Collection of memories and creativity

“Where Are You From?”

 Momentary pause bathes disappointed thoughts; the steady flow of analytical data I had been gathering screeches to an abrupt halt. Files upon files of presumptions, thoughts, images pushed aside. The gentleman facing me, from what I have gathered, holds his drink a little too tightly and his eyes equally as loose. Often retaining conversation well within the realms of comfort, until now. “Where are you from?” The question poised is constructed to achieve two largely intriguing results. First of all, my tentative companion would like to assess my exterior worth, I am not white therefore my anthropological basis  is questionable. The second reason relates to his inability to comprehend that I may be more like him than he would allow himself to admit. This is all achieved within the safety of a duplicitous question, I give him benefit of doubt and reply “Durham, and yourself?”
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His answer, is sadly as predicted. Careless eyes scan down, then up. “oh, no – I meant where are your ancestors from?”
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Ideally, my response would be embedded within some South Asian country, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Bhutan… ect. ect. Upon hearing what he expected he may now consequently reply with some irrelevant bordering racist thought on the days of British colonialism. By doing so he has stroked his anxieties in placing an entire ocean between the fear that  my reality is akin to his own.  A blissful comfort I wholeheartedly embezzle.
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“Well,  early migration of anatomically modern humans seems to suggest Africa.”
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And so it went...

Spontaneous prose

So I sat there, and okay I was by myself but I was enjoying myself and that’s more than what most can say when they’re not by themselves, and I realised this fact at the time too which made me enjoy myself even more.

I sat and looked out to the low roofed dark room filled with loud and energetic conversation – everyone is joined with drinks and the accompaniment of this oh so sweet band playing in the background. I think it was the band which made everything seem so much better as they were obviously the focus point of the room – meaning everyone was focusing upon them and they were the happiest guys I saw throughout that whole month. They just loved what they did with a passion which had to be infectious and if it wasn’t infectious then I want to know what they put in the water at this place; probably alcohol actually.

People were sat, standing, dancing and diving, but what was consistent among them all was that they were bouncing a little wherever they were – to the music of course – and they all were just smiling as they spoke and that’s so rare! Who genuinely feels happy in these places these days anymore? These places just don’t seem to do it, and don’t seem to work because of that, but this band did work and that’s what’s so important I think because they were able to put love into their music so as we heard it we were literally being given love straight to us. That’s probably why we loved them so much, just as much as ourselves and the people who listen to us at that time. Conversations just seemed to have a beat and they were beating away in fine harmonisation and synchronisation and man the room just had so much love and elation!

Man, I was alone but that made me so much more at ease as it left me to freely look over each and every little group chat with appreciation, because I had no one else, and appreciated the fact that they didn’t mind me being there in the background raising a glass and smiling if they looked over, and they would do likewise and we’d all nod and then carry on with our lives all the better from the human experience.

Take this guy with rough black hair; actually just so happy to sit in front of the band with a drink on the table.

I look further over and there’s this blond in a pretty dress which has hearts in uniform replication all over it and this just makes me feel as though she needs someone to replace all of those cotton stitched hearts with one real beating heart that would love her and their love would be going to the beat of their hearts and the beat of this music – idealism is wonderful. She probably has someone though, someone who’s given her all of these hearts on her dress and she probably adds them as often as they’re given – which is probably lots and hence the uniform pattern.

Or maybe I’m wrong, and what’s right is staring me straight in the face, which is that I could be that guy? Although I’ve had some drinks and I feel I could just be my own kind of guy and making myself the greatest guy on the planet at that, so I should be cautious to not annoy her in a incorrectly assumed opinion of myself.

But I go over.

“Hey,” Damn she’s prettier than I originally thought and she’s now smiling the cutest and most welcoming smile I’ve seen, which is ironic because it’s scared the hell out of me and I trip up on my words, “going, how it is?” I say, cool as ice and she has no idea I’m drunk or nervous.

But the gal plays it hard, “Good. You?” I realise I have to up my game and match her tempo, tempo! Music, and, what’s more, dancing.

“Wanna dance?” That was the moment that for the first time in my life I was able to switch on and sober up at the call of my will, look her right in the eye and with a surety I’d never felt before I was able to ask someone a question which was so well asked it may as well have been a gentle command which couldn’t be ignored or denied.

She leaned back in her chair, smiled a curiously enticing smile which I thought was her thinking over how I’d just changed into the person who was now in control of the situation she was moments ago in control of – she was stumped but impressed.

“Sure. You know how?” I like this girl.

“It kind of just happens, my dancing that is, so gotta hope it happens right.”

“Well let’s hope, but if not, I’ll look after ya. Come on.” She’s won, but I win because I did well for someone like me.

“Yes ma’am.”

She might have led me on to the dance floor, but I still got her there.

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Collection of memories and creativity

China Tea Pot.

The moon has fallen –
The sun is dead.
My mother’s tea pot
Broken like bread.
            *
Disheveled fragments
seldom held;
Lay on the alter –
Needing a mend.
             *
Her body Hollow
With pursed lip.
Her arm no longer
Glued to her hip
             *
Losing her head
Was often the norm;
Hell hath no fury
Like a tea pot scorned.
             *
She’d sigh and sigh
And moan some more
About the table cloth,
Window and door.
             *
Perplexed little thing
Molded in China
She hadn’t a clue
She was in South Carolina.
             *
She’d whistle and hoot
Every Autumn and Winter.
Crying and crying
For the Milkman and sprinter.
             *
On the twenty-seventh of July
She fell from the table.
That round impervious bottom
Meant she was rather unstable.
             *
The moon never fell
The sun never died
But that stout little tea pot
No longer cried.
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And so it went...

Youthful writings no. 12321

You know that expression ‘heart in your mouth’? Or something like that. I know what it means now. Why? Because I’d allowed the feelings of my heart to travel up to my mouth.

“I love you.” Is what my uncoordinated little mind came up with for today’s topic of conversation.

Ultimately it was probably a good thing to say, as I meant it; I do love her! But, should I have said it then? Was it truly necessary too? The answers to these questions, I realised quickly, would come rather shortly.

The statement had clearly shocked her. As in, she looked shocked. Perhaps it was a reaction or something. To scare me? Test me? Make me figure if it’s real or not? I don’t know.

How long have I been thinking now? How long has she not said anything for!? Oh God! Please say something! Anything! What does this mean!?

At least no response means I haven’t failed, officially, yet. Perhaps no response is best then? I think it is. At least I haven’t failed.

This is good. Silence is good.

I do wish she would say something though!

You know who doesn’t reply to things in good time? Daniel. For the love of humanity he needs to get better at responding to people. I think I’ll tell him that when I finally get round to replying to his last message. Poor guy has just had his second child! I’m still writing cheap stories for basic entertainment, and he has created a second human!

I feel fairly insignificant just now.

I should really get my life on track…..

Tomorrow! Tomorrow, we start running! That’s it! We’ll be a runner! They seem to have it figured, those runners.

I hear salads are good too. I’ll make a nice little Caesar salad- I hear they’re quite the rave- and eat it while I’m planning on what running shoes to buy.

“I love you too.”

Oh wow. I don’t think I’m ready for two kids, the life of a runner and having to make my own salads. Let alone love!

“I want you to move in with me.”

That should scare her off a bit.

“I think you’re right! I’ve been meaning to find a new place; this allows us to do it together!”

Ahh, I didn’t really think this one through.

“Yeah!? I can’t wait.”

I’m going to put that runner salad stuff on hold now I think about it.

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