I'm experiencing some hard-hitting flashbacks to singing this obsessively every break time for at least a year with my un-madeup school friends. Bastille know how to twist the shit out of childhood memories...
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Friday, 13 January 2012
Friday, 30 December 2011
Messtivals
I miss messy festivals and fields and mud and cows and boys in bands and tents and picnics so freakin' much.
Sunday, 16 October 2011
Words
There are too many words, there are too few words.
There is nothing to say, yet somehow, there is everything. It must be said.
It must be said that there are never enough words to express, to communicate, to explain, to spellouttoyou the efforts, the injuries, the injustices, the worries, the fears, the scars, the pains and the woes of my love for you.
There shall never be a love like it, never a love like this that should consume my heart to the degree of a burst bubble. Like the bubbles in the playground or paddling pool when we shared the age of six or seven years alive and breathing; our, or rather your, love was transient, expendable, all used up the moment it was expressed and shared around for all to see. Once the bubble burst I was worthless, and you were worth the world and more. And, get this, not only worth the world and more and more to me, but to her. That worthless witch who cradled your soul in her crooked arms, stomped on my own with her sequined shoes. That creature who festered, who burned, who consumed and who stole. Whether she had been a person, a being, a mist or a demon, I shall forever remember, recall, re-enact and retell the role she played in my bitter, burning downfall.
Whether the part she played were through the voices in my head, that spun me in every direction but the truth about you. Whether the part she played was in your eyes, your heart, your head, your hands and between your sheets, thieving you away into a world I was barred from for all eternity. Whether the part she played was solely that of the inflicted injustice of a chair flung fast at an un-flinching cheekbone. Whether the part she played was the bloodied pools settling upon the pavement, the snotspitblood that curdled down my throat, the bittersweet tears at the realisation of evil, the dizzying effects of vodkaorangeallfuckingnightlongonafartooemptystomach, combined with the pain of your love and the lies of your lovers.
I will always remember, recall, retell. Your actions, your afflictions, your selfishness and your evils moulded me into the being I currently represent. I am proud of what you did, and the life I have led. I am proud of the scars, of the tears, the fears and the memories.
Despite all that blood, sweat, pain and tears, I shall never regret loving you, for this love is too pure to disappear, to fester, to falter. I shall reside behind your eyes, underneath your blackened heart, like the soot that rests beneath the blocks of coal that represent all that you do not stand for.
You're a bad one, but I will always love you.
There is nothing to say, yet somehow, there is everything. It must be said.
It must be said that there are never enough words to express, to communicate, to explain, to spellouttoyou the efforts, the injuries, the injustices, the worries, the fears, the scars, the pains and the woes of my love for you.
There shall never be a love like it, never a love like this that should consume my heart to the degree of a burst bubble. Like the bubbles in the playground or paddling pool when we shared the age of six or seven years alive and breathing; our, or rather your, love was transient, expendable, all used up the moment it was expressed and shared around for all to see. Once the bubble burst I was worthless, and you were worth the world and more. And, get this, not only worth the world and more and more to me, but to her. That worthless witch who cradled your soul in her crooked arms, stomped on my own with her sequined shoes. That creature who festered, who burned, who consumed and who stole. Whether she had been a person, a being, a mist or a demon, I shall forever remember, recall, re-enact and retell the role she played in my bitter, burning downfall.
Whether the part she played were through the voices in my head, that spun me in every direction but the truth about you. Whether the part she played was in your eyes, your heart, your head, your hands and between your sheets, thieving you away into a world I was barred from for all eternity. Whether the part she played was solely that of the inflicted injustice of a chair flung fast at an un-flinching cheekbone. Whether the part she played was the bloodied pools settling upon the pavement, the snotspitblood that curdled down my throat, the bittersweet tears at the realisation of evil, the dizzying effects of vodkaorangeallfuckingnightlongonafartooemptystomach, combined with the pain of your love and the lies of your lovers.
I will always remember, recall, retell. Your actions, your afflictions, your selfishness and your evils moulded me into the being I currently represent. I am proud of what you did, and the life I have led. I am proud of the scars, of the tears, the fears and the memories.
Despite all that blood, sweat, pain and tears, I shall never regret loving you, for this love is too pure to disappear, to fester, to falter. I shall reside behind your eyes, underneath your blackened heart, like the soot that rests beneath the blocks of coal that represent all that you do not stand for.
You're a bad one, but I will always love you.
Awesome as she, in all her glory
Does the fact that my swift and ever swifter demise and its effects fit so perfectly into your clammy, cold little fist like that of a toddler, squeezing their first and last hamster/gerbil/mouse/rat to death mean that I shouldn't love you as I do?
I fall into the abyss of meaninglessness. Signifying, symbolising and communicating less and less to the world, overshadowed, overcome, overruled by your ever pervading power of narcissism and nonsense. Does it mean that I am worthless? Surely not?
Though, if you of all the beings upon this blessed earth shall not have me, instead, choosing to discard the purity of my love, my devotion, my depth, who else might be rendered worthy of the honour?
For it is an honour to love and be loved, is it not? Do not the vows of marriage, the promise to have, to hold, for all eternity, signify the importance, the integrity, the royal injustice of the word Love?
Shall I forever be a discarded car wreck, reliant on drug addled friends, drug addled foes, and the throwaway lovers found in festering in the corners of public houses and filthy establishments surrounding the cities of the United Kingdom's forgotten men?
Shall I forever be deemed notquitegoodenough for the likes of yourself? With your selfishness? Your overpowering spitefulness? Your soul, that consumes the love and peace of others, leaving behind only the remnants of the path of destruction your fleeting passions led you to, and left alone after using up all that was good within them?
You know what, baby boy? You did that to me. You squeezed, you drank, you stole and you surmised me. You knew what I was worth and you took my fortune, claiming it for yourself and your beige bastardised brigade of the benign, the banal. Your cheekbones meant the world to me, masked with the mist of cheap banana-scented hairspray. Consumed by the exoticism of your bone structure, your bullshit stories, your tales of mishaps and images of Northern drudgery. You knew what I was worth and you took it all for yourself and your inherently beautiful and rewarding future.
But again, baby boy, you know what? You future is marred by the pain that your actions inflicted upon the likes of myself and other well-meaning beings of passion and grace. You stole, you lied, you cheated your way in and out of my life, choosing instead the blandness of her. Her ashy complexion, her toneless voice, her predictable comments and mirroring ways. You chose the bread and butter in life, keeping to yourself the wondrous delights you'd excavated from nights of passion with the likes of myself. While I am now worthless, in your eyes and mine, I am at least lit, basked in the glow of something you shall never possess. Truth. Honesty. Reality. Love. Honour. Beauty.
Your face may speak to me more words that were ever written in every tongue in every book on every page. Your eyes may forever communicate to me the innermost thoughts and feelings you possess and choose to share and articulate to the worthless being you moulded into me. But, sweet darling first true love, lover of mine forever and never, giver of scars, of tears, of oozing sores - you shall never be mine for you, your world, your heart and your words shall never be worthy of this glory.
I, awesome as she, in all her glory, shall never again be touched by your gaze, your love, your voice and your efforts to manipulate the light that emanates from my very existence. It was never yours to have, to hold, for all eternity, and it never shall be, sweet lover with the slitted eyes.
I fall into the abyss of meaninglessness. Signifying, symbolising and communicating less and less to the world, overshadowed, overcome, overruled by your ever pervading power of narcissism and nonsense. Does it mean that I am worthless? Surely not?
Though, if you of all the beings upon this blessed earth shall not have me, instead, choosing to discard the purity of my love, my devotion, my depth, who else might be rendered worthy of the honour?
For it is an honour to love and be loved, is it not? Do not the vows of marriage, the promise to have, to hold, for all eternity, signify the importance, the integrity, the royal injustice of the word Love?
Shall I forever be a discarded car wreck, reliant on drug addled friends, drug addled foes, and the throwaway lovers found in festering in the corners of public houses and filthy establishments surrounding the cities of the United Kingdom's forgotten men?
Shall I forever be deemed notquitegoodenough for the likes of yourself? With your selfishness? Your overpowering spitefulness? Your soul, that consumes the love and peace of others, leaving behind only the remnants of the path of destruction your fleeting passions led you to, and left alone after using up all that was good within them?
You know what, baby boy? You did that to me. You squeezed, you drank, you stole and you surmised me. You knew what I was worth and you took my fortune, claiming it for yourself and your beige bastardised brigade of the benign, the banal. Your cheekbones meant the world to me, masked with the mist of cheap banana-scented hairspray. Consumed by the exoticism of your bone structure, your bullshit stories, your tales of mishaps and images of Northern drudgery. You knew what I was worth and you took it all for yourself and your inherently beautiful and rewarding future.
But again, baby boy, you know what? You future is marred by the pain that your actions inflicted upon the likes of myself and other well-meaning beings of passion and grace. You stole, you lied, you cheated your way in and out of my life, choosing instead the blandness of her. Her ashy complexion, her toneless voice, her predictable comments and mirroring ways. You chose the bread and butter in life, keeping to yourself the wondrous delights you'd excavated from nights of passion with the likes of myself. While I am now worthless, in your eyes and mine, I am at least lit, basked in the glow of something you shall never possess. Truth. Honesty. Reality. Love. Honour. Beauty.
Your face may speak to me more words that were ever written in every tongue in every book on every page. Your eyes may forever communicate to me the innermost thoughts and feelings you possess and choose to share and articulate to the worthless being you moulded into me. But, sweet darling first true love, lover of mine forever and never, giver of scars, of tears, of oozing sores - you shall never be mine for you, your world, your heart and your words shall never be worthy of this glory.
I, awesome as she, in all her glory, shall never again be touched by your gaze, your love, your voice and your efforts to manipulate the light that emanates from my very existence. It was never yours to have, to hold, for all eternity, and it never shall be, sweet lover with the slitted eyes.
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