writing as the dawn comes up.


we saw the sunrise today – and we’ll probably be around to watch it set because we’re off to the movies (and we’re VERY EXCITED because it’ll be the first time we’ve seen THIS on the big screen – well – let’s see – it must be – *looksfarawayintomiddledistance* a Very Long Time Ago).


so very excited.

when the opening scene unfolds to the haunting strains of King Curtis playing Procul Harum’s A Whiter Shade of Pale we shall probably start weeping for our mis-spent (and yet highly cinematic in its own right) Youth.

if you can see this transmission in your territory, we highly recommend turning off all the lights and gathering around the screen.

*tears_optional* depending on your history of course.

so what else?

*attemptstocomebacktoReality* (not always easy, or even preferable to be honest).

well – lots, actually.


in order to stay awake and Alert during the day we’ve been getting up very early and taking a nice walk and then sitting with our toes in the swimming pool, taking a moment to feel grateful and alive and empty our head of thoughts (yes, meditating – of sorts). 41e0af600a7511e397fd22000ae912c9_7

and admiring roses along the way. 244b1a300a7011e3b85a22000ab6855b_7

and drinking an awful lot of caffeine. 917291280b2a11e39da122000a9e28e0_7

and watching the sunrise (this was 05:45AM this morning)c16266400b2c11e3ae8022000a1fc41a_7

this was 06:00AM.

almost a Cezanne, non?


and then we Get Down To Work.

and there’s lots of it (which is such a pleasant thing to say – who-we-are-in-RL has been Very Busy out there in the World)OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

and she’s been having important meetings (and shining her shoes ever so nicely before heading out the door). OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

and driving up into the Hills and taking time to turn around and just *gasp* at the View (well, wouldn’t you? #divine).

and the work is going very well (nope, not allowed to Say Anything About It At All).

we just have one Tiny complaint request.

we miss writing.

although we DID write this which came out today –

Screen Shot 2013-08-22 at 4.54.38 PM

but we want to be writing This too (this is our dream cast – it helps to imagine actors, don’t you agree?) Screen Shot 2013-08-22 at 4.46.39 PMwe’d started to re-write the screenplay again – while we do the novel version too (not New as in Novel but Book as in novel).

we know we’ve shown you this before but we’ve made a few Tweaks and it helps to put it out into the Universe because then we’re One step nearer to seeing it at the Cinema – you understand, don’t you? when we’re tired, it keeps us going…..

The Goddess, The Writer And The Eternal Soul

by sophia stuart

It was one of those really rainy nights in London where umbrellas are all but useless. It had been pouring down for hours and people ducked into doorways or crowded into bus shelters and generally looked damp and careworn.

Everyone that is apart from one glitteringly beautiful goddess who walked down the center of Charing Cross Road without an umbrella or a hat or even a coat. But nobody saw her because she was an invisible being, in fact the leader of the Muses (and thus a real goddess).

Calliope did not feel at all goddess-like this evening. She was enraged by a headline on the evening newspaper. It said, “ARE LIFE COACHES THE NEW MUSES?”

She walked on further almost towards Trafalgar Square, which was now crammed bumper to bumper with cars, cabs and buses all stuck in the rush hour, horns blaring. She took a sharp right, sweeping regally past the guards and into the depths of the National Portrait Gallery.

Rushing through the galleries (blowing a kiss to the young Queen Victoria’s portrait) she sped up to the next floor flying through the Tudors, Stuarts and through the late eighteenth century to the nineteenth galleries. She stopped as soon as she reached The Romantics room with Blake, Shelley and Keats.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, catching her breath. The portraits, of course, stayed silent. But she knew something of their spirits was contained in the paint. “Nobody believes in us anymore.” The portraits did not reply. “They have replaced us with humans they call Life Coaches.”

A young male student wandered into the gallery and sat down in front of the Keats painting. He opened up a slim volume of poetry and started to read, looking up at the portrait from time to time with tears in his eyes. Calliope watched him for a while in wonder. Then she drifted over to his chair and stood behind him, stroking his hair gently and kissing the back of his neck. The young man was astonished. He could feel something but there was no one there. Calliope put her hands on the book and turned the page out of interest, to see which poem was next. The young man dropped the book in fright and ran away.

Calliope sat on the chair and read from the book.

“Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art–
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching…….”

She looked up at Keats and smiled. “Now that one was glorious, I remember it so well.” Leaving the book carefully on the chair, she raised her arms towards the tips of the gold frames and said, “Find me a so-called Life Coach who could inspire such beauty, darlings.”

And with that she laughed and ran out of the gallery and caught the next celestial transporter to a small town just outside of Los Angeles. According to the magazine articles, that was where they trained these new Life Coaches in their bid to become Muses.

There is a place in southern California called Donal Bay. It’s a few miles down the coastal road from Santa Monica on the way to Venice Beach and you would miss it if you didn’t slow down and turn left just five minutes (in mellow traffic) as soon as you spot the pier on the ocean side.

There are twinkle lights entwined between all the palm trees down Main Street, an Irish bar, 1940s era eggs and coffee breakfast place, a newsstand with all the Italian and Parisian fashion magazines next to surfing and boating news. There are also several tiny cafes with small round tables in between all the yoga studios and alternative healing emporia. These cafes are the sort of places you could easily imagine eating lemon gelato mid-morning with fizzy mineral water in sky blue tall glasses.

Calliope strokes her arm.

                Let it go. I’ll talk to you.

Lily suddenly relaxes and pulls the car out of the garage.
Calliope moves her hand over Lily’s arm to “read” her.

                     CALLIOPE (CONT’D)
 Just turned thirty-five? Your eternal soul must be coming
             down to meet you. Who do you have?

She flicks her right hand and pulls up a screen.

                     CALLIOPE (CONT’D)
               Liam McCann. Give me strength.

Liam and Cornelius emerge from the surf. Liam is grumpy

        It’s not exactly the South of France is it?

This just in ———

21:38 hours (in a random deli, waiting for a bowl of chicken matzo ball noodle soup)


It was sublime.


Mr. Bruce Robinson writes and directs like the twisted dark angel heir to the tossed nights of fervid imagination of yeats and blake….

Oh yes.

a saturday back in manhattan: street art, salad, sumptuous with an air of Vivienne Westwood

firstly, a few photographs on our first saturday back in manhattan after being Abroad:

after Therapy (Most Interesting), we took a walk around the area to feel our feet on the pavement/sidewalk/street again and to notice how the jet lag started to lift as we noticed things anew – streetArt, people, accents, puff-ball-skirts-on-Japanese-tourists (girls) and pork pie hats on New Yorkers (both genders – or at least two of the seven we observe possible, perhaps more, in the Spectrum – but the usual ones that people identify Others as anyway).

the art store (Blick) was open so we stocked up on new moleskine journals and cartes postales and blue-blue-envelopes with satin paper inner linings and a Radical magazine (for tis in such an area in such an art supply store that one Finds such things – so Deeply Interesting in this Time Of Change) and then More of caffeine’s dark embrace as the jet lag subsided and then Returned, idly twisting our brain cells into something Almost akin to Sadness but not really.

new graffiti abounded on the streets around Bowery and a magazine torn up and pasted on a concrete wall from 1930s Barcelona (how had we missed that before?) and new (proofs) and vintage (second-hand) books on the shelves at housing works on crosby opposite a movie shoot (isn’t there always one around, it seems? NY in the spring/summer is full of film crews in bomber jackets and terse expressions and we-ve-been-up-since-dawn-weariness).

the day has felt different because we’re wearing a new fragrance.

actually, it’s a fragrance we wore back in 2002.

from Vivienne Westwood

it’s called Boudoir (blush).

and we ordered the tenth anniversary edition (from 2008) without realizing it has been a decade since We wore it (curiousness) – mainly because we remember it fondly (orange blossom, vanilla, deep tuberose and cinnamon) from our days in Los Angeles – but also because we adore toiles de jouy (and the bottle is thus embellished).

drifting around manhattan, still not quite here, fully, in spirit or physically, it seems, and surrounded by a once-beloved fragrance on our pulse points and subtly perfuming our pashmina (the celestial blue one), we were reminded of that line by MFK Fisher – which we can’t find so forgive us for paraphrasing or misquoting:

I was wrapped in a passionate mist

here are some other quotes from Mary Frances Kennedy Fisher that you might enjoy.

she always had wonderful things to say about life, and food, and fragrance and love.

don’t you think?

we’ve just woken up from a nap……………..don’t you adore a nap on a weekend afternoon? with nothing but the sound of birds outside, taxis whisking people back to their hotels with packages from shopping, tired feet resting on the little leather mats they have beneath the TVs that all residents turn off instantly and perhaps a few Tourists watch – just for the news or the weather or the excitement of being in NYC, the sous chefs prepping for the many restaurants in SoHo, and maybe Patti Smith is hanging out on her stoop, writing poetry and glancing darkly up at the sky (she lives Quite nearby, we just found out – and we saw her last Winter as we were trying out our new Swedish wellington boots in the snow – she came swooping round the corner in a Russian greatcoat which looked like it came from a used vintage store but probably came from Prada or Balmain – she’s Very Impressive close up, as I’m sure you’d imagine, darlings).

so you see – lots of not joined-up-thoughts – post-nap – still inside the jetlag from Abroad and now off to walk up to the swimming pool and exercise before surrendering to the expert hands of a masseuse.

life is utterly delicious, isn’t it?

how was Your saturday, darlings?

what did you do?

Update: #blissfulMassage post-swim (feeling So Virtuous – 3rd time this week, despite slug-like-jet-lag) and a long, slow walk back through Greenwich village (and, ahem, a moment’s musing in #milkandcookies for a – yes, you guessed it – a glass of milk and a milk chocolate cookie – oh yes, the raw juice fasting plan didn’t exactly get underway ;) Yet.)





new ideas, new projects, and sticking to the slow lane – for now


happy sunday!

we SWAM today. for the first time since the surgery (which was four weeks ago today).

we stuck to the slow lane and cried a Tiny Bit after a few lengths – relief? body releasing old pain from surgery? happy to be chlorinated? scar liked the blue of the pool? who knows….and who cares….it’s not that important what we think – it’s important what we do.

and dream.

we have five ideas. of things to do next. while we’re waiting for the green card. and starting to emerge from the cocoon of life-before-when-we-had-damaged-glands-and-didn’t-know-until-tumors-grew.

exciting times.

do share your news.