Sing my song...

Through his writing he has travelled and learned what he might dare to dream about the world and himself. He had acknowledged the difference between good and evil, right and wrong, both existing in a different dimension from his own. But he felt that he, too, existed much of the time in a different plane from everyone else he knew. There was waking, and there was sleeping. And then there was writing, a kind of parallel universe in which anything might happen and frequently did, a universe in which he might be a newcomer but was never really a stranger. His real, true world. His perfect island. But if these years have taught him anything it is this: you can never run away. Not ever. The only way out is in.

This one's for you...

All the pieces fall right into place...

The best teachers have showed me that things have to be done bit by bit. Nothing that means anything happens quickly - we only think it does. The motion of drawing back a bow and sending an arrow straight into a target takes only a split second, but it is a skill many years in the making. So it is with a life, anyone's life. I may write about things that could be described as moments captured in time, but they are only shadows of the larger truth, fragments separated from the whole cycle of becoming. And if I can tell an old-time story now about a man who is walking about, it is because I spent many years walking about alone, listening to voices that came from nowhere, and kept me company as I sailed towards a greater understanding of myself.

The flames on our skin...

No one fights dirtier or more brutally than blood; only family knows it's own weaknesses, the exact placement of the heart. The tragedy is that one can still live with the force of hatred, feel infuriated that once you are born to another, that kinship lasts through life and death, immutable, unchanging, no matter how great the misdeed or betrayal. Blood cannot be denied, and perhaps that's why we fight tooth and claw, because we cannot - being only human - put asunder what the universe has joined together.

The more you talk about it, rehash it, rethink it, cross analyze it, debate it, respond to it, get paranoid about it, compete with it, complain about it, immortalize it, cry over it, kick it, defame it, stalk it, gossip about it, pray over it, put it down or dissect its motives it continues to rot in your brain. It is dead. It is over. It is gone. It is done. It is time to bury it because it is smelling up your life and no one wants to be near your rotted corpse of memories and decaying attitude. Be the funeral director of your life and bury that thing!

In his eyes, there's a heavy green...

I've been running through the jungle,

I've been running with the wolves,

I've been down the darkest alleys,

saw the dark side of the moon -

all for you, yeah, all for you.

My end game...

They tell you: follow your dreams. Climb every mountain and open every door. Listen to your spirit and the sound of your thoughts telling you to reach higher. Change the world. Make your mark. Find your inner voice and make it sing. Embrace failure and learn from your mistakes. Dream. Dream and dream big until you are standing at the highest most pinnacle. As a matter of fact, dream and don’t stop dreaming until there is nothing left but the satisfaction of knowing that your dreams are coming true. I think ... I think that’s crap. I think a lot of people dream. And while they are busy dreaming, the really happy people, the really successful people, the really interesting, powerful, engaged people? They are busy doing.

Waiting for you to bang the gong...

Fly like a jet stream...

Painting me a dream...

He suddenly realised that we were on borrowed time, that time is always lent, and that the lending agency exacts its premium precisely when we are least prepared to pay and need to borrow more. So if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don't snuff it out, don't be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we'd want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything - what a waste!

High above the whole scene...

Get going. Move forward. Aim High. Plan a takeoff. Don't just sit on the runway and hope someone will come along and push the airplane. It simply won't happen. Change your attitude and gain some altitude. You'll love it up here.

Each man has only one genuine vocation - to find the way to himself. His task is simple and pure - a way to discover his own destiny - not an arbitrary one - and to live it out wholly and resolutely within himself. Everything else was only a would-be existence, an attempt at evasion, a flight back to the ideals of the masses, conformity and fear of one's own inwardness. You’ll be told in a hundred different ways, some subtle and some not, to keep climbing, and never be satisfied with where you are, who you are, and what you’re doing. There are a million ways to sell yourself out, and I guarantee you’ll hear about them. To invent your own life’s meaning is not easy, but it’s still allowed, and I think you’ll be happier for the trouble.

Making forts under covers...

My baby's fit like a daydream,

walking with his head down,

I'm the one he's walking to.

So call it what you want,

call it what you want to.

My baby's fly like a jet stream,

high above the whole scene

loves me like I'm brand new.

Fit like a daydream...

Most of us, who have been at this awhile, are forced to acknowledge the histories of life. We are forced to admit that despite everything we are taught, everything we have been raised to believe, certain kinds of magic do indeed exist. In owe of logic and reason, there are things beyond our grasp, and history, memory and the ghosts of our past are sometimes just as tangible as anything we can hold in our hands. We have to understand that just because someone isn't directly in our life anymore, that doesn't mean they don't affect our everyday. That words spoken eons ago don't resonate within our souls and whisper lessons long thought banished. So alas, to love is to lose, yet to lose doesn't not mean to forget.

At least I did one thing right...

And so we dance...

From distant sky...

October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy drafts that bit at exposed hands and faces. November, with uncanny witchery changed trees. With murky red sunsets flaming in smoky crimson behind the westering hills. With dear days when the austere woods were beautiful and gracious in a dignified serenity of folded hands and closed eyes - days full of a fine, pale sunshine that sifted through the late, leafless gold of the juniper-trees and glimmered among the grey beeches, lighting up evergreen banks of moss and washing the colonnades of the pines. Days with a high-sprung sky of flawless turquoise. Days when an exquisite melancholy seemed to hang over the landscape and dream about the lake. But days, too, of the wild blackness of great autumn storms, followed by dank, wet, streaming nights when there was witch-laughter in the pines and fitful moans among the mainland trees. He cared not, though. He has built his roof well, and his chimney drew.

Call it what you want...

I remember days when I used to get so god damn lonely and sad and filled with regrets. It overwhelms me that I was once that person sitting on the bus; watching the golden leaves from a window; thinking of everything I let go. But I slowly learned to breathe through it and keep walking. I learned to make things nice for myself. To comfort my own heart when I woke up sad. To find small bits of friendship in a crowd full of strangers. To find a small moment of joy in a blue sky, in a trip somewhere not so far away, a long walk an early morning in November, or a handwritten letter to an old friend simply saying: "I thought of you. I hope you’re well."

I guess what I'm trying to say is that no one will come and save you. No one will come riding on a white horse and take all your worries away. You have to save yourself, little by little, day by day. Build yourself a home. Take care of your body. Find something to work on. Something that makes you excited, something you want to learn. Watch some movies and learn them by heart. Get to know the author, where he grew up, what movies he watched himself. But above all, learn. Learn to make things nice for yourself. Try at least. Always try.