Blogger Feature: CASTOR.POLLUX.♥

Castor Pollux is a fashion blog founded by sisters Patricia and Caroline. the blog's signature is the free spirits showcased through unique, very stylish styles that are derived from their fashion inspirations. Where Patricia's style is more tough-chic (think Freja Beha Erichssen), Caroline's style is feminine and vintage-adorned (think Alexa Chung, of course), both of them manage to combine the (quite) contrasting forces of style and pack them in a charming fashion blog. 

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Now, let's get to know their style secrets.

First, meet Caroline (nicks herself as C on the blog), the big sister.

Cool Girl: "My style inspirations are Erin Wasson and Jenny Humphrey (of Gossip Girl, naturally)―Jenny, but not Taylor Momsen; she's a bit too wild for me. 

I love them because their hairstyles, their styles, and their poses shout 'rock-chic' straightaway."

Boots Crush: "Balmain's fall 2009 boots are my must-have items. For me, though, the design house can be a bit boring because they keep on repeating the padded-shoulder and mini-dress looks, but the brand always manages to catch my attention somehow, so I always end up falling for their gorgeous pieces!"

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Here comes Patricia (nicks herself as P on the blog), the little sister. 

Vintage Love: "For me, vintage style means reviving back the styles that have been long gone―which is its awesome point."

The Chung Factor: "I love Alexa Chung! The most interesting part of her style is her bags, of course! It seems to me that she always carries around the best bags; all of them look effortlessly stunning and match almost every of her outfit."

CITYCRAWLING.

ph by devina

staring at the core of the stars, losing in the center of the lights, I saw your face last night, dancing nicely among thin filaments that kept you warm the way a cocoon enveloped a butterfly.

You are so beautiful sometimes I thought you'd die.

LOVE SONG.

ph by dev

-a teaser to our complete midnight ph session @ maja house featuring words of love for mr.EVER-LOVELY-

One more time to come, we'd find him nailed still—dancing, dancing, dancing in air. Missing a soul, or two, he was born to bear endless kisses while his skin constantly slashed by unending storms of rusted nails.

Let the baptism for infatuated souls link us together like knitted ribs.

 

DANG BABY, I WANT TO BE IMMORTALIZED BY YOU. 

LEA(R)N TO FORGET.

ph by devina

You once said that love and light would never be your sources of inspiration, and that phrases like 'core of blood' held more significance to you than 'fleeting feathers'. you once believed that you should never fall in love or get hurt again, and that was why you've been locking yourself under the thick layer of the cocoon for too long. you defied the warmness in the hearts of beautiful strangers, and you refused to name yourself as one of them.

But when love came to approach you, to which place on earth would you try to look for a haven? when his tanned skin and almond-eyes had pierced your heart so hard it started bleeding, your hands would no longer be able to cover your flushed face.

In the loneliness of being among the city lights and the indifferent faces of beautiful strangers, you pointed your eyes skyward and cried, telling me that you were uninspired.

The running time would never stop, and you were destined to race with it forever. however, the stagnant lights were silent, as they glided before your eyes like bubbles,

or Peterpan's easy steps―

you said you wanted to learn to forget.

m-flo-been so long ♥

ph by devina

he came along with the face of the sunlight, and swept the path clean with lasting glitters of the dampened streets in the dark.

then again, he defaced the core of time and marked the bursting wind with a blitz.

but she'd come to get him, get him.

LOVEBIRD ♥ he'd turned her upside down, because she was hungry for his flesh ―

'cause his beauty's so fragile, you may want to preserve him in a glass case somewhere. 

but he turned his face against the world, smoked his cigarettes, took his camera, and walked away ― like a distant kiss thrown at the angry dawn. 

BYEBYE SATURDAY.

highland.

photography by devina

dev, me, and a friend spend the night at the highest spot of our city, where we could oversee the entire city lights of Bandung spread before us like small jewels against the stark-black backdrop of a giant basin.

WANT WANT.♥

Christophe Decarnin is one of my favorite designers. his designs are fierce, bold, and strong; designs made for strong, self-defined women. 

The Spring 2011 collection of Balmain reflects just that: tough 80s rock-n-roll chic meets modern definition of sexiness. Looking at that collection makes me think of Decarnin's established images of how women should be: sexy, rebellious, yet laid back enough for her not to care too much about how she looks (think about the slouchy ripped jeans and micro-shorts, the disheveled hair, and the natural make-up).

Anyway, here's my views regarding the collection.

Statement Jackets

Those bold, sequined, well-detailed jackets are clearly inspired by the looks of the 7/80s rock artists. (think Nancy Spungen)

Ripped Tights

Still inspired by the 7/80s rock look, I think. 

Beautiful Contrasts

Above picture shows how the combination between micro-shorts and statement boots beautifully contrasting against the slightly nonchalant calf-length denim pants combined with classic pumps. I really like the latter because of the 'water-down' feeling, compared to the usual stern ripped denim pants + statement boots combination.

Here are two of my favorites.

This look resembles the upscale (and classier) version of Guess.

I love how laid-back the top is. Style meets comfort is just an ideal philosophy of fashion, and I think the washed-out top embodies it. You too can already imagine how comfortable and breezy it is, right? 

(all images credit to style.com/ nancy image credit to costumzee.com)

Anyway, that's all. Feel free to sound off your opinions here!

MOON.

maybe you and I are cursed;

maybe you and I are one.

―Third Eye Blind

Fleeting grotesque flowers conjure up the moon. Someone screams from behind the shelter, Just like I am.

In the wee hours of the dawn, he's gazing at the sky. But he seeks not lost constellations, instead of answers in the form of ghosts.

October 14, 2010; October 15, 2010

when I grow up I wanna lose my mind.

Every stifled good girls grow up to be wild ones. parents will point their fingers, telling them that they've sacrificed enough, but they think that all they've given them are only bags of stones, and blames which should only descend to flames.

Blazing in the flow of time, sometimes I think I can fly. walking out of the theater, all I can hear are the thudding voices of the empty chairs as they leap back to their original positions. Life is a big, big parade; a circus full of players of lies.

We are all growing up longing for wisdom, but in the end most of us are bewildered by the wild concept of death, and the overrated thoughts of freedom. All of us will grow up with a single, constant thought that our minds need to be simplified.

photography by devina

01:46 A.M.

My heart is slicing through the thin air, sweeping across the plains like a veritable tornado. her screams of desperation, hope, and despair are piercing through the membranes of hypocrisy, leaving only remnants of long-lost faith in the dark.

Irony is once you're found drowning, most of the safety buoys are thrown by anonymous spectators who've been watching you from the sides of the lake, while your relatives are sharks who are relentlessly trying to send your fresh dreams to the hands of wasteland.

COME WHAT MAY.

photography by devina

STRANGELOVE.

Ode to Slithering Snakes


Strange, Strange:
How a man compares a remarkable woman to a transvestite
A doctor holds his life together like a crumbling wall
Strange, Strange:
Why Dogs bark and how criminals appear stark;
or seeing arseholes cannot differ light from dark
Strange, Strange:
How idiot men cork their eyes for liquefied faces,
fake limbs, defying God's crafts with pitiful gazes.
Strange, Strange:
I love you,Earth, because you are burning hot

carrying those arseholes with you must've made you rot.

October 9, 2010

Moving with the city's perpetual motion, I am staring through the translucent dome overlooking stars.

Dying young is overrated. One day you'll come to face people who are talking with walls, looking through the distorted glasses thinking of plastic Angels.

Still a lot of strange matters for the thought. Let's burn our brains and leap far, far away; because we're young, we're strong, and we all have strong potentials to hang there as the center of Cassiopeia.

.

photography by devina 

they are sailing from "sea" to "sea"―

Did gypsy-inspired shots while cruising a random pasture with my photographer best friend. a cigarette in hand, the air around me was bathed in the shade of faint white by every exhalation done. The faintness of the shade made me thought of spirits flying buoyantly in the sky. 

Under the pale radiance of the sun that day, the only images I was able to conjure up were collective entities which cause the air around them moving as they slice through the translucence ― the way you see the air around a heated top of a car slightly forming waves of distortion under the sun's merciless exposure.

Just like us, they are probably still sailing from "sea" to "sea", from another vacant area to a void in-between to another vacant area, until the pillars of time collapse like a bombarded Acropolis. feeling strangely related to mental images felt like building a bridge between reality and fiction ― and that bridge was some kind of an understanding that even though we are all innately unfettered, with no chain or cuff attached to our feet and hand, sometimes we just don't want to be entirely free. 

Flying through life like that, we will one day reach a beautiful golden-clad "port" only to set off for a more grandiose one, and from that preceding port to a far more grandiose one ― the cycle will never end. Just like the wandering spirits, we'll probably sail until the pillars of time collapse, leaving only glowing dust floating confusedly in the barren hands of Milky Way.

Today, though, you're free to kiss the sky.

inspired by a passage in Murakami's Norwegian Wood.

photography by devina

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