It was early...

Very early... 9am to be precise...

A time that I have forgotten even existed over the last few years due to living, as I do, mostly at night when the streets are quiet and the sun is busy heating the Hawaiian shoreline. I'd fallen asleep on the sofa at about 5:30(ish) having spent an hour or so alternating between watching a film about surfing and watching the beauty next to me sleep.

She'd fallen asleep an hour or so earlier while listening to me explain the difference between a conventional "Screamer" Two-Stroke 500cc Grand Prix motorcycle, a "Big Bang" Two-Stroke 500cc Grand Prix bike and the new breed 990cc Four-Stroke of MotoGP motorcycle and Richard Pryor asking if it was Something [he] said.

I've no idea which of us was most responsible for her falling asleep but the chances are it was a bit of both, the late hour and the fact that both of us had had enough drink to easily kill any one of the hoodies that hang around the shops at night in cities all around the country.

I'd spent three and a half hours flitting between the realm of being half awake and being half asleep where I had disturbing, drunken, dreams of drowning, thanks to the fish tank across the room gurgling and splashing a constant stream of water into the top of the tank. She'd awoken at some point after I had fell asleep and had brought a pillow for me to rest my head on and placed the same duvet over me that I had earlier placed over her when she had dropped off into the land of dreams before heading off to her bed.

To wake myself up I slapped the side of my face. "Wake up." I said aloud, hoping that somehow in giving myself a direct command and a brief flash of pain I'd shed the sleepy feeling and sober up. This didn't do much to wake me so I slapped myself again. WHACK! went my hand as it caught the side of my face, and also my ear, and instantly realised I had given myself quite a smack.

To take my mind off of the stinging in my face and the ringing in my ear I picked up the empty bottles and glasses into the kitchen that were sitting on the table and put them in the bin. I folded the duvet and put it and the pillow back where it belonged. As I returned to the living room I bounced off the door frame and staggered towards the kitchen to put the kettle on for some coffee.

Behind me I heard her say "Morning" in the honeyed tone of someone who is still half asleep, groggy and ever so slightly hungover.
"Hello you." I said, putting more empty beer bottles into the bucket and forgetting to switch the kettle on. "How're you feeling?" I asked.
"Rough." She replied.
"I'm probably still a bit drunk." I said, remembering that I had drank almost a full bottle of Cherry Sourz, a good few strong rum and cokes and about a half dozen shots of some kind of strawberry and cream vodka mixture that instantly curdled when poured into the shot glasses due to the dregs of the Sourz and the rum that coated the glasses.

"Are you OK?" I asked a few minutes later when we'd had a cup of coffee and had properly woken up.
"Yeah, I'm fine" She replied.
"And how about us?" I enquired, remembering the previous night. "Are we OK?"
"Yeah, of course." She replied.
"Good." I said.

And I meant it.

Watching the snow falling...

It's the small things in life that make me feel alive.

The laughter of a child, the smile of a stranger, the pleasure of spending time with someone whom I care about, watching snow flakes float gently to the ground and many other things that, on occasion, have been known to move me to tears or cause me to smile.

It's the emotion you see. The pure unrivalled and unexplainable emotion. It's what separates us from dumb beasts and makes us human. It's what drives us to be who we are and it's the thing that will forever remain unknown to one another despite our shared humanity.

We can use words to communicate our basic emotions but sometimes words are sadly lacking in their ability to express that which we truly Feel.

I have, for example, stated above that I feel most alive when I am in the company of someone whom I care about and you will be able to sympathise with that statement but no matter how many words I use to explain the heartfelt emotion behind that statement you will only ever know the words. Not the feeling.

Not because you are any different to me on a physiological level but because you have not lived the life I have lived and we don't have any way of connecting to each other on that level. So, as often happens with people, we use the artistic form to try to connect with each other on that level. We share the music that moves us, the art that we love and make attempts to allow one another to see that which resides in our Souls.

And that kinda makes me sad. I'd love to give each and every one of you a view into each others soul. The world would be a better place, humanity would evolve past the lower reptilian brain and we would, as one race, be all that we can be. All that we are destined to be. All that we truly are.

Mahalo.

Jack Vettriano - Dance Me To The End of Love.

There are storm clouds...

In the sky. And there are storm clouds in my head and my heart after the last few days. A few days in which I've fell out with my mum, my sister and a very special person who was a contributing factor to me packing in the hash habit I've had for the last ten to fifteen years.

If anyone ever tells you that it's easy to get off of the dope then take it from me they're either talking out their asshole or have never been an addict. In any way.

First off I'd like to try to explain the reason for my sudden decision to pack the weed in...

I recently got back in touch with someone who I have always liked. As a person, as a friend and as, well, as whatever she is to me. (The jury is still out on whether this woman is a friend of mine, a love of mine or merely a temporary infatuation.) I had the pleasure of spending some time with her and after spurning my declaration that I would like to be something more than just friends I came to realise that no woman in her right mind would ever want to be with a stoner.

So what did I do? I packed in the dope and waited for reality to kick in. And kick in it did. My emotions weighed in like a warrior into the fray and I annoyed this woman to the point where she fell out with me. On several occasions. But after a while she forgave me and we tried to stay as friends. But thanks to the whole "getting straight" gig my head is all over the place and thinking clearly became a problem. I annoyed her again. And again. And again. And again.

So a couple of weeks later I realised that right now me attempting to be her friend isn't the right thing at this time. I could have explained it better but didn't. I phoned her and told her it wasn't going to work. The words were wrongly chosen and my meaning was lost in a blur of argument and rejection.

What will become of me is unknown, and what will become of her and I is even less known.

I'm sitting at the computer...

Trying not to think about the one thing on my mind. A random selection of songs is playing in an attempt to distract me but it's failing badly. The lyrics seem to mirror the emotions and the feelings I need to avoid for the sake of... Something unnameable at the moment.

Tiredness is a major factor at the moment as I've not slept more than two to three hours a night since stopping smoking hash. Sleeping sober is not an easy thing. When the head hits the pillow the band begins to play. Random thoughts fire through the mind and keep the brain from shutting down. Lyrics from songs repeat over and over while I stare at the inside of my eyelids and pray for the small relief of the gap between falling asleep and the beginning of my dreams.

Dreams which tease, taunt, hurt and haunt.

...

I can still feel the heat
from her hand when she held mine.
The same way I feel the beat
of my heart when I think of her.

It's an awful feeling; Being close enough to touch her and knowing she is still a million miles from me. This brown eyed beauty who holds my heart in her hand and doesn't want it. All she wants is my friendship. So what is there to do? Be her friend and have the joyous wonder of her company or walk away and deal with the pain now rather than later?

And that's the nub of the issue. What's the best time, not that there is ever going to be a good time, to take the heartbreak that I know is waiting at the end of the line like a solid concrete buffer seen from the front of the runaway train that this Love is. Now or later?

If I walk away now the heartache will be acute and direct. If I stay and try to be just a friend, hide my feelings deep inside and try not to let them spill out, the heartache will be the same. It'll hurt just as much but I'll at least get the pleasure of being close to her. For a short time. With the accompanying distance between us.