It never stops raining...

He's a wolf. His nature demands he's dominated, even if he tries to fight it. He'll listen to an amount of force - positive, not negative, but leave the run wide open with no boundaries and he won't listen to you at all. All he'll pay attention to is the call of freedom, even if it leads him straight into a trap. Stop thinking like a human. He's a wolf.

I have to let some things go. I'm not super man, and if I'm to make it out alive, I have to set priorities. for the boundaries of this world are forever shifting - from day to night, joy to sorrow, love to hate, and from life itself to death; and who can say at what moment we may suddenly cross over the border, from one state of existence to another, like heat applied to some flammable substance? I have been given my own ever-changing margins, across which I move, continually and hungrily, like a migrating animal. Now civilised, now untamed; now responsive to decency and human concern, now viciously attuned to the darkest of desires.

I'll remember these days...

Spend my days in the playground...

The challenge lies in knowing how to bring this sort of day to a close. His mind has been wound to a pitch of concentration by the interactions that have haunted his recent days. Now there are only silence and the flashing of the unset clock on the oven. He feels as if he had been playing a computer game which remorselessly tested his reflexes, only to have its plug suddenly pulled from the wall. He is impatient and restless, but simultaneously exhausted and fragile. He is in no state to engage with anything significant. It is of course impossible to read, for a sincere book would demand not only time, but also a clear emotional lawn around the text in which associations and anxieties could emerge and be disentangled. He will perhaps only ever do one thing well in his life.

Lets sit down together...

Sometimes it takes falling apart to see exactly how or what loosened the mortar. Sometimes we find we are responsible for the how and the what. As unpleasant as it is when it happens, one cannot help but appreciate these times for what you learn serves as a beacon. Of course this is only half the battle. Which means you're already half way there, and that there is little more you can do, than try to wash away the pain of yesterday. There are different ways to go about it. Me ... I like standing in the rain, because it makes me feel less alone. All rain is, is a cloud - falling apart, and pouring its shattered pieces down on top of you. It makes me feel good to know I'm not the only thing that falls apart. It makes me feel better to know other things in nature can shatter as well.

When the fire burns out...

I know you moved on to someone new,

hope life is beautiful,

you were the light for me to find my truth,

I just wanna say, thank you.

Leaving to find my soul,

told you I had to go,

and I know it ain't pretty,

when our hearts get broke.

My back against the wall...

Leaving to find my soul...

He closed his eyes and jumped. For a moment he felt himself hang suspended, free of everything. Then gravity took over, and he plunged toward the floor. Instinctively he pulled his arms and legs in, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. The cord pulled taut and he rebounded, flying back up before falling again. As his velocity slowed, he opened his eyes and found himself dangling at the end of the cord, about five feet above the ground. He was grinning.

She reaches out and grabs my hand to steady me. Her skin is warm and soft, and holding her hand sends an electric sensation up my right arm. She holds my hand firmly until I regain my balance, which takes me a heartbeat longer than it should have. I realised in that moment that we were victims of concussion. When it was all over I felt like a man who had been thrown from a cliff, whirled in a centrifuge, and spat out over a waterfall that fell into emptiness and never quite touched bottom. Never, never quite, no not quite, touched bottom, and I fell so fast I didn't touch the sides either. Never quite touched anything.

Promise not to fall...

Figure it out...

I remember staying to look at it for a long time, as one would linger within reach of a consoling whisper. The sky was pearly grey. It was one of those overcast days so rare in the tropics, in which memories crowd upon one, memories of other shores, of other faces. "Love is the spice of life!" He exhaled and picked up his glass and took a long drink before setting it down again. Did it end in heartache? Well, yes. But it was the good kind of heartache. The kind where you'll always think fondly of each other, even though you know your love could never be. "Ooh, I just love stories that end that way!" He thought. Those happy, sappy endings in romance novels aren't realistic at all. But if you can gaze up at the stars at night and think fondly of your lost love, then I guess it was worth falling in love and losing it.

Be sure to spread your wings as you go...

I don't think I have anything to say anymore. Life has come and gone so quickly that words have escaped my grasp. Perhaps it was inevitable ... one has to grow up sometimes, right? Yet I have not invested so much time and effort to simply leave you be. No ... the end has to be as grand as the beginning. As humble as self-righteous as the first words spilt for no one to read. And I promise that I've been trying to fit everything in, trying to get to the end before it's too late, but I see now how badly I've deceived myself. Words do not allow such things. The closer you come to the finish line, the less there is to say. The end is only imaginary, a destination you invent to keep yourself going, but a point comes when you realise you will never get there. You might have to stop, but that is only because you have run out of time. You stop, but that does not mean it is over. It will never be over.

Supermarket flowers...

So I'll sing Hallelujah,

you were an angel in the shape of my gran.

When I fell down you'd be there holding me up,

spread your wings as you go,

and when God takes you back we'll say Hallelujah -

you're home.

Feeling all the highs, feeling all the pain...

Not only is there often a right and wrong, but what goes around does come around, Karma exists, chickens do come home to roost, and as my grandmother liked to say: there is always a day of reckoning. The good among the great understand that every choice we make adds to the strength or weakness of our spirits, or to use an old fashioned word for the same idea, our souls. That is every human’s life work: to construct an identity bit by bit, to walk a path step by step, to live a life that is worthy of something higher, lighter, more fulfilling, and maybe even everlasting.

The universe unfolds to itself, bringing to bear any cause that needs to be included. Don't take this process personally. The working out of cause and effect is eternal. We are part of this rising and falling that never ends, and only by riding the wave can you ensure that the waves don’t drown you. For once you’ve lived a little you will find that whatever you send out into the world comes back to you in one way or another. It may be today, tomorrow, or years from now, but it happens; usually when you least expect it, usually in a form that’s pretty different from the original. Those coincidental moments that change your life seem random at the time but I don’t think they are. At least that’s how it’s worked out in my life. And I know I’m not the only one.

Boundless by the time I cried...

Fire shy and cold alone...

Behind these tired eyes...

I am now 27 years old, and it feels like much time has passed and is passing faster and faster every day. I can still remember how I once gazed into the future, thinking that it's still so far away, yet here I am now, fully living it. Day to day I have to make all sorts of choices about what is good and important and fun, and then I have to live with the forfeiture of all the other options those choices foreclose. And I'm starting to see how as time gains momentum my choices will narrow and their foreclosures multiply exponentially until I arrive at some point on some branch of all life's sumptuous branching complexity at which I am finally locked in and stuck on one path and time speeds me through stages of stasis and atrophy and decay until I go down for the third time, all struggle for naught, drowned by time. It is dreadful. 

Sometimes losing, sometimes shooting...

For the space of a few seconds, there was this gigantic sheet of paper on which were written sentences that moved forward jerkily, changing their meaning, modifying their construction, altering completely as they advanced. It was beautiful, so beautiful that nothing like that had ever been read anywhere, and yet it was impossible to decipher the writing. It was all about death, or pity, or the incredible secrets that are hidden somewhere, at one of the farthest points of time. It was about water, too, about vast lakes floating just above the mountains, lakes shimmering under the cold wind. For a split second, by screwing up his eyes, he managed to read the writing, but it vanished with lightning speed and he could not be sure. It seemed to go like this: there's no reason to be afraid.