To put things in perspective, I was born after the 1st mp3 player was created. So relatively speaking, even though I’m no spring chicken, there’s still a whole world that I’m basically a stumbling duckling to.

So sometimes I stumble upon photographs, paintings or music that strike a cord within me. Usually much older than I am which turns the appreciation into a research mission to understand the context in which it was produced.

There are a plethora of  creators in so many different mediums and sometimes I feel like even though I get exposed to their work. It’s always a fleeting moment in time and suddenly they’re gone in the wind never to be seen again ( unless I see them in my search results.)

I won’t really go deep into what this ‘series’ of posts will be centred around – you probably already get the gist of it.

I’m just going to jump straight into what I have discovered recently (who/what).


Before I bombard you with the history of this photograph, I’ll divulge into what I felt and thought when I initially saw it.

When you look into Yoko Ono’s eyes, there’s this emotion that I spent a couple of minutes to verbalize – to put in words but I can’t quite do it.

It’s almost as if she has dissociated herself from the this world. Her mind seems to be elsewhere. Yet at the same time there is this yearning, as if there is something beyond what we could comprehend that she desires. However amidst all these emotions, a peace is present – the same kind that you get while you’re floating in a pool.

A pleasant nothingness.

John Lennon has visually completely encompassed himself into her being – her essence. I like how his hand is threaded into her hair – her free flowing hair. To be a poetic sap for a second ( not that I’m not usually one.) I drew a parallel between this action and how the hair of women is highly romanticized and given power in the work of some poets and writers alike.

For the sake of having an example( so both you and I can be clear on this point.) I’ll drop Philip Larkin’s “Waiting For Breakfast, While She Brushed Her Hair”

Anyways back to the photograph. I was shocked Lennon. To be pressed up against Ono, there isn’t even an opportunity to have a guise of space. I love the way that gently cradles her head – perhaps he has deep respect for her mind and all that she contains.

My mind always floats back to the way he has moulded himself into her. I realized it was direct consequence of how in mainstream medium it’s always the other way around. That’s why this photograph seems so strange so out of place – why it impacted me so much. As well as the feeling of committing an intrusion of a private moment that it invokes.

The photograph was taken on 8th of December 1980 by Annie Leibovitz.

I’m going to go ahead insert an explanation of the context taken from The Study:

On December 8, 1980, Leibovitz was commissioned by Rolling Stone to photograph John Lennon and Yoko Ono, as part of the promotional efforts surrounding their joint album Double Fantasy. While Leibovitz had hoped that both Lennon and Ono would pose nude, Ono was uncomfortable with shedding her clothes. But Ono’s reluctance led to a legendary improvisation. Of the experience, Leibovitz has said: “I was kinda disappointed, and I said, ‘Just leave everything on.’ We took one Polaroid, and the three of us knew it was profound right away.” Later that evening, Lennon was shot and killed outside of his New York City apartment building. The magazine ran the haunting image (sans headlines) as its cover the following month.

That pretty sums up most of it. If you want to see more Annie Leibovitz work ( you could search her up.) or alternatively you could click here.

Thank you for sticking through it. Hope you experience something good today.






Grey hair
Pollutes my mind,
Stems itself in my thoughts
Thoughts I can’t remember.
The words are sucked up
Something is sucked up
Grey hair
I can’t remember
I need to pee

Grey hair
Steals my memories
Tomorrow left today
I can’t remember
Something is stolen
Who are these faces
I need to pee

Grey hair
Takes what’s left of me
My bed is wet – it’s warm.
I can’t remember something
Grey hair
I’m cold
I can’t remember anything.

– Lita




This is inscribed
Knowing that you shall never
Possess knowledge of it.
Sans the fear of repercussions

Your absence is prominent,
No one will admit to it,
However our eyes keep on
A lookout for you;
Like lone lighthouses
Looking past beautiful seas,
Just for you

Your absence is known
In the lack of security
That blankets us in the nights
When loneliness commits
Acts of treason against us.

Your absence is felt
In the tension that pursues after
Mention of your fading existence
Lurking in the holds
That love once occupied

Your absence is loathed
In the fact that it was incapable of taming
Nor reversal; because death can be given
And not taken back.


Light from Lita
See you soon



His eyes were filled with knowledge of his doing.
His smile aged with the victory of souls;
See thievery of lone hearts
Belonging to girls like me
Had become his occupation.
Knowing fear of pursuit,
Would be non existent.

His voice strung us in a line, along
With reminders of his previous conquers;
Souless consorts, possessed by his possession
Of their heart strings.
Whilst I pondered on stumbling feet
Over the idea of pian detonating
In the barren soul holders,
Freeing us of him.

Like week old roses
That lay beside a bed
Fully aware of unrequited love.
More so he relished in psychotic things;
Complicated factors,
Like being my best friend’s
lover and I, his
Unknown consort.

Evil dwells in the prettiest forms

Light from Lita
See you soon



he stood still
as she walked away from him
said she found another lover
someone sweeter
someone that made her tingle

he cried silently
as she became poisoned
twisted and hurt
by her lover.

he fought himself
to give her ‘freedom’
to let his love waste away
to feel himself break
beyond recognition

summers had passed
before he caught a glimmer
a shell of her
he so wanted to reach her
but he couldn’t
he never would
because she felt dead with him

and the pain had made her feel alive.


See you soon.

Light from Lita





How fond have you become

over the nights we spent

in pure silence, pondering

over the things we could have become

over the words we kept to ourselves.


How fond do you think I have become

over the loudness that love emits

when it seems to be true.

However we both know that

fondness and reality don’t coincide.


so you ran away from you reality?


Light from Lita

See you soon





The cages of the mind.

The cages of the mind

And my head is a symphony of cold
Blues and black
fighting this mind
Electric pulses of darkness
charging the palaces of my thoughts
War drums sounding through
Banging across the doors of my eyes
Lies and lies falling through
Smiles and smiles programed to do.


See you soon
Light from Lita
Find me on instagram @lightxlita