I'll be your distraction...

Nothing in this world worth having comes easy. That's what we need to remember. And right now it's spurring me on more than anything. It's a phrase that seemed to knock me to six with it's truth. It's something so true and pure that it really made me prick my ears up and listen. If something is worth a damn then it's not going to be easy. But it makes things all the more worth it. It's not about the destination, it's about the journey.

Right now I'm moving forward in my life in many different ways. I'm closer and closer each day to realising my dream of being a musician. Every day I'm getting closer and closer to doing what I want and enjoying life to the full. It's exciting and I cannot wait. I'm taking every second and shaking it of all its time just so I can do all the things that I want. It's fantastic. It's also insane. But it's great.

Life is making me realise that I cannot take the easy road and that I have to plunge full-heartedly into my projects with vigour and that I have to work and work at what I'm doing to get where I want to be.

This is just a ramble. And not a good ramble either. Oh well. It needed to happen. It's cathartic. I feel cleansed rambling like this. Don't ask me why or how because I couldn't say.

My heart is sighing again.

Am I in love? It is hard to say. I love many people but cannot put my finger on the answer to the afore mentioned question. I think I'm in love and would very much like to love and be loved but it is hard to pin-point the exact emotion. But then again it always is with me. Damn stupid learning disability. Oh well. Guess it's the price I pay for being gifted in other areas of my life. Because I am. No doubt about it.

That is all for now. I am done.

xx


Song of the day: Howie Day - Collide

Quote of the day: "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." - Anaïs Nin

The flowering of life

The world is opening up to me. It’s opening its wide, bleary eyes and staring at me right in the face, smiling that cheeky grin I never knew existed. I am at the pivotal point, the fulcrum of my life, and it can carry on going one way or I can move forwards and tip the scales. And tip them I will.

At the time of writing I’m say in Cafe Nero watching the world go by. It’s entertaining; it helps me forget that I’m writing boring articles of meaningless drivel that somehow are passed off as good. There is some cute cosmopolitan woman in front of me (and by in front I mean a few tables in front). She hasn’t seemed to notice me yet and in all probability doesn’t know that I’m blogging about her. But that’s the beauty of life. It’s unknown and secretive and as much as I do know tend to keep secret it is very easy to keep little things hidden, to keep certain little thoughts in your mind, letting them stay as thoughts forever.

There is an old couple to the north-east of me; an old man with slowly disappearing white hair and a woman with equally white hair but thick and full. I cannot hear their conversation and I’m going to assume they are married but for all intents and purposes they were having a small argument before, the way old people do with their disapproving looks at each other and their finger pointing. It was probably nothing really because even though I do not know them and even though I cannot hear their conversation I know they must love each other very much. I know that they must have gazed at each other across a dance-floor for hours before tentatively taking up the courage to make their first moves, cautious and refined. I know that the man must have taken it upon himself to ask the woman for a dance and I know that she must have blushed a shade of red that seems impossible now, their skin a white shade of pale. I know that he must have taken her hand and that they must have waltzed slowly across the floor, their heartbeats slowly intertwining just like their hands, their senses starting to notice the smallest of things; the scent of her perfume, the whorls and lines in his hands, the way she held herself, upright and poised like a professional dancer.

This is the beauty of people watching. You can learn so much from so little. It is one of the reasons I come to work in Cafe Nero. Not only because the unwelcome distraction of the internet (more specifically Facebook) is banished but because I can sit and the world can pass me by and I can know that people are doing things with their lives
That hope and love and glory still exist.
That people still have conversations.
That people can still be kind.

It’s like a patchwork quilt of different emotions, all sewed together as one, all different colours, all with different patterns, all meaning different things.

A young father has just sat down to the south-east of me. It is cute. He is here with a child who I will assume is his daughter and it has filled me with a sense of the beauty of life. It also has sparked the maternal instincts that I have always had but have been lacking recently. At first I thought that he didn’t look like he wanted to be here but as he sat down with his drink and placed his child in the high-chair it struck me that he has an obligation to fill,, whether he likes it or not and after a while of settling down into my observations of him I have come to notice that as much as it is hard work he gets a sense of enjoyment from being a father. I can sense that he has had a few sleepless nights recently but that he does not mind and that he is relatively happy with the current situation as it stands. He reminds me of the man with the burnt hands in Jon McGregor’s novel If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things. The man with the burnt hands is a single father who damaged his hands beyond repair trying to save his wife from a burning building. He is getting older and cannot be the father he truly wants to be due to his health. I do not get the sense that this father behind me is an only father but I do get the sense that he is trying to be everything he can be for his child and that he would make an excellent single parent.

His child is young and easily distractable, sitting in a wooden chair, attempting to feed herself crisps and drink juice through a straw. Life is awaiting her to explore it and the actions of others seem more interesting than the food being waved in front of her face. The child-like expressions of the people who have caught a glimpse of this small child watching them is testament to the fact that I think she will grow up to be a good child, that and the fact that her father is trying to instil upon her correct manners, like eating with your mouth closed a and other such things.

The old woman went off to do something or other in town and has returned with a look of joy on her face, a young girl at her heels, possible a relative or friend, someone who whilst young and by no-means the epitome of a “good girl” (her jeans and boots giving her a thoroughly modern image) seems to be someone makes this couple smile, someone who can interact with the older generations despite their youth and the older generations seeming dislike of the youth.

My battery on my laptop is going to run out soon and so I must finish off for now and sign off. I am going to purchase sparkling water and a chocolate brownie and then do some well deserved reading.

xx

Dream...

So there I was, lost in a sea of nothingness. then suddenly I was plucked from the dark, like the internal organs of a dead-man, plucked from his body by a vulture in the desert, and in the split second between being asleep and dreaming, I'm aware. Aware that everything is going to change. It doesn't happen for long though, like when you strike a match and the head turns from unused to useless, the milisecond in between where it's nothing, both dead and alive.

I was a pilot. Not your average pilot though. I was a teenage pilot. We were in the middle of nowhere in some random course, doing some random almost-missionary-like-work although it was strange and not quite religious, more just like volunteer work. There was some chinese guy who phoned home to see if it would work when he had his lunch-break (not caring for the time-difference I notice) and then suddenly I was outside. Next thing I know I'm in a field with a caravan helping some guy home with me are two friends (can't remember who) and we jump into something that in my mind looks like a glider but definitely wasnt' because it has thrusters or whatever the fuck those "blastey-blastey-movey-movey" things were under the wings.

Next thing I know we're flying round the country (Distorted Britain) i.e. over it, but it looks like we're flying over a map of it and that we're really, really, close to it, and getting really, really, far in really, really short amounts of time.

Next thing I know I'm asking the guy we're taking home if we can land and then we crash. But we crash in the back of some apartment blocks that look like they're from another country. It's strange as fuck. Then we have to climb down some balconies to retrieve our (now small) plane and find a way out.

The End.

xx

I'm riding a comet through the space that fills the rift betwen the love in our world...

There is a desire for the soul to be loved. It stems from the very core of when we are forming as foeti in the womb. It’s part of the instinct that stays with us for the rest of our lives, it’s part of the very thing that our mothers gave us during pregnancy that we have kept and cherished and abused and lost and gained and cried about. But the desire for the soul to be loved is filled also with a desire for the soul to be filled with that feeling of joy, the one that is inextricably linked with happiness down to your very soul. The two are different, just like pleasure of the flesh is different to pleasure of the heart, just like falling in love and lusting are completely separate and different experiences. The two might occur simultaneously of course, but they are still different and in any case as simultaneous as they seem they are always out of sync. They always occur at different times even if it within the microsecond between a blink and a tear, between the breath that gets caught in your throat when you hiccup and the time it takes to realise that your breathing has continued as normal.

And this microsecond.

It’s like the unexplainable absence of time when you sleep. Like the moment you wake up and realise that several hours have past and you didn’t realise. And it leaves you horrified, it leaves you with the feeling that you shouldn’t have been sleeping in the first place, that you shouldn’t be attempting anything other than living your life to the full, that something deep within your psyche is holding you back to the extent where you will never become famous and never become what you always told yourself that you were going to be. Never writing that novel, never recording that c.d., never finding that little niche into which you place yourself and make a career.

It’s not as miserable as you would think though.

There’s a certain beauty about the way it works.

The way you suddenly notice that you’ve fallen for the one you lusted after for so long.

The way the desires of your very flesh take control and you are guided not by your genitals, not by your head, not even by your heart, but by the very ether of your being, the very thing that makes you who you are, the very blood running through your veins, the very skin that hold together your bones, the inner life-force that runs through your entire nervous system.

You’re just a shooting star in my life, a roller-coaster that I immediately regretted riding, but I had to ride and ride I did, and after the first big plunge, leaving my stomach at the top, I started to enjoy it, my heart starting to beat fast, the adrenalin starting to pump through my veins, the beauty of the view from where we lay, enveloped in each other’s arms, starting to open itself up to me, starting to show itself through the grey haze that had begun to hang around me like a bad smell.

At some point, like a shooting star, what we have will have to explode with an energy greater than that of the sun, bursting forth into the very fabric of time and space, filling the universe around us with our song our unbridled passion screaming towards the heavens, killing the pain ‘twixt the cradle and the grave.

‘Till then though we will ride the roller-coaster, we will strap ourselves in, grab hold of each other’s hands, knock back a few strong drinks and fly, use our senses to catapult us half-way to the other side of space, following the line of the universe as it expands and expands and expands, dodging the black-holes and misplaced stars, singing our erroneous heart-break to non but the very people who decided to place upon us the burden of life, to the very people who decided that we were strong enough to fight, that we were strong enough to cope with the pressures of being something more than a thought in a dream, a winkle in an eye, a spark of something down a neurone, across a synapse, and into the deepest darkest parts of the human mind.

We will sing with fervour.

A fervour that has been told in stories as impossible to replicate.

A fervour that would make people laugh and smile and dance and feel gleeful were it not for the simple fact that they do not believe that such happiness ever existed in anything more than fairytales.

And so there our story will end.

Our voices suddenly cutting out mid-song.

The length of the reverberations and echoes only comparable to the volume at which we sing in the first place.

So let us sing.

Let us dance.

Let us run.

Let us live like tomorrow never even existed in our minds.

Never even existed in our memories.

Never even existed.

xx

Song of the day: The Temper Trap - Sweet Disposition or Thom Yorke - The Eraser

Quote of the day: A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night and in between does what he wants - Bob Dylan and Generosity if giving more than you can, pride is taking less than you need - Kahlil Gibran

There's this girl...

There's this girl.

She's "The Original Woman".

That is all.

xx