Porsche Boxster S 718 Invitation

The invitation arrived, with the usual flare of a company that crosses every T and procures each dot in the right place, so whom was I in the great scheme of things to decline. Although I’ve owned three Porsche cars, the 911, along with two Boxter models, I secured my parking space away from the main building as to not draw attention to my meagre Toyota MR2. Image, after all, is supposedly important in the superficial age that we now find ourselves.

Greeted at the door, feeling like royalty but, all the while, actually not feeling special as I’m, after all, just myself and I know where I’ve come from. I also know where I’m going but that’s another conversation.  The ambiance, fitting for said importance, presented itself with clean, clear, and obvious abundance. Money speaks volumes and, despite the lady who nearly fell from the white Boxster as she arrived, that money could never buy everlasting health, but, it could buy what we were sure to view.

The main speaker started but, ashamedly, I was stuck around the corner due to the nearly packed presentation space so failed to view the prestigiously presented video playing across a 100+ inch projector screen. The moment arrived, it appeared in front of our eyes and, obviously, it was a view to behold. Mid-engineered glory, two seater, 2.5l turbo Boxster shining in sumptuous Orange.

I won’t bore you with statistics, charts, technical words but, instead, I’ll simply state that it was a worthwhile adventure towards a car that I will, one day, hopefully own.

Thank you Porsche.

http://www.porsche.com/uk/models/718/718-boxster/

Normal Blog service will resume next week.

Conscience - Part 1

The trees moved, across from his view, all the way over from where he was standing. Shielded, safe, behind the double glazed windows, he placed his hands onto the surface in front of him and gasped with trembling breath. It was his fault, he knew it, he even felt the truth, but that realisation didn’t bring forward solace or calm. Closing his eyes, for a few seconds as he searched for a way forward, he lowered his head to look at the paving stones outside. This was his mess, his situation, his problem to solve.

Throughout his life he’d managed to escape most of the daily consequences, of a soul that wished not to add weight to his life, but that was before this very day and moment. Wishful thinking, the very thought that he could deny his remorse, that he’d escape the conscience that seemingly wanted to constantly knock at the door of his mind. Battled, ailing thoughts, the door had to open at some point and he knew it. Turning, while sitting against the window ledge, he brushed his hand across his face in an effort to remove the negative energy that was pouring from him. He didn't really believe in that stuff, not at heart, yet it had stuck with him as he’d had doubts about it all.

He smirked and laughed, possibly at himself, possibly at the situation, but the laughter brought him no escape. His mind flashed to the night before, the situation that he’d willingly let himself get into, or, should he say, the situation that he’d wanted to get himself into. Entangled, enticed, hardly, as he was his own man. He knew what he was doing, there was no escape and, being blatantly obvious he had no excuses. Like a kid in a candy store he dove straight in and fed until he nearly burst.

She’d arrive, soon, with the same smile that she’d always greeted him with. At the thought of seeing her, guilt flooded and glanced within him. A hundred thoughts all crashed together in his mind, flashes to the night before, the thought of seeing her cry tears. He’d always hated it when she cried. She’s start, trying to hold back, face obviously betraying her resolve, only to let forward genuine tears of hurt and seductive pain. He’d always stopped those tears, held her close, kissed her lips, brushed away the tears and the world would carry on. But this, this very thing that he’d done, was inexcusable.

Walking across to the other side of the room, he bounced ideas around in his mind. He could lie, he could simply erase the moments from his mind, he could be brave, he could face it like the man that he was supposed to be, or, he could just do nothing. The ever present battle of a mind split into two. Picking up the picture of the two of them together, he smiled, for the smallest of moments. At this point he dare not smile at the thought of them together. He knew that he didn't have the right to do so. No, never, not now. The fire between them, within his stomach, was fading, flickering, troubled beyond anything they’d faced together before. Together, the very word, suddenly filled him with fear. He didn't want them to end, he didn't want to be alone, but that was the issue. The selfish world of affection, love and feelings. Were they together through the fear of being alone, or did he really, really, have something.

Placing the picture, encased in its silver casing, back onto the desk he turned and headed back towards the window around the two large sofas. Confused, knowing what he really should do, denying that very singular thought, he approached the window to see a car, her car, slowly come to a stop and, after a few seconds, the door opened and at that moment, right at that second, he knew that he’d have to face it all.

To be continued…

Heal

Looking at your fingers, your weathered weary hands, the same hands that have worked every single day of your life, you remind yourself that you’re here for a reason. You’ve bled, you’ve climbed the hallowed walls of life, you’ve been one amongst the many to reach this place within your ever present life. You’re special, you’re the same as everyone else, you’re whatever you choose to believe on this very day.

Placing a hand next to your knee, as you feel like you’re crawling through this life, you know that you’re about to bleed a little bit more. Life could be easy, or at least easier, but your mind refuses to relent in its ever present pursuit of inconsequential delights. You smile, you crave, you wash decrepit sordid thoughts through your mind imagining the wealth that the skin can afford. Your wry smile hides no secret of the desire to indulge. You feel, you need, you wishfully grasp at the moments of shallow warmth.

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It flickers, the soul, you know this. You don’t care. You tell yourself each and every single day that you’d like to be more, to achieve more, to aspire to a new height but, woefully, you stay still. Why try, why push, why climb, when right here, right now, is all that keeps you tied down. It’s so comfortable, the day to day, the ease and indulgence of it all.

Your other hand touches the floor as your head swings back, looking into the dark sky, eyes closed while feeling the tepid air that surrounds your aura. The warmth surrounds you with its grip, teasing, tempting, caressing your smile to ensure that it never fades. You know that it’s not real, you know that it’s all your imagination enticing you to live the same life as everyone around you. Teasing thoughts, sure, obviously, but it’s ever so easy to be just like… them.

You laugh aloud, the smirk appearing across that face of yours, knowing damn well that you’re happy to be just as you are. You could happily throw yourself into a thousand imaginary settings. You’d embrace such a thing. The mind wanders. The mind plays tricks. It knows you’re the one and that grasp is oh so very tight.

Placing your head against the ground, breathing that bit slower, you start to daydream of times and places that no longer remain. You could indulge, you could, all day, remembering the past within the very present. What would that get you? You know the answer. The same old familiar setting. You could wrap yourself in comfort for the rest of your life, seething, wallowing, caressing your tailored ego into the shape of ecstasy.

It's simple, it’s easy, it’s built within your very soul. We’re supposed to survive, that inherent instinct within all of us, to oppose the bitter taste of negativity. Instead we choose to remain as we are. We’re not perfect, we’re different, we’re not this or maybe that, all psycho pathetic murmurings of a drilled in, learned response and reaction. You’re not perfect. You’re not what you want to be yet, on the other thought, you do little or nothing to change.

Staying safe, hidden, within your own mind, you realise that you could very easily escape. There are no chains, there are no other voices but your own, we allow what we let into our subconscious and inner ear. Instead, maybe for a change, you decide to stand. You decide to stamp your foot in defiance. You no longer wish to take what’s been fed to you, the disgusting vibrancies of life, the ever present whispers of media and murmurings.

Instead, just for a day, you’re going to heal. It’s that simple.

Desire

Holding the door handle, for an extra second, trying to gather her thoughts, she hesitated and kept herself static. She reminded herself that life was for living, to experience, to hold and to enjoy. The door opened as she turned the handle, poised, stoic, game face more than ready. With a certain layer of sass, with the poetic walk that she’d perfected over the years, she calmly entered the room, tapped the door with her foot, which quickly closed and the game was afoot.

From across the room she noticed that he immediately stopped pouring the drink, mesmerised, taking in the view that she offered in abundance. If his lungs were full, at that moment, she’d have taken that breath away, slid it into her purse, thus leaving him breathless and wanting more. He was a powerful figure, not a middle man or a follower. He knew what he wanted and what he wanted was, of course, her.

She’d been married for over 10 years, 10 wonderful, event free years and, because of this, she craved excitement and a little bit more from her life. With a smile, another quick glance that scaled her body like an imperial figure, he continued preparing the drinks. He could have gladly left them but that would have been rude. There was a game to play, the usual game, like a dance where both parties knew where it would end.

Walking across the room, they both met somewhere in the middle, both not wanting to feel their inner nerves. Her heart pounded against her chest, reminding her, screaming at her, to not let this moment go. ‘Embrace it’, it screamed, or was that her lust speaking. What was the point in having a fire, ready to burn the entire house down to the ground while never, ever, actually lighting said fire? Life was for adventure, for embraces, for hidden lingerie and dripping desire. She wanted this, needed this, desired this on all of the lonely nights spent waiting for declined visits.

Pleasantries were shared, exchanged, all pointless as no words need be spoken right about now. Both glasses remained empty as words simply faded, one into the other. The small voice, within her, voiced its concern. It glanced through her mind, revealing images of failure, of people asking her to stop, to forget the re-imaging of her heart. Love fades, love falters, grows old, becomes stagnant and seldom, ever, rekindles once gone. No, never, she couldn't believe that. She wouldn't believe that.

She silenced the voice, stepped forward, taking his lips onto hers. His cologne pushed itself into her senses, filling her with an extra incentive, tempting her with each second as she tasted his lips against hers. Placing a hand onto his chest, she could feel his body, taut, worked upon. He’d always kept himself in shape, even at his age. She reminded herself that a man that looked after his body would, always, be ready to share that body with vigour. His hands held onto her waist, pulling her forward, pressing her body to his and she felt her body race, her breathing deepen and heat rise.

She pulled away, looking into his eyes, fully embraced by her desire to have him. Raising her hand, she held onto his tie while unravelling the knot and he, in return, ripped open her thin blouse. Placing a hand behind his head she pushed him down as he cupped a breast within his warm hand and, with the other, reached around, flicking open her bra with one smooth gesture. She smiled, knowing that he’d done that before.

As the bra and shirt quickly met the floor he moved her against him, again, as he lifted her, spinning himself around, moving towards the chair. Both still breathing with heavy chests, like the air being breathed was the last remaining air in the world, he placed her onto the chair, fell to his knees and kissed her red lips again. She could feel his hand on her back as the other caressed her chest and, as he looked straight at her, with that look of want within his eyes, he moved his hands down and hitched up her skirt. With a smile he lowered his lips between her legs and started to use his tongue. Her mouth opened, ever so slightly, feeling him dart around her. Opening her eyes, looking across the room, she knew that she would never regret doing this.

This was for her, to keep the fire within her stomach, her heart, alive. After all, no matter what, this was what her lover was for.

A Better World

As I sit here, within my comfort, my ease filled life, I sometimes wonder what things could be like within this world of ours. I cannot complain, I should never complain, as I've been fortunate to have been born into a body of health and, despite nearly passing away once born, I'm still here. I smile at most things. I'm a smiler. Truly. As a child it was noted that I was always smiling, despite various tensions at home, to which I will never impart, which has seemingly stuck until this very day.

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Sure, of course, ask me twice if you wish, but I'm not always smiling. Lips can move, lips can tell, lips can even lie the lines of black darkness within all of us, but what’s inside can often be different. To me, if I were to imagine a perfect world, it would be a world filled with people that never see anything but warmth.

I’d rid the world of lines, borders, colours, miss justice, wealth and power. We’d dance like crazy fools. We’d love like the world was about to end and, possibly, it might feel just that way once we’d finished. We’d pay little attention to what visceral mood we’re in and instead base our knowledge on proven fact instead of fiction.

Instead, our world, is filled with marginal gains and line graph pains. We’re a statistic in our own lives and, possibly, expendable to reach the next line in a never ending life of such lines. It’s madness, crazy sickening, chilling, offensive madness that most of us see as the norm. It’s not, it never was supposed to be this way. We’re free yet….

We’re trapped. We could leap before we look but, as is the case, we’re constrained to the lives we've been brought into by our parents and society as a whole. It’s nice to imagine that we could throw away our shackles but I, me, we, live within a glass house of our own making and, basically, others hold the stone.

I want to escape, to travel, to explore and to experience. I want to feel grass beneath my feet, grass to which only a handful have ever seen let alone travelled through. My soul wishes to climb the highest mountain and to taste the loftiest dreams but, again, I'm here. I often escape, in person, in my dreams, or via my wandering soul.

The world was made perfect, balanced, serene, almost as a perfect picture yet we’re changing the view with our own blend of paint. We could renew, we could research, we could live and laugh a lot longer but that’s in the hands of wealthier people than you or I. This life isn't easy, the world isn't perfect and, when we realise, that’s all down to one single word: People.

I'm never going to remove myself from that group. Never. I'm to blame. Me. Not you. Me. I make all my own choices, the decisions that shape my world, so that’s why I try my utmost best to be nice to every single person I meet. It’s the little things that make the world a better place. It’s the small things that magnify into colossal misunderstandings.

As I sit here, typing away, doing my thing, I remind myself that I make mistakes. But, as I think of those mistakes, I’m reminded that my life can be removed from this world with ease. I'm thinking of all the lives, taken from this world, over the last few weeks, to which the media has adjusted and informed with its own image. It’s not just Paris, it’s everywhere, the absolute stupidity of humanity. It’s disgusting, revolting, pathetic and, above all, instigating hatred and evil within our lives.

In Ireland, this week, gay marriage is now legal. In the U.K. a woman was arrested for not allowing Muslims into her Salon. Madness. In one hand we’re informed that we have freedom of speech, yet are arrested when we do so, even if the message was right (or wrong), while a group of people can confirm if two people that love each other can marry.

This is not the world I want. This is not the world we need. We’re being controlled by media, we’re being guided by hate and, despite rational minds trying to state otherwise, the general public will believe ANYTHING that it’s told. Examples range from individuals thinking that they’re more advanced because they swear, to an old Wives tale that’s completely wrong, our lives are filled with miss-information.

I WANT a better world.

Twitter

Mistakes

The door opens and I, with a heavy mind, raise my eyes while my head remains prostrated towards the ground. The rain pounds the surrounding area with unrelenting force, with guile, filling my ears making the words to follow all the harder to reach. I've been rehearsing this moment. I've been reflecting my thoughts into the universe, hoping, denying, relying on the unspoken to find its home but, as with many things, sometimes you just have to rise above it all, be brave, then do it yourself.

I start to speak the words that have been burning my soul.

There’s no excuses, there are no other people to blame, no other sources to direct the vast glares of the people involved. It’s just me, my blame, playing stupid games, trying to be a man while falling for the part of the boy. Please understand, please view me with more than a thought, as I'm new to all of this and, in all honesty, a small bit naïve. 

The rain ceases for a second as a brief spark rises within my heart. My eyes, you see, are not used to the sight of your beauty within this world. Yeah, I know, we've all heard the story before. Boy meets girl, girl meets boy, they chat, they laugh, they flirt and then… then… you know the rest. Words are shared, moments are spoken, you resolve your affections by creating connections and, then, you move forward.

That’s what’s supposed to happen, that’s what we believe, this is the natural order of things but, on occasions, we falter and we fail. It’s often difficult to do the right thing. Or so we say. It’s actually incredibly easy to do the right thing but, often, we simply don’t bother.  I want to do the right thing, I truly do, but I fight a battle within myself every single day. Do I let go of being a man, do I let go of being a boy, relinquishing the worldly binds that keep me grounded? Maybe I should just be me, the person that you know, with no pretence, no aspirations to be something that I'm not.

As children we look into the eyes of our parents with such love, such respect, as they’re holding our every design within the palms of their hands and, due to this, we’re eventually left to find our own place in the world. We’re set free or, on the other hand, let go and ignore what we’re offered. Either way we’re here and they’re there. We’re now the adults. There’s no instructions, no guiding hand, nothing more than two people fumbling around like two lovers in a car. We mess up, we don’t initially get things right but, after a short time, we’re running like a steam train at full power.

Anyway, now that I've blathered on for a while, now that I'm soaked to my skin, I basically came here to apologise. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. I'm not a boy any more and I should never be a boy until our children call for such things. I'm not going to say that I'm a man. No. I'm not. That honour arrives when I have responsibility within the world and looking after myself can never be called such a thing. I'm… me. I just hope that’s enough. I will be whatever you need me to be when the times comes.

I'm sorry that I said the wrong thing

I'm sorry that I didn't act when the play basically gave me the script.

I'm sorry that it takes me knocking at your door at this time of night, in the rain, just to say…

I love you.

Click To Listen



Note:
(It's felt odd writing this as, while I'm thinking of what to write, I'm also wondering if it'll sound fine when recorded)

Just you... .

If you'd like to listen to this block then please feel free to click the following link:

http://s109679288.websitehome.co.uk/Blog/41JustYou.mp3

The aura, this place, with only your face to compliment the view, is near perfection and the personification of the good things within this world. I know that this life isn't easy, it’s not simply a set of stepping stones, but we can build a path together, to make forever, the place that we envision it to be. Perfect, passionate, probably beyond our time and something that we can work towards.

I've only this life to give, only these words to write, without there being any fright, of fear and loss and those things that seem to fade away. I'm not a painted canvas, I'm not words on a page, I'm real, for you, here, there, everywhere within your mind and, above all, willing to whisper the words into your ear. I care, I love, I need and I must do the right thing. I'm not going to throw this away like it means nothing. This isn't last year’s phone, a tweet from yesterday, a thought from the vast expanse of social network… this is real. 

I can see a waterfall, a wealth of life, the grass of the green colour chart, the smiling lips of yours, the knowing glancing eyes and more. I take it all in within a second’s glance, a momentary viewing of how the script might just play out, the stage being set and ready to move. I'm human, I have wants, I have wishes, I have thoughts but above all, you’re all I need within this world.

Time starts to slow, the water still falls, but my vision excludes anything that isn't you. I'm going to draft forward a silhouette of angels, all wishing and ensuring that we’re bathed in the universal love of life. They’ll sing, they’ll drift in the air, making promises, making love and more.

Today, of all days, I know that you've cried. My soul, wandering as it does, heard your call. It read your lips as your panic exhaled itself from your body and mind. I know that this isn't about me, it’s not about them, but I cannot help but feel that pain, that exhaustion of your heart, the bitter truth that life isn't perfect. I heard you say my name, I heard you call, not via those tweets mentioned above, not by a post, a snap of chat or what app’s famous this week, but via a real connection. 

Within the flash of a falling star, the explosion of a sun, I was there with you sending what you needed. They might only be thoughts but we make those thoughts come alive, we make smiles real, while also making pain a truth. Now, right now, as this time slows, I'm holding that hand of yours, keeping your faith alive, the tears at bay and, above all, rescuing hope. 

The aura, this place, with only your heart to compliment the view, is perfection, joined to every other heart within this world. I know that we do not make life easy, as it can be a set of stepping stones, but we can truly find our path together, to make this moment something special, something worth holding onto. Perfection and possibilities, beyond our understanding, are what we have so let’s make this… 

...happen.