the Blacklight Arrow

David Blacker’s Blog

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

The Fear

It eats at him all the time. Every minute, every moment. Is this all there is? Is this all there ever will be? A history of betrayal like a history of violence that can’t be shaken. Coffee and endless cigarettes. Alcohol that dulls the pain for awhile. And he walks. He’s always walked. And always away. Hiding, walking, pretending. Why’s there no medicine for this — a happy pill that’ll take it all away? He wants to sleep, to sleep for years, to wake up in five in a different world. But he can barely sleep five hours a night. And the fear’s back, like a nasty animal nestled at the base of his neck, biting, scratching, whispering “failure”. Is there no redemption, no forgiveness, no last chance at happiness? His hindsight’s so perfect, crystal clear, but his steps stumble like those of a blind man, walking backwards.

Another chance, please, oh God, another chance at happiness, but the fear’s there again, whispering “never again,” and he fears she’s right.

October 31, 2008 Posted by | Women | , , , , , | 3 Comments

Tanya

All is gone, all is gone, admit it, take flight.
I gagged in contradiction, tears blinding my sight.
My mind it was mangled, I ran into the night
Leaving all of loves ashes behind me.
The wind knocks my window, the room it is wet.
The words to say I’m sorry, I havent found yet.
I think of her often and hope whoever she’s met
Will be fully aware of how precious she is.
Ah, my friends from the prison, they ask unto me,
How good, how good does it feel to be free?
And I answer them most mysteriously,
Are birds free from the chains of the skyway?

–Bob Dylan. Ballad in Plain D

October 23, 2008 Posted by | Women | , , | 1 Comment

Falling Bird

Like a bird on the wire,
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.
Like a worm on a hook,
Like a knight from some old fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee.
If I, if I have been unkind,
I hope that you can just let it go by.
If I, if I have been untrue
it’s just that I thought a lover had to be some kind of liar too.
Like a baby, stillborn,
Like a beast with his horn
I have torn everyone who reached out for me.
But I swear by this song
And by all that I have done wrong
I will make it all up to thee.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry no more. It’s over now, it’s over babe, don’t cry no more. I say don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry anymore. It’s over. It’s finished. It’s completed. It has been paid for.
Oh like a bird on the wire,
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.

–Leonard Cohen. Bird on the Wire

October 9, 2008 Posted by | Women | , , | 3 Comments