more melbourne.

super kawaii!

graffiti art

laneways and arcades

the slow loom of winter...

image thanks to Con Poulos of Donna Hay

As winter slowly approaches, I have been desiring luscious and delectable warm treats, such as double hot chocolate. I love breaking up dark cooking chocolate and placing the rough chips in a big mug then pouring over steaming hot milk. Add a dash of cinnamon, or vanilla perhaps - and it become even more divine.

Donna Hay has always been a 'food-inspiration' for me. Not only is her eye for detail amazing, her recipes are always trustworthy and scrumptious. This one for double hot chocolate of course lives up to all expectations:

200g good-quality dark chocolate, chopped
200g good-quality milk chocolate, chopped
4 vanilla beans, split
1⅓ cups (330ml) single (pouring) cream
1 cup (250ml) milk
marshmallows and cocoa, to serve

Divide the chocolate and vanilla beans between 4 glasses. Place the cream and milk in a saucepan over low heat and simmer for 2–3 minutes or until warmed through. Pour over the chopped chocolate, stirring until the chocolate is dissolved. Top with marshmallows and dust with cocoa to serve. Makes 4.
* You can adjust this recipe to suit your taste. If you prefer a darker, richer brew, use more dark chocolate – we like anything up to 70 per cent cocoa. If you prefer a milder flavour, opt for more milk chocolate. You could also experiment with different flavours, such as adding a cinnamon stick to the milk while it’s simmering

ANNA WOLF.

Wow. That's all that can be said about this insanely beautiful photography by Anna Wolf.
I really want to experiment more with film photography.

que saudades!

this phrase literally has no translation into english. which is why i love it, although hard to explain. it pretty much means 'so much longing' or 'what longings', except stronger. brazilians cannot understand how we only use one word - 'miss' - when we miss something. anyway, i have been 'longing for' or 'missing' brazil terribly. and i'm already planning to return later on in the year when uni finishes, although it is incredibly expensive! one place in particular that im missing is Trancoso, Bahia. there is so much culture, so many colours, amazing delectible foods and the people are so warm and friendly. everything about this place was amazing. this is what lonely planet has to say about it:

"Smaller in scale than Arraial, youthful Trancoso is also quite captivating. Sitting atop a grassy bluff overlooking fantastic beaches, this tiny rustic village has a relaxed air with a pretty assortment of guesthouses. It’s known for its wide, grassy and, most importantly, car-free quadrado (square). This central plaza has a grazing horse or two and football-playing lads and a small church at one end. Surrounding it are tropical foliage and colorful buildings, which house expensive boutiques and open-air bars and restaurants. The sight of the quadrado at night is magical. Rave culture still thrives in ‘Transe-coso, ’ and it’s famous for full-moon beach parties. The village fills nicely in summer, but in the low season you’ll find it in hibernation."

a piece of well-constructed poetry.

I believe in living.I believe in the spectrum of Beta days and Gamma people.I believe in sunshine.In windmills and waterfalls,tricycles and rocking chairs.And i believe that seeds grow into sprouts.And sprouts grow into trees.I believe in the magic of the hands.And in the wisdom of the eyes.I believe in rain and tears.And in the blood of infinity.I believe in life.And i have seen the death parade march through the torso of the earth,sculpting mud bodies in its path.I have seen the destruction of the daylight,and seen bloodthirsty maggots prayed to and saluted.I have seen the kind become the blind and the blind become the bind in one easy lesson.I have walked on cut glass.I have eaten crow and blunder bread and breathed the stench of indifference.I have been locking by the lawless.Handcuffed by the hater.Gagged by the greedy. And, if i know any thing at all,it's that a wall is just a wall and nothing more at all.It can be broken down.I believe in living.I believe in birth.I believe in the sweat of loveand in the fire of truth.And i believe that a lost ship,steered by tired, seasick sailors,can still be guided home to port.

* words by reststops.livejournal.com/
* image by Bueller via Poppytalk

a little trip to brazil

Last year (November 19th), me and my boyfriend jet setted to Sao Paulo Brazil for a grand total of 40 days. The experience, the places, the people, the colours, the food was unforgettable. And over the next few weeks, maybe months, I'll be penning my travels down on this blog as a permanent memory. It was, to say the least, one of the most amazing experiences of my life.











(1) Myself, Alberto, Dandara and Leo (Alberto's little brother and sister)
(2)Alberto & myself atop Atibaia's highest and biggest rock, Pedra Grande (which literally translates to: Big Rock)

good photography is good for the soul.

jen gotch's photography is awesome.
find her here and here.

a family tree.

my mum is currently researching our family history, which has opened a floodgate of old torn sepia photos to emerge, along with many
reminiscent memories and stories, which i believe have been somewhat embellished throughout the generations. lovely though, nonetheless.



(1)audrey + jimmy (my grandparents).
(2)my great grandfather, james.
(3)my dad (boy on right), his brother + parents.
(4)my stunning grandma.

lucid dreams.

To each other, they felt like lucid dreams. Him, with his spools of hair and she with her chopped locks and splintered eyelashes.
He picked out details from his mouth of pocketed stories, planting them as bouquets before her. She painted him unicorns and cupcakes, and other days, sketched her fragmented ideas on his newspaper.

She strung christmas lights about their grey abyss of a flat. They turned their rooms into seasons: autumn, spring, fall and summer spotted with coats of paint. They had picnics on the roof of their complex and she wrote their memoirs on the ceiling.
In her loose handwriting, she scrawled:

They had met on a pirate ship, walking the plank together without fear, as conquistadors of the horizon before them. They had found each other in pockets of posies, behind the roots of trees and in the sutures of their lips. They had discovered the other in the flourish of greens behind their fields of history one boundless day.

They grew into the last page of stories, unraveled each other's knots of tension until they were dissolved into sugar-water. She was full with her paint-speckled hands and his golden fingertips. They laid on their pile of blankets of a bed and whispered, "Let's be Bonnie and Clyde, okay? Only, we'll make it in the end."And so it was. They were scoundrels and parallels together.
*reststops.livejournal.com

sweet dreams.

Babies dream even before they're born
I wonder what they dream about,
seeing the world before life began
Does anybody want to take me away
from the city?
To the country or maybe down by the sea.
Somewhere where no one knows my name
or what I look like and we could breath real
air and we could dream like babies too.

*remains.