Wake Up Slow

"When the whole world fits inside of your arms,

do we really need to pay attention to the alarms?"

~ Banana Pancakes - Jack Johnson

I should be working.

But instead I'm Photoshopping pictures I took of my sleeping girlfriend on New Year's Day and desperately hoping that by the time my next lot of exams come around we'll have worked out how we're going to get through our gap year, without compromising our relationship or our respective travel plans. I can survive without everyone else. Sure, I'll miss them - a lot, actually - but I can live without them. I can't live without her.

"I'll love you like the stars above

  I'll love you 'till I die..."

~ Romeo & Juliet - Dire Straits

Bah, Humbug

Ah, Christmas: the lights, the laughter, the presents and - most importantly, in my opinion - the food. Suddenly, however, the joys of the festive season seem to be sullied with a bad case of Scrooge-itis. Everything and everyone seems to be against Christmas these days. People complaining about everything from when the Christmas lights go up (“It’s still 3 days ‘till Christmas, why are they putting them up so early?!”) to the social etiquette of gift-buying (“Well she’s in my Psychology class, and she once lent me a pen; maybe I should buy her something.”). Not to mention the plethora of idiots who whine about the fact Christmas stock arrives in shops so early, and then whine about the fact they don’t have enough time to do all their Christmas shopping.

Christmas-loathing also extends to those dreading having to be nice to long-lost relations (“My, haven’t you grown?” “Yes, Great-Auntie Muriel, I have, because last time you saw I was young enough to be wearing elephant-pattern leggings and not be making a fashion statement.”), and to those who have decided Christmas is simply over-commercialised (“Dude, by buying people presents and spreading the love, you’re totally conforming to our capitalist society.” Right, well I won’t be buying one for you then.).

And, of course, accompanying all this are the manic cries of political correctness gone mad, as supposedly “open-minded” people call for Christmas to be abolished, or at least made less Christianity-orientated. Now I’m no supporter of Christianity – or religion at all for that matter – but last time I checked, Christmas was a Christian holiday. Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t that sort of give it the right to be Christianity-orientated?

Political correctness isn’t the only current issue rallying against the season to be jolly; global warming has also decided to put a damper on the Christmas spirit – literally. This year, even the most optimistic among us aren’t dreaming of a white Christmas. It’s more likely to be a sort of greyish colour, as it is forecast to be the wettest December on record in the UK.

It is for these reasons that it’s highly unfortunate I love Christmas. The completely commercial, overindulgent, ridiculous merriment of it. I love it when the first Coca-Cola advert heralds the start of the festive season, and when Radio One starts playing The Pogues & Kirsty McColl’s ‘Fairytale Of New York’ (best Christmas song ever), when ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ and ‘Home Alone’ become the only films on TV, and when you buy a 100-pack of cards and realise that won’t be enough. I already have Christmas decorations up in my room – but then again, I never took them down from last year. So apologies to you all, but I, for one, fully intend to be annoyingly happy about the holidays and will be singing Christmas songs as loudly as is humanly possible from now until New Year.

Almost

Lying here without you, I can almost taste your scent

I can reach up

And out

And steal it

Your essence

Your very deepest, darkest essence

Now belongs to me

It is all I can own of you

Here, now

You have me enslaved, ensnared

And I am a willing prisoner

Not for me, however, the cold ball and chain

The heat of our furnace has warped them

Into fine chains of silken-light dreams that settle, glinting,

On my heart

And now, lying here without you, I can almost touch them

A Word's Worth [+...]

Merci. La confusion reste sur la scène, mais il y a une boîte vide dans mon théâtre qui vous attendra.

A Word's Worth

Another combination of words

Or a new set of lyrics

Twisting adjectives to flatter, verbs to hurt

One more noun for what is

Or the next description of what isn’t

The flick of a tongue

The tap of a key

And the flowing, scratching, twirling, stabbing

Exploding lines

Of lead and ink and thoughts

Try, we do in vain, to find a better way

And though actions may speak louder than they

And though a picture may say a thousand

They are my companions, and -

Remember this: the pen is mightier than the sword

So long as one’s wit is sharpened.

Confused

The reading of my heart was your job

Accidentally commissioned to do it, you were relied upon

Every time the numbers changed I got a new sparkle in my eye

And yet suddenly my audience is gone

                    Alone in the spotlight

                    Gazing out at empty seats

                    The plush velvet begins to rot

                    And words start to collapse

Your words still touch me, you know

And I still read your heart, even though it's not my job

And I want to understand the turn of events;

Why the walls of the city fell down.