And so I now find myself in a land I don’t know, a dimension where the laws of physics or some such mystical nonsense no longer hold sway. It must have been while I slept. Perhaps it was those greys the little blighters, deciding a trans-dimensional shift was the order of the day ignoring ritual back passage shenanigans (they must get very bored and to be honest I’m sure it’s a chore).
In my previous existence not telling the truth was a sin of a sort and not looked upon as a way to influence people, make friends or get a job. In fact one sniff of such dishonesty and your copy book was blighted, burned and the ashes scattered. A little white lie could be just as damaging as a dirty big honker (though a million plus parents will tell you differently I’m sure, it’s all down to the situation and season).
Here it’s different. In fact the bigger the lie, the more outrageously crass, the bigger the reward. It’s as though the lie becomes invisible, it becomes a mis-truth which we all know boys and girls is not the same thing as a lie, it’s cosy and smart and smiles a smile you just have to forgive… Or forget.
I’m in bed by 6:00 most nights, I leave the window wide open. Those big eyed guys from the far flung galaxy – where a trip to earth is like a holiday at Butlins (but with extra bodily embarrassing games that make carrying a water filled balloon clenched between straining buttocks look safe) – are welcome to come back and take me home.
A quick one today and all about the delights of a truffle – the chocolate kind! My wife today decided to treat me to some home-made ones and they are very very nice and a touch alcoholic!
I have had these before, a friend of my wife’s made them and they were scrummy and I have had the ones you get in packets but the home-made ones are very different and actually do melt in your mouth. They are almost irresistible (I have to actually sit on my hands to stop myself going to the fridge to get them – they have to be kept there to keep fresh as they have cream as well as the dark chocolate in them)!
I am just at the end of a diet, my millionth attempt to stay below 12 stones (yes I know I shouldn’t be yo-yo dieting and it does get quite dizzy going up and down all the time). So I need to take a more disciplined stance to staying at this weight and not overindulge! Now this may be quite tricky given the time of year but I’ll give it my best shot. I will eat but one truffle a day and maybe two on Christmas day… maybe…
I may have said this before but why is life so cruel as to make food so addictive and so delicious? If you give up smoking then you don’t die, or if you give up alcohol you don’t die, if you give up food, well… you can never go cold turkey! Not that I eat turkey being a vegetarian (and when I wasn’t I did like a bit of cold turkey with some stuffing in a nice wholemeal sandwich… with pickle…).
Ah food! There I go again! You can’t go in any direction of discussion without it coming up! And it’s everywhere in every shape and form; on the television, on billboards, in the cupboard in the fridge… Right that reminds me I have an urge to eat another truffle!
With a voice like ice on fire, melted to the virtual skin of a blood soaked threat
With a wit to sear the tone of deliverance and chill the bones of men
With a pain that breaks the heart and fills my eyes with tears
With a love that never wants what you just can’t have
What do you think of yourself? Are you comfortable in your own skin? When you look at yourself in the mirror (presuming you can and many people can’t) who do you see? I can look, in fact in order to shave without creating a scene from a Stephen King book in the bathroom it’s essential, but I always see something or somebody different. It’s not a psychic thing, I’m not seeing faces of ghosts and I’m not getting confused with the window (which can be embarrassing especially if naked and is likely to either get me arrested or remind my neighbours that we haven’t had a huge amount of quality summer around these parts).
But each time I do look I can either wonder if shaving is possible eventually in total darkness or that yes perhaps I do have some semblance of normality and perhaps the ladies may get a treat when I’m out and about (if it’s dark and they have their glasses safely hidden in a pocket or bag). The other day I looked in the mirror and saw my father, which is fine he’s not a monster and has in fairness given me a large number of genes so I will have some resemblance but my dad is now in his ’70’s. So I saw my face really as I imagine it will look at around about the same age! It was a slight shock but it was very early in the morning.
I tend to think I look younger than I am, I certainly feel a whole lot younger than I am and the grey has only just started to push through with fine silver hairs visible close up (though my eyebrows have been silver since several years back for some strange reason though if you glance they do look blond(ish)). I still have a full head of hair though it is getting thinner especially at the front! There is some history of being follicularly challenged on my father’s side but I’m holding out that my mother’s genes will be the stronger (my grandfather still had a fullish head of hair and my uncle still has his mostly in place).
Anyway back to that mirror. I do not spend hours admiring myself in it. I look when I need to and when I want to pull a few faces to see how many wrinkles appear and then stay in place! I’d say that I look as though I was pushing towards my 40’s, especially now I’ve lost a few pounds (and am desperately trying to keep it off – it is soooo darned hard, the call of the chocolate is sooo loud and persistent!). But maybe I’m kidding myself, I’ve never seen myself as a ‘catch’, more a middling kinda guy, not the ugliest man around but not a ‘hunk’; I’d not get picked to model jumpers for catalogues anyway! If I was an actor I’d get the quirky interesting friend roles, I’d be a less manic (and slightly slimmer) Jack Black, or a more nerdy Kevin Bacon.
I’m an avid people watcher and sometimes I catch myself wondering what others see or do they even notice me? I even catch myself wondering ‘do any of these ladies see a fanciable chap or are they close to reaching for a sick bag?’ Of course sheer statists mean that everybody will be ‘fanciable’ to somebody but it alway makes me feel slight uncomfortable if I notice somebody looking; I wonder if I’ve not dressed properly or perhaps I remind them of an old teacher or pet. I even wonder if they have seen something resembling an attractive human being and their poor little tickers have missed a beat (I know I must have had this effect a couple of times, I have had a couple of girlfriends in my past life (before I had my wife and three children, a mortgage, a dog, a cat and fulltime job) but then I was a lot younger of course. It also makes me feel a little guilty, I don’t know why.
So what do you see?
Do you know any answers? Can you see how the world works when the night falls in pitiful shades of gray, dampening the light from a weak sun filtered through clouds of melting mountains? Is it good to say I ache from the machinations of a crowd that pushes me in all directions with angry power? Once I stood naked before the mirror and saw a man not yet old and no longer young but I didn’t see me, I couldn’t see me. Why can people only glimpse that part of us that boils and simmers with some parts rage some parts love? Am I going mad when I remember you from so long ago as though it was only this morning? You were so fresh and new and I wanted you more than the air I breath. Is it brash to lay down my feelings like so many open sores to be eaten away by time? I dream in colours so vivid they hurt my eyes and pulses of pain seep deep, laying trenches in my conscious waking life, can I survive or sink into a spiral of hurt?
My last poem went down quite well – it’s ages since I wrote a batch of ‘poetry’ – when I was a teenager I used to write reams of the stuff and almost (I know we can all say almost about a lot of things) had one published in a compilation by the name of ‘Spongers’ – this was a short tome by the unemployed for the unemployed about being skint and, well, unemployed! It wasn’t the jolliest of books, or wouldn’t have been had it seen the light of day! Ah well, thank goodness for the Internet.
Anyway I feel like giving you another poem today… sorry but it has to come out somewhere 🙂
If I hold my head like so
And pull my mind apart
Will you hear my voice and see my soul
And break my bleeding tender heart
If I open my eyes and look around
And see the million things you try to hide
With brittle pain I will fall down
And tell the world you lied
If I try to see all there is to see
Will I die from shock
Is this all there is to be with me
On this barren broken rock
If I kiss you with my tender lips
And walk away with fear
Will I ever get to see or know
The voice I long to hear