When Dreaming's This Hard It's Not Meant To Come True.

Treading the ground
I once used to know
People are strangers
Same as before
Streets look familiar
I remember the park
Where I buried my head
So deep in my hands
All around me was dark

This here city
Is for the lonely ones
Won't find no angels
Selling maps to the lost
This here place
Is too small for two
It took one to realize
When dreaming's this hard
It's not meant to come true

So throw me a line
Somebody out there help me
I'm on my own
I'm on my own
Throw me a line
Afraid that I have come here
To win you again
With trembling hands

Passing the days
Looking over the buildings
Time seems to stop
While the millions keep moving
Now here I am
I'm a drop in your ocean
Noise in the crowd
Pushing through your halls of reason

Ohh

So throw me a line
Somebody out there help me
I'm on my own
I'm on my own
Throw me a line
Afraid that I have come here
To win you again
With trembling hands

Hear me now make me whole
Hear me now make me whole

So throw me a line
Somebody out there help me
I'm on my own
I'm on my own
Throw me a line
Afraid that I have come here
To win you again
With trembling hands
With trembling hands

There goes the ending
It left me in the war
But I tried everything yeah
I am done with my part
-Trembling Hands, The Temper Trap


2012

Victory, conquering, staggering loss, nothing, nothing, everything.

Like walking through a tunnel searching for light and then it hits you and you feel nothing.

Like wanting the sea and getting a river.

Its been a strange one kids.

Im neither happy or sad its over but I am ready to move on.

Slowly.

Patiently.

If there is one thing I'd like for the next year other then fireworks, love and pure creation it would be a little more self acceptance/love/forgiveness.

I've been carrying and nurturing the same wounds for so many years now and all the sudden I am a scarred woman laughing whilst crying, not fully realizing how much lighter things actually are.

Its almost like I miss my darkest days or maybe I haven't found the right things to replace the dark with yet.

I still want more,

more,

more,

of whatever I can get my hands on.

Or maybe its just me getting older. One year at a time.

Happy new year lovers.

May all our dreams come true so we can create new ones.

-Lykke Li


Hello all. I'm not sure at all what this blog post is going to be so don't hold your breath in anticipation of anything wonderful.. I might or might not talk about my trip, or the past couple of weeks, or just random thoughts in my head, or maybe from my journal. I am absolutely and wonderfully hooked onto this amazing song, Trembling Hands by The Temper Trap. Definitely my newest favouritest song. There's such a... I don't know how to put it, forlorn, yet wistful feel to it? It captures the desperation of the lonely, and that video.. Absolutely entranced.

The lyrics remind me of home too, for better or worse. I'm always afraid of going back home to a strange land of strangers. I guess everyone who goes overseas has that fear. It might ease up over time but deep down each of us retains some sense of it. Clearly everyone is getting along fine, without you? Surely that must mean they are moving on, without you? Yes, it does. But do not be too selfish to realize that you, too, are moving on from them. We are all moving on from something, in one way or another, and if we're lucky we might even be moving towards something.

Yeah, I actually shamelessly ripped that idea off of thoughtcatalogue, and I can tell you, brainpickings.org just might be even better than that, possibly cause it's a more hipster version of it. And everyone knows I am a hipster to beat all hipsters, cause I was hipster before most hipsters had hips. Anw I've been poring over the posts there, most of which are delightful, super quotable nuggets which would look amazing on tumblr I reckon, but I don't tumble. Shame.


No one’s fated or doomed to love anyone.
The accidents happen, we’re not heroines,
they happen in our lives like car crashes,
books that change us, neighborhoods
we move into and come to love.
Tristan and Isolde is scarcely the story,
women at least should know the difference
between love and death. No poison cup,
no penance. Merely a notion that the tape-recorder
should have caught some ghost of us: that tape-recorder
not merely played but should have listened to us,
and could instruct those after us:
this we were, this is how we tried to love,
and these are the forces we had ranged within us
within us and against us, against us and within us.
-Adrienne Rich

Just kidding, I'm gonna post this stuff anw cause they're too good not to share. Even to the 7 people or so who read this blog. Which, incidentally, I just found out about recently from an unknown source. I actually have more readers than I've always thought, which I guess is slightly awkward, but doesn't matter I guess? To be perfectly honest I've always been slightly ashamed of my blog, or the fact that I even have one. I really enjoy having one, don't get me wrong, but the fact that people might be reading it... My newfound self-acceptance or my attempts at ridding myself of self-consciousness, however, means that I don't care anymore. I probably would have a short time ago, but I guess I'm different now. Not to say that I don't feel self-conscious, I'm not sure that's ever going to be possible, but I've decided to try and ignore that now.

And to decide to continue blogging, of course. Because.

this we were, this is how we tried to love, 
and these are the forces we had ranged within us
within us and against us, against us and within us.

Again from brainpickings comes this:

Keepers of private notebooks are a different breed altogether, lonely and resistant rearrangers of things, anxious malcontents, children afflicted apparently at birth with some presentiment of loss.

Certainly this reeks somewhat of a self-centredness in the way it sets us keepers apart from "others", or normal people, because normality of course is poison. Keeping a notebook reminds me, allows me to remember what it was to be me.

And so we do. But our notebooks give us away, for however dutifully we record what we see around us, the common denominator of all we see is always, transparently, shamelessly, the implacable “I.”

It's a pretty, perhaps damningly so, accurate description of the motives behind a notebook. And yet we cannot help it, because that's probably what compulsion means anyway.

I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were.

That was surprisingly eerily close to what I'd been thinking before even stumbling upon this brilliant website, probably a product of my travels sometime. Which was that this blog reminds me of who I was, who I used to be. I can tell you that of some of my older posts, I am 100% embarrassed because that's exactly what I was, embarrassing.. On occasion I read through some of my older posts and I cringe inwardly, nay 'tis a lie! outwardly because it's just so bad. It's the kind of shame that goes way deep and I'll never admit in real life.. Thank god for anonymity of the internet, which is silly cause it's the source of my shame anyway. Huh.

I'm going to randomly shove in some of the drafts I'd typed out on my phone. I only got my notebook in Rotterdam, which means that for the first 1.5weeks of my trip I had only my trusty (and now shattered) phone with which to record down thoughts, and incidentally, another story. Here goes the story.


If We Could Only Hate.

Why? I have to know.

I guess.. I was never truly happy. I know I was meant to be happy, I thought I loved you, and that you loved me.

I did love you. (I do, still.)

And then one day it just hit me - I didn't love you. I couldn't. I was in love with an idea, the ideal man who seemed to have it all.

But I never could match up to the man inside of your head.

No.

What was I supposed to do? What can I do? You're trying to say I never had a chance. Then why did you even try?

I.. I was in love. Just not with you. With the idea of you. I'm sorry.

No. No. You can't do this. At least give me something to regret. Give me something to blame myself over. Something to point to and say I should not have done that, that I have only myself to blame. That I at least had a chance. Come on. Please.

I can't. I'm so sorry. You're a good man.. just not perfect, not the way I imagined you to be in my head.

What do you mean? Was I supposed to be perfect? Was I not allowed to do anything wrong at all? I mean, come on! You never told me I had to be perfect. At least tell me what you expected of me before I got into this!

Would it have changed anything? Would you have walked away if I'd told you this in the beginning?

No. I don't know. What does it matter? Don't you dare turn this on me.

(silence)

Well. You've certainly taken me on a damn ride then haven't you?

What do you want me to say? Yes. No. I don't know. I'm sorry. I know you're bitter. You must hate me.

No. No I don't. If only I could. If only it were that easy. Goodbye Emily.

________________________________


This started off in my head as a dialogue between 2 people. Guess it's not much of a story at all, just a possible conversation maybe. I don't know why this was in my mind as I took the bus to Portsmouth to watch the xx. Which incidentally, was amazing. Emily only because I don't actually know an Emily personally, and it seemed nicer to end on a name rather than just with a Goodbye. Meh, make of it what you will, I guess.

I guess I'll talk a bit about some of these stories. Just as a recording of why I wrote what I did, I guess. The beauty one I wrote in response to a string of thoughts I had, which was this.

Friendship is like a thread held between 2 people. And it takes effort from both sides to hold on. They're all different though, and can afford different amounts of tension and slack. Some are extremely loose but require the efforts of just one person to take up the slack. Sometimes the burden is too much for that one person and he gives up. Sometimes one party, or both, are so needy that the rope becomes too taut. It seems to go along fine, it's nice and firm but the slightest bit of tension and it goes. It's hard to pick up the pieces.

Others are stronger, layered over by their pasts, shared experiences, common interests, plain compatibility of characters. Others have just one tenuous connection, possibly even something as base as desperation, or a craving for companionship. And some are doomed to failure. The rope at breaking point. And are the more beautiful for it. The beauty of the fleeting, the transient, the ephemeral.

I'd been reflecting on a series of friendships that I'd had, and which for whatever reason now, no longer do. Also on the friendships that I am and always will be grateful for, those that have managed to last, those that have gone the distance. I guess.. I'll always have my regrets, or at least rue the friendships I've let slip away, some for such puerile reasons that I almost cannot believe what I've done. Well. That's done now, I guess. Except for that which might still yet be salvaged. Hope, as ever, springs forth.

It almost feels like I should go through my diary somewhat chronologically, cause I guess everything sort of builds up to the next entry. Nevermind, I guess the contents of a diary has meaning only to its writer, the topics inside close only to his own heart.

The next one was What They Took From Her. This was unplanned, not one of the many little fragments of possible stories I find in my head from time to time. I'm not sure where it came from. I think.. I think it just might be from Mystic River. At least, that seems to be its origins. I think it could refer to anything, really. Not necessarily an abduction or any sexual abuse, but it is based on Dave I guess. But it could be life that's taken away from her, or a string of lost loves, or constant disappointment. I don't know.

Then there's Beautiful Pressure which admittedly is rather unfinished, but I just can't bring myself to continue any longer, idk why though. Just think I've done all I can with that. It stems from the idea that beautiful people are different from those who are not. I've actually had this idea in my head for a really long time. The way people notice those who are beautiful, all the time. The almost unfair expectations foisted upon them. How they can never be inadequate. How being aware of your own beauty makes you self-conscious, and dare I say it, makes you unbeautiful too. I guess anyone else who's been singled out in anyway too. The pressures of scrutiny, maybe. Idk, it's just stuff that's been floating around my head for a while now so I tried to write this. Probably kind of forced it out, to be honest, just because I had some free time on a train or something (I forget) and there was this story I'd always wanted to write. Meh.

Hmm. Kinda forgot what I wanted to say actually, which isn't an issue today, I think. I think today all I needed was to unload whatever, not something I've been able to do for a while now. Why? Because of essays, which are over now. Traditional post-essay YESSAHBOMB in order here. But I feel kinda lost too. How shall I put it, hmm.

I guess it started on the 2nd of Jan. I'd taken my flight to Bristol and the bus to Temple Meads, where I had little over an hour before I was due to board my train back to Exeter. As soon as I got off the bus and decided that I'd walk around town for a bit instead of waiting at the station, I was struck by this colossal sense of loss. I felt completely lost, and it was bewildering. Something changed. And I have my suspicions.

I'm really tired. It's all adding up. Maybe it culminates here, maybe it doesn't, but I can feel it now. Like a rush of something that threatens to swamp everything it touches, except it's been dammed up, except it's been dammed up too long now. Maybe it's the videos and the songs like Trembling Hands. Maybe it's a movie like Blue Valentine. Maybe it's having someone to talk to, really talk to, for the first time in years. Maybe.

Maybe it's realizing that no man was made to walk this world alone. That everyone needs someone to share their joys and their despairs with. The smallest accomplishments. The little things that made your day. Anything, and everything. Or it's the cumulative melancholy of one and a half years abroad, of too much time spent alone, of too much time left alone. The despair of waking up days on end feeling confused and aimless and above all, so, so lost and having no one to turn to. Maybe it's that.

I don't know what it is. In any case, I don't think I've felt that way in a long while. I asked myself, okay, where shall we go now? And came up absolutely blank. It kind of shocked me, which you might or might not have been able to tell by now.

But I think I know now what I want. What I actually want, instead of the wants that have almost become obligatory. Things like good grades, or success, or money, stuff like that. To be perfectly honest, I don't want that. These are to me things which fall under the nice-to-have category. Probably means I'm a terrible student, cause I do know countless other people who'd kill (in fact they're dying) for good grades. I'm just not a good student at all.. Which would probably disappoint my parents, or my relatives, but well that's that. If I actually do well it'll be for them, not for myself I don't think. But finally, maybe the first time in a long while, I actually want again.

Might not be any specific something, or even a someone, it's just the feeling of wanting something. Who ever heard of someone wanting to want something? I think that was me. It probably characterized my 2012, a year in which I felt so lost so often. By no means my best year (if ever there was such a thing), but it wasn't my worst either. It had its ups and downs just like any other, distinguished only by that sense of loss which I never could quite elucidate, not in my thoughts nor my words nor my actions.

But this is the new year, and I do feel something different. Maybe there was something in the air that night/the stars so bright. Going against the grain, for once, of all my favourite new year songs by U2 and Death Cab for Cutie.

I usually try, I don't know if you notice, not to share too much here, at least not anything that affects me too much. I write words and stuff but I always shy away from saying what it is exactly I feel. Normally it's cause I'm afraid it'd be read. By persons known or unknown. But that doesn't matter all that much now, I think. I reckon the only people who do read this are close enough friends that I've ever told them about it, or if they're random(ish) people who've taken all this time to read this far then hey, hello. Thanks, and maybe I'll know you one day.

Otherwise this is just another url, destined to an existence of near complete anonymity, a drop in the ocean if you will. In the vastness of cyberspace, just another tree falling in a lonely forest. But it does make a sound.

Well now. Blue Valentine, if anyone is interested, is a really good movie and incredibly well-acted. Of course it helps that I have a massive man-crush on Ryan Gosling, but Michelle Williams was amazing too. Not an easy show to stomach, mind you, and definitely not what I'd been expecting. I heard ukelele and Ryan Gosling singing a song and thought, it must be fun! And while that scene was brilliant, the whole movie was... pretty depressing. It was almost painful to watch. But really good nonetheless, especially if you want to check out Ryan Gosling's range as an actor. Way too many Ryan Gosling's in one paragraph for a hetero young man, I'm afraid, so I shall desist.

Guess that should be all for today. Not exactly what I had in mind when I started off, but not what I didn't have in mind either, if that makes any sense at all. I might watch Ides of March, or Spirited Away. I did watch Howl's Moving castle sometime back in December which I might not have mentioned, and it was so good. Somehow the town scenes just remind me so much of Final Fantasy, probably FF9, and for a good 2 weeks I had that peaceful town in mind. Truly a masterpiece.

Yep. Good bye now.