[image via futei] prime numbers are suspicious and solitary. perhaps they would prefer to be ordinary numbers, but for some reason they couldn’t do it. there are some that almost touch, 17 and 19, 41 and 43, but are separated by an even number. as the numbers expand, these so-called twin primes become ever rarer, and the presentiment develops that these were accidents, that solitude is the true destiny. but then, if you count long enough, you’ll find another pair of twins, clutching each other tightly. two bodies drape over another, tired eyes are closed. hot air rolling over lips, tears falling onto cheeks. hands graced lightly, that glides through hair. her hands holding his head, so still. catching his fears and thoughts and imprisoning them. the shadows surrender, space that no longer exists. two scarred bodies. entwined souls. the solitude of prime numbers.

[image via futei]

prime numbers are suspicious and solitary. perhaps they would prefer to be ordinary numbers, but for some reason they couldn’t do it. there are some that almost touch, 17 and 19, 41 and 43, but are separated by an even number. as the numbers expand, these so-called twin primes become ever rarer, and the presentiment develops that these were accidents, that solitude is the true destiny. but then, if you count long enough, you’ll find another pair of twins, clutching each other tightly.

two bodies drape over another, tired eyes are closed. hot air rolling over lips, tears falling onto cheeks. hands graced lightly, that glides through hair. her hands holding his head, so still. catching his fears and thoughts and imprisoning them. the shadows surrender, space that no longer exists. two scarred bodies. entwined souls. the solitude of prime numbers.

lies in the eyes.

warm bodies sprawl into the cold night. the mist, as it pours into the divide, shrouds the secrets of our minds. the mist, it hides so much. glancing looks are passing conversations between the eyes. they have no words, only thoughts. and visible in the scattered pigments of the iris, they tell the truth to our lies.

words become stale. words are shallow. this conversation transcends its shackles and empties into a meaningless abyss. when the eyes speak, words are excess. two souls trying to breathe. the eyes, its only oxygen. so many thoughts, failed by words that cannot describe them. captured forever, without the voice that carries them.

a stream of flickering images, frozen on the surface. but when eyes lock, and where warm bodies no longer sprawl but collide, our thoughts will flow freely between us. then, as mist dissipates, you will read the secrets of my mind. unlocked without words. unlocked with the eyes.

it’s on repeat because it’s delightful. new metronomy is as good as old metronomy. the brits go alright. everything goes my way - metronomy. album, english riviera.

‘why give it all on you, you shot a hole in my heart straight through. when you pushed me aside, three weeks i cried. but now you got me back, you know i’ll never up and run. yeah i stay in here, i stay right here. and now everything goes my way’.

[image via futei] ‘let’s say you have an identity you don’t even like. but even though you don’t like this identity, someone suddenly comes along and steals it from you. well, it’s more like, you didn’t want this identity, but if they take it away you’ve got nothing. what do you do?’ oh, word. daria.

[image via futei]

‘let’s say you have an identity you don’t even like. but even though you don’t like this identity, someone suddenly comes along and steals it from you. well, it’s more like, you didn’t want this identity, but if they take it away you’ve got nothing. what do you do?’ oh, word. daria.

[image via futei] my birthday is a faded memory. but, when it was here, i ordered some floral shirts online for myself. for an extra three dollars, general pants co gave me the choice of getting a gift card. i obliged, and wrote a little birthday message to go on it. when it arrived, i found it rather amusing that someone had to sit down and write these words out for me. i consider this money well spent.

[image via futei]

my birthday is a faded memory. but, when it was here, i ordered some floral shirts online for myself. for an extra three dollars, general pants co gave me the choice of getting a gift card. i obliged, and wrote a little birthday message to go on it. when it arrived, i found it rather amusing that someone had to sit down and write these words out for me. i consider this money well spent.

[image via waltarrrrr] currently writing an essay on the role that media and religion play in the advancement of terrorist aims against democratic societies. as much i would like to cover the way the u.s. ‘war on terror’ is as much as a participation of terrorism, and as much as i would like to cover the way it’s used as a smokescreen to secure imperialistic ambitions, unfortunately the question lacks the ambit to discuss it. my time will come.

[image via waltarrrrr]

currently writing an essay on the role that media and religion play in the advancement of terrorist aims against democratic societies. as much i would like to cover the way the u.s. ‘war on terror’ is as much as a participation of terrorism, and as much as i would like to cover the way it’s used as a smokescreen to secure imperialistic ambitions, unfortunately the question lacks the ambit to discuss it. my time will come.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

[image via interieurbleu]

i’m sitting here, staring at the crack in the corner of the laptop screen that stares back at me. beyond it, the sunlight diffuses across the room as it meets the folds in the curtains. today does not deserve the sun, only darkness. for darkness represents the emptiness. i am empty. darkness has swathed my heart.

too many tears have rolled from these eyes. i am not able to cry. these thoughts carry the pain, and the darkness, and the tears. you were the brother, the uncle, the father i never had. you were the friend i always wanted. the misfortune that had befallen you, met with the courage of no ordinary being. you were the bravest man i ever knew.

time inevitably passes but memories are frozen forever. you live on in the skies. and point to the stars, i will, that enliven the darkness of the night. and trace you, i will, with my finger as you shoot across the sky. you were so much.

the go! team, or my one-time favourites, have only recently returned to my playlist. in the afternoons once high school had finished for the day, i listened to tracks like ‘ladyflash’ as if it was an anthem. it was the happiest, cheeriest music i had, and it kind of still is. this is the type of music i play when no one is home, and when i don’t have to impress anyone with my dancing. i have no shame, i love it.

[image via futei] a city of a million spirits. the brushing of shoulders, the dense urban space, the towers that close in on you. that renders you insignificant and paradoxically lonely. seeking solace, or perhaps refuge in the alley that closes you away from the directionless noise. in a suddenly formed moment to breathe air in an otherwise breathless place, you realise you are lost in a city of a million spirits. the rocks.

[image via futei]

a city of a million spirits. the brushing of shoulders, the dense urban space, the towers that close in on you. that renders you insignificant and paradoxically lonely. seeking solace, or perhaps refuge in the alley that closes you away from the directionless noise. in a suddenly formed moment to breathe air in an otherwise breathless place, you realise you are lost in a city of a million spirits. the rocks.

facts about futei - no. 30

this old cat turns twenty-two today. it seems indubitable that i’m being hurled into adulthood at a ridiculous pace. i can still remember when my birthday involved eating pavlova until i was sick. that almost feels like yesterday. i only wish tomorrow didn’t feel so soon.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

[image via airfrance]

this breaks my heart. air france, the guys who float on clouds above the world, pulling strings like masters and gracing their music with the goodness of spirit; they are tragically separating. it’s hard to say their imprint is ephemeral, more would’ve been a dream, but what’s been done is ever-lasting. it’s some of the best music i’ve ever listened to. below are extracts from air france’s goodbye message, full version here.

we’ll make this brief, because it hurts too much.

during the first year of air france, somewhere in the middle of the last decade, everything seemed to come so easily. at least it feels like that right now. we’d meet on friday nights to drink wine, listen to music and picture ourselves far off, somewhere on the outskirts on the big map henrik had on his wall. the songs we made during those nights weren’t really supposed to ever leave the hard drive, but somehow they did, and somehow they took us to almost all the places on that big map we had dreamt about. 

and we have probably produced 7 albums since no way down; a uk garage record, a house record, an r ‘n’ b record… but we’ve never been able to finish anything, nothing was ever good enough. we have tried so hard, and we truly gave it all we had. and now we have decided to stop trying, even though it breaks our hearts. but for all the reasons mentioned above, and for a thousand more, we don’t regret a thing.

goodbye for now. who knows, maybe we’ll see you again in another shape. after all, we’re people that never stop dreaming. henrik and joel, gothenburg

[image via futei] in normal circumstances i would not see fit to post images of myself, as i think that’s quite pretentious. however, seeing as this photo captures the post-siesta, relaxed vibe of a mexican party, i think it’s quite appropriate. in any case, it was the night i wore a fake moustache over my very legitimate six-month old moustache, and possessed a poncho that was more disco-fashion than traditional mexican. i also want to somehow steal the sofa i’m sitting on, only so i can read books on it. french night is on the horizon. newcastle.

[image via futei]

in normal circumstances i would not see fit to post images of myself, as i think that’s quite pretentious. however, seeing as this photo captures the post-siesta, relaxed vibe of a mexican party, i think it’s quite appropriate. in any case, it was the night i wore a fake moustache over my very legitimate six-month old moustache, and possessed a poncho that was more disco-fashion than traditional mexican. i also want to somehow steal the sofa i’m sitting on, only so i can read books on it. french night is on the horizon. newcastle.

sometimes, the voices that taunt from the shadows, they tell me that love doesn’t exist. mostly, i cannot disagree as i don’t know how one word can define and validate the binding of lifetimes. it’s almost as if telling someone they have your love seems too easy. mostly, i think it speaks quite poorly of the human condition that we cannot further the explanation of our feelings for another, beyond what is defined as love.

sometimes, my mind tells me that the allure of love is more substantial than love itself. being loveless is to have it own your mind. being in love is to think about how it felt when it wasn’t there, how it felt when love was circling you in all its cruel seduction, and how it felt when the distance between you and love was filled with the electricity that enlivened your spirit. this video visualises love as the static of souls.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

[image via simianghost]

oh, fuzz. more charming swedish music from stockholm’s simian ghost [fb] in what is now becoming a trend in my playlist. ‘an artist fulfilling their potential and songwriting ambitions’ is perhaps the most glittering of reviews, yet it’s how this warm music shivers my timbers that makes it lasting. i don’t know how the swedes do it, but if they keep it coming i’ll keep it playing. anyway, have a listen to the track ‘wolf girl’, which is the centrepiece of the trio’s new album, ‘youth’. get it, got it, good.

facts about futei - no. 29

last night the new season of the newcastle film society [nfs] got underway with frank capra’s 1944 classic, ‘arsenic and old lace’. most sunday nights when i’m there, i often sit down and think that i’m pretty well in my niche surrounded by greying people who are at least thirty and sometimes even fifty years my senior, watching the best of world cinema. i feel rather comfortable in that place.