the Blacklight Arrow

David Blacker’s Blog

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

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 Snow Walk

AAEO001039He stands at the sink and does the washing up, but his mind is on her. There’s still time. She hasn’t called or SMS’d, so there’s no rush. The apartment is strangely familiar, though he knows it’s not his. He’s been living here awhile now, but he knows it’s not his. It’s dark outside, and the street below is hidden from his view, even though the sink faces the window.

He hasn’t seen her for so long, but her image is perfectly available in his mind’s eye; pictures that span their history together. The strongest images are, however, the most recent. Flash. She stands in the dark-light of the street, looking up at him, dressed in baggy trackies and hoody that hide her perfect body. She stares stonily up at him, resisting him like a little girl, her exquisite lips tight in a determined pout, her eyes reflecting a pain he still hasn’t understood. Flash. Her smile makes his heart race as she reaches across the table at the club, curious about a bracelet he’s wearing. Flash. She leans into his car, refusing to get in, her short skirt tight against those amazing legs, waiting for him to stop talking, so that she can walk away. He does finally, and she does too, and he watches her climb the steps to the building, not looking back, deaf to his impotent pleas. Flash. The white of her teeth in the darkness of her bedroom as she bites hard into his ribs. He resists the pain as long as he can, then pushes her indignantly away, rising to his feet. Continue reading

December 5, 2008 Posted by | fiction, Literature, Love, 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