would i lie to ya baby, would i lie to you?
"Power produces reality; through discourses it produces the 'truths' we live by.
What Foucault calls 'regimes of truth' do not have to be 'true'; they have only to be thought of as 'true' and acting on as if 'true'" (Storey, 2009:130)
So...
Truth is only truthful insofar as the person judging it deems it true? Or, what we believe is true IS the absolute truth? Truth is relative? If there is no absolute or objective truth then really, how do we ever know anything?
My name is Jade. True. I was born in July. True. I am on a train right now. True. Or not?
If the simple truth is subjective how do we ever know what is really true!? If I’m touching a table it’s there... ergo, it’s “true”. What about abstract things. Feelings, for example. I truly like you. How do you know firstly, but then how do I even know?! It's only true from my perspective because I think it true.
And what of lies? If there is no absolute truth surely there is no absolute, palpable ‘false’. My name is Jane. I have one arm. My dog ate my homework.
oh hiya
good morning bristol.
it seems i've neglected my blog for..... 8 months. so i've decided to stop neglecting. even though my life is not as fun filled as it was in Madrid. do I actually have anything to write about? A normal Saturday in Madrid would have consisted of a hungover lie in, shopping, cafes, tapas.... Fast forward one year and I'm spending my Saturday in bed, cold, learning my Spanish oral presentation for Monday.
woe is me. im going to Boston Tea Party for a cupcake.
xx
Adios..
Tomorrow is my penultimate day at Vogue.
I will be free! Free from the tumultuous unpaid existence as an intern.
And I feel very sad to be leaving. After all, it has been my first proper stint in grown-up world and I was getting quite comfortable there, without the every other day hangovers and constant impending essays at University. Photoshoots, Fashion week- I couldn’t have asked for a better place to work. Despite the one time that I had to run around Madrid in a torrential downpour collecting clothes, trying to protect a 600 euro fur jacket from the rain with my measly umbrella and then getting chased around a very bizarre, very expensive shoe boutique by a greyhound, still guarding that godforsaken coat, it’s been a very smooth run.
It seems like everyone is trying to bombard me with as much work as they can in my last week before I leave. But I’m trying to drink it in and remember it all. At least my name will be immortalised in the glossy pages of the past 9 issues and the next few to come. And thankfully I have one month left to play in the sunny streets of Madrid before hometime.
Magical Madrid
I love Madrid.
They really know how to celebrate bank holiday weekends here, and this one is the most popular as it’s the festivo de San Isidro. The lantern lit streets are tinted with a 24 hour buzz from Thursday onwards and crammed with the young and old alike.
Watching the hubbub below from 6th floor balconies, spectacular views, dancing in squares with fountains and bongos, dancing to the big band in the palace gardens, 6am metro home, tintos de verano at dusk, i have never, sun kissed skin, drinking cañas, La Latina. Delightful.
Now I have what is called the delayed Monday hangover and I need to sleep.
I never want to leave this place..
still love you
As my ex housemates all know, when i tidy my room i a) have to have someone sitting on my bed talking to me while i am doing it or b) have a show on in the background.
today it was the o.c. season 3 and it never fails to make me realise how much i truly love rachel bilson.
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