The Fist

I am pretty sure there are no readers of this blog. Which is why I feel free to write out my heart in here. I can quickly lay stuff behind me. Some stuff, not all. I had a buddy once whom this blog is replacing. He would know what to say in these cases I feel like writing. This man was there for me every step of the way. I just wish I could at least have been there at his last.

I cannot say I like it here, where I am at, where I stand in this life. Still so young, still so many years ahead of me. I cling to the little hope I possess; that I will, one day, look back at these words wishing I would not pause my life like this. Stop living. Push the autopilot button. I hope one day I will be able to look back at this, thinking I should not have wasted all this time on her. On this. These thoughts and this feeling. This grief. This fist I refuse to open without her palm in it. Her tiny fingers through mine.

I feel locked up behind my own bars of denial. I like to convince myself that I am no longer in denial. But I still get the air knocked out of me every time I truly realize to my own little self she isn't coming back this time. As a huge rock that hits the bottom of my heart. The long and the sadness doesn't last as long as before. But that doesn't mean it hurts less. I'm angry at myself that I just cannot let her go. Not all of her. As if the heart is calling out to the lost piece in vain.

I have spit so much energy on this by now, so frankly I am exhausted. My heart does not agree with my head. Though I have forced my head to be thinking forward it is as if my heart is desperately looking back over my shoulder. Waiting to see my rainbow follow. There is no rainbow anymore. Only clouds lined in silver. As if to expect the rainbow to take form any second. I know there wont be. At least the part of me which is typing.

I am ready to open my palm. To feel the world in my hand. But I suppose the world wont feel right until the day my heart says it is.

Terri

December 22nd 2006 - It's been that long already. 3 years and 7 months. Saying it makes it sound like forever, but believe my words that is not how it feels. Like yesterday, or the day before that. I still feel stupid missing her still, I've gone from being my own man to being my own mess.

Like everyone else I have my bad days, the same with the good ones; when I don't think about her. I try not to think about her. But that's like telling yourself not to think of water when you're thirsty. I ache for her, everyday, but like a scratch you can always focus on something else but the pain.

I still dream about her, and though I don't expect her to lie next to me every morning it still happens, and I fall as hard as I did almost 4 years ago. The hardest part is when I smell her in the shower. I smell her shampoo a lot when I'm under hot water. Even I didn't know what pain was until that happened the first time. I would dare to say it's worse than her actual death, cause that I barely remember anything from.

"would you at least tell me you love me?"
She often said that. On her way out the door, on her way to class, falling asleep, even hanging up.
"would you at least tell me you love me!"
Yeah, that's it. It sounded more like an order than a question. She knew what she wanted. I rarely told her out of free will. That annoyed the hell out of me. I hated how she always rushed me to things. How she always complained about how I never told her I loved her. God I hated that. I did. There is more to love than just saying it.
If she only knew. I hope she did.

I would send her an e-mail every now and then. I still do. It's absolutely pointless. But as a nonbeliever that's the only way I feel I can connect with her. They often refers to places we've been. I can still picture us together those places. I can usually recall the smell of her perfume and how it felt to be standing or walking those places with her.

I am fully aware how this might sound. How you might think of me. Pathetic. I don't care about that anymore. I don't bother anyone feeling this way. I don't. Among other people I don't think of the water, the scratch, I turn my head the other direction. Knowing I might feel her again in the morning or the morning after that. Maybe next week. And I'll fall just as hard.

I miss you.

Another tear

I shed another tear this morning. Another tear for you.

The power of syllables

I've often been told to walk the woods. Often when I'm avoiding the fully truth by words. I'm good at it for sure, I'm so good I've convinced people they are wrong simply by using a few long vowels.

Before I moved where I live now I decided to check out the bars with a few mates. We got to the corner of an offlaid street and entered this tiny footie-bar, raised my hand and told the young fellah behind the bar to throw us a pint each. Everyone threw him a couple of bucks and I accidentally threw him one dollar short. -Excuse me, the pint is two dollars sir.. I frowned and stood up. I thought I'd grab the chance to kid around with the guy, just for fun of course. He looked at me scared as shit I was a actually a little worried he'd do his boxers right there and then, but in the end we both went happy from the bardesk. He looked awkwardly convinced he'd gotten the right amount of cash. The whole situation kinda goes with his name.

Words do have the funny effect that one by one they seem bloody simple. The meaning, the thought behind it everything falls right in place. But then you add a few words to it and change the word to something with the same meaning just a little less obvious. That's when you really get your thoughts and tongue tied.

English class to me was in its own ways pretty hard. My writing is terrible not to mention my handwriting. I was taught I get further by not saying directly what I mean but only suggest it in the sentence. You become more interesting to your listeners and that way they respect you more. I've also been told one pleases people by telling truths just not the whole of it, but covering up the cover-up with a few good ones. That way I even figured you can make the most talkative people to shut their mouths, only add a couple of long vowels and the most interupting person all of a sudden need to think it through. I did what I was taught, though I never expected learning a couple of syllables to be noticable in my wallet.

I went back to see the young fellah behind the bar a few days after to pay that missing dollar. Funny thing is that I don't remember what I've said that could be that convicing. The only thing I know is that I still only pay half of what my pint is worth.

- oh and his name is Odd.
No seriously, that's his real name.

I am starting to doubt my own surviving instincts. I'm slowly losing it and I cant seem to find a way back on top of it. Before I knew it I found myself packing my stuff from the office. I got to think of if there's some sort of an anonymus meeting I should be attending. I was straight away picturing myself in Eminem's situation; Hello my name is Kyle and I just got sacked. I even felt in the mood for a laugh at that thought.

I'm still laughing, so I might as well answer my own retorical question; yes, I believe I've not only lost it. I've gone mad.

Burned on Ashes

I fell for her but I am told I am still looking for that same flame which left the ash on my surface. It wont matter if I tell her, that by saying those words, I feel my heart brake. She would only tell me it's already broken. As if there's nothing left to brake.

It feels as if I'm caught in a circle where I see no way out, created by the fear of letting go and the lust to move on. If it's good or bad I can't tell. But I'm craving for the embrace of what's on the outside. She doesn't understand I don't need to rush for a conclusion. I'm coping where I'm at.

I wonder if I should forget about the causing flame. Cover up the ash on my sleeves, my hands? Never trust people to understand. Understand, without me having to drown the ash in water, time and time again till it's all down the drain. Maybe that way I won't have to tell her I'm moving on and she wont have to believe me. She will never have to understand, never have to worry about the previous flame nor the ash. She wont have to worry about having to share me with.. being compared to.. or mistaken for..

It could have been that simple but the ash is a great part of me, who I was and have become. She doesn't understand it isn't easy to erase one's past. If only she could see I am capable of loving in two different ways. The love to a memory of a previous flame's warmth and the love to a new spark's fire.

I remember these thoughts. Déjà vu, it has happened before. I realize that by opening up I have now been forced to silence, yet again. I'm tired of convincing, starving to her abused stubbornness, I'm exhausted. In the end I already know the outcome of this conversation. It has to this day not yet succeeded.

I will admit this is not the first time I have got burned on the same ash, the small trace of my past. She is not alone bearing these thoughts, but I hope she keeps in mind that sparks lighten to flames. Ashes never do.

"If all else perished, and (s)he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and (s)he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it."

I found myself reading Bronte's collection Wuthering Heights which is a fantastic collection of art. Her poems are written so soft and you really get the feeling that is desired to be expressed throughout the poems and felt by its reader.

Wuthering Heights, an incredible collection and highly recommended to the special interested.

Deeper Thought #3

I tell myself to skip a heartbeat, then another one. I feel every little tread of braincell in concentrated tension, every pore opening wide with little drops of sweat. The hair in the back of my neck rising and a stream of blood rushes through my head as my heart catches up on the lost beats. I read the fear in your eyes and can see where his lightning stroke as thunder still is howling from your chest. I felt the wave of tears long before they hit you and embraced, as to catch the pieces of you before they crashed to the ground. You gasped for air I gasped for peace, forcing my blood back to the vain as I tuck my arms around you.
Hate is what I feel. Fear is what you feel.

March 3rd 2007

"I'm inflicted with pain and a constant feeling of realization she's never coming back. Even the words feels hollow and with no meaning. I love her"

Golden stick in his douchebag ass

No I'm not talking about Canberra Hospital that exposed a healthy new born with tuberculosis so that he died, then given the mother a terrible treatment and finally sends her a $57.60 bill where they wanted her to pay for a nasal swab preformed on her child before he died. "Heads Should Roll" has been the week's headline.

However no that was not where I wanted but Yes I'm talking about Corey Delaney. In 2008 he made it to the front page of all Australian news papers with his home alone party gone wrong, where 400 people showed up and put to ground the whole neighborhood with empty cans and shit. Many people ended up in the hospital with minor cuts and bruises the remaining others either ran off or were put under arrest for smashing up police cars as the cop arrived and made an end to the party.

Now he has not only found a manager to hold his sorry ass dressed but the guy has now signed up with Australia's leading publicity agents who is now putting him on a world-tour. The teenage kid is now going on a party-tour as a party promoter and a DJ. Starting up in the UK and been sponsored with commercials for over $10.000 they are expecting to be throwing the parties of the century.

Not only has Corey been touched by this golden stick, it is now shoveled up his ass. After his party in 2008 he was also a intruder in Australian Big Brother. Now Hollywood has been looking for the teenager and offered the 18 year old a supporting roll as a service station intendant in the movie Life In The Fast Lane. But even on his movie-related visit to Hollywood he managed to screw up as he was caught making trouble as he was denied entry into a club with a fake ID.

Parents are furious seeing the teenager their kids are looking up to getting his will by doing nothing the right way and fear the fact that their own kids may "try" the same thing. They are afraid they'll have to hire babysitters another extra years because of this.

Personally I have to say no matter how strongly disgusted I am with this kid and his attitude, this guy is making his way through, in a less preferable way, but still making it through.

Deeper Thought #2

My ultimate question with life is, “Is life written in pen or pencil”?

One would say life is written in pen, because what is done will always have been. It’s not erasable. I mean you can cover it with white-out, but anyone who cares enough will notice. You can write over it, but thats just brutish and messy. And keep in mind you can’t just throw the page away and start on another one. The reason is that in this thought the page is you. The page is the person and to destroy the page is to destroy yourself.

So if you can not destroy the paper and start from scratch, but people change, then life must be written in pencil you might think. You can erase the past. Though it always remains faintly visible. The indentations in the page where you wrote, erased, brushed away, and wrote over. They will live on.

Or perhaps my thinking is too shallow. Perhaps we are not a sheet of paper. Perhaps we are a book constantly being written. We are authors equipped with no erasers nor whiteout. Unable to change what is being written, just turning the page and writing. Only able to point people to different pages, or talk about a different way to view what was written. And when we die the editors will scramble to our pages and write the story of “who we were”.

So pen or pencil, it really doesn’t matter when you control what the editors say. Plus they use neither pen, nor pencil.

They use computers.





Its time for a book burning

Holy News, Obama Aids and British G-spots

Hello world nation, today is Friday January 8th 20...10? That was weird. Tell me how you say it, 2010 or 20 10.

Interesting news this week, US President Obama has lifted the band on immigration from people with aids, I personally didn't know this until today but there has been a 22 year band on people coming to the US with hiv or aids. The idea has been to keep those, "them", "the infected", away from US citizens. But Obama says that if they wanna stay on the world front, or as the Americans say to everything "the war against aids", then they have to allow these people in to their country. And if you think about that's kinda the worst war you can get into:

It's like declaring a war against ninjas. Where all you can do is kinda control the ninjas. Ninjas in the house, you turn all the lights on, and eventually that ninja will get to you.

It makes me wonder, is it wrong to discriminate against this group of people?
99.9% of them are walking around not trying to hurt other people. But people naturally discriminate people whether it's because of your race, because you're a woman not making a sandwich, if you're physically or mentally handicapped or if you have a disease. People go "that is different! Fear! Judge!"
So that would be my question to the world wide nation, should we stop these people from coming to our nations or is it wrong to stop them?

Another interesting news is that British Scientists has dropped the conclusion "there is no such thing as the g-spot", but I would have to disagree, and so does my bed. The British Scientists "oh surprise! The British ruining something else!" undeserving with 1800 women "very scientific stuff" somehow concluded women don't have a g-spot.
Well I know the g-spot is very confusing for a lot of dudes, we'll call them... hmm... 14-year-olds. But all it really takes is seconds. I'm not talking about putting on a bathing suit and go "we're gonna find it!". You don't really need to be a rocket-scientist.
My main point here is, the g-spot is real. May not be fair that the women have a bun 2-3 inches inside of her vagina that lets her see Jesus for 30-6 seconds IF you push it hard enough, it's not fair but it is real, so sorry British Scientists, you failed. Again.

Another thing that comes to my mind is Hayden Panetierre. It seems as heroes grow less and less popular her breasts are growing. Which is good, cause I thought of it slightly disturbing to find someone who looked like a 12 year old boy attractive. I was starting to have doubts...

You may think of this really random but I think of a lot of things. Like how the universe was created, why I'm falling for a girl I've never met, why Megan Fox never answers any of my phone calls and what Super Mario would be doing if he was not a plummer. Luckily there is another person who had the same thought and concluded with the 5 most likely careers Mario would have been good at. Carpenter, pilot, land sculptor, policemen and of course Ninja. H.C Tanner is a funny guy. Check out his stuff at LoLdwell.

I have nothing more to say really. Have a good one and enjoy your second weekend in this new year.

There's a major difference between play and life. I've come to the conclusion I was just another kid drawn to the other side, where the line between games and seriousnesses is no longer straightly defined.

I see trees, I see rivers, I see rocks and one or two dares jumping passed, and I would think to my self, "You know Kyle, this is life. Suffer and pain is not a part of this, neither is disgrace and hunger," and for a second I would believe that. I would watch the trees and the dares with that happy belief and as soon as I see war I would think about of it nothing but a bad sci-fi movie.

A nine year old boy running back from school crying because the school bully had taken his lunch. At a corner he stopped, adjusted his glasses and caught up on his breath. The sound of his best friend's voice made him turn around. Then squealing from a couple of car breaks and people gathering in a circle.

Today I see back at the day I grew up and thought otherwise.
Yes, life can get down on you real hard. Life's a game you need to play, but it's up to you how you play your part, how you set your character. If you set a goal you are more likely to reach that goal. Reach those dreams. It's not always luck but clear thoughts who makes you who you are.

Deeper Thought #1

I woke up from the most bizarre dream this morning: I was participating in a tennis tour and was facing a 2 time world champion in my last match. The ball hit the nett and went straight up in the air.

The man who said "I'd rather be lucky than good" saw deeply into life. People are afraid to realize how great apart of life is dependent on luck.
People who believes in fate has it clear that our lives are preset and already chosen. People who believe in luck thinks it is about certain moments wiggling to their benefit.
Now what if it's the same? And what if free will is the only thing who can beat fate and the only thing that can cross fate's will is our own decisions? Try to look at it as a preset autopilot, and then plant a virus in its' system. The virus being our free will, we will keep falling back on that auto-mode as soon as we stop making our own decisions or in this case of scenario; get rid of the virus.

It crossed my mind that luck and fate eventually could pass through security check as the same thing.

It made me worry and claustrophobic but at the same time relaxed and free.
It was depressing having to consider that no matter how hard I reach for one certain goal I will never reach it depending on skills and hard work. There will always be that other factor, of luck or fate on autopilot, that no matter how certain the outcome is always has the last word. It's scary to think of how so much is out of one's control.

There are moments in a match where the ball hits the top of the nett, and for a split second the ball can either go forward or fall back. With a little luck it goes forward and you win, or maybe it doesn't and you lose.