The Bush

I'm getting all sentimental tonight while the rest of the world is watching football. Because I think there is a match, although I couldn't be bothered. I'm no footsie fan. I'm a love fan right now. Not the smoochy type mind you. But I keep remembering and digging up the memories. Because I have happy memories, and it's a lot coming from a girl who had lost her smile. If only we could see into a fast forward of our lives. If only we could, then we'd never despair and think about drastic sudden solutions which solve nothing. A permanent answer to what is always a temporary problem. With me, it is always better knowing one devil. But then I resist change of any kind. Place one cushion in another place on my dear sofa and I instantly feel unsettled. Such is the fragile core of this big girl. And then people think I'm strong. Well we never think we're strong at the moment, it is through hindsight that we look back and marvel at our strength. And I marvel too. Where is the girl who took so much on her shoulders? I've no idea, the only thought of changing my brand of cigarettes sends me into sheer fear. I am not very sure who will be reading this entry, the only thing I am sure of is that plenty of people will be reading. That's what my computer says, it's what blogspot says, So it's through no boasting but evidence. And I go with the evidence because evidence never lies. I also think there are no coincidences in life, we have our life mapped out from the moment when we are brought to see daylight, or even before that. Because if we are in God's plan, then that is a plan, and a plan is thought out beforehand. I don't know what is making me write this way. Perhaps someone out there is lacking hope and seeing all things dark. I was once there too. But I fought it out, waited it out. I thought never a smile again, certainly no laughter. But I've smiled enough to put Colgate ads to shame, and laughed till my sides were about to split. You see, it's not all bad in this world. Yes sometimes it seems so. And sometimes there is no ray of hope, I cannot write with rose-trimmed specs and say that there is always a way out and that we should always keep hoping and trusting and having faith. It does not work that way. Sometimes it's all black. And it keeps on being black for quite a while. The one word which got me through was perhaps. I used to think, perhaps it'll be better next week, and when it wasn't I'd say perhaps it'll be better next week. And when weeks pass and nothing gets better, then yes you lose hope. But hope is not the last to die, it never is. It's an exhausted mind and an exhausted heart which are the most fragile. Somehow, with all my eccentric ways, both my mind and heart got tired, but never exhausted. But then perhaps it was all in God's plan that I should never be exhausted. If there is anyone out there feeling all lonely and broken hearted... embrace it. Do not try denying it. Trying to swear at the thorny bush which stands between you and the road to life will not help. Working through it will. You'll get all scratched of course, but then the path to life is about scratches and bruises and nursing them back to health. So... work through the bush. And I'm not talking about any sexy bush for once.

Amphibians?

Today's been good. I got to meet a couple of my ex colleagues, the nice ones for a change. I wasn't too sure they'd recognise me. One didn't in fact, as soon as I talked I could see hew jaw drop. And so happy was she to see me. I like this girl, always have. But I got to see an ugly part of my past, although perhaps greatly reduced. What is it that makes me call it ugly? Well, what people might see is that when you have a bunch of musicians all playing together they look so cute, so elite, so professional. Dig deeper. They're no cuties, perhaps one or two, that's all. Admittedly, through no fault of theirs, all musicians seem to have different personalities, none match another. Not even if there's a thousand of them together. It's not their fault. They make harmony, loads of people think we're so happy as a lark making music all day long. Yeah. Dig even deeper. They're hoodies, gangsters, with one mission... to kill. To kill the music perhaps? They do manage that. To kill each other, I have a very good feeling they would too if it weren't for the idea of jail. What sets these people off? It could be a little thing like a smile, it could be a big thing as suddenly wanting to smash whatever instrument they play on another's head. Sometimes it's just like the KinderGarten classes I see. No better, no worse. Other times, it's like seeing something that only happens on TV. They're also very horny guys who would probably do it with panties hung out on a washing line. It's dingy in there and the heavy air smells of sex, illicit sex, far more illicit than the married man/woman-having-an-affair sex. This goes beyond. Because it gets dirty, not as in sexual dirty-talk, oh no, much much worse. Musicians also have their own penis extension, and that is whatever instrument they play. No wonder they call it an instrument. And yet there were many happy times, I have so many happy memories. Until... that's when the fairytale began, the one of the prince and the toad. Because so many turn into croaking ugly toads. It's all so reptile like. Because then you get snakes. I think they'd also best have a pond, all these reptiles crawling about. Yes that's a fantastic idea so that musicians could also have a good wash seeing that some smell of onions. And just when the curtain's up, you'll see everybody in evening attire making music. One would think it's a big happy family. It is, it's an amphibian one, with all the slime and all the scales, the latter not necessarily always in tune.