off-the-wallflower child

One early Sunday morning, it was raining. The wet streets glistened from the rays of the yellow street lights and my eyes followed each rain drop catch the light in the black morning and drop on the black granite. It was hypnotic, the dancing golden rain. The roads were empty for miles, and the rain had a quiet audience and a stage that stretched to the invisible horizon. I watched my reflection in the window watch outside. I was the only one in the whole world. Then a car drove past. Its engine woke me up from the trance. I walked back to my bed. I would sleep to the footsteps of rain drops dancing and the gentle creaking of anchored sail boats and to the quiet meditation of the occasional car engines...

When I see little black birds on overheard power lines, they sit and stare at each other in, I imagine, serious discussion. I wonder, do they envy the chugging country train as much as I envy their wings? I doubt it. Because when they leap off the electric wires and feel the rush of wind through their feathers and bite their eyes in glorious beauty they realise with me how my lazy feet long to leave the ground for the sky.

'Literally', like 'ironically' has suffered in the mouths of the handicapped English.

The dark room alit with beautiful dim amber lights that stroked the wood floors and surf boards and old wallpaper, the smell of new flannel and jeans, the smile of the beautiful boy behind the counter and the large potraits of half-naked bodies that groped the wall suggestively. It was perfect.

I am young and restless! Like the perpetual opera!

Olvera Street is a beautiful place. The spicy aroma of Mexico and the spicy rhythm of Spain... Surround the ancient town. People gather in the alley market at dusk. Around aglow stone Latin kings. Aglow from dim red and dim yellow lights... Dim red and dim yellow lights... Surround the ancient town centre. And behind an 18th century hotel. People crowd the small alley market at dusk. To sit with stone Latin kings to gossip, eat, laugh, dance. They were free. I looked in forlorn envy as the sun set in... The Village of Our Lady, the Queen of the Angels of the River of Porziuncola.

Venice Beach, California not Venice, Italia. The people were on their feet, rollerblades, skateboards, and bicycles. They dressed awkwardly, care-freely and carelessly, eccentrically and eclectically. The beach smelt stale and fresh, stalls littered the dirty-yellow sand, an old hostel served cold beer and barbeque burgers, a greasy-haired busker sang hard rock songs on his old guitar and graffiti aged the pier walls. The day was hot, the sun was shining and I left my heart in Venice Beach.

Deux femmes Chinoises petites, l'une avec un parapluie jaune vif, une avec un parapluie rouge vif.

And Every Breath You Take plays on the car stereo. I love nights like this. It is cold, warm, wet and The Police sings throatily about desperate love.

"As the clock struck midnight, [they] took their positions on the dais and watched the lowering of the Union Jack and the hoisting of the Nigerian flag... And so ended 100 years of British rule... 100 years of colonial bondage... A nation conceived in faith and unity is born today... And I am happy. And I am sobbing..." Babatunde Jose, Daily Times, 1 October, 1960

I remember the view from my room at Exaclibur, Las Vegas. It was quickly dark, and the beautiful alit horizon slept with us. The fabulous Las Vegas strip is beautiful.

I am a chaotic mind. Sometimes, I enjoy the company, happy, dark, confused... One cannot run away from one's mind afterall. One, by one I mean I, and you too if you wish. One can only begin a love affair admist the chaos. Do you understand any of this at all?

"My electric pink bikini, denim shorts, gold stilletos and Jimi Hendrix vest... I staggered to the hotel through the moonlit streets of Athens barefoot on cobblestones still hot from daytime sun." Shingai Shoniwa, Cathedral, Athens, 2001 "A Certan Ratio... Those stark years of the 1980s when a generation of underemployed northerners found the funk and marched it towards acid house." Bill Brewster, A Certain Ratio, Rockafellas, Leeds, 1981 I hope to write one day about the gig that changed my life.

Weeping willows, and weeping widows. The Airlington cemetry had a quiet beauty in summertime daylight until guards marched a departed soldier amidst tears and mournful trumpets. A black coffin, the American flag, the weeping widow and the weeping willows, quietly beside her. Caffeine

The Dry Dock, 1993, Leeds is an old boat pub. I hear a hard rock band play and I immediately fall in love with the Dry Dock, anchored in green sea, lonely among the pub crawling Otley Run. Maybe I do fall easily in love. Caffeine

I like to sit with the cold benches at the local cemetry on Beckett Street and read a serious book. The fortunate and unfortunate passed have sweetly wooed me in love with the calm quiet cool air, the smell of wet soil and tree barks and moss. When the sun burns the back of my neck warmly, I smell the dark coffee and cigarettes of idle nurses who live across the street in the red-brick hospital. And shadows hide, seek, play on the graves and tombstones and tire at dusk. When it is too dark to see the lines of my book, I wander and wonder and listen to, perhaps their gentle breaths. I can not envy the dead but I enjoy their good, wise company. Caffeine

He sat down on a wooden stool, and yet that proof of existence was too shallow to begin to play impulsive theories on why or how he existed. His sly eyes and his mischievous ingenuity flushed my skin and yet, still did he exist? Really, or at all? I suppose the definition of existence, as long as you are the mind behind the reason is significant to you alone. So, that he exists is in what context? Not the mere appearance of existence, but the knowledge of existence. Caffeine

"His writing was sparse, elegant and full of self-deprecating wit. When he described smoking a cigarette under a desert cloudburst, he was Hemmingway to me, or Graham Greene, every mysterious adventurer framed by solitude in a foreign land. We drained the hotel minibar daily and greeted the sunrise exhausted with room-service coffee. A few long kisses, no physical affair... For my husband, forgiveness was not an act of heroism or even complacency, but an instinctive gesture of compassion and the deepest friendship. My husband believed in the simplicity of commitment, not as default but as an act of will. So, I took a deep breath and let the other man go."

The eccentric Houston girl at Abercrombie & Fitch... She screams to every customer, "Did you know our jeans COULD MAKE YOU FAMOUS?!" Then smiles at me and continues to talk in a very lazy "blonde" accent. I nod and return her conversation. I liked her. Caffeine

The first time I see a New York sky, ugly grey clouds sit with the dark midnight blue sky, only it wasn't midnight... So, perhaps the city smoke and hustle coloured the thin clouds dark, because it did not rain that night. Caffeine

The usual suspects, me, myself and I... Yes, sadly so. Your life is fucked? You are usually the one up your ass.

Boy meets world, says to it, "You motherfucker, I love you."

Bad habits You fucking love them. Bad habits. I am burning them and crying over the flames because the smoke stings my eyes as I do because. The feeling would not go away even when I blink or rub my eyes and. Especially because I will miss the smell and feel of. Bad habits. I now natively chant and dance around the fire because. Well, fuck my misguidedness. You know it feels good be bad. Well, it felt good. It felt good to be bad. Caffeine

The Daily Planet, who knew the story in progress of a mystery that sat behind a stack of deadlined reports? That stood underneath a fedora, behind horn-rimmed glasses, and inside a ripped shirt? No one, except a boy who secretly ran around in red underwear and a matching cape... round and round and round... and then jumped out the window when his room became too small a world... or when it became too painful to keep on pretending. He saved the world. Caffeine

I’m breathless at the door because I have run up flights of stairs, holding my breath… My shoulders hurt, my neck is tense and apparently opening my door is rocket science now… I, am… Inside. And undress. My jeans first. From habit I kick them off with my shirt over my head. Drag my earrings off. Run my hand through my short hair and breathe! Out! I jump on my untidy bed to avoid the clutter of clothes on the floor and breathe… in… It’s one of those days when I have to, remember to, breathe. Caffeine

I’m sitting on his lap and I’ve grown because my face is resting on his chin and the tip of my toes brush the floor. My cheek feels his stubborn beard and eyes catch a stary white hair in his dimple. And I smile because we cant help but grow. I can’t sit on his laps anymore, but as I hug him I still feel his beard on my cheek and my eyes catch a stray black hair on his chin. And I smile becuase we cant help but grow. “As I grew older, I thought it wise to to have a photo showing my vintage white hair, which might disappear with age.” Because it’s not the clouds that disappear at night, it’s its contrast against the blue sky. So, my white hair will disappear until there is no black. And I smile because well… I’m bald and don’t have a beard! Caffeine

“And when I feel like this, I like to take my “argh-fuck” out for a walk.” Walk. With some fresh air then I might settle for just an “argh”… or maybe a quieter fuck”. It is exactly how I feel plenty times. Because yes I am fucking angry and sorry would not quite do. You know? I would breathe deep that fresh, clean, dirty… air. Feel it rush in my nose, sting a little because I have not been out in a while and never quite gone for those early runs like I swore I would… Taste the grass on my tongue. You know? Then breathe deeper if I could… And my mind occupied with the hot air on my face and the taste of outside I have missed so much… Then I might forget why I was so angry in the first place… Caffeine

Missing limbs. Amputees. They feel severe pain in their missing limbs. Severe, pain. Phantom pain. Because, I suppose ghosts are not real until they haunt us. Have you felt pain from what you have lost? They are those days that you bleed out from your gaping chest, the days you lose your heart, the days you die slowly. Caffeine

Take a chance! Gamble! Risk it! Pee into the wind! Cause you know that things going to slam back into your open mouth! =) Caffeine

Engulfed in the smell of my purple soap and... and I think of you. So the water running down my spine grows hot at the curve of my back and I... Close my eyes and lift my hands to my lips. I wish you were here. Caffeine

Bride to her husband, she syas, "May you never steal, lie, or cheat. But if you must steal, then steal away my sorrows, and if you must lie, lie with me all the nights of my life, and if you must cheat, then please cheat death. I couldn't live a day without you." If you must, steal, lie, cheat, for me. Please. Caffeine

Best lines from the epic poem. Pretty women wonder where my secret lies I say, It's in the reach of my arms The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. I say, It's the fire in my eyes And the flash of my teeth, The swing of my waist, And the joy in my feet. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. I try to show them, I say, It's in the arch of my back, The sun of my smile, The ride of my breasts, The grace of my style. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. I say, It's in the click of my heels, The bend of my hair, The palm of my hand, The need of my care, 'Cause I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.

Just me and the over-sized projector screen. Along with the silly giddiness at the bright lights of the beginning ads and the familiar smile on my face as I sing the drum-rolls and trumpets of the 20th Century Fox. Cause see, I love film and theatre and art and music and... Im waving my arms about in exaggerated rhythmic gestures like those Hollywood drama teachers! And Im shouting too... For no apparent reason. Ah. I love the cinema. Even the unbearable hard stale popcorn! And with a bookstore, the smell of dark coffee and of musty old and new books, its my another best place. So, when I can afford it... Just me, the over-sized projector screen and EMPTY FABRIC SEATS! Along with... The familiar smile on my face as I sing the drum-rolls and trumpets of the 20th Century Fox. Caffeine

http://antirhythm.blogspot.com/2010/01/adultery.html

The curve of my back... The spring of my hips... The strength of my legs... The bounce of my breasts... Caffeine

I dreamt the world came to an end yesterday In my dream there was an earthquake I saw myself, my eyes dropped at the corners... And a blind horror in them Everything was quiet People ran screaming. Quiet... Silent. Chaos... My mouth hung open. Quiet... I tasted the dust that rose from the ground that shook beneath me And my nose stung from it My legs were wide open, my knees were bent forward and my arms were spread far apart I was poised to keep a balance that would not hold... I should run but I only adjusted the space between my legs My vision was infared but I saw the sun shine behind the hill at the horizon Odd, the sun shone. Bright. But it was dark red, the clouds and the sky It was the dust Red dust... I looked to my bare feet and I saw my bloody toes grip the red sand. Back up on parallel vision my eyes rolled in my head I blinked reflexively to focus through the dust storm The hill, I thought it shook as if to get the sand and grass of its body But it was collapsing fast and ...

Do you want to know the truth about 2009? I prayed it would end. But it couldnt come soon enough so I slept in misery, dreaming, 'Wake me up when it all ends.'. But then, I never really sleep... Im afraid of it. You are forced to accept failure; and when you have never really failed, it is exactly like hell. The smell of sulphur and scorched flesh... Exactly like hell. Brick red walls and a pit of suffering souls... Exactly like hell. The vile breath of the devil behind you and, exactly like hell. Now, 2009 is gone with all of its pain, but its truth conquers. The truth - the strength to fight failure as bloody and dirty as in fights me. You ride on a horse towards the setting sun. A heroic ending. Its like music, the sound of the hooves and the clinking of your metal armor. And its sweet, the smell of your sweat and the rising dust. Its like magic, the victory... Thats the truth about 2009. "The lessons we learn from our failures are lessons that help us succeed. And if w...

Do you want to know the truth about 2009? A silent black and white film noir... Like 2009. I watch the blinking lights of the characters with a frown etched on my face and my bottom lip behind my teeth in concentration, and my brows draw a crease on my nose... Im a fully captivated by the mystery of the plot and sleuth desperately along with the film. At the end its quite easy to translate the clues to who the villian had been, and sometimes, in spite of yourself sympatise with... The villian... The bitter, masked and hooded antagonist. The end of the black cape escaping the murder scene. The face behind the shadowed sinister smile. The victim... The villian; posed the role rather well; abstractedly though, because only looking back do I see the fiendish mastermind of the events that occured in the order of the timeline they played out. And it is direly haunting that I played this part.. The realisation, too late, sunk you into a terrible depression. The victim; unsuspecting and alwa...

Happy New Year! And Merry Christmas for 2009! I remember when 2000 was a really big deal! And we're already a decade into the only new millennium we all would ever see.   Looking back at 2009, 2010 is my Happiest New Year and everyday will be? Sunny side up, with a half done yolk. Caffeine