the Blacklight Arrow

David Blacker’s Blog

LIttle Talks by Of Monsters & Men

Hey! Hey! Hey!
I don’t like walking around this old and empty house.
So hold my hand, I’ll walk with you my dear
The stairs creak as I sleep,
it’s keeping me awake
It’s the house telling you to close your eyes
Some days I can’t even dress myself.
It’s killing me to see you this way.
‘Cause though the truth may vary
this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore.
Hey! Hey! Hey!
There’s an old voice in my head
that’s holding me back
Well tell her that I miss our little talks.
Soon it will all be over, buried with our past
We used to play outside when we were young
and full of life and full of love.
Some days I feel like I’m wrong when I am right.
Your mind is playing tricks on you my dear.
‘Cause though the truth may vary
This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore
Hey!
Don’t listen to a word I say
Hey!
The screams all sound the same.
Hey!
Though the truth may vary
this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore
You’re gone, gone, gone away,
I watched you disappear.
All that’s left is a ghost of you.
Now we’re torn, torn, torn apart,
there’s nothing we can do,
Just let me go, we’ll meet again soon.
Now wait, wait, wait for me, please hang around
I’ll see you when I fall asleep.
Hey!
Don’t listen to a word I say
Hey!
The screams all sound the same.
Hey!
Though the truth may vary
this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore
Hey!
Don’t listen to a word I say
Hey!
The screams all sound the same.
Hey!
Though the truth may vary
this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

August 29, 2012 Posted by | Life, Love, music | , | 2 Comments

Son the Father

I spent a considerable amount of time with my father recently. It’s something I’ve always wanted, but never really had. It wasn’t that he had no time for me. He did. But I didn’t. It wasn’t physical time that we lacked; it wasn’t even need. I think it was courage. We are both cowards; from a long line of cowards. Emotional cowards. He’s brave in many ways, in ways I cannot comprehend. He does things I could never do, I think. But he can’t talk to me. And I can’t talk to him. I’ve suspected this for a long time, and pretended it wasn’t true. But this time with him proved it. There was a time when I imagined what it would be like to talk to him, to really talk, man to man, as equals. But I think that time is past now. Equality is fleeting in relationships of time, and now that balance has swung right over.

I know he tries. He wants to pick that lock. But he doesn’t know how. And neither do I. And it’s frustrating and, ultimately, annoying. It makes me want to walk away as he did from his own father. I know I will regret it one day, as he himself regrets. I know I don’t have much time left. But still.

And I fear that history of cowardice; I fear that it will be the same with my own son. With the boy, there is so much time ahead, a lifetime. So much time, but so little will be spent together. And I know he is already comfortable with that.

April 22, 2011 Posted by | Love | , , , | 7 Comments

Love the Way You Lie

Just gonna stand there and watch me burn
Well that’s alright because I like the way it hurts
Just gonna stand there and hear my cry
Well that’s alright because I love the way you lie
Love the way you lie

I can’t tell you what it really is
I can only tell you what it feels like
And right now there’s a steel knife in my windpipe
I can’t breathe but I still fight all I can fight
As long as the wrong feels right it’s like I’m in flight Continue reading

August 10, 2010 Posted by | Love, music, War, Women | , , , | 2 Comments

Dancing

Time is gonna take my mind
and carry it far away where I can fly
The depth of life will dim my temptation to live for you
If I were to be alone silence would rock my tears
’cause it’s all about love and I know better
How life is a waving feather

So I put my arms around you around you
And I know that I’ll be leaving soon

My eyes are on you they’re on you
And you see that I can’t stop shaking
No, I won’t step back but I’ll look down to hide from your eyes
’cause what I feel is so sweet and I’m scared that even my own breath
Oh could burst it if it were a bubble
And I’d better dream if I have to struggle

So I put my arms around you around you
And I hope that I will do no wrong
My eyes are on you they’re on you
And I hope that you won’t hurt me

I’m dancing in the room as if I was in the woods with you
No need for anything but music
Music’s the reason why I know time still exists
Time still exists
Time still exists
Time still exists

So I put my arms around you around you
And I hope that I will do no wrong
My eyes are on you they’re on you
And I hope that you won’t hurt me
So I put my arms around you around you
And I hope that I will do no wrong
My eyes are on you they’re on you
And I hope that you won’t hurt me

— Elisa. Dancing

November 25, 2009 Posted by | Love, music, Women | , , , , | Leave a comment

Loves

"Love" by Original Marshmallow

So. Tagged again by DD. This time it’s love; something I’ve been told lately that I know very little about. And to avoid the usual barrage of “how come I’m not mentioned” and “who’s that one about” that these things usually spark, I’ll avoid the whole whole thing and treat you to some of my favourite quotations on love, by people who can write way better than me.

Though it be broken–
broken again — still it is there:
the moon on the water.

— Choshu

“True love is boring,” Roland repeated. “As boring as any other strong and addictive drug. And as with any other strong drug…”
— Stephen King. Wizard and Glass

Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let that be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word.
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

— Oscar Wilde. The Ballad of Reading Gaol

…She turned to me and said, “Philsan, I will spend two days with you and you will not have to pay me. I will love you for two days and then I will not love you.”
— Philip Caputo. A Rumor of War

“Do you know that until I met thee I have never asked for anything? Nor wanted anything? Nor thought of anything except the moment and the winning of this war? Truly I have been very pure in my ambitions. I have worked much and now I love thee and,” he said it now in a complete embracing of all that would not be, “I love thee as I love all that we have fought for. I love thee as I love liberty and dignity and the rights of all men to work and not be hungry. I love thee as I love Madrid that we have defended and as I love all my comrades that have died. Many. Many. Thou canst not think how many. But I love thee as I love what I love most in the world and I love thee more. I love thee very much, rabbit. More than I can tell thee. But I say this now to tell thee a little…”
— Ernest Hemmingway. For Whom the Bell Tolls

Don’t tell me it’s not worth dying for
I can’t help it, there’s nothing I want more.

— From the Bryan Adams song Everything I do I do it for You

The heart is an organ of fire.
— Michael Ondaatje. The English Patient

It is better to love many things a little than one thing too much.
— Daniel Carney. The Whispering Death

I vow to thee, my country — all earthly things above
Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love…

— Sir Cecil Spring-Rice. I Vow to Thee My Country

She smiled and closed her eyes again. “Bird and bear and hare and fish…”
Smiling, Roland finished, “Give my love her fondest wish.”
Her eyes opened. She smiled. “You,” she said again, and kissed him. “Still you, Roland. Still you, my love.”

— Stephen King. Wizard and Glass

And my all-time favourite:

“My life is very monotonous,” he said. “I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all others. Other steps send me scurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the colour of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat.”
— Antoine de Saint-Exupery. The Little Prince

September 8, 2009 Posted by | Literature, Love | , , | 13 Comments

Red Light

m24_spark_by_gozunusevdigim

Red’s always been my favourite colour. As a kid, and a teenager, it was constantly my choice. But never before has it had this effect on my emotions, on my state of mind. In recent months my senses have become so totally attuned to that blip of brightness, that I watch for it, wait for it, even hallucinate it sometimes. It draws my eye, like a luminescent ruby, no matter what I’m concentrating on — a book, the screen, driving. The glow of a cigarette end makes me double take, my heart skipping, only to look away in disappointment. I wake in the darkness and look for it, out beyond my pillow, hoping. Waiting. Too often, the red light just signals more sadness, continued despair, but still I look for it, long for it, hoping that this time it will flash out in the gloom and she’ll tell me she still misses me.

March 20, 2009 Posted by | Love | , , | 1 Comment

Before it’s Too Late

I wonder where she is, and if her heart is safe. I think of her eyes and the way that they take my breath away. I miss her with an ache that never leaves me. My heart throbs with hope that floats me over the pain, and I wonder if she’ll be there to catch me when I fall. I wish so much that I could write really well, and tell her it’s not too late. Girl, if you’re reading this, it’s for you.

I wonder through fiction to look for the truth
Buried beneath all the lies
And I stood at a distance
To feel who you are
Hiding myself in your eyes

And hold on before it’s too late
We’ll run til we leave this behind
Don’t fall just be who you are
It’s all that we need in our lives

And the risk that might break you
Is the one that would save
A life you dont live is still lost
So stand on the edge with me
Hold back your fear and see
Nothing is real til it’s gone

Hold on before its too late
We’ll run til we leave this behind
Don’t fall just be who you are
It’s all that we need in our lives

So live like you mean it
Love til you feel it
It’s all that we need in our lives
So stand on the edge with me
Hold back your fear and see
Nothing is real til it’s gone

And hold on before its too late
We’ll run til we leave this behind
Don’t fall just be who you are
It’s all that we need in our lives

And hold on before its too late
We’ll run til we leave this behind
Don’t fall just be who you are
It’s all that we need in our lives

It’s all that we need in our lives
It’s all that I need in my life

–Goo Goo Dolls

March 11, 2009 Posted by | Love, music, Women | , , , | 1 Comment

Untitled Loss

2738560770_a3aaee1ce6_bI never knew that missing someone could bleed the colour from the sky. I couldn’t have imagined that without her, food wouldn’t taste as good. I’d never have thought I’d stand on the beach at Unawatuna and not want to go swimming. Without her. Not want to walk on the sand, because she wasn’t there. Her hand wasn’t in mine. How is it that I don’t notice that the sunset has changed two shades, from orange to something closer to the colour of her lips? How is it that I don’t feel the touch of the breeze unless it touches her hair first? I haven’t really listened to music in months — it’s just music without her, where before it was something else. An electric connection between us. How can one woman empty my world so completely with her absence, drain it of colour and flavour and life?

And then she’s there, and every single thing that touches my senses changes totally. The setting sun glowers the most intense carmine I’ve ever seen. The Guinness is so cold my teeth ache, its darkness intense. The potato chip she offers me makes my throat shrink with its saltiness. Her eyes are more breathtaking than I remember — how is that possible that I could’ve forgotten those eyes the colour of dark wood, as deep as a well on the edge of the jungle?

She laughs. And my heart races, out of control.

I feel myself falling, as I know I always will. Helpless. Under her spell. Into a world she somehow, incredibly, makes almost as beautiful as herself.

March 9, 2009 Posted by | Love, Women | , , , , | 8 Comments

The Hunger

He walks down the beach in the dark. Shadows flash and creep from the quicksilver light of the fireworks over the Mt Lavinia Hotel. The sand is crowded and noisy. Children pointing at the coloured fire that shoots through the sky but doesn’t interest him. Couples stroll, intimately close, hands touching, lips brushing. The slant of a head, the flash of an exquisite smile tugs at his gaze, and he devours her with his eyes. She walks on. It isn’t her. He scans the faces, as he has time after time, looking for her, again and again.

He has looked for her in a hundred faces, hoping, longing for that moment, dreading it. Every trishaw that passes is peered into. Every car.

He lives for that moment, that split-second, into which will be packed a lifetime of love and need. The trishaw is alongside him, and he feasts his eyes on her — the perfect, delicate lips, carved by a God taking extra care — the long lashes that cover dark mahogany eyes that don’t see him — the arch of her eyebrows, the curve of her cheek. He can taste her in that half second, smell her, touch her. The light strokes her hair. And then the moment is gone, and so is she.

He sits at the table on the sand, and drinks his Carlesberg in untasting sips. His friends talk to him and he thinks of her.

January 24, 2009 Posted by | fiction, Love, Women | , , , | 4 Comments

Learning Love

Love is a feeling to be learned
It is tension and fulfillment
It is a deep longing and hostility
It is gladness and it is pain
There is not one without the other.
Happiness is only part of Love
This is what has to be learned
Suffering belongs to Love also
This is the mystery of Love
Its beauty and its burden
Love is a feeling to be learned.

–Walter Trobish

December 7, 2008 Posted by | Love | , , , , | Leave a comment