Sunday, July 29, 2007
You don't have to tell me what you're still looking for, Two arms to hold you and a voice to say "That's alright, you can spend the night" Well, come around. 'Cos I've been there and these are the notes from the overground, The World Saxophone Quartet, the smell of violets And a passing friend won't let you down. Listen to the rhythm of the rain falling, Say you're gonna change your foolish ways. Make a promise, break a promise in the same day, It goes the same way, anyway. So you pray for silence and its sadness and its violence To be washed away, One day. I understand that state you've reached of being unreachable, Somewhere out there where only the music plays. Loneliness and being alone don't always mean the same, Who needs the movie? You can see the music anyway. A Sketch For Winter, a Burgundy and sanctuary can make me stay, When I feel that way. And if my words don't say the things that they were meant to say, And if confusion comes and carries all my words away, And if you still don't understand, I wanna hold your hand, And look at it this way... Someone singing's better than the war they're winning Winging its way, your way or my way, any day, anyway, Stray
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Hello my friend It’s morning, time to wake now In body, in mind Entwined will have to break now But I need your flesh Your warmth to stay beside me Oh how I wish You could be deep inside me Show me your eyes Your low most tender feeling And I’ll give you mine Be truthful and revealing And it’s you that I love And it’s true that I love And it’s love not given lightly But I knew that it’s love And it’s you that I love And it’s more than what it might be When we’re alone I cannot always face you Maybe my mood Won’t let these arms embrace you But that doesn’t mean My love’s somehow diminished Give me the time To show our love’s unfinished And it’s you that I love And it’s true that I love And it’s love not given lightly But I know that it’s love And it’s you that I love And it’s more than what it might be And every word I say is true What can I say? The words destroy all meaning There’s only cliches To get across this feeling This is a love song For john and (? )’s mother This isn’t easy I might not write another And it’s you that I love And it’s true that I love And it’s love not given lightly But I knew that it’s love And it’s you that I love And it’s more than what it might be
I love this song.. it's gorgeous If you've never been in love And you're longing for the happiness it brings Try your wings If you're hungry for the sound Of a lover saying sentimental things Try your wings A first love never comes twice So take this tender advice When it comes, try your wings And fly to the one you love Even the tiniest bluebird Has to leave its nest to fly What a bluebird can do You can do too, if you try If you’ve always had a dream But you’ve been afraid that it would not come true, hitherto Fall in love and you will find That it’s just what you’ve been dreaming of A first love never comes twice So take this tender advice When it comes, try your wings And fly to the one you love
Sunday, July 22, 2007
I was reading the profile of a new friend's My Space page and was going through his list of favourite books- a very good selection too. The first one noted in the the list had such a great title. I googled it and discovered it to not be a book, but a short story from which I assume is a collection of short stories entitled The Elephant Vanishes by Haruki Murukami. I love it's simplicity and it had me wondering if anyone has ever felt that way about me. As for me, I'm constantly falling in love with people for five minutes on a regular basis. One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl. Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert. Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose. But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird. "Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone. "Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?" "Not really." "Your favorite type, then?" "I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts." "Strange." "Yeah. Strange." "So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?" "Nah. Just passed her on the street."She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.How can I approach her? What should I say? "Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?" Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman. "Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?" No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that? Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?" Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened. One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street. "This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me." "And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream." They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?""Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:She is the 100% perfect girl for me.He is the 100% perfect boy for me.But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.A sad story, don't you think?Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.
I smudged my room yesterday and got asked out on a date. For those unfamiliar with smudging, it's a ritual performed to rid the house of bad vibes, past spirits and like minded things with dried sage. I cleaned my room, sparked up the sage and walked around it, asking old feelings,spirits,vibes etc to leave. I then invited new life,love and positivity into the room. Admittedly, when I was done my room smelled like Bob Marley's tour bus but it felt different. Later on, I dressed for a night at Tiki. One of the guys from Route 66 was having birthday drinks and it was a good night. One of his friends whom I've met before and been communicating with on My Space asked me to see an exhibition currently showing at the NGV and took my phone number. We've just had an evening of witty sms banter. So I ask, coincidence? Or just a random event? Whatever the case, I'll enjoy it for as long as it lasts. It's nice.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
I put myself out there this week. Another no go. Instead of feeling disappointment, I felt like dancing. This particular man said he liked me,but had not long come out of a relationship in which he is still recovering from and can't commit his feelings to anything at the moment- YAY!!! At last- someone who can be honest with their feelings instead of jumping into another relationship to bury his hurt and disappointment of being dumped. Thank you... However... I'm still hanging for some lovin'... maybe next week?