Two Years Ago Today

Two years ago today, I was pushed off a cliff.

The person who shoved me was the person I’ve loved most in my life, the woman who has loved me the most and the girl I’m still in love with now.

Since then, I’ve been falling and failing and flailing. I’ve reached out to people around me, desperately grabbing and, in my desperation, driven them away. To the outsider, it looks like I have a healthy, diverse set of friends. Only I know that when I’m on my own I find no succour in these relationships. I dream about her, write about her, sing about her.

I fantasise about one day accidentally discovering some kind of Einstein-Rosen bridge, being able to travel back in time and “fix” everything. Or, at the very least, send data into the past. Maybe this post, to warn my past self to change my ways. But we’ve all seen time travel films. We know that altering the past never seems to go as it should, it seems to be a tech-age re-telling of the stories of mischievous djinns and three wishes.

Back in reality, I find myself breaking down increasingly. Crying in public is never a good move for a middle-aged man. Maybe this instability doesn’t stem only from losing this person. Maybe it’s the added stress I’ve been going through, family illness, my own health worries. Or maybe I’m just kidding myself in pretending that I’m not irreparably shattered.

Two years ago, 31st October 2008, she left and I, not realising that ‘that was it,’ went out to DJ. Here’s the photos from that night -> click. It was a strange night. I think I was in shock and hadn’t realised then that I was falling. I certainly didn’t imagine I had two years of screaming ahead of me.

In the car today, these lyrics came on:

“We have all the time in the world
Time enough for life to unfold
All the precious things love has in store”

When you’re first in love and past the initial frenzy, the above can seem seductively true. It’s so easy to bask in love, to grow accustomed to being calm with someone. To relax and just be.

The truth is that the song, particularly in the context of the film it comes from, is telling us the exact opposite of its denoted meaning. Take every sentence and parse it as its opposite: we have no time, there isn’t enough time for love to unfold, there’s nothing in store.

I think about her when I don’t want to. I feel like I’ve lost an arm: I’m disabled by her absence. Nothing is as much fun, colours are less vivid, jokes are less funny, the life is draining out of the world around me in my long tumble into nothing. I daren’t sit quietly in the house because I find myself listening out for her singing in the kitchen. I miss that so much. Sometimes, I’d sit upstairs and listen to her play the piano downstairs. She’d improvise such beautiful music.

Of course, this all sounds horribly bleak because I’m a fractured man. You may be reading this and be happily loved-up. If that’s so, I’m genuinely happy for you and very envious. But please let me leave you with one entreaty: go to your lover now. Hold them tightly. Kiss them. And just countenance, if only for a second, losing them as I lost mine.

It’s a fuck of a long way down.

Metameta

Hmm… my views per day seems to have increased by nearly a hundred lately. What’s that about?

Also good to see ‘pugs not drugs‘ in recent searches. And being a top-read article. Though it’s got a way to go before it usurps the laptop DJing article.

Umm… the Ethernet one is a bit embarrassing since I don’t really give much help about wiring, just what I did myself. Sorry!

This Bzangy navel-gazing is very bizarre. I hope all the people looking at my bloody eye get something out of it. 🙂

US Terrorist Attack Kills Eleven

At least 11 suspected militants have been killed in drone strikes in north-west Pakistan in the past 24 hours, local officials say.

Officials say planes fired two missiles into a militant compound in North Waziristan early on Thursday, killing at least five people.

And up to six militants were killed in strikes in the area on Wednesday.

The lawless region, a haven for members of the Taliban and al-Qaeda, has been repeatedly targeted by US drones.
(Source: BBC News)

For “suspected militants,” please read “totally innocent civilians.” Unless, like the USA, you follow the doctrine of guilty until proven innocent.

On the news yesterday was MI6’s leader, bleating on about what a bang-up job they do defeating international terrorism.

Really? So why didn’t MI6 foil this terror attack? Or, in fact, any of the other attacks carried out by the US on Pakistanis this year? Or the drone strikes in 2009?

Over two hundred innocent people have been killed in 2010 by the US in Pakistan. Just imagine if Al Qaeda had killed that many British or Americans on their home soil. What would our TV news be full of? Justifiable fury at the murder of innocents.

But when it’s us or our allies carrying out the slaughter…

Nothing.

Private Corporation Re-Writes New Zealand’s Laws

New Zealand’s parliament has passed legislation that will keep the production of two Hobbit films in the country.

The government agreed to amend labour laws as part of a deal with Warner Bros to retain the $500m (£315m) project.

Warner had threatened to move production elsewhere because of a dispute with acting unions.

But the opposition has criticised the deal.

“What is the government going to do next – give in to any multi-national that asks for a labour standard to be diluted in return for some form of investment?” said Labour Party lawmaker Charles Chauvel.
(Source: BBC News)

Hey, we’re a multi-national corporation, we’re totally un-elected and have no right to interfere but we’re going to re-write your laws anyway.

Make them more anti-union, y’know? Thanks!

And this is why we call it *bourgeois* democracy rather than real democracy.

Somatic Reactions

27/08/2010 23:05

I drop my Mum off at hers after we get back from the hospital.

Going to the end of the road, I switch my stereo on. It’s been off the entire journey back from Nottingham because she moans at any SPL over inaudible. I’d rather listen to nothing than listen to castrated music.

The first track that comes on is ‘Misery Business.’ Good, I need something poppy and punchy. I turn the volume up just in time for the first snare before the guitar hook kicks in. I’m actually slightly shocked by how loud it is. But it feels good. I turn it up.

My speakers are distorting now and the door panels are rattling.

I need this so much after the mundane drive, after the bleeps and pings of the hospital ward. I need something alive and loud and now.

Turning left at the roundabout, I drive through Breadsall Village. Seems so long ago we lived there. Because it is long ago – twelve years. The song’s coming to the guitar solo, which I love but I don’t want it to end yet so I skip back to the start.

I speed through Lime Lane. I’m frustrated that there are two cars ahead of me so we’re dawdling along at 40 instead of the maximum for this road, 60mph. I want to drive fast. The trees whip by. I want to feel them so I wind the windows down. The cold slices through me, tessellating with the music.

I turn the stereo up.

Now into Oakwood, the long way round, can’t be arsed with the stop-startiness of Smalley Drive tonight. The music feels good. It washes away the day I’ve had, not talking to another human till I picked up some books for my Dad at 6.15. My isolation was through choice – I couldn’t face anyone today. My emotional reserves, like my petrol, have been depleted by the daily trips to Nottingham. I’d say that I’m running on empty but I’m barely fucking walking.

Through the traffic calming. Let the solo wash over me. God, I miss Mosh. There’s something about feeling music in my bones, vibrating through me that affects me in a way nothing else does. I know I’m addicted, not just to music but to loud music, to music which thumps through me, shattering my melancholy.

I’m home. Time to put some music on.

On Love Too

eleflowers

It’s a click and a whirr, a gentle tick as the final piece slots into place.

You’re in love.

You didn’t want to be. You tried your best not to be. You even thought of every single negative quality she had to try to stop yourself from yet another swan dive into broken glass. But she called out to you and you couldn’t ignore her, couldn’t leave her like that.

If I could open up my head and find the part of my brain that is the nexus for “love,” I’d stick a screwdriver in there and stir it up like old custard, destroy the fucking thing forever.

I don’t want it any more. I don’t want to be dreading this weekend with a feeling I’ve not had since I was four or five, a childlike fear that soaks my blood and bones, that screams at me even as I pretend not to hear it.

I don’t want to feel my stomach knot like wet rope every time I find something she labelled at the back of a kitchen cupboard or when iPhoto mockingly shows me pictures of her at startup, time travelling to punch me in the gut.

I miss her so much. Two years and nothing has changed inside me. Because that’s my idiocy: once I’ve fallen in love with someone, I never fall out of love. I envy those around me who declare their undying bond to “the one” and then merrily swap partners, re-writing the history to jibe with the now. If I could be like them, I’d be happier. Or at least less miserable.

When I tell others of my affliction, they say it’s a strength to love so much. It isn’t. It’s the cruellest, sharpest weakness when no-one else exhibits the same ridiculous tendencies. Everyone else “moves on.” I don’t. I guess I’m broken.

I’m thinking of the softness of her face now, how I used to love just holding her to me and losing myself in her embrace. She always smelt so good, I can’t really describe it but it made me relax, I knew I was safe. Now we’re strangers. I know we’ll never be friends again. And I know I’ll never feel safe again.

The events of the last week, a brutal and sudden family illness, have forced me to realise how much I’ve been kidding myself in believing I’m not alone. I can understand the comforts of self-delusion but that’s a path I thought I was avoiding. I was wrong.

What use is me not drinking / drugging if I lose myself to a fantasy, if I spin something out of nothing entirely in my head? There’s no true difference between doing that and getting off your head every weekend to blot out the shit life you’ve chosen to have. In my own way, I’ve become a drone, my soma is love. My songs stink of its crippling wretchedness.

I’m not saying that the universe is evil. It’s just uncaring, indifferent. A lottery win or a haemorrhage, it’s all the same, all meaningless.

Maybe it’s time I started living in a loveless reality than a love-filled daydream.