mooBlog 26-10-2010: trying to remember the little train who could

time to move on, cos this is bordering on obsessive.

hard to say why i can't let go of the memory of you,

it's been almost two months since we've even spoken.

but i remember all of your words so clearly.

if I look back at my life,

the good times with you were the most joyous out of all of it.

that's not to say that the bad stuff wasn't bad.

still, i don't think it was enough to give up hope for something better.

***

when i think about girls that i've broken up with over the years,

the hearts that i unintentionally broke,

all i can hold in my mind is remorse.

if i knew how much it hurts,

how hard it is to forget,

i'd go back and try to resolve it with them,

to let them conclude, verse their mind.

it's the stuff that rolls around in your head at night.

it's the dreams wasted on the hope of turning back the clock,

to when things felt right.

cos this feels so wrong...

mooBlog 12-10-2010: No Doves Fly Here

On the train-track overpass near my house, someone has grafitti’ed the words “No Doves Fly Here.” It always makes me wonder what person did it. Were they heartbroken, lonely, depressed? Or were they simply so strung out that that was all that they could manage. I find it hard to believe that the message was meant for me. Even still, I love that piece of writing. That one line that has connotations of anger and soulessness.

"and it's easy to ask questions of ourselves, like:
where it is we're going now and what we have to show for all the sunny days
shut up in the shells of expectations of our ultimate directions,
and the stations that we should have reached by now,
when we haven't read the script and our tender wings are clipped,
and we're scared we might be letting someone down." - Frank Turner

It's funny the things you recall as time drifts along. Two days ago, I remembered something from many years ago. My Grandfather, Norman Morrison, wrote his own eulogy. I don’t remember much of that funeral service; I was probably twelve years old at the time. I remember being a little bit late, I think we stopped for lunch in Geelong or something like that. I do recollect that “Morning Has Broken” by Cat Stevens was playing. That song still conjures up images of the chapel where the service was held. In fact, I don’t really remember much about my grandfather at all. I didn’t really know him. In a lot of ways, I wish I had have had the chance to do so.

Anyway, what I could recall from his eulogy is the final thing in it. As I said, he wrote the thing himself. I guess that’s one of the advantages in having a terminal illness. You know you’re going, so you can spend the time saying goodbye to all of the people you love. So, getting back to the point, his final sentence was this: “Only speak if you can improve on silence.”

I guess I took it onboard, although I never saw it as relevant. Now, twelve or so years on, the memory of that statement rings true. There’s so much talking going on around me, but there’s very little speaking. Noise, if you will. It’s the pass-the-time hobby of so many of us. I can’t exclude myself from this. My mouth works overtime, and sometimes I surprise myself how much crap I can produce in the form of words.

My mouth is capable of digging a hole deeper that I can get out of. I guess it was no surprise when I finally accepted that the one person I wish I could talk to, doesn’t want to hear it. She was smart and got out when she could. I don’t hold that against her at all. She noticed that my language is only there to hide my insecurities about my character.

I find myself following a shadow of her memory. I’m trying to be a person that would be good enough in her eyes to make her at least want to be my friend.

I’ve come to accept that there are some things in life that you shouldn’t regret in life. Knowing this, I can honestly say that I don’t regret any of that relationship. I don’t even regret it ending anymore. Validity of reasons wasn’t clear at first. Now, after some time, and some complete and total silence, I realise how special that time was. I wouldn’t change a thing about it. I reckon if I learn from all of the mistakes that I made there, then I could become a much better person. It’d just be nice to have someone to guide my moral compass, like she did.

mooBlog 10-10-2010: Something good out of all of this...

I've started teaching myself guitar. The day after my now ex-girl broke up with me, I just picked it up, found my brother's chord book, and started strumming. Today, I can play 4 chords, namely A, C, E and G. I know all of you musos must think I'm an absolute noob. I don't care, I'm gonna fucking do this. If any of you can recommend any easy songs using those chords, let me know. Everyone has an opinion on the net about how to learn guitar.

By the way guys, check out this guy's this latest blog. Mad snake I reckon.

Anywho, keep it reals.

xo

Note Added 11/10: I started learning this instead. What an amazing song.

mooBlog 9-10-2010: Waking...

Today I awoke from a dream. It was vivid and lovely, everything was so right. So lovely in fact, that I tried to go back to sleep, just to return to the world of my subconscious. But we all know that it's impossible to return to a dream. Even if you could, it'd never be the same. A reflection of a reflection could never be anything other than fool's gold.

I won't try to dream that dream again. There's no point. I'm so separated from what happened there, that attempting it now would be a waste of time. Don't get me wrong, I love dreaming, and I'll continue to do so, but that dream is gone.

It was never real anyway.

mooBlog 3-10-2010: Sleeping in Memories

Every night, I sleep in memories. Even after all of what I've written, after her not wanting any contact with me, I'm finding it still hard. Hard, because I was so caught up with the fight for what I thought was the right thing, I didn't even see that this could be a good thing. And, as much as it pains me to say it, it is a good thing. I've realised that the only person one can rely on is yourself. That's the way it should be too, for putting your own eggs in someone else's basket doesn't seem right from the outside. Love isn't blind, it's blinding. It's the weakness of man. It can cause you to doubt the person you are. I doubted myself, and changed things about me that I was so confident in beforehand.

As I say, my bed is made of memories. There has been times where my tears make a break for the surface. No more tears from me though. I've been told to move on, so I'd better bloody well do so.