(no subject)
What can I really say about Halloween without repeating the things my guests have already mentioned, and that I can recall clearly before I breached my limit of steady and sober coherency, haha. My sincerest thanks to everyone who joined in the costumed celebration, quite an amazing night if I can say so myself. My band was out of tune and out of practice, but we had a royal riot with it anyway, performing a few of our original cult classics like Bedbugger and Maybe She's Possessive (Because I'm Gay). Not all of my songs are as satirical or cynical as the short set list we played for the party, but the fellas and I figured no one needed to hear the more serious, gloomy ballads there. Plus, we were lucky to remember how to play any of them at all, haha. Since my musical urges were pretty much sated after that I only took up the karaoke mic once, to duet with a drag nun, tho we were completely surpassed by Tinkerbell and the naughty school girl's rendition of Blondie. I hope good times were had all around, and perhaps I can draw another great crowd like that one for New Year's Eve. I'm already planning ahead, to show my appreciation for the friends who turned out on Halloween, and to welcome those who couldn't make it. This is an open, early bird invite for anyone and everyone over to my house on the evening of 31 December. We'll spruce up in formal attire, make lots of noise, and ring in '04 the proper way. ;-)
Home sweet home, where the past is ever present. Our final night there I felt like I was seventeen again, leaning against the headboard, sprawled out on my old familiar bed. The room was lit with candles, the stereo emanated a background of music as I smoked cigarettes, bare to the waist and bare feet. The only detail that kept me in the present instead of letting my mind slip deeply into eleven years ago was the tawny haired girl in her lambswool bathrobe, laying across my outstretched legs. Her knees were tucked and curled against my side as she propped on an elbow and smiled up at me while we talked. An hour previous our socks were soaked and hair dripping with cold rain from getting caught in the downpour on our way back from a walk, but by then we were towel dried and warmed by Ma's cooking, the cozy heat of the house, and one another's company.
I have shown Kelly my town-my schools, the church I stopped going to when I was twelve, hangouts and hideouts-and I relayed stories galore of my youth that accompanied those places. She has seen embarrassing pictures and videos, and has been told even more humiliating tales by my parents, ha. She's read pages in my handwritten journals where thoughts, poems and lyrics of teenage importance were penned. We visited a couple of my childhood friends who never moved far from home, or went back, so that their kids could grow up with fulfilling memories of their own. Maybe for them to someday share their life on a tour of the old town for someone they love. I hold Kelly's hand every moment possible, kiss her countless times (yet still never enough)- I gave her my heart, honesty and trust. She said that it felt like nothing could touch us while we stayed in my humble hamlet of Douglas, and I agree. But now that we've returned to London, to the busy life of this city and the people in it... Even here I think we have become untouchable, because we've come back with something much stronger than what we left with. A greater understanding of why, from the first meeting moment when our eyes met, I have never wanted to look away.
Home sweet home, where the past is ever present. Our final night there I felt like I was seventeen again, leaning against the headboard, sprawled out on my old familiar bed. The room was lit with candles, the stereo emanated a background of music as I smoked cigarettes, bare to the waist and bare feet. The only detail that kept me in the present instead of letting my mind slip deeply into eleven years ago was the tawny haired girl in her lambswool bathrobe, laying across my outstretched legs. Her knees were tucked and curled against my side as she propped on an elbow and smiled up at me while we talked. An hour previous our socks were soaked and hair dripping with cold rain from getting caught in the downpour on our way back from a walk, but by then we were towel dried and warmed by Ma's cooking, the cozy heat of the house, and one another's company.
I have shown Kelly my town-my schools, the church I stopped going to when I was twelve, hangouts and hideouts-and I relayed stories galore of my youth that accompanied those places. She has seen embarrassing pictures and videos, and has been told even more humiliating tales by my parents, ha. She's read pages in my handwritten journals where thoughts, poems and lyrics of teenage importance were penned. We visited a couple of my childhood friends who never moved far from home, or went back, so that their kids could grow up with fulfilling memories of their own. Maybe for them to someday share their life on a tour of the old town for someone they love. I hold Kelly's hand every moment possible, kiss her countless times (yet still never enough)- I gave her my heart, honesty and trust. She said that it felt like nothing could touch us while we stayed in my humble hamlet of Douglas, and I agree. But now that we've returned to London, to the busy life of this city and the people in it... Even here I think we have become untouchable, because we've come back with something much stronger than what we left with. A greater understanding of why, from the first meeting moment when our eyes met, I have never wanted to look away.