Sasha Darling & The BellJar Blog — Uncategorized

Sometimes I just prefer to be around people much older and wiser than me. I love to spend my nights with the generation that grew up along side Dylan and Patty. I love to hear their tales of a time when life was hopeful and exciting and just a little bit dangerous. The things they love are the things that I love. The things that I know they find fascinating. I always feel beautiful and young and interesting. The judgments cease to exist, the walls fall and I can laugh as loud as I can find humanly possible; I can cry as intensely as I feel. I can be strong I can be vulnerable and they love me just for being so alive.

      Cara Hartley hair Stephanie Lawrence Makeup Nouel Riel Model Hannah Doerksen Model Ashley Anthony Photography Sal Morales(lighting)

I am a girl...I am so many different girls. Sometimes I'm strong and frank in a well tailored pant suit ready to deal with the business at hand. Other days I'm soft and fragile in my flowery cotton dress adorned with bows and ribbons on all of my frail limbs. Often I am 10 feet tall and those around me gasp in amazement when the world around my whittles me down to a miniature version of myself. Some days I wake and I can feel the warmth penetrating my sheers. I slip out from between my bedsheets and summon the likes of my mother, living on the ranch with the flower children prancing around and telling their tales of hope and peace. I put flowers in my hair to pay them homage; gauzey Indian dresses and Tibetan silks adorn my body as my hair falls naturally down my back. My grandmother looked so fine in a simple black, crepe dress. I have at least ten in her honor. I have promised myself to never wear them without the proper shoes and white gloves. On these days I sip my tea from a golden rimmed cup and eat sandwiches with the crust cut off. There is nothing like dancing in a super short mini dress and boots. It seems just plain improper not to pair these items with large, teased trestles. I'm not one for late nights these days, but when I wear a mini dress I feel compelled to dance the night away, crawling home at dawn with eyes like racoons and feet ravaged by the pinch of pointy toes. When sipping on cocktails I feel happiest in a formal dress. Covered in fur and sparkles as I tell stories of the way things were. I'm charming and alive in all my satin and silk as I sip on Savoys and dream that I might dance like Rodgers and Astaire. I often feel I was born in the wrong era yet I feel thankful to be alive and young. Friends who know me well, think I'm a country girl at heart and I cannot argue their point. Walking through soft flowing fields filled with daises peppered across the skyline, I feel content in a pair of cowboy boots and old dungarees. AS I child people were shocked that I caught snakes and lizards and chased schoolgirls down the hall, all the while wearing perfectly shined patent shoes that clicked as I walked. As far back as I can recall, I never wanted to be classified as just one thing. We change and we grow and we constantly reinvent ourselves. For me inconsistency has always been my constant. Every day I wake up to a new person. I girl just a bit wiser than the day before. And sometimes I'm the girl who makes the same mistake over and over but I still do it in perfectly shaded red lips and with the proper attire to match. It's important to always be whatever you are and more importantly who you aspire to be.

It’s cold here. Colder than any city filled with bustling people has any right to be. Cold in a way that does not inspire the flower to push itself with determination through the cracks in the sidewalk; cold in a way that nags at ones soul and leaves it shattered and broken at the bottom of the stairwell. I have taken to jumping, and screaming and dancing in the streets. I have summoned Walt Whitman and his warm tales of America as I sit at the Rivoli sipping on Savoy cocktails and imagining the warmth of times gone by. Times filled with glamour and intensity, fueled by late night conversations over dark deep Rye with the faint sound of trumpet in the near background. I think of you here, living and growing. I see your first steps, first words, first feelings of loss. I imagine myself as part of this landscape, sheltering you from all that weighs so heavy on your heart. I imagine you as a child; so serious and strained, and I wonder if you contained the same ferocious hunger then, that you do now. I dream I’m the airy light within you that promises a better future. One for you to cling to, as a child cling’s to a stuffed toy on his first day away from his Mom. And through that hope I dream you found the ability to feel and grow and love with another.

I'm off to London to see my lovely miss Scarlett- Take care of my fair cities both SF and LA. I will miss your Lovely weather. Think of me as I freeze off my tits. I'll drink a pint for you and do my best to represent our California style in the crazy 32 degree cold. Send me your address- You will be sure to receive a postcard. XO Darling