Standing At The Edge of The Earth

I haven't heard from you in months. But you follow me like a ghost, every minute of the day, every second of the night. I see your smile in the reflections of sunlight in the windows, I see the sparkle of your eyes in the dew drops on the leaves. I hear your heart-felt laughter like an endless echo in my brain.

Never in my life have I had to face the fact that I have been so, so wrong about myself. On paper, there is no reason for you to speak to me anymore, no reason for me to think of you anymore. On paper, we're just two people who wanted different things, and we should just move on with our lives. Someone new will come along, surely.

But you and I are not living on a sheet of paper.

I know I let you down. I cannot expect you to overlook that. You needed your space, you needed time. You needed to find someone who can give you all the things I could not.

But it's been months since you've been gone. And now I see, that you were everything.

Today I read your letter. I normally don't have the strength to do so, but today I finally pried it open, gently, reverently. I read it through, folded it, and lifted it to my lips to kiss it, perhaps in the vain hope I would be able to smell your skin once more, but the only fragrance is the dull, pungent smell of time.

I wonder where you are. I wonder if you think of my anymore. I wonder if perhaps in time, you will be able to look back at what we had without the feeling of betrayal and disappointment. I wonder if you will ever think, "he was a good man, maybe I should call him."

I wonder if I will ever be able to let go if you choose not to make that call.

Crushed

I was hoping I wouldn't have to write here again. But Matches Malone never truly goes away.


I haven't spent much time in Park Row of late, because I was trying to reach for the light and trying to rebuild this mess of a life. It has not been easy, but with every step that I clawed my way forward, I could feel myself getting stronger. There were obstacles but I said fuck that, I am going to stand tall and let the cards fall how they may.


It went well for a while, so much so that when someone reached out to me for help, I reached out as well, despite my better judgement. I listened, I sympathised, I comforted, I consoled, I cared.


But it only takes one word from you to tear me down. I am the strongest man in the eyes of my peers. I am honest, I am constant, I am undeterred, I am, of all things, light in a dark world. But one word from you, and I am crushed.


Stubborn determination that is mistaken for strength, is not strength at all.

Hate Me

I don't want to be me anymore.

I just want to be like everyone else. I want to look like everyone else, dress like them and speak the same way they do. I want to be just part of the crowd, conveniently invisible. I don't want to stand out, stand apart or stand alone anymore. I want to have the same views, the same morals, the same ideals. I want to listen to the same songs and dance to the same beats, so that i'm always in tune with everyone else. I want to hate the same people, and have the same vices so I can be hated by the same people and be buried with the same people, at the same time. I don't want to be alone, I don't want to stand up for myself. Even if did, I want to stand up for what everyone else believes.

I want to be like everyone else. I can't stand to be myself anymore.

Laugh While You're Dying

... you thought I had disappeared, didn't you?...

There are some days which are harder than the others. Make no mistake, I know that life is tough. But some days, they take your breath away. Not in the good, romantic, cliche rom-com way, but in the gut-wrenching, merciless hand of death kind of way.

It leaves you just gasping for air, your lungs suddenly collapsed, unable to fill your body with what it needs. You are effectively drowning in a vaccuum.

That is me right now. Tired as hell, and suddenly I hit a road block and I can't climb anymore. I stop, bend down with my hands on my knees and I just take in as much air as my lungs can find. My oxygen-starved brain is almost completely numb, and yet it manages to get one signal through.

And I start to laugh.

I laugh at the harshness of the situation, the stark unrelenting truth of circumstance. I laugh at fate's cruelty, and my futile attempts at succesful living. I laugh at the injustices that surround me, and my inability to wrap my head around any of them.

And I laugh.


If this life kills me, I will die laughing.

Return To The Scene Of The Crime

I do not enjoy my return trips to Park Row. But I understand them.

I wonder if anyone is curious about ‘Park Row’. Park Row is a silent, empty and desolate place. There are not many people here, but those that are here keep to themselves.

Park Row is the place that changed my life. For the better or for the worse, time alone will tell.

As I said earlier, I do not enjoy returning to Park Row, especially since I do not spend all my time here. I have my ‘good days’, days where I allow the sun to shine through once in a while. Days where I can enjoy myself a little bit, and almost forget about this side of town.

But I always return. Either I am forced, or I am drawn back.

I think it’s important to remember your past, remember the heartbreak, the wounds, the scars, the fights, the wars – which is why I always return here. I stand on that corner, looking down the street again, and I pay my respects.

I don’t enjoy returning here. But I understand it.

Brick By Brick

What do you do when she's dreaming of someone else?

When her thoughts of fondness no longer revolve around you? When she yearns for a better time and place, a time and place that you were not a part of?

What do you say when you can't return but you can't bear to be replaced?

It is a poisonous pill, one that I have swallowed before. The bitterness, now washed away by love, time and reconciliation, is not easy to forget.

I am much too fair in my dealings with the fairer sex. Much to lenient, much to caring. Being selfish has its perks.

So let me ask you again; what do you do when she picks up the phone to call you for movies, but calls someone else for her problems?

What do you do when she laughs a little less heartily around you than when she's around another?

What do you do when you have done your best to be immovable, dependable, constant - and yet, all you have done is become emotionless, defiant, and cold?

Brick by brick I let you gently bring my walls down.

Brick by brick you build them back up around me now.

Brick by brick I return to the shadows that are my home.

Relentless

Things have been rather colder and perhaps even more darker on Park Row of late.

I warm my hands, and reach into my coat for my light. A sudden draft kicks against me, just as I spin the wheel of the lighter. The cigarette catches anyway, and I let the flame dance for a second longer than necessary. The cold is not new to me, but its constant presence is never something one can ever be fully accustomed to. It is a like a disease; manageable, and yet deadly.

The embers are a poor source of light, yet my eyes have adjusted enough to read the dial on my wrist. It's almost time.

I look up suddenly, as a subtle movement in the shadows catches my attention. When everything is still, the slightest move is like a gunshot in a tomb.

I lie still, pressing myself against the wall, fingering the peeling plaster of a dilapidated building behind me as my eyes scan the darkness. Tense; I feel my chest harden as my breathing automatically slows and softens.

I wait.

And I wait.

The cigarette has long been extinguished, and there is total darkness now as my eyes scan the shadows.

Something is there. I can feel it.

They say patience is a virtue. This isn't patience though. This is being relentless. This is survival.

Slowly my limbs show the first signs of going numb. I don't move.

A chill breeze picks up, cutting through my clothes like a knife. Still, I don't move, for I feel a much deeper chill that is threatening to run down my spine.

"I will outlast you"; I think to myself.

And then -

I see it.

Slowly, it moves up the alley opposite with surprising stealth, almost floating along, not leaving a sound. If I hadn't been looking straight at it, I may not have seen it.

"But I was looking for you, you bastard"; I tell myself.

I feel the tinges of a smile spread across my lips.

"I've got you now."

---

Just a graphical representation of my state of mind at the moment. Make of it what you will.

Liar Liar

There is a lot of competition in the world. After all, we're all just animals, living in the urban jungle. Corporate life, family life, love life or any other part of life is a big competition to survive.

The 'rat-race'.

To get ahead, you have to strike first. You have to be cunning, smart, think on your feet.

And you have to lie.


It's just life; people lie. And if we want to get ahead in life, either we should lie better, or we should learn to tell when we are being lied to.

I am very good at that.

Sure, most people boast about being able to tell when someone is lying, but I have actually proved it. It's like a 'gift', and though I'm not always right, in this 'jungle' we live in, better to be right often than wrong all the time.

You would think I'd be happy about this. Not entirely.

Because people lie a lot.

And now, I have grown chronically suspicious of everyone. Sadly, most of the time, my suspicions are justified.

It is a gift I would part with in a second.


Lie to me.

Forgotten

It is better to be forgotten than remembered for all the wrong reasons.

Fake Forwards

I got this sickeningly sappy email at work today. It was a slide show, with pictures of flowers on each slide along with a saying that was supposed to 'warm and melt my heart'. Let me share a few.

"The only reason that anyone would hate you, is because they want to be just like you"

"A smile from you can bring happiness to anyone, even if they do not like you"

"You are special and unique. Someone you don't even know, LOVES you"

"Always remember the compliments you receive, forget about the rude remarks"

"I would rather have one rose and a kind word from a friend while I am here, than a whole truckload when I am gone"

You have got to be joking. I don't know which is worse, the fact that someone actually expects hearts to 'melt' while reading this or the fact that someones heart probably did.


There are lot of reasons someone would hate you. The trick is to figure out what they are and bury them.

Sure, keep smiling, but remember nothing gets you through life better than a good poker face.

You are special and unique. But 'someone you don't even know' probably doesn't know that. That same somone probably never will.

9 times out of 10, those rude remarks are more constructive than any flowery compliment. Ignore at your own peril.



As for the last one - I agree.

The biggest question in life is not "why are we here?", but rather, "who will miss me when I'm gone?". I don't necessarily mean that in a morbid way, it's applicable to any situation not just death. I like to kid myself into thinking I'm 'special and unique' and that every situation would be the worse without me, but life is about realising where we are needed and where we are not; where we are wanted, and where we are not.

... and who needs us, and who does not; who wants us, and who does not..

Yeah, let me see you forward that...

If I Should Die Before I Wake

What do you dream of?


Did you know that there is a an entire branch of study dedicated to dreams? Try going through the wikipedia page; it's called oneirology, and it's exhaustive. There is just theory after theory after theory, all trying to figure out why we dream of skydiving, old flames, work, lust, fantasy and even murder. To name a few.


Some say dreams have meanings. They point you to what you're really feeling but afraid to admit to. I'm not so sure.


If it were me, I would ask you - what's the last thing you think of before you sleep?


No, not that conscious thought. Not the "oh tomorrow I have to do this and this...". Not the "what a shite day today was...".


That last flicker of thought. The final neuron flare that occurs just before you leave the world of consciousness. That dying ember of realisation as you fall into oblivion.


Try it out tonight. Let me know what you find out.


Because for me, that final wakeful thought is much more terrifying than any imagined dream.

False Identity

I suppose this is the part where I tell you who I am.


Too bad.


The last few decades have taught us that everything in life should be simplified, classified, summarised and categorised. This goes for people as well.


"Describe yourself in 200 words or less".

"Write about yourself here (in 600 characters or less)"

"Tell us more about yourself, so that Facebook can help find your friends, since you clearly don't have any. Use 7 syllables or less"


Let me put it this way. How would you feel if at the end of the day, I told you your life is only worth a few words on a sheet of paper? Kinda sucks doesn't it?


But of course, that's not who you are. If I said "You're a racist pig.", that doesn't necessarily make it true. Why? Because you aren't who I say you are. You aren't who your friends say you are. You aren't who your parents think you are.

You aren't what you say you are either.


Who are we? We're more than what words can say. I am not defined by my actions, or even my thoughts. I am defined by something more.


So are you. So the next time someone sits down and stereotypes someone across the street, or makes assumptions about someone you barely even know, just remember that there is more to everyone than meets the eye.

Welcome To Park Row

Hi.

You don't know me, but that's fine.

I'm just passing by.

But while we're both here, right now..

Let's talk.

Got a match?