...when I was much younger, it was the 80's, which seems rather obvious if I'm talking about my younger days but duh and carry on. Anyway it was well before Boy George confused me with his hair, makeup, funny hat and rather skirt like t-shirt. Before I saw that and thought 'wow she's a weird lady and why do they call her a boy?'. I had a baby sitter. Truth be told she was the family baby sitter and she was probably really there to stop my brothers and I from setting the house on fire, fighting, making scary noises that freaked out my little brother and making sure we went to sleep at some stage in the evening. As I was older I used to sit up with her after they went to bed and hang out with her. Eventually we became too old to be looked after, or my parents refused to pay for her or she more than likely refused to look after us as she needed a series of counselling sessions. Anyway we lost contact for a bit.
Then in the final years of my schooling, as I was preparing to leave and become an actor or a radio announcer or a dole bludger, she got a job working as a teacher at the school my brothers and I all went to. She was always funky and different, interesting hair, great glasses, the 80's were meant for a woman like Rosemary. She bought a small scooter which we helped her paint blue with yellow polka dots, including her helmet. This was the 80's people, you didn't do that in Adelaide, the woman was regularly pelted with rocks as she whizzed past your standard variety South Australian bogan. Anyway she faded in and out of our lives over the years. She and her partner took it upon themselves to help me realise I was a massive bender. I didn't realise of course (I was too busy making the occasional brooch or t-shirt decorated with puffer paints for my mums friends, clueless much?) but when I did they laughed and probably thought 'bless'.
Tonight, after not speaking to Rosemary for far too many years, something happened in my life that I knew only she could understand. So I reached out to her, for an ear, a soothing voice and the benefit of her wisdom and we talked for over an hour. Everything she had to say, was considered, soothing and made so much sense. After I'd thanked her and hung up the phone I hassled her for a final piece of advice via SMS. Her reply was beautiful and it closed with the the most perfect advice I've ever been given. It's private so I won't share, but in that instant I realised how incredibly lucky I am to have her in my life. How amazing it is to make contact again and find her as encouraging and thoughtful as she was when I was much too old to be baby sat, when I was burying my sexuality in arts and crafts and when she took the time out from her night with her own family to devote some time to me and my problems right now.
Thank you Rosemary for being who you have always been and sharing your friendship with a little kid who has only just realised, on the crest of his 40th birthday, how truly amazing you really are. I mean I had my suspicions of her amazing qualities but sometimes it takes a crisis to really get rock solid proof. Friends like Rosemary are few and far between, when they step forward and offer their advice, experience and love in times of need, it's one of the greatest gifts you can EVER receive. It also brilliant to know that after all these years, she still has the ability to baby sit me, even via an SMS.
Monday, April 20
Sunday, April 19
NEW AND IMPROVED IN 2009
Well you wouldn't fucken read about it would you? Well actually that clearly isn't the case, cos apparently you are reading about it, so what a fucken useless thing to start this entry off with. No doubt there will be more of that to come. Anyway, it's clear that one comment from the delightful spit and vinegar is all it takes for me to continue writing and completely spring clean my blog. Other mother from a far away land, thanks for the encouragement and I promise to be more proactive...how many fucken times have I said that? I've changed my template which is surely the blog equivalent of buying a new dress and making myself up real pretty like. Although going by my track record I'll wear this dress for fucken eons, forget to change and wash it and end up walking around clinging to the memories of when it was fresh out the box and not covered in body sweat, food remnants, sex junk and drool....mmmm classy. I've also added links of some of my favourite and less pornographic links, a new picture of me trying to hold my brain in my head and this entry. Fuck me I so deserve a gold star, or a ribbon, or a shitty arse trophy or even one of those medals that goes black within a week of exposing it to the air.
It's just after midnight on a Saturday night and I've got music videos on in the background (Bjork is singing about Human Behaviour as I type this) which is very convenient. Why? Well as it happens, down in the street below me, I can hear miniscule dicked fuckwits revving their car engines and squealing their tyres. Some cock snap just yelled at his girlfriend about being a fucken slut and a car alarm is going off in the distance. Living in inner city suburbs rocks huh? I so have to go out and buy a microphone so I can record the domestics that happen in the early hours of the morning. It's like Days of Our Lives on ICE with a speed chaser and an itchy groin thrown in just to push them over the edge. I'm officially an uncle, a big gay uncle at that too. Little Eli Joseph is so fucken cute I can't wait to corrupt him and do his head in with stories when he is old enough to listen. I am so proud of my little brother and his beautiful wife and so excited about their future raising Eli, they will be amazing parents and he will be an incredible child. I'm a few weeks away from another month in London with my tasty biscuit Martin. We are planning to get hitched if the intent to marry visa comes through and the waiting periods can be worked out. At this stage we will have the last 3 days of my holiday within which to say our I do's so it will be tight but who the fuck cares.
I sit surrounded by sugar free products, my heavy meat eating diet is back on and has been for 3 weeks and I've lost 7 kilos. It's virtually sugar free but fake sugar items are allowed so I make mouth love to bottles of Pepsi Max and Vanilla Diet Coke and suck the fuck out of any lolly stupid enough to claim its without sugar but liable to induce explosive bum reactions. Fun huh? I've also returned to the gym and am sweating it up with all the people I envy and ogle, plus I'm walking to and from work virtually everyday which is 4.1 kilometres each way. As a result I've become a purveyor of a variety of inner thigh injuries from chafe to ingrown hairs and all sorts of other things that two sweaty, meaty, hairy thighs can create when you add friction. Nearly two hours of rubbing and I'm pretty much creating enough inner thigh energy to power the electricity grid for a small house of refugees in a third world country. Perhaps that's the answer to the global warming and obesity problem. Rig all us fatties up to a series of treadmills, patch into our thigh action and see the planet glow from a few planets away. Anyway that's enough for this entry, will be back soon to add more I promise...enjoy.
It's just after midnight on a Saturday night and I've got music videos on in the background (Bjork is singing about Human Behaviour as I type this) which is very convenient. Why? Well as it happens, down in the street below me, I can hear miniscule dicked fuckwits revving their car engines and squealing their tyres. Some cock snap just yelled at his girlfriend about being a fucken slut and a car alarm is going off in the distance. Living in inner city suburbs rocks huh? I so have to go out and buy a microphone so I can record the domestics that happen in the early hours of the morning. It's like Days of Our Lives on ICE with a speed chaser and an itchy groin thrown in just to push them over the edge. I'm officially an uncle, a big gay uncle at that too. Little Eli Joseph is so fucken cute I can't wait to corrupt him and do his head in with stories when he is old enough to listen. I am so proud of my little brother and his beautiful wife and so excited about their future raising Eli, they will be amazing parents and he will be an incredible child. I'm a few weeks away from another month in London with my tasty biscuit Martin. We are planning to get hitched if the intent to marry visa comes through and the waiting periods can be worked out. At this stage we will have the last 3 days of my holiday within which to say our I do's so it will be tight but who the fuck cares.
I sit surrounded by sugar free products, my heavy meat eating diet is back on and has been for 3 weeks and I've lost 7 kilos. It's virtually sugar free but fake sugar items are allowed so I make mouth love to bottles of Pepsi Max and Vanilla Diet Coke and suck the fuck out of any lolly stupid enough to claim its without sugar but liable to induce explosive bum reactions. Fun huh? I've also returned to the gym and am sweating it up with all the people I envy and ogle, plus I'm walking to and from work virtually everyday which is 4.1 kilometres each way. As a result I've become a purveyor of a variety of inner thigh injuries from chafe to ingrown hairs and all sorts of other things that two sweaty, meaty, hairy thighs can create when you add friction. Nearly two hours of rubbing and I'm pretty much creating enough inner thigh energy to power the electricity grid for a small house of refugees in a third world country. Perhaps that's the answer to the global warming and obesity problem. Rig all us fatties up to a series of treadmills, patch into our thigh action and see the planet glow from a few planets away. Anyway that's enough for this entry, will be back soon to add more I promise...enjoy.
Saturday, January 10
ERK.....(INSERT UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCE HERE).....UM SO ARE YOU GONNA SAY SOMETHING?
I think I ignore this blog almost as much as I ignore my tax returns, and my gym work outs, lets not forget ironing and the sort of house cleaning that usually involves dust removal, floor mopping and vacuuming...seriously, I need to do all those things right now, but it looks like sitting on my lardy arse and typing wins out...hurrah! Anyway I've given up on apologising to my non existent readers for not updating this blog. Which could be the reason no one ever bothers to read it...cos its never fucken updated. The quote 'build it and they will come' is ringing in my head for some reason. Anyway, as I've already washed my hands of all guilt and responsibility I suppose I should move onto some sort of content for this entry.
Right now I should be adding words to the special project I've set for myself, but I think I'm terrified of the commitment involved and the work needed to see it through. I know I have the talent and skill to pull it off but everything seems way too much for me lately. I lie in bed at night saying things like...
Ok if I start by cleaning the bathroom then I can move onto the next room, that's simple isn't it? Its a toilet, a sink, a floor, a bath and a shower. That's like 5 things which could be done in 10 to 15 minutes.
Oh and just in case you think I'm crazy as well as lazy, when I said I'm saying these things in my bed, I'm not saying them out loud, we're talking a totally private show that goes on in my head. There's also this one
Well all I have to do is put on my t-shirt, my shorts and my runners and go to the gym, its across the road, its like 30 paces, you'll feel better, you'll lose weight, you'll sleep better, you'll live longer, you'll be able to shop where everyone else does rather than waiting for mui mui's and kaftans to come back into fashion.
These are all really good arguments, but instead of acknowledging them or even arguing with them, I just flat out ignore them. It's like they are dead to me, like I've moved on and I'll never invite them to one of my parties again. In all honesty, I couldn't throw a party anyway. That would involve transforming my house from a crack den within which a bag lady exploded to a pleasant urban interior of stylish poofter merchandise. I'm sure all the mod cons are still here, they've just been covered with piles of unfolded, freshly washed clothing, old newspapers, the iron on the table plus those broken speakers I am going to throw out.
Erk its starting to annoy me now. Perhaps that is what needed to happen. I write about it and shame myself into taking responsibility for it and then I'll actually do it. I just wanna be back in the arms of my one true love but until that happens it seems I'm much happier doing sweet fuck all. Which is why I'm completing this entry now so I can maybe go off and do one of the many things that I should be doing. I promise I'll update you if there is any progress but don't hold your breath....seriously.
Right now I should be adding words to the special project I've set for myself, but I think I'm terrified of the commitment involved and the work needed to see it through. I know I have the talent and skill to pull it off but everything seems way too much for me lately. I lie in bed at night saying things like...
Ok if I start by cleaning the bathroom then I can move onto the next room, that's simple isn't it? Its a toilet, a sink, a floor, a bath and a shower. That's like 5 things which could be done in 10 to 15 minutes.
Oh and just in case you think I'm crazy as well as lazy, when I said I'm saying these things in my bed, I'm not saying them out loud, we're talking a totally private show that goes on in my head. There's also this one
Well all I have to do is put on my t-shirt, my shorts and my runners and go to the gym, its across the road, its like 30 paces, you'll feel better, you'll lose weight, you'll sleep better, you'll live longer, you'll be able to shop where everyone else does rather than waiting for mui mui's and kaftans to come back into fashion.
These are all really good arguments, but instead of acknowledging them or even arguing with them, I just flat out ignore them. It's like they are dead to me, like I've moved on and I'll never invite them to one of my parties again. In all honesty, I couldn't throw a party anyway. That would involve transforming my house from a crack den within which a bag lady exploded to a pleasant urban interior of stylish poofter merchandise. I'm sure all the mod cons are still here, they've just been covered with piles of unfolded, freshly washed clothing, old newspapers, the iron on the table plus those broken speakers I am going to throw out.
Erk its starting to annoy me now. Perhaps that is what needed to happen. I write about it and shame myself into taking responsibility for it and then I'll actually do it. I just wanna be back in the arms of my one true love but until that happens it seems I'm much happier doing sweet fuck all. Which is why I'm completing this entry now so I can maybe go off and do one of the many things that I should be doing. I promise I'll update you if there is any progress but don't hold your breath....seriously.
Monday, July 28
ENOUGH MEAT ALREADY!
Oh look I used an exclamation point, which must mean I really mean it. But seriously... ENOUGH MEAT ALREADY! I'm more than happy to admit to being a complete devotee of meat, I love the idea of a mixed grill, a snack that is savoury, a BBQ encrusted something or other. However when its the only thing you are allowed, or at the very least, recommended to consume at least every 2 to 3 hours, it suddenly becomes a chore. So why have I been reduced to a cave man's diet? Why is it that my shopping basket is layered to the brim with enough meat products to cater a rugby team BBQ? Well it's this thing called a carb detox, which basically means you deny yourself sugar and carbs for three days. It apparently forces your body to start chewing into your body fat and completely ends your lust for all things sweet. Yeah right, I want chocolate and sugar and some sort of carb. Perhaps some bread, with a heafty slab of butter, the sort that resembles a slice of cheese from a far and a pure delight up close.
Mmmm this must be something close to what it's like to be trapped on an island surrounded by wall to wall meat products. Everywhere you look there are fish and cows and chickens and little baby lambs and turkeys and anything else that looks like it might benefit from a few turns on top of an open fire. Slurp. Then again, once you've worked your way through the island, sampled all the varieties of life, you kind of lose interest. Suddenly the vegetation starts to look good, the sand starts to resemble sugar, fuck, worst case scenario, some of that animal poo is gonna start looking like the wind just blew the shiny foil wrapper from its surrounds. That is what a carb detox does to the human brain. The last time I did this, oh yeah, this isn't the first time I've ridden the all meat express, but the last time it was easier, it was new, it was different, now it just seems like a fuck load of meat. Vanity is a bitch huh?
However I'm not giving in, cos I know how well it worked last time. Eventually, once the detox was over and I stepped into the next phase which included lots of the green stuff and a handful of carbs, it was even easier. A delightful 8 kilos lighter a few months later I couldn't have given a toss about the 3 day detox, it was a distant memory. So right now I'm thumping the keyboard in a vain attempt to distract myself from the meaty exhaustion that is currently lumbering through my body. I do however find myself sucking the fuck out of an abundance of sugar free lollies. Anyone who has consumed bulk amounts of those sugar free lollies soon realises it doesn't say EXCESSIVE CONSUMPTION MAY HAVE A LAXATIVE EFFECT for nothing. So suddenly I've discovered the 2008 version of laxatives with a sickly sweet exterior. Oh yeah its heaven being the Kate Moss of the dietary sweet aisle.
Mmmm this must be something close to what it's like to be trapped on an island surrounded by wall to wall meat products. Everywhere you look there are fish and cows and chickens and little baby lambs and turkeys and anything else that looks like it might benefit from a few turns on top of an open fire. Slurp. Then again, once you've worked your way through the island, sampled all the varieties of life, you kind of lose interest. Suddenly the vegetation starts to look good, the sand starts to resemble sugar, fuck, worst case scenario, some of that animal poo is gonna start looking like the wind just blew the shiny foil wrapper from its surrounds. That is what a carb detox does to the human brain. The last time I did this, oh yeah, this isn't the first time I've ridden the all meat express, but the last time it was easier, it was new, it was different, now it just seems like a fuck load of meat. Vanity is a bitch huh?
However I'm not giving in, cos I know how well it worked last time. Eventually, once the detox was over and I stepped into the next phase which included lots of the green stuff and a handful of carbs, it was even easier. A delightful 8 kilos lighter a few months later I couldn't have given a toss about the 3 day detox, it was a distant memory. So right now I'm thumping the keyboard in a vain attempt to distract myself from the meaty exhaustion that is currently lumbering through my body. I do however find myself sucking the fuck out of an abundance of sugar free lollies. Anyone who has consumed bulk amounts of those sugar free lollies soon realises it doesn't say EXCESSIVE CONSUMPTION MAY HAVE A LAXATIVE EFFECT for nothing. So suddenly I've discovered the 2008 version of laxatives with a sickly sweet exterior. Oh yeah its heaven being the Kate Moss of the dietary sweet aisle.
Sunday, July 27
WHO'S A LUCKY FUCKO THEN?
Well in all honesty that would be me. I know, can you believe the confidence of me being all check it and actually saying, guess what, I'm a lucky fucko? Anyway this blog has been in a fucken coma of the sort normally reserved for day time soapies. You know the type, pretty, mute, maybe a touch of fluoro light glistening off the drool carefully placed on the super hero style chin. Hmmm, actually, no they wouldn't go as far as the drool on the chin cos that would ruin the perfection of the coma ridden hottie lying all innocent style in hospital robes. But I like the idea of fucking with perfection so lets put some drool on his face and maybe he can make weird arse groans every now and then too just to fuck with the viewers head. Anyway now that we've established what kind of coma this blog has been in, lets offer up some reasons and excuses.
The first reason, I'm so stupid happy this is the last place I wanna be, then there is the pathological laziness that is part of my genetic makeup and last, but by no means least, is the cheap arse office chair positioned in front of my mac that is anything but enticing. You know the kind, it looks alluring when you consider the price at the checkout but once you've spent more than 10 minutes in it, you curse your cheapness and wish you delved into those savings you don't have and bought something cushy and leather coated that might even come with built in massage qualities. Anyway I'm finally here, fighting the numbness that's already building in my left arse cheek and typing away as the 'Death Proof' soundtrack plays in the background.
So from memory the last few entries in this blog were clearly focused on me feeling sorry for myself and cursing why I wasn't good enough and seeing as so much has changed since then, I feel it's only fair I update things so everyone knows I'm no longer so dramatic. So in short the dead shit boyfriend is gone and part of history and his way better half Martin is free and we are together as one. Well as together as you can be when you are in Australia and he is in the UK, but its a temporary thing and we're both in this for the long run so there aint no point in sweating the separation when we both know it won't be forever. I've been to London to chill with the tastiest biscuit on the face of the planet and of course we talk to each other everyday in between. My next visit is locked in for three weeks in October when he hits the 30th birthday milestone and it's safe to say we are both chewing at the bit.
So that leaves us with the luckiest fucko on the planet statement from earlier and because this is my blog, I'm allowed to fill it with anything I so desire. Today I feel like celebrating the man of my dreams, Martin Clarke. He's without a doubt the most amazing man I've ever had the great fortune of falling in love with. Why he is so amazing comes down to so many things. Let's start with that thing in his beautiful head commonly referred to as a brain. It's mature beyond it's 29 plus years and never fails to impress or delight me with its contents. It can take me from feeling giddy with delight to laughing till I snort and guffaw to those moments when your eyes fill with tears from the sheer delight of feeling so deeply loved. Just knowing him would be reward enough but to be in the privileged position of having him love you back with all his heart is the most incredible thing I've EVER experienced.
I thought I'd been in love a few times before but all those other times were like dress rehearsals. It's kind of like I was backstage, rehearsing the script, making sure I knew the role, learnt my lines, all that crap. Now though, I'm centre stage, opening night was ages ago and everyday I'm front and centre enjoying the applause of a billion totally satisfied theatre goers. Then again even that doesn't come close to describing how incredible it feels to be one half of this love. If I could build a relationship in a laboratory, add all the qualities I wanted, from the way the guy looks, acts, feels, touches and talks all the way through to how he makes me feel and what it is he likes to enjoy with me there is no way I would have thought up all the things that Martin possesses and gives me everyday.
That's why I'm the luckiest fucko on the planet. I don't have any doubts and I don't have to wonder what its like to love like we all dream of loving, cos I live it everyday. It's human nature to feel guilty about that, to question it, to wonder why we got so lucky, but if you give into all of those traits you end up destroying the good thing you've got. I'd be lying if I didn't say I've gone through those things. I've given in to jealousy, to worry and questioning, more than I'm happy to admit, but I think those things are normal when you've never had something this good. You want to make sure it's as real as you think it is, you wanna make sure you aren't gonna lose it, you wanna make sure no one else is gonna take it away from you. I'm now at the point where I know it's real, I'm lucky, I deserve this, I love this and I'm gonna put everything I've got into it cos that is exactly what I'm getting back in return.
I want everyone to feel what I'm feeling, I want everyone to get this kind of love. There have been far too many times when I've given the love and got nothing back. It's like my co star wasn't on the same page of the script, they hadn't learnt their lines, they were there for the pay packet and the stardom. I was just there to make them look good and I could be written out and replaced at a whim. It was a Home and Away romance. Now I'm not acting at all, its from the heart, with all of my soul and my co star is totally on the same page. It's a fluid, organic, beautiful piece of poetry that gives me more rewards than I could have ever hoped for. I really am the luckiest fucko on the planet.
The first reason, I'm so stupid happy this is the last place I wanna be, then there is the pathological laziness that is part of my genetic makeup and last, but by no means least, is the cheap arse office chair positioned in front of my mac that is anything but enticing. You know the kind, it looks alluring when you consider the price at the checkout but once you've spent more than 10 minutes in it, you curse your cheapness and wish you delved into those savings you don't have and bought something cushy and leather coated that might even come with built in massage qualities. Anyway I'm finally here, fighting the numbness that's already building in my left arse cheek and typing away as the 'Death Proof' soundtrack plays in the background.
So from memory the last few entries in this blog were clearly focused on me feeling sorry for myself and cursing why I wasn't good enough and seeing as so much has changed since then, I feel it's only fair I update things so everyone knows I'm no longer so dramatic. So in short the dead shit boyfriend is gone and part of history and his way better half Martin is free and we are together as one. Well as together as you can be when you are in Australia and he is in the UK, but its a temporary thing and we're both in this for the long run so there aint no point in sweating the separation when we both know it won't be forever. I've been to London to chill with the tastiest biscuit on the face of the planet and of course we talk to each other everyday in between. My next visit is locked in for three weeks in October when he hits the 30th birthday milestone and it's safe to say we are both chewing at the bit.
So that leaves us with the luckiest fucko on the planet statement from earlier and because this is my blog, I'm allowed to fill it with anything I so desire. Today I feel like celebrating the man of my dreams, Martin Clarke. He's without a doubt the most amazing man I've ever had the great fortune of falling in love with. Why he is so amazing comes down to so many things. Let's start with that thing in his beautiful head commonly referred to as a brain. It's mature beyond it's 29 plus years and never fails to impress or delight me with its contents. It can take me from feeling giddy with delight to laughing till I snort and guffaw to those moments when your eyes fill with tears from the sheer delight of feeling so deeply loved. Just knowing him would be reward enough but to be in the privileged position of having him love you back with all his heart is the most incredible thing I've EVER experienced.
I thought I'd been in love a few times before but all those other times were like dress rehearsals. It's kind of like I was backstage, rehearsing the script, making sure I knew the role, learnt my lines, all that crap. Now though, I'm centre stage, opening night was ages ago and everyday I'm front and centre enjoying the applause of a billion totally satisfied theatre goers. Then again even that doesn't come close to describing how incredible it feels to be one half of this love. If I could build a relationship in a laboratory, add all the qualities I wanted, from the way the guy looks, acts, feels, touches and talks all the way through to how he makes me feel and what it is he likes to enjoy with me there is no way I would have thought up all the things that Martin possesses and gives me everyday.
That's why I'm the luckiest fucko on the planet. I don't have any doubts and I don't have to wonder what its like to love like we all dream of loving, cos I live it everyday. It's human nature to feel guilty about that, to question it, to wonder why we got so lucky, but if you give into all of those traits you end up destroying the good thing you've got. I'd be lying if I didn't say I've gone through those things. I've given in to jealousy, to worry and questioning, more than I'm happy to admit, but I think those things are normal when you've never had something this good. You want to make sure it's as real as you think it is, you wanna make sure you aren't gonna lose it, you wanna make sure no one else is gonna take it away from you. I'm now at the point where I know it's real, I'm lucky, I deserve this, I love this and I'm gonna put everything I've got into it cos that is exactly what I'm getting back in return.
I want everyone to feel what I'm feeling, I want everyone to get this kind of love. There have been far too many times when I've given the love and got nothing back. It's like my co star wasn't on the same page of the script, they hadn't learnt their lines, they were there for the pay packet and the stardom. I was just there to make them look good and I could be written out and replaced at a whim. It was a Home and Away romance. Now I'm not acting at all, its from the heart, with all of my soul and my co star is totally on the same page. It's a fluid, organic, beautiful piece of poetry that gives me more rewards than I could have ever hoped for. I really am the luckiest fucko on the planet.
Friday, November 9
LABYRINTH - A POEM
Anyone that would take the time to put poetry onto paper and use me as their inspiration automatically throws me for a six. It's incredibly humbling to think that you can be inspiration for anyone, on any level, but to turn an art like poetry into a dedication to their thoughts of you, is amazing. I'm fortunate enough to be deeply in love with someone, that love isn't easy, won't always be within touching distance and no doubt will bring me more heart ache. However there is no hesitation when it comes to choosing which I'd prefer, difficult love, seperated by boundaries and circumstances is better than never experiencing that love at all. One of the hardest things to do is to let go of the ones you love, but life is all about letting go, we are only on this planet for a short while and each of us will lose the ones we hold most dear. Enjoy your time while you have it and take nothing for granted.
TOUCH ME IN THE FADING NIGHT
LEAVE ME FEELING WARM
TAKE MY DARKNESS AND DESIRE
LET MY FEELINGS FREE
IT'S NOT ENOUGH TO TOUCH YOU NOW
IT'S NOT ENOUGH TO SEE
HOLD MY WORDS AS RING THEY WILL
WHEN STORMS APPROACH FROM ME
IGNORE THE FOG THE SUN WILL COME AND BURN AWAY THE HAZE
NOW SETTLE DEAR
FIND ME IN THIS MAZE
YOURS TO KEEP FROM FEAR
M.C. 25/06/07
TOUCH ME IN THE FADING NIGHT
LEAVE ME FEELING WARM
TAKE MY DARKNESS AND DESIRE
LET MY FEELINGS FREE
IT'S NOT ENOUGH TO TOUCH YOU NOW
IT'S NOT ENOUGH TO SEE
HOLD MY WORDS AS RING THEY WILL
WHEN STORMS APPROACH FROM ME
IGNORE THE FOG THE SUN WILL COME AND BURN AWAY THE HAZE
NOW SETTLE DEAR
FIND ME IN THIS MAZE
YOURS TO KEEP FROM FEAR
M.C. 25/06/07
Tuesday, November 6
NOTHING REALLY CHANGES
October rolls into November and I find myself still in the same place with no changes worth reporting. A plane ticket is booked that I will probably have to cancel, sms messages are sent and ignored and all the time I sit alone wondering what to think. Is he sleeping? Does he really care? Why the fuck can't he just talk to me? I'm losing hope and expecting things to collapse in a huge heap. I think my 2 weeks of holidays will be spent in tears, mourning something that could have been amazing? Am I the only one that thinks it will be amazing? Why aren't I good enough to take a chance on? Why does it take this long to decide who you want to be with? Why do I feel so pathetic? I'm sick of being ignored, sick of having to hide and sick of being an after thought.
When can I place my heart in the hands of another and not have it treated like it is nothing? When will the one I love meet me half way? When will he make the choice that proves his devotion? Why is it so fucken difficult to put me first? How come I give so much care, compassion and love to others yet find it so difficult to have it returned with any real conviction? Am I forever to be used, abused and discarded? Harsh feelings, awful words, honest none the less.
2 weeks left before everything changes for better or for worse....time will tell.
When can I place my heart in the hands of another and not have it treated like it is nothing? When will the one I love meet me half way? When will he make the choice that proves his devotion? Why is it so fucken difficult to put me first? How come I give so much care, compassion and love to others yet find it so difficult to have it returned with any real conviction? Am I forever to be used, abused and discarded? Harsh feelings, awful words, honest none the less.
2 weeks left before everything changes for better or for worse....time will tell.
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