Glimmer

Every day I pass by your street and look up to your tower to catch a glimpse of you - perhaps watching me pass by, with a smile on your face, and a thoughtfulness that gives you away.

It’s a glimmer I hold on to - but the window is empty.

My head hangs slightly as I continue my journey to work, which now seems more arduous than ever.

At night I can see your tower, alight like a beacon to those below who come to bask in your presence. Shadows play with the darker corners and the shape of a silhouette catches my eye, is it yours? No, the window is still empty - for now.

One day I’ll look up there to see you there, with someone else, with that familiar glimmer in your eye sparkling only for them.

My own glimmer will fade, and our paths drift further apart, though our footsteps continue to pass each other silently – nearby, but out of step.

Love, Longing and Punctuality

The chirpy chatter of lorikeets wakes us in the morning.

"Fucking birds...", you mutter and slowly detach yourself from the jigsaw puzzle we formed during the night.

I love those birds. I'm not really offended though, because I know you don't mean it. Even with the pillow covering your face, I can hear your smile.

Just as we drift back to our dreams, the sharp tone of a mobile phone alarm sounds...

It's mine.

Snooze #1:  Just 15 minutes more...

By minute #6, we're wrapped together again, ignoring that slightly annoying smell emanating out of our dank mouths. That's what love does... Familiarity however, tends to undo that somewhat, so by day #32 you'll be getting up secretly at 4.30 just to brush your teeth for me. 

By day #102, we'll probably think that kissing just gets in the way of breakfast.

Dar...dar...dar...  Snooze #2:  Just 15 minutes more...

This time it's minute #8 before we're back to our jigsaw puzzle, feigning sleep to appease the god of Time. But he isn't easily fooled.

Dar...dar...dar... Snooze #3 ...

It's 9:07am. I'm at work now - slightly late - but feeling more alive than ever before... 

Just as my heart skips time whenever you're near, my day skips through its paces until I'm back with you again and finding where these pieces of our lives fit together.

Beneath the Streetlight named Desire...

Ok so it's been a while between posts... but I have a good excuse this time, I swear! I've been preoccupied with matters of the heart. Here's how the result of my eye-flirting turned out.

Beneath the Streetlight Named Desire

Balmy nights and the changing mood of Spring sent me into the streets for a wander - and it was there that I met you, under a Streetlight named Desire. Your brilliance - illuminating and surprising my body with the sensations it brings as my pulse becomes quicker.

Stepping from the obscurity of the shadows, you caught my mischievous eyes and flashed me what I would come to know as your trademark grin. I recklessly approached and managed a hello.

After just a few words, we both knew where our street encounter was heading...

The moment our lips locked together in a fervent grab in your elevator, I was both hooked and sunk. The passion, comfort and instant intensity of the emotions that began that night under the streetlight, I don't think I have ever felt like that before.

In the corners of my once darkened heart, a streetlight now burns bright... 

Felipe...

OK, so we all get crushes from time to time. This was penned after the last time I saw him in the street...

Felipe

Quiet. Shy. Yet smoldering of inner strength and beauty. You are a subdued calm with resolve.

You pass me by, on your way to work, or to visit a friend perhaps... Still - you pass me by.

My breath pauses. I drink in your image, and the scent of you as you drift past. 

I sigh.

Left only with the lingering reactions of your presence, my pulse returns to normal.

Your smile captures my mind, and it wonders what lies beyond its subtle warmth. Do you long for another in the same way that I long for you?

For now, I must make do with brief flashes of you in my life - lest I become a stalker, or the luckiest man on the planet...

Back again...

I'm connected again... What a strange feeling to be disconnected from the net at home. It's not like I'm addicted, but it did make me feel slightly unsettled until I got it connected up again. I'll probably post a few thoughts up over the weekend to make up for it.

Anyway - this post contains a few thoughts about a friend who excited me with similar interests.

Soulmates....

Oh what rare but joyous beauty when you find a soulmate... a person who thinks like you, has similar actions and aspirations, but with enough differences to make any interaction interesting.

A connection like no other...

A shared passion to engage with passionately... travel, boys, music, writing...

I look forward to sharing these passions with my soulmates. They enrich my life, as much as I hope I enrich theirs.

Disconnected...

Due to a "pathetic" internet provider, blog posts may be infrequent for probably another two weeks.

2 weeks and 7 customer service calls later... still no closer. Sigh-iNet

Sibling rivalry...

Sapped of strength I turn to brace against the wind. With the warmth of my heart leaking from every pore open to the elements, I will not give in. Winter has his icy grip around my neck, and is gently squeezing... for now... Once his hand longed to caress me and coolly evoke my passion, but jealousy has now raised his hand against me - this I know with certainty.

A deep jealousy, stemming from the love that I share with his brother, and the way only his sibling can make me feel. Only his warm embrace is enough to melt away this repressive feeling that Winter has wrought.

And Winter hates him for it. 

Every time he sees the splash of joy across my face when his brother's warmth streaks across the land to wrap me in his arms, his rage goes deep to his cold heart. Every time he sees my elation, as I watch the very elements about me radiate with Summer's touch, it sickens him to the core.

It's a deep jealousy, a sibling rivalry, because he knows that only his brother's love can make me feel this way. He knows that I even prefer the presence of his two sisters to him. Year after year, they strive to keep their brothers apart, and this cuts him deep. This rivalry, in a family poles apart from each other, must tear apart their Mother. Silently she must wait and watch, hoping that experience will season them all with its hard lessons.

Winter's cold embrace tightens further, and I wrap my scarf closer to my neck, sealing in the warmth of my one true love. Even now, I smell him in the air. How I've missed him. He's coming back for me... soon... all I need do is wait - it's just a matter of time. 

Drifting

A hundred sails, nevermore to unfurl at sea, are rippling overhead in the afternoon breeze.

A lazy hush fills the area as the sweeping wind brushes past my cheek. 

There is serenity here, and beauty - but also regret.

A hundred sails, designed with direction in mind, now forbidden to take their destined journeys. Rather, the lofty heights of an unseen purpose has been thrust upon them.

Their makers, unsure of their final destination, probably saw just another piece of material. The artist- a unique canvass...

I stare upward at their graceful forms overhead, with the sound of seagulls, lapping water and lullabies. A billowing gust rips through the warehouse and all at once I am five again, with a fresh load of bed linen, a worthy imagination and a secret place to create and play in.

Memories, thoughts and beauty, I humbly leave you now for others to experience and enjoy.

*for anyone who also appreciated the simple beauty in this installation at the Biennale

A thought for those colder mornings...

I wake to find the glass is frosty. Shaped by the shadows and former glory of my breath, belched out into the frigid air and pressed against the glass. What words spoken must lie there captured, plainly visible to all, but for none to understand.

I think back over the last few conversations, phone calls and self-musings voiced for no one to hear. The brisk morning has bundled them up and captured them, cooly displaying them like trophies - mocking my insecurities and haunting my mind.

Staring closely, I see letters, words and thoughts begin to take shape- fragments of conversations emerging as if crafted by the breath and finger of one who watches me constantly. One who observes my every move, hears my every thought and then lauds it over me, tauntingly. Yet I am here, alone with my thoughts.

I feel myself steeling my nerve against the morning and this betrayal of my inner self. 

I open the door.

The sharp, cool air enters.

It snaps me awake.

And my thoughts slowly dissipate before my eyes.

Baggage Claim...

The tension builds... Jetsetting business men and women are out of their seats and ready to pick up their carry on luggage. An  announcement tells them to sit back down and wait until the captain has turned off the seatbelt sign... but they don't listen. 

All throughout the plane, people are reaching for their mobiles and switching them on, desperate to find out if their absence from connectivity for the last five hours has dealt them, their loved ones or their business a harsh blow.

Around me, the cacophony begins, as messages of love, hope and missed voicemail start disseminating through the captive audience.

Captive for only a moment longer...

I switch my phone on. 

Nothing.

No message to set off my ill-chosen message ringtone.

I wait patiently, as if reflecting my life methodology, but nothing happens.

One day, in the distant and slightly believable future, I will emerge from the flying tin can to find that my loving partner has sent me a message a few hours earlier while i was in transit, just to let me know at this very moment, once I arrive at my destination, that I am loved, missed and cared for. 

One day... soon I hope.

For now, I turn to the right and head downstairs to claim my baggage, an arduous task for any traveller, and yet one we must follow through with. 

We all have baggage to claim. Some damaged, some painfully black with accentuated ribbon-work to attract attention, or some uniquely individual. I think I travel fairly light...

Musings

I just got back from meeting a really nice guy for coffee. We've been chatting on the net for a while so it's good to finally meet in person... It got me jotting down some thoughts in my notebook which I thought I'd share...

A charming young man he is. His dark curly hair adds life and depth to his beautiful deep brown eyes. Every move he makes is calm but sensual, and every move awakens me inside after a long withdrawn respite.

Bearing the heart and soul of a musician, his thoughts and questions are sweet counterpoints and our conversation dances merrily around making full use of the space at its avail. For the position of his "most cherished muse", I would rush to passionately yet thoughtfully apply.

His presence commands attention on a stage to the thousands who come to listen, but even now his audience of one is held captively entranced. 

My heart skips a timely, yet cautious beat. Let the future unfold as it will, but to once again have hope, a kindle of flame, is an adored experience. 

First glance...

"Did that guy just check me out???". Stop. Turn. Grin...

You will never know if you don't look someone in the eye. Some people just have "those" kind of eyes. The ones that pierce through your social bubble and leave you a little bit intrigued, slightly turned on and spinning on your heels.

You know those stories you read, or have heard, where someone meets someone at a department store, or just walking back with a bag of groceries? They do happen. But here in Sydney, it seems harder to find, because people seem to have lost the subtlety of flagrant flirting and really looking into someone's eyes.

I dare you to try it. Take any given day. Walk with confidence, even if on the inside you don't think you are all that confident. Boldly, but cheekily, look into the eyes of guys that you are attracted to. Don't take no for an answer... Create the cheekiness, add a sparkle to your eye and let the intrigue begin.

One of my mates describes it as "smiling with your eyes", and I think that pretty much sums it up... I've tried it out, after being encouraged to give it a go from a friend, and I have to say that a few times - it's worked like a charm. Maybe I'll add a few stories in here later on...

Anyone in Sydney had good experiences with flirting in public? What's your method?

The Proposal...

Far be it from me to say no to a suitor of suitable means... but that's just what I did the other day.

As the rain fell softly but widely on the shoulders of those walking around me, I stayed dry under the protection of my brolly. Earlier, I hadn't predicted that rain was coming because of a tingling in my left breast or anything like that, but I just had that feeling I might be needing it.

Anyway, a young man along with three well-breasted but quite drenched women were walking on the other side of the street. With the dripping harem in tow, he cheekily jumped at an opportunity for a show of bravado.

"How much for the brolly?" he asked. "I'm serious, how much?"

I laughed it off saying, "Come and see me tomorrow..."

Walking on, I thought a bit more about his proposal. He wasn't really asking to buy an umbrella... but rather, for me to trade places with him. He was cold, wet, but had money to burn. And if I had taken his offer, then that's what I would have been (sans harem of course...). Just another cold, wet guy with a few bucks in his pocket, and a desire to get warm and dry. 

The thought has played across my mind though, how much would he have paid... and how little would I have accepted... It's interesting what we will do for money.

 

Manscaping...

It starts with a long weekend holiday - the ultimate manscaping getaway.

It's the chance to let it all out, and experience unhampered growth for three days.

Come the morning of the first day back at work, and in my bathroom, the scene is set...

The razor carefully sculpts away, nick after nick, follicle after follicle... The bristle is whittled slowly back to a fine band that almost perfectly marches across the line of my jaw bone and chin. Almost perfectly...

A few more adjustments to the left side, now a few more to the right, and then a minor correction on the left... then the right... hmmm, maybe it's just a bit too thin on that side now.

9am arrives... I arrive at work, clean-shaven and ready to face the day, with gleaming white cheeks that probably need to see a little more sun...

Happy... deluded...

Why does everybody pretend to be happy, as if it's a defect to be sad.

You meet and inevitably the first line is "How are you going?" followed by "Great thanks"

No one means it when they say it...

Secretly, we're all shades of happy and sad.

I think we're only truly honest with ourselves in the morning, while we're sitting on a train heading to work, or in the car driving into the city. Before our first coffee of the morning, we are truly and honestly ourselves.

No one looks happy then... Grey, sullen faces fill the carriage. Eyes cold and dulled stare around casting judgement. We're patronisingly patient as life slowly passes us by each morning. 

Are you being served?

Sitting outside my favourite cafe, on a quiet yet bustling corner of the street, I steal a glance at the French waiter currently preparing my order. Dark tustled hair wisps around his face, distracting me momentarily from his deep brown eyes. He smiles slightly, lifting my spirits.

I remember his thick accent flowing gracefully from his soft lips as he stumbles to find the words to ask me of my desire. I think about what he must have left behind, to come here and experience life as a foreigner in a city which to me seems anything but foreign. Did he leave behind a job, a girlfriend, a boyfriend (one can hope!), a network of family and friends to come here to a place which doesn't speak his language. What drove him to this? A spirit of adventure, a need for escape?

And what must he do here to continue this adventure he has chosen for himself... Endlessly serving others in cafes, restaurants and bars. Giving of himself, day in and day out so that his adventure lasts that little bit longer...

He carefully and precariously carries my coffee and hazelnut twist to my table. It's not quite what I ordered, and I go to correct him... but then he smiles at me with his cheeky grin, looking deep into my eyes with those chocolate brown delights of his, and I humbly accept his offerings.

He could bring me whatever he wanted, and I would take it...

Ironically, I start to contemplate just who is serving who, and my mind again turns to thoughts of travel adventures somewhere over the sea.