanates in red waves from her head as she storms off, swinging herself from side to side, in an attempt to make as dramatic an effect as possible, forgetting that after a silence of two days she'll inevitably forget and start venting her problems through me again.
And I'll let her, even though I know that she's all of these things.
Because she's my friend.
I think I'm scared of letting go of the past.
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v1.0



On a hillside desolate, tipsy charming men with nearly seven years of grammar schooling behind them comfortably channel an out of key Morrissey.


photos: god knows, probably tfs

And Claxton, I wrote the above myself. It's the closest writing of mine you'll find to poetry.

toothpaste kisses - the maccabees
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Hello, I'm Rebecca: social media exec, new-ish coffee drinker and loafer-wearer.
Want to get in touch? Email me.
Want to find out more? Read my about me.

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