Project Thirty

Hi all,

Some of you may be wondering where the content has gone of late – I am still writing material for this blog, however most of my time and energy is going into my new website/project that focuses on taking on situations that shove me out of my comfort zone and into a place that will lead to unexpected and exciting developments in my own being. It is a collaborative process that will allow me to communicate with the people I love, or have misconceptions of, or would simply avoid at all costs. I’ve written a number of pieces so far, however the next stage of the site’s introduction is about to begin. As such, here is my most recent piece that I wrote the other day.

saved by the bell

As I raised my arms up in celebration of hearing ‘Ignition (remix)’ for the thirteenth time in a public place during 2016, I couldn’t help but take in the sights around me. Such an expansive gaze doesn’t give you much more than a blur of faces; some snogging a weekend lover, some poking a look at an attractive counterpart, some struggling to keep eyes open and some reacting to the keys being put in the ignition. That moment, however irrelevant in the scheme of things, put a few things into perspective. I mean, why do we do it? What drives us to find answers in a bar that serves highly expensive drinks as we pack into a venue like sardines? Is it solidarity? Adventure? Love? Lust? Or simply put, all the wrong reasons?

We might head out because we really don’t know answers. The great unknown of life presents itself in the horizon. The other night, after I lined up for forty-five minutes at Public House in Richmond, I stepped in to find that three ladies whom I had had intimate affairs were there. Here I was, eleven days sober for one reason or another, surrounded by three women who had experienced me in my rawest form. The difference in how they handled my presence differed greatly. One openly embraced me, as we chatted about what we were doing with our respective lives. Her openness and transparency was particularly refreshing, allowing us to reflect on the times that we had, and the times that had gone past since. She’s been busy in more ways than one, and admitted in a similar vein to me, that her life was chaotic and messy and totally overwhelming. Why does anyone bother pretending it is anything other than that?

The second, well, she is friends with the first, and all I got from her was a nervous yet defiant ‘hello’ followed several seconds later with a, ‘how have you been?’ We haven’t seen each other in years, however we did match on tinder for a split second before she blocked me. After I followed up on that, she stated that she just wanted to see if I had changed. Clearly I had not. Still a hungry young man. I confess, I did not treat her as well as someone of her beauty and substance deserved, but I didn’t know any better at that stage. ‘Would you like to meet my parents?’ she would ask after a rendezvous in the back of my father’s car. I’d nervously laugh, adjust my shirt and reply, with all the confidence of a kid who knows nothing of adulthood except for drinking in nightclubs that it wasn’t the right time. She still sees me as that young man who hadn’t gone and seen his own heart grow a little sadder. Sure, I still have some of those qualities, but I’ve told myself I have changed, and I think I am starting to believe my own words. Anyway, her eyes followed me around the room a bit. I was sober; I saw a lot more than she thought I did. Her friends watched me too, sneering at me with judging eyes. I don’t think I am that interesting. I’m sure she’d tell me her life is going swimmingly if we ever got to that point, but I can’t blame her. I probably won’t see her for another five years.

The third. The light draws me to her. This woman. With her blonde hair, her awoken eyes and her gawky smile. I thought at the time, and I think now, what is it about her? Every time I see her, this desire to finding her waking up in one of my oversized t-shirts bleeds out of me. However, I know, she knows, that the waters are rough underneath the frail bridge we stand upon. And it is a hollow desire. I long for her cheek to be grazing against mine from time to time, but more often than not, we escape each other’s thoughts. I need her when I’m lonely, I want her when she’s near, but what chance is there for those two to ever truly align?

As I look around, my base desires start to take over. I just want to feel what I did when I used to kiss girls. Feel giddy at the intimacy of the situation. Instead, I’m just listing the girls who ran away/I ran away from. There’s the tiniest voice, deep below ground level that whispers the doubts that have started to gain traction. The definition I had of love has been completely changed. Probably through my own actions. And I’m not sure if I really care anymore. However, I can’t dwell on the matter for too long. A heavyset Greek fellow has questioned my choice of water as a beverage in a bar. I tell him I’m driving. He still doesn’t get it. I wonder what he daydreams about…

And herein lies the next chapter of my project. Other voices, be it some surly bloke who hates water, the girl who makes me question if I can want and need a person at the same time or the fella sitting at home, content with his television and his soda water and lime. Who are the three people who keep them connected to another time, another life, another choice?

And it came to me. The people I will start my interview series with, on the liquids and chemicals we consume, are the very soul of my own existence. My family.


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