Last night I saw her again. We had agreed to go see The Grand Budapest Hotel.
I was really nervous to see her. I really wanted this to work but I didn’t want to pressure her either. I waited for her outside of the Dendy cinemas, watching all the people wander past. Smoking cigarettes with friends, holding bags of booze, couples holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes. Most importantly a big vein of this city, pulsating and vibrating to the fervour that engulfs people on a Saturday night. I stood against the side of the entrance, left leg pressed up against the wall to support myself. I contemplated having a cigarette, but I didn’t want the smell of tobacco to linger as I knew she was on her way.
I had my Ipod on shuffle, it began to play Beach House’s “Norway”, it reminded me of the last time I felt this way. I haven’t felt that way in over two years. And it also reminded me of how I felt when it all fell apart.
I’m not sure if I want to feel that way again, I want to get to know this girl but at the same time I don’t think I can handle being hurt like that again.
Why do I have a feeling that it’s never going to work out, she doesn’t walk at the same pace as me, she’s always rushing to get to points and accomplish set goals, people can’t just sit and chill out every once in a while. Just stop, talk and listen.
Why do I have this voice in my head saying “FUCK”.
I want you, why is it so hard to say to someone, without getting into the whole is this a serious relationship, is this going to work out.
Can’t I just stop with the games and just enjoy each other’s company.
I thought these things should be getting easier as I get older, apparently not.
It’s Sunday night, past 11pm. The darkest hour of my week.
I wander through the corridor, lost, in a daze, I don’t really know if I’m sleepy or dreading going to bed, when I awake this week will begin.
I walk into the kitchen, feeling groggy, I pour myself a glass of water, watch as it froths and fills the cup from the bottom up, cascading against itself within the confines that it has been given. Fluidity like water is a special thing, watching as it drips down on the window, the light from the neighbour’s house casts shadows on the distant wall as I watch the drips from the earlier downpour glisten and slide down the outside of the windowpane.
I take a sip from my cup, instead choosing to drain the glass, maybe some of it’s liquid nature will pass through my body.
I think about all the little moments in the day, the small details. Her smile, her curvaceous figure, her ability to draw my attention and hold it, when she isn’t trying to dress like all the other girls I know. She isn’t trying too hard to be cool and fashionable. Her quiet stares, and when she catches me looking at her, and both shyly looking away for being caught in a moment of quiet contemplation of wondering what the future will hold for the both of us. I look into her eyes and look away again, afraid of being hurt for letting my guard down like the multitude of times before.
She is different, she has a kind and nurturing soul. So did all the others, at first. Don’t let your guard down so fast, says the mutterings of another unrequited and unsatisfied friend, aching from the agony of that pain. Mine has only just begun to subside.
Her ear-rings fell out again today, she gets so nervous when it happens, like I won’t still be interested in her because of something silly like that. It just makes me feel more into her.
There was a strange moment at the wharf today. I thought our ferry had arrived, it had the name “Friendship”, but that ferry wasn’t the one for us, it departed the shore and we sat down again waiting for our turn.
Orhan Pamuk on growing up and gaining "experience"
In a very short time, my guilt turned me into an ardent idealist. In those years the sins most committed among the adults in my life - and these were the sins I could least excuse - were dishonesty and insincerity. From the way they asked after each other’s health to the way they threatened us students, from their shopping habits to their political pronouncements, it seemed to me that their every expression in life was two-faced, and that ‘experience in life’ - the thing they were forever telling me I didn’t have - meant the ability, after a certain age , to be hypocritical and manipulative without having to try, and then to be able to sit back and pretend innocence.
She was one of the first people I met at the company. An ability to discern the truth from your words, without you knowing you had said them.
Her brush of bright red hair always left a strong imprint on my mind, One I struggled to understand, but I was drawn to her not just because she was attractive but also because I could see her kindness. I could see how she genuinely cared for those around her. Her smile just lit up a room.
She was kind of dorky in the way that you knew she was a tom-boy when she was younger, but now I see a beautiful, strong, independent and strong willed young woman.
She didn’t judge me when she found me smoking outside the building, she knows the stress that comes with this kind of work, and she spends the time to get to know an individual as opposed to just seeing us as number crunchers.
I caught the train home with her today and speaking to her I knew that my guess was accurate.
Trying to tell myself that I believe in leftist ideology from the safety of my bed and under the light emitting from my $2000 laptop paid for by working for the man. And when I meet the people who have struggled to support their families, I can’t stand to live in their conditions.
Darryl Reeves - Alto Saxophone, Synth Bass
Kenny Banks - Rhodes/Synths
Joel Powell - Bass
and special guest Lil John Roberts - Drums
New Album Available “Mercury”
Hailing from Atlanta, GA, Darryl Reeves is a saxophonist that effortlessly merges the lines between funk, soul & hip-hop, expressed from a platform rooted in jazz. Growing up in a musical family, Reeves attended the Northwestern Performing & Visual Arts Center in Miami. Moved by hip-hop samples originating from jazz, Reeves was led to being influenced by greats such as Charlie Parker and John Coltrane. Reeves studied music at Jackson State University. He subsequently completed his Masters of Music at the University of New Orleans, where he studied with Terence Blanchard and performed on the scene with Delfeayo Marsalis. In 2004, Reeves released the funky and playful Diary of a Bandstand, to ample acclaim. It featured Robert Glasper, Russell Gunn & Quamon Fowler and cemented Reeves’ reputation for presenting a new outlook on the sound, style and production of jazz music. Reeves has kept a steady hand in not being limited to any specific genre. Some know him just as well for his production in hip-hop. Reeves caught Ahmir “?uestlove” Thompson’s attention with his ingenious jazz-funk remixes of Jay-Z’s Black Album, which was spun upon many of the drummer’s dj sets. Recently in Atlanta, he has been the music director of many highly acclaimed live sets with Aishah Rashied Hyman’s Spreadlove and DJ Kemit. He has performed and recorded with notable artists including Roy Ayers, The O’Jays, Frank McComb, Angie Stone, Kirk Whalum, Jill Scott, Phonte, Toku, Janelle Monae, Young Jeezy, B.O.B. and T-Pain.
To spend the time to work on anything vaguely fulfilling is very difficult to do.
The amount of time people say to you “That’s been done before”, as they pursue a university diploma to stick on the wall to be qualified for a role that has been done a million times before in an empty vacuous space that is any kind of office.
To churn out invoices faster than humanly possible and then be expected to get faster and faster again. Create reports from data that doesn’t make much sense to anyone in the company, to create information for management to decipher because, simply put they are too fucking lazy to go out and find out for themselves.
Then get older at this job, so much so that you become set into your ways, pushing your kids to make more money than you ever could, so that they have less time to do the things that they are really passionate about and actually contribute to this human existence. Or more like, pay for the things that you don’t really need, so that they can swear fealty to your life and the decisions that you chose to take.
Because, after all, children are made to be in your image. Not like they can develop on their own, or have any time of their own to figure out what this life is about.
To come home exasperated and exhausted not only physically but mentally from a day of being bossed around by imbeciles and socially inept caricatures of weak minded individuals.
To be so distraught that you can’t even bring yourself to actually speak to anyone or actually bring yourself to do anything productive at all, and from this limited amount of time I am expected to scrape out an earning to not only keep this fallacy up but to raise another family on it and take this abuse because I deserve it.
"During the Vietnam War," he told an interviewer in 2003, "every respectable artist in this country was against the war. It was like a laser beam. We were all aimed in the same direction. The power of this weapon turns out to be that of a custard pie dropped from a stepladder six feet high."