Another blog

There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable.
Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken.
If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart
to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round
with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements;
Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness.
But in that casket – safe, dark, motionless, airless – it will change.
It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.

—C.S. Lewis (via carmengonzalez)

elledark: My Secret Life - Black Magic and Turkish DelightApparently when I decided to share the truth about my non-Tumblr life the other day (here’s the post) some people were surprised to learn that I am a secret agent and international super-model. I can’t see why that should come as a shock to anyone because it makes perfect sense if you think about it. Being fabulous at fashion shows all over the world provides the perfect cover for my work as a secret agent thwarting super-villains. No-one suspects a thing. Anyway, just in case my first post about my real life led you to suppose that all I do is parachute into Mediterranean bordellos, here’s another day in my life to redress the balance.Yesterday was a pretty good example. I had a dawn photo-shoot for Vogue so my beautiful Eurasian maid  had to rouse me before it was light. She is actually very good at rousing me but we won’t go into that here. I was crawling over the snoring bodies of Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie before I was fully awake and drinking my specially brewed super-strength coffee in the stretch limo before 4am. Brutal !The morning was spent looking glamorous before a discreet lunch-date at the Ritz with George Clooney, who is actually quite charming and intelligent for a thespian. Things took a turn for the worse then, though. I’d hardly set foot outside the hotel after lunch before I was roughly kidnapped by three bald men and whisked off in the trunk of their car to a country estate where a clandestine group of black magicians wanted to use me as a virgin sacrifice in one of their satanic rituals. They had me stripped naked and spread-eagled on an altar before you could say ‘Alastair Crowley’. I don’t know who was more surprised, me or the black cockerel !  Sadly for them they had been egreqiously misinformed about my status (virginity-wise) and once I had regaled them with a few juicy tidbits of my recent love-life with various Hollywood stars and celebs they let me go, albeit with quite a bit of grumbling. When I left, all 13 of them were still standing around in their robes and hoods arguing about whether to have another go at bagging a virgin or just settle for a round of golf instead. I didn’t wait to find out but scuttled off quickly before they could change their minds, nude except for my Jimmy Choo shoes. So there I was wandering the country lanes dressed only in high-heels and goose-bumps (it was really quite chilly) when  an old truck pulled up beside me. Unfortunately it was chock-full of lusty Turks, illegal immigrants heading for the capital to seek their fortunes. Having a naked super-model appear at the roadside must have confirmed their belief that England was indeed a land of opportunity. Let us draw a veil over the next couple of hours and simply say that it was a long and very tiring ride back to London. On the bright side, however, I did learn several words in Turkish and a variety of new positions. Thankfully, being a super-model and secret agent means that I need to be quite flexible.In fact, we were all jolly good friends by the time they dropped me in the West End outside the theater where I was due to attend a premiere of the new Tom Cruise movie. I was still in my heels but now draped rather fetchingly in a borrowed Turkish work-shirt . There was a salvo of paparazzi flashbulbs as I strode confidently along the red carpet and I bet you’ll see girls teetering down your local high-street in nothing but high-heels and a mans shirt once the pictures hit the tabloids tomorrow.  I am, after all, a fashion icon. Anyway the premiere was boring and I got stuck next to Tom who rambled on about scientology. My time with the lusty Turks in the truck had made sitting a trifle uncomfortable so I was glad when it ended and I could accept a lift back to my hotel with Prince Charles in the royal limousine (yes .. he was there too and recognized me from our previous encounters which I may tell you about later) . I won’t mention the ambush or how I managed to single-handedly fight off an attack of shiny killer robots intent upon assassinating the British heir to the throne because I sense you’re getting bored but it was well past midnight when I finally crawled in between my silk sheets to sip a mug of milky cocoa.Anyway .. this is how I spend my time when I’m not on Tumblr and as you can see its not all swanning around in pretty frocks  .. Ellie .. As fantasies go….not bad:)

elledark:

My Secret Life - Black Magic and Turkish Delight

Apparently when I decided to share the truth about my non-Tumblr life the other day (here’s the post) some people were surprised to learn that I am a secret agent and international super-model. I can’t see why that should come as a shock to anyone because it makes perfect sense if you think about it. Being fabulous at fashion shows all over the world provides the perfect cover for my work as a secret agent thwarting super-villains. No-one suspects a thing. Anyway, just in case my first post about my real life led you to suppose that all I do is parachute into Mediterranean bordellos, here’s another day in my life to redress the balance.

Yesterday was a pretty good example. I had a dawn photo-shoot for Vogue so my beautiful Eurasian maid  had to rouse me before it was light. She is actually very good at rousing me but we won’t go into that here. I was crawling over the snoring bodies of Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie before I was fully awake and drinking my specially brewed super-strength coffee in the stretch limo before 4am. Brutal !

The morning was spent looking glamorous before a discreet lunch-date at the Ritz with George Clooney, who is actually quite charming and intelligent for a thespian. Things took a turn for the worse then, though. I’d hardly set foot outside the hotel after lunch before I was roughly kidnapped by three bald men and whisked off in the trunk of their car to a country estate where a clandestine group of black magicians wanted to use me as a virgin sacrifice in one of their satanic rituals. They had me stripped naked and spread-eagled on an altar before you could say ‘Alastair Crowley’. I don’t know who was more surprised, me or the black cockerel ! 

Sadly for them they had been egreqiously misinformed about my status (virginity-wise) and once I had regaled them with a few juicy tidbits of my recent love-life with various Hollywood stars and celebs they let me go, albeit with quite a bit of grumbling. When I left, all 13 of them were still standing around in their robes and hoods arguing about whether to have another go at bagging a virgin or just settle for a round of golf instead. I didn’t wait to find out but scuttled off quickly before they could change their minds, nude except for my Jimmy Choo shoes.

So there I was wandering the country lanes dressed only in high-heels and goose-bumps (it was really quite chilly) when  an old truck pulled up beside me. Unfortunately it was chock-full of lusty Turks, illegal immigrants heading for the capital to seek their fortunes. Having a naked super-model appear at the roadside must have confirmed their belief that England was indeed a land of opportunity. Let us draw a veil over the next couple of hours and simply say that it was a long and very tiring ride back to London. On the bright side, however, I did learn several words in Turkish and a variety of new positions. Thankfully, being a super-model and secret agent means that I need to be quite flexible.

In fact, we were all jolly good friends by the time they dropped me in the West End outside the theater where I was due to attend a premiere of the new Tom Cruise movie. I was still in my heels but now draped rather fetchingly in a borrowed Turkish work-shirt . There was a salvo of paparazzi flashbulbs as I strode confidently along the red carpet and I bet you’ll see girls teetering down your local high-street in nothing but high-heels and a mans shirt once the pictures hit the tabloids tomorrow.  I am, after all, a fashion icon.

Anyway the premiere was boring and I got stuck next to Tom who rambled on about scientology. My time with the lusty Turks in the truck had made sitting a trifle uncomfortable so I was glad when it ended and I could accept a lift back to my hotel with Prince Charles in the royal limousine (yes .. he was there too and recognized me from our previous encounters which I may tell you about later) .

I won’t mention the ambush or how I managed to single-handedly fight off an attack of shiny killer robots intent upon assassinating the British heir to the throne because I sense you’re getting bored but it was well past midnight when I finally crawled in between my silk sheets to sip a mug of milky cocoa.

Anyway .. this is how I spend my time when I’m not on Tumblr and as you can see its not all swanning around in pretty frocks  ..

Ellie ..

As fantasies go….not bad:)

elledark: Nowhere Man. Its John Lennons birthday today, or at least it would have been if he hadn’t been shot. He would have been 71 and quite possibly a cantankerous old bugger. Which is not to say that I don’t have a sneaking fondness for the most complex Beatle, just that I don’t buy into the whole ‘saint john’, ‘tortured genius’ stuff. He was, without question, a significant singer-songwriter although, for me, his work in collaboration with Paul McCartney was generally better than his solo efforts and certainly better than his self-indulgent tripe with Yoko Ono. He was also part of the Beatle phenomenon which changed and shaped popular 60s culture and, beyond that, he was individually influential in giving a voice to the counter-culture in late 60s/early 70s America. So as a creator, performer and cultural force John Lennon had real stature. He cannot be overlooked in any study of the times. He was also, from everything I’ve read, pretty much a dead loss as a human being. He hurt a lot of people. He was an occasionally violent drunk, a drug-addict, wife-beater, and neglectful father. He was at times weak, arrogant, vain, cruel, and a deeply flawed human being. He was the fatherless product of a mother he felt ‘abandoned’ him, something that haunted him all his life. He developed a hard shell growing up in the tough city of Liverpool but always had inside him a softness, almost a femininity, that he struggled with. He was nothing if not complex. So I can’t really write the kind of uncritical hagiography that you usually get when people remember John Lennon these days. I’m not sure if his undoubted talent compensated for his undoubted flaws as a human being. For some it might. For others no amount of talent counts if you’re not a decent person. I don’t have to think he’s a saint though, or some kind of peace guru, to enjoy his music. That stands on its own two feet. The best of it endures because of its quality and is really what he should be remembered for. So Happy Birthday John, you made some good music :) Ellie

elledark:

Nowhere Man.

Its John Lennons birthday today, or at least it would have been if he hadn’t been shot. He would have been 71 and quite possibly a cantankerous old bugger.

Which is not to say that I don’t have a sneaking fondness for the most complex Beatle, just that I don’t buy into the whole ‘saint john’, ‘tortured genius’ stuff.

He was, without question, a significant singer-songwriter although, for me, his work in collaboration with Paul McCartney was generally better than his solo efforts and certainly better than his self-indulgent tripe with Yoko Ono.

He was also part of the Beatle phenomenon which changed and shaped popular 60s culture and, beyond that, he was individually influential in giving a voice to the counter-culture in late 60s/early 70s America.

So as a creator, performer and cultural force John Lennon had real stature. He cannot be overlooked in any study of the times. He was also, from everything I’ve read, pretty much a dead loss as a human being. He hurt a lot of people.

He was an occasionally violent drunk, a drug-addict, wife-beater, and neglectful father. He was at times weak, arrogant, vain, cruel, and a deeply flawed human being. He was the fatherless product of a mother he felt ‘abandoned’ him, something that haunted him all his life. He developed a hard shell growing up in the tough city of Liverpool but always had inside him a softness, almost a femininity, that he struggled with. He was nothing if not complex.

So I can’t really write the kind of uncritical hagiography that you usually get when people remember John Lennon these days. I’m not sure if his undoubted talent compensated for his undoubted flaws as a human being. For some it might. For others no amount of talent counts if you’re not a decent person.

I don’t have to think he’s a saint though, or some kind of peace guru, to enjoy his music. That stands on its own two feet. The best of it endures because of its quality and is really what he should be remembered for.

So Happy Birthday John, you made some good music :)

Ellie