Yeah you came back this time and got a full taste I was half-baked to start with and I'm half-baked today.
Better if it was medium rare you say but I'm never gonna get well done throw me a ribbon here I'm drownin' but I can still make it all look pretty.
Smile and look away I will what if your teeth get scary what if it all gets too serious so the jokes end up homeless and the hands can't wave it all away no more I can't keep them still my fingers look real small when I'm dismissing what you've got to get out and get going.
Want to get away again be abroad see if I care that country's just another set of stories waiting to be your life and make a joke of mine so that's where the jokes end up instead of homeless and we wave at the turnstile it all makes sense now.
jet wings never look that heavy guess that's why they can stay in the air so well take the complimentary drink have a little party in your head what's at the other end doesn't matter just have those dance shoes on and a smile all teeth at the ready..
Yes, yes, here it goes
This familiar compose
This relentless exhibit
Of fear, and all with it
Rage, worry and lust
In myself, firm mistrust
No excuses I know
For the chances I blow
And the cycle comes new
Never ends, if I'm true
Hasn't really stopped dead
But continues ahead
Ready, waiting, it sits
Tears all new hope to bits
Feeds itself on fresh chance
Won't give reason a glance
Oh, I try, how I try
To let fear just slip by
To let what happens come
And live with what becomes
I know, all in all
There's no reasonable call
To expect all too much
From love, life, and such
And I've felt it before
When what's done; nothing more
Has been plenty for me
Pleased with all I can see
And I know this is real
Something solid to feel
Yet I still crave beyond
What is there; nothing wrong
As if what's displayed
Is less than it's made
Do I really crave lust
Like it's mine, like it's just?
Sometimes, I think so
Feelings; they must all show
Yet if I'm thinking straight
All around me looks great
Because it is what it is
I'm truly happy with this
Yes, yes, here they come
Those equations and sums
Which add up to calm thoughts
I should learn; they're worth nought.
"They never stopped being.. you know.."
"Boyfriend, girlfriend to each other. Yeah"
Count the faces on this Christmas Eve; the welcoming voices, the inquisitive minds. Was it all really that awkward earlier?
Did she really look that gorgeous? Yes it was, and yes she did are the answers to that.
Why can people fall in love to less?
What does it take to fall in love under these conditions?
You couldn't even focus on me earlier. You asked me up but you couldn't even focus on me because of the drink. I don't mind, though. Not this time. You asked about me and you genuinely seemed to care, and that was something. I said to your sister "Hey, haven't seen you since the boat race. You look gorgeous, I like your hair" and I don't think she was impressed, or maybe she thought I was making fun of her. I don't know. Anyway, I wasn't making fun of her. I just like to pay compliments when I'm having a good time.
The glazed look of drink was on everybody's face tonight. But I didn't feel alone. I felt welcomed, it all fitted into place. Maybe I always was welcomed, I just didn't realise it at the time, too wrapped up in whatever I was wrapped up with.
But tonight they all meant it, and I saw it and I embraced it. You can breathe to this. You can't breathe to thoughts, to speculation, to judgement. This winter town has welcomed me home, so let's sing to the light of the moon.
Hey! How are you?
Come and see us both tomorrow!
Our nails are not as sharp as others - what have you got to lose?
Come and see us!
For those out there who can't quite judge the distance between friends, I know your pain. How does one know exactly when something means something, and that nothing definitely means nothing? There seems to be a period where one can drive themselves insane with confusion, expectation, apprehension, fear and delusion all at the same time, all craning to escape the funnel first, to be the one emotion that dominates all.
So many to chose from (as if you get to actually chose between one or more), so many to kiss (as if you get to definitely kiss someone), so many to fall in love with (yeah.. well.. the least said about that, the better).
The look of love lost in her eyes was like starvation.
The look of love gained in her eyes was like the discovery of a new ocean; brave, vast and endless.
The look of love familiar in her eyes was like the walls of a castle, designed to withstand the ravages of the elements and the harsh attention of eternity.
The look of love unrequited in her eyes was like instantaneous, razor-sharp blindness, and the absolute lack of control with follows.
The look of love understood was like the final peice of a jigsaw in her eyes; after years of waiting patiently the picture was complete and made perfect sense.
You hear the voices trickling through the door. Close your Facebook page, check your hair, get out of your seat and walk out of the office. They are sat there; are they so much different to when you saw them last? Thinner? Fatter? A glow in their eye? You say hello and they say hello and the ice is broken and already floating away.
You are stood over, watching and nervous. Should they have gotten up, to hug you, or something like? You smile and mean it, but you wonder if they mean their smile this time. So many times, so many different meanings for the direct eye contact, the vapour of affection, the brushing of hands against hands in the shadows, whilst the music slowly left the room and left your thoughts.
The smell of cigarette smoke outside, and people swiftly pacing back and forth, yearning for one final late night drink.
Is there any reason to be nervous, you ask yourself.
They seem to friendly, so glad to see me.
They came in, to see me.
I am here, and they are glad I am here.
I am stood over them, and they look comfortable with me from this angle.
How long has it been since we first.. you know.. whatever?
The past is a distant shore to which we can never return, even if our mind attempts to drag us through the stratosphere to get back there for good.
You remember the darkness of the front room that first night they drove you home. You didn't neeed to make eye contact in that light. The words did all the work.
If only it was always like that; a lot more would get done.
A lot more progress would be made.
"What time is it?"
"Quarter to four"
"Where did you get that?"
"That. I thought you'd given up"
"I did. But.. I found this in my coat pocket. Look, it's bent anyway. Do you want me to put it out?"
"No. I'm not bothered. Smoke it if you want. I just thought you'd quit"
"So.. how long have you known them?"
"Yeah. How long have you known them?"
"I haven't known them at all. I don't know them now"
"I mean, how can anyone know anybody?"
"Okay. What about me?"
"Well, I've known you for years. That's different"
"So, you do know me then? You just don't know these people?"
"I'm aware of them, I know that"
"For god's sake.."
"I mean, yes, I know you, but it depends on your interpretation of know.."
"Christ, it's a quarter past four. Can't we just head back?"
"Don't you want to meet them?"
"Meet them? I'm not even aware of them. You don't even know them"
"Are you still awake? Hey. Still awake?"
"Okay. Don't go falling sleep, because you'll miss them"
"It's gone half four. I'm so tired"
"They'll be here soon..."
"You've been saying that for five hours now"
"Yeah, well, maybe they've been delayed"
"Yeah. Maybe. What was your first clue?"
"We'll.. we'll give them another few minutes"
"Then we can go"
"How long is a few minutes?"
"What time is it again?"
"Twenty-five to five"
"Okay. So, how about we give them until five?"
"We'll be froze to death by then"
"Twenty-five minutes won't make any difference now"
"I haven't even brought any drink"
"We can't leave. We can't go to the shop, not now"
"These gloves are awful. They're old. My fingers.. I can't feel them"
"They'll be here in a minute"
"I'm hungry. My fingers are so cold"
"Are you awake? Wake up"
"What? Did I nod off?"
"Yes. Look. They're here.."
"Where..? Oh.. is that.. them?"
"Yes. Keep watching..."
"...what are we going to do?"
"Wait until they see us... keep quiet.."
"I don't think I like this, actually. Do you need me to.. me to.."
"Shh. Don't talk. It'll be alright..."
"How do you know? Yoy said you don't know -"
" - be quiet. Talk more softly. Say what you want but talk softly"
"I don't want to go now. I can't go now..."
"You're going, aren't you? You're going to take the hand, aren't you..."
"Don't take it. You won't come back. I'm not going to go with them. I want to leave...
... my legs... don't work..."
"Shh. Don't worry"
"My legs don't work..."
"They're ready for us now"
"I'm not ready"
"We're going with them"
"I'm so scared. I can't see. Where are they?... where are you now?"
"I'm here. We're all here"
"Don't leave me alone..."
"Where are you?... Don't leave me... alone..."
"We're going with them. It's the only way back"
All smiles like serrated edges we march into the forsaken future. It's already wasted; didn't you see the signs? Let's hope you're well enough to get on that plane, because there's so much to see at the other end.
Everyone left, and they made sure the lights went with them. The house was cold, and only the house itself had things to say at that time of night. One month might not last long, but it tries its damndest to make itself last long. The sky is a nauseous yellow tonight, like the threat of some chemical fallout waiting for the most dramatic moment to rain down on everything below.
Put on your mask and hang out to dry. This is going to be a long stretch, and there's no way out now. Everything is strumming out of tune, but at least evrything is strumming together; one two three, one two three, one two three, to the beat of something. Who's keeping pace? They deserve a medal, whoever they are. After all of what's gone on, and now, during this, our most undignified hour, someone is still keeping rhythym to it all.
I watched you through the trees. The light of the front room reminded me of where the warmth can be found. I watched you through the holes in the fence; he smoked whilst you wished to be miles away. I watched you on the second floor, carefree enough to leave the curtains open. I watched you get in the car, and close your eyes, sitting there and getting it all out of your system before you dare drive away.
Don't worry, I won't tell anyone I saw you. I won't tell anyone I saw your facade let down, just for a second. It's hard, constantly trying to hold it all together. We all need rest. We all need relief. I understand that.
Two floors up, on the far right hand side. The yellow of the kitchen spills into the night. This mimed seduction, this teasing silent flick.
How did it possibly come to this today? Last night was a sleepless, sweat-stained, lonely journey. the concerns of the night dug their nails deeply into the following morning. But at least a set of wise parents out there had had a good night's sleep and awoke to save the day, to put us all in our place, to set the next night off in style. The gathering of the food and drink, in preparation for our welcoming of our friends in two days time. The coffee and the cake, and the conversation that went along with it, defiant against the vicious rain. The party; not attended long, but long enough to accept the warm smile and the friendly eyes, a recognition of contact, of being pleased to see.
And then it carried further, this saved day, into the early hours of the next day. Time spent in Germany, America and now here; what does this do to a child? What sort of love does this stop them from bravely giving and accepting? take off those glasses, let down your hair, and feel your beauty. There was talk of her again; good talk, talk of respect and admiration, not a thought of anything physical - just as it had ended.
Two floors up, on the far right hand side. The unattainable heights of this new fixation. Where shall the teeth grasp this week? Where will they sink but gain no nourishment. I will run to you, and I will find you. I will starve on the way, my teeth will fall out and I will let them drop, but I will run to you and we will be together.
Two floors up, on the far right hand side. Is this the start of something new or the return of something long since escaped?
And now she has to quickly put down the wine glass and cover her mouth, in case she laughs and the wine comes out (so the funny comment was timed). As the wine glass loudly hits the table both parties are glad that good wine did not go to waste for the sake of a funny comment. She closes her eyes and takes in the comment, shaking with laughter that she will not let escape her lips.
Now she is at the opposite side of the small cabaret table; it is dimly lit, aside from the light of the stage gently illuminating her smile and eyes full of happiness. She is laughing aloud now and her bottle is empty so there is no risk of a spill. She is looking him in the eye, finding comfort in the fact that he is laughing too.
She is in bed, on top of her man, and they are making love passionately - so passionately that the headboard keeps hitting the wall and for some reason the set of empty bedside drawers also opens in rhythm too. They both stop what they are doing and stare at the drawers. She laughs so much, and covers her mouth.
Outside, a fox slowly runs past the building, down past the bins, into the town and towards where her cubs are sleeping. The air is keeping still, and the street lights are guiding her way.
Now she has come into the kitchen, fully dressed, apart from her socks. He sees her feet for the first time, and the black nail polish on her toes. He comments on where they are about to go in the car, always looking at her toes until they are covered by her socks. She laughs and agrees with him, and puts on her shoes. He thinks about her bare feet for the rest of the day.
She is sat in the sun, and the light turns her to gold for him. Her eyes are slight to protect them from the sun, and she does not see him look at her hair, longing to touch it. It looks so soft and warm. the highlights are fading, but that is fine with him. He would rather it be her natural colour anyway. Her arms goose pimple in the unexpected chill that dashes past. She rubs them, looks up at him, and he looks away.
She lives in a house on the corner. She waits and waves at the window at his arrival, her fingers gently moving back and forth, her face so glad and alive to see him.
She lives as often from home as she can. She welcomes him anywhere but home.
She spends her time between her mother's and her boyfriends, and her father's. She feels more comfortable at her father's, but dissatisfaction has made her move far, far away many times.
This is the perfect December, where the stars are on fire in the shadowy night sky, and all is moving forwards. All is moving together.
Some would call it a risk, to make public a series of dispatches with no prior exhibition or introduction of it to others. Others may even say that it is futile. No one would be wrong in their estimations, because individual estimations are what things such as this are about.
Firstly, it could be questioned why something like this has been undertaken. Why chose to offer up dispatches out to nothing more than the seemingly random digital ether? Who could it be aimed at? Who would want to read it? Surely these kinds of pages have an audience in mind, so who are the faces to whom this is offered up to?
There is a possibility that the posts are being made public simply for the consumption of the author themselves, and no one else. The posts could simply be for the attention of the author, and the fact that they exist in the public domain might not mean a thing to them. But, non the less, posts on pages such as this are in the public domain, whether circulating amongst the shadows of the random, or not.
And now comes the potential of discovery. One day this page may well be chanced upon, whether through an erroneous link due to a hopeful yet incorrect coupling of searched words, or simply a blind introduction created by the 'Next Blog' button.
And what will be made of this page?
How stale or fresh will it be when it is chanced upon (because chanced upon is the only way it will be discovered and read)?
What will the author be doing at the point of discovery? They may not even be around anymore, in the sense that they may have given up on this page, or may even have passed away. Such scenarios are completely feasible.
And what of irrelevance or poignancy of the page to the reader? There is such an absolute slurry of dispatches out there that it is hard to tell what is worth continuing with and what should be rightfully abandoned. If an individual were to intently read each and every page they came upon, they would have little time for anything else in their lives.
So, with that in mind, I say to the (potential) ones who discover this page, welcome and estimate what you see before you, but estimate with haste, for your lives are happening right now and moving through events quickly; whereas this.. well, this is only here.
People have a problem with anonymity. They associate it with some admission of guilt, secrecy, untrustworthiness and shame. If someone cannot be immediately weighed-up, either visually or aurally, people find the situation hard to grasp. They fear the situation, finding themselves on guard.
It's as if we are constantly in fear of being under attack from the unknown, and what could be more fear-inducing than someone who calculates exactly how much of themselves they wish to reveal. They hold court in this situation. They hold not only your attention, but your peace of mind.
But what if anonymity was chosen as an economical choice? What if a person acted anonymously because they believed that who they are was irrelevant to what they wanted to achieve with what they did offer, what they did release? To allow the action to speak for nothing but itself.
It could be argued that the very presence of the individual offering up something could taint it. When it is possible to make evaluations or assumptions of someone along with their output, the output is inevitably viewed for something other than what it is; it is seen as the individual's creation, rather than an object in its own right.
Does not the painting have the right to be its own object, speak with its own voice? If it does not, then what is its reason? With a medium such as writing, it is doing nothing speaking with its own voice anyway, so why should other expressions not be the same?
Give voice to your output, not output to your voice; it needs it not, for it is a voice already.
The room is gloomy now, but it's okay. Anyway it feels warmer than the figures slowly walking past, towards the light, the amber refuge from the razor chill of the air outside.
I couldn't help him today, even though he asked me to. I couldn't get to his level, but then again, maybe he never wanted me to.
When do people want you to get to their level, really? Surely it's just enough for them to utter their grievances, have another nod in recognition, and that's plenty for them. Why would they want someone to solve the issue for them? The issue is familiar - upsetting, yes - but familiar and unchallenged. Progress challenges, dealing with things challenges, and challenge has been evolved out of us, like a virus, a debilitation. A weakness in the perfection of what we are.
We can sit still for a very, very long time. We have developed it into a skill, something that can carry us through existence successfully. Keep still - if you don't, you might be spotted. You might be exposed, and asked to prove yourself. Even if it's just to yourself, you might get put on the spot.
Reveal what you're capable of. You don't ever need to, but reveal it anyway.
Meet two events half way, rather than completely going the journey on one.
The fly sat still today, and studied what it had done again. Today, the fly was able to watch and understand its own actions, and it was approved of.
It regurgitated what it needed to eat again, and it watched itself doing this. It was disgusted at its own actions, but could do nothing about it. Such is the force of nature. It was approved of, that it did not fight against its own nature. It was seen as a good thing that the fly still carried out this act, even though the fly knew it was disgusting.
The fly wondered why it was doing this; why it was eating its own regurgitated food again. But still it ate it. The fly was capable of disgust, and will still be capable of disgust tomorrow.
It will watch and it will know what it is doing, but it will not be able to stop.
Such is the force of nature.