Marc and Juergen

When it comes to my top favorite fashion designer it is hands down Marc Jacobs.

When it comes down to my favorite fashion photographer it is 100% Juergen Teller.

Just let your eyeballs orgasm over one of the simply beautiful portraits and pictures taken:

Mr. Hawk and Mrs. Swan

I have a dear, dear friend by the name of, Mr. Hawk.  One day, Mr. Hawk and Mrs. Swan had to part their ways.  Mrs. Swan was still of young age and still had not fully matured into her full "potential", quite yet.  She viewed her insides, and outsides, as ugly and could not get her feathered-brain around her thoughts.  

One day, when it was time to migrate to warmer weather, Mrs. Swan and Mr. Hawk said their goodbyes. Since birds don't have money they decided to exchange their thoughts instead of material items to add to the nest (which would one day deteriorate anyway).

Knowledgeable squawks and chirps were exchanged. Inside Mrs. Swan's head she understood that now, was the time to fly north, back to her home, where she truly needed to be: the city. Inside her brain, she still felt that the only place she could honestly be kept warm from any sort of  wind, snow, or rain, was under the wing of Mr. Hawk. 

Mr. Hawk did not think the same way, even though Mrs. Swan prayed in her heart that he would. He believed that the only wing that could keep him warm was the wing of his Father. Mr. Hawk told Mrs. Swan this and she could do nothing but agree, due to the fact she realized the Mr. Hawk was indeed, right. 

Even though she was sad to go, Mr. Hawk remined Mrs. Swan the anytime she felt alone that she could just listen into the wind and hear him singing songs to her heart from all those miles south. To this day, Mrs. Swan is still waiting for a love song to head her way. 

This song reminds me of you. 

The words aren't in chirps or squaks but I'm sure your heart will understand it.

I will love you forever and always.

Moving

I'm headed to the north for bigger opportunities.
Headed up the road for something new.
I'm walking up the path with the least resistance.
It doesn't seem like much of a struggle for you but it's hard.
Oh! When the rain poors down, it's hard, my friend.
To clean yourself off with your only two lonely hands.
No one there to hang out a towel or to buy you a drink.
I'm leaving behind my friends, family, home, and the kitchen sink.

I'm walking upward and whiping the slate clean.
I'm running up the path of my own dreams.
I want to succeed with all my heart, oh yes I do.
But this new cement city will seen even colder, without you.
When the sun shines it will grow warmer.
Sun, where are you and why won't you come out?