Lonely

Forty years ago, The Beatles asked the world a simple question. They wanted to know where all the lonely people came from. My latest theory is that a great many of the lonely people come from a stationary shop. More precisely from the ink these stores sell, which glides on paper as a writer writes a story. As writers we ignore our own needs so we can meet our characters' needs. We ignore our friends and families so we can create other people's friends and families. Which means that at the end of the day all we really have is ourselves. And nothing in this world can make you feel more alone than that. 400 years ago another well known English guy had an opinion about being alone. John Donne. He thought we were never alone. Of course it was fancier when he said it. No man is an island entire unto himself. Boil down that island talk and he just meant that all anyone needs is someone to step in. And let us know we're not alone.

Inadequacy

It's 2:36 am.
I miss you.
I remember you.
I remember I loved you.
I wish you were near.

Do you know what we'd do if you were here right now?
We'd bundle up really warm and go outside and sit beside the lake and
watch the blood red moon sink into the inky lake. I'd hold you close
like I never have before and always wanted to. I know the terrain of
your mind and find it rejuvenating. You know the contours of mine and
find them comfortable. We'd be old lovers looking at an old moon, drop
against the backdrop of this beautiful Dalhousie. And I'd hold you
close, and we'd talk softly as if we didn't want to shatter the
crystal perfection, ice-cold around us. We would talk about nothing
and everything and it would be the most important conversation in the
world because it was ours.

Then, when you began to feel cold through your coverings I'd get up
and dust off and give you a hand up and then we'd go into the house to
the kitchen and make coffee. There'd be no one around us.We'd go right
into the center of life and warmth, and I'd make a Double Espresso and
you'd have a Hot Chocolate, and I'd tell you how good mine was and
you'd say how good yours was, and we'd taste each other's and maybe
even prefer it to our own, but not say anything, because we'd settle
for less for ourselves, but not for the other. And then you'd start to
tell me about the little things in your life, the gossip and the petty
defeats and victories. You'd tell it to me in that way you tell me
things that makes me want to preserve you, right there and then in
that moment for all time, so you'd never lose your innocence and your
kindness and your glow. You'd be talking and sipping and waving your
hands around, and then I'd slide my hand onto yours when it paused for
a second, and you'd pretend not to notice and you'd keep talking and
then take your hand back to emphasize a point. I'd smile to myself
because I know you so well, and because you've got spirit and you
don't come easy. But I'd be persistent and grab hold of your hand and
pin it down, and we'd smile at each other as we recognized our ancient
game.

Then, when the coffee and the hot chocolate were finished, we'd go out
on a walk. We'd walk in silence; the world would be such a comfortable
place at that moment that we'd both let our thoughts drift to
unimportant things. We'd get back to the house and it would feel like
home even to you, and we'd go up to my room and gently open the door
so as not to wake anyone. As we entered through the darkness you'd
trip over my bag left on the floor and you'd grab hold of my arm for
support and instinctively, I'd flex my muscle. Your giggle would burst
through the darkness, and you'd start me chuckling and that would go
on until we'd have to run into the lounge next to my room and collapse
on the couch laughing hysterically.

Then we'd be spent and we'd remember that there would be few days like
that, because now we are adults and our first allegiance is to the
pursuit of money and success, and not to unconditional love. So I'd
tell you some things - beautifully worded and eloquently spoken. And
you'd tell me some things - clumsily and awkwardly. But you'd believe
me less than I believed you, because you know me well.
Before I would go to sleep, I'd look at you for sometime, as if you
were a picture. And I'd remember all the times I'd looked at your
photograph and wished you were in front of me. I'd pull you to me, and
bring my mouth close to plant a soft, innocent kiss on yours, to
express to you, in a fleeting brush of lips, what I loved you for. And
maybe you'd let your lips touch mine, just for a second, but for a
second longer than ever before. And then we'd sleep - me, with my head
on my pillow and in your lap; you, with a smile on your lips and in my
heart.

I wish you were here.
I wish you were near.

Human

I don't see right, I don't see wrong
In anything I've done, In where I've gone.
And I'm only human and yes I've made mistakes
I wish that I could foresee what I'm doing wrong, get some breaks.

Through a doorway I'm calling, down a long road I'm walking
Like an eagle I'm soaring up so high.

You can see it in my hands
You can see it in my face
I'm chasing passion down a one way street.
But I'm in command of lost control
And I'll tell you one thing's certain, that I'll never fake it for anyone.

Run to a place you'll never hide, to a place you hold so tight and
you'll try....

And I'm only human and yes I've made mistakes

Sleeping With The Enemy

You don't get to call me a whore. When I met you, I thought I had found the person that I was going to spend the rest of my life with! I was done. So all the boys and all the bars and all the obvious daddy issues, who cared? Because I was done. You left me. You chose someonelse. I'm all glued back together now. I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what you broke. You don't get to call me a whore.

Mindcircus

Falling in,
Six hours from morning,
And falling in,
Sink me off to sleep

So come along within,
I think it's time to let me in,
I'm tipping my foot very close to the edge,
And just a few more of your seconds,
And I need for me to repair
To neatly stand and spin it around in my head,

Oh can i please have some silence,
How about some space?
Can i have some space?

Almost, ready to drift now,
And I feel myself slipping inside you,
Oh just a little bit further,
before something drags me back,
You're so close,
I thought I nearly had you there

I'm so tired, I gotta sleep,
I wanna wake up from a dream,
I've had enough, I need to sleep,
I wanna wake up without you, yeah

"Turn around. Walk away."

"From what?"

"From my friend."

"But I wasn’t …"

"Uh yeah, yes you were. Come on, look. You can’t do this. You don’t have the right. Not anymore."

"I just wanna find out if he’s okay."

"No he’s not! He’s a human traffic accident and everybody is slowing down to look at the wreckage. He’s doing the best he can with what he has left. Look I know you can’t see this because you’re in it but you can’t help him now. It’ll only make it worse. Walk away. Leave him to mend."

Pain

Pain comes in all forms. The small tinge. A bit of soreness. The random pain. The normal pains we live with everyday. Then there’s the kind of pain you can’t ignore. A level of pain so great that it blocks out anything else. Makes the rest of the world fade away. Until all we can think about is how much we hurt. How we manage our pain is up to us. Pain. We anaesthetize, ride it out, embrace it, ignore it. And for some of us the best way to manage pain is to just push through it.

Deny, Deny, Deny

What do you say to an exboyfriend who calls you up at 3:00am after some 3 years of silence.

"hello?"
"its me..."
"okay. can i sleep now?"
"its me. wake up. talk to me."
"why wud you call me at 3am and want to talk?dont you have some controlfreakconventiontogoto?"
"laughter."
"amdrunk"

I had guessed as much. In the past on several occasions while we were together, I got phone calls at weird hours of the night to talk. Speak till he fell asleep. I obliged ofcourse, in turn losing valuable hours of sleep and then facing an angry always-on-pms-dyke at work. While it was endearing and sweet and nice, I realised very soon that it couldn't go on for very long. Those nights was when I already knew this wasn't going to last very long. I was already changing and accommodating too much. The guy was obviously a drunkard and that's not counting any of the dope. But I still denied it. Deny, Deny, deny. He did look like rather good though. And who wouldn't want an affair with an almost Adonis to last for all the while that it has a chance. They are always nice and sweet to you, these vertible Gods. They kiss you, they lick you and then they kick you. The thing is you expect it a lot of times. But even then I don't think it is ever us. It’s not us. It’s them. Them and their stupid boy … penises. Penises. Penisesisies.

They didn’t tell me they had a wife. They gave absolutely no warning that they were going to break up with you.

Into You Like A Train

In general people can be categorized in one of two ways. Those who love surprises. And those who don’t. I don’t. I’ve never met a writer that enjoys a surprise. Because as writers we like to be in the know. We have to be in the know because we aren’t the kind of people that die and law suits happen. Am I rambling? I think I’m rambling. Okay. So my point actually … and I do have one. Has nothing to do with surprises or death or lawsuits or writers. My point is this whoever said what you don’t know can’t hurt you was a complete and total moron. Because for most people I know not knowing is the worst feeling in the world. Okay fine. Maybe it’s the second worst. As writers there are so many things we have to know. We have to know what it takes. We have to know how to take care of our characters. And how to take care of each one of them. Eventually we even have to figure out how to take care of ourselves. As writers we have to be in the know. But as human beings, sometimes its better to stay in the dark. Because in the dark there maybe fear… … but there’s also hope.

Touch Me

As people, as friends, as human beings we all try to do the best we can. But the world is full of unexpected twists and turns. And just when you’ve gotten the lay of the land, the ground underneath you, shifts. You lie there waiting, sitting by the window with sun light pouring in, watching the blue sky turn orange and pink and then a deep shade of inky blue. But hope doesn't arrive. The stars shine and the moon rises, the wind wraps itself around you and cries in familiar wounded voices. You can't do much but sit there and wait for the feeling to pass and wish that it would be better. Soon. It is not as much as its about the change of events in your life you are so unhappy about. It actually is about why does someone who does not deserve it, has it so good? Why? It was yours, happily ever after, it was your lifetime achievement award, it was you who was to be congratulated for having found it all, for having done it all. But no, it isn't so and from the looks of it, perhaps it never will be.

Life is so strange, when you want to live it won't let you breathe, it will take everything away and corner you in a dark alley and tell you that you cannot. And when you don't want to live anymore, when you know you cannot go on, it tells you walk. Walk even if you don't have the will or courage or the limbs to make it through the night.

We all go through this at some point in our lives, they say. The intense orgasm of pain and darkness. It is very unlike anything you would ever encounter. But then what is? We hope it gets better from here, that we will only get wiser and kinder and more forgiving. But are we really? We get bitter, we get suspicious, we get sarcastic and anything good that comes there after is questioned, is made to step up and prove it self. But prove what? That it is permanent? There is nothing permanent, we know that too. Then why bother? Really?

Nowhere Warm

Okay so sometimes even the best of us make rash decisions. Bad decisions. Decisions we pretty much know we're gonna regret the moment, the minute, especially the morning after. I mean maybe not regret, regret because at least you know we put ourselves out there. But still, something inside us decides to do a crazy thing. A thing we know that'll probably turn around and bite us in the ass. Yet, we do it anyway. What I'm saying is we reap what we sow. What comes around goes around. It's karma and any way you slice it, karma sucks. Payback's a bitch. One way or another, our karma, will lead us to face ourselves. We can look our karma in the eye or we can wait for it to sneak up on us from behind. One way or another, our karma will always find us. And the truth is as writers we have more chances than most to set the balance in our favor. No matter how hard we try, we can't escape our karma. It follows us home. I guess we can't really complain about karma. It's not unfair. It's not unexpected. It just evens the score. And even when we're about to do something we know will tempt karma to bite us in the ass � well it goes without saying - we do it anyway.

Slipping Away

All that we needed was right
The threshold is breaking tonight

Open to everything happy and sad
Seeing the good when it's all going bad
Seeing the sun when I can't really see
Hoping the sun will at least look at me

Focus on everything better today
All that I needed I never could say
Hold on to people, they're slipping away
Hold on to this while it's slipping away

All that we needed tonight
Are people who love us and like
I know how it feels to need
Oh when we leave here, you'll see

Open to everything happy and sad
Seeing the good when it's all going bad
Seeing the sun when I can't really see
Hoping the sun will at least look at me

Focus on everything better today
All that I needed I never could say
Hold on to people, they're slipping away
Hold on to this while it's slipping away

So long
So long

Open to everything happy and sad
Seeing the good when it's all going bad
Seeing the sun when I can't really see
Hoping the sun will at least look at me

Focus on everything better today
All that I needed I never could say
Hold on to people that slipping away