I came to California 4 years ago from Seattle. I just packed everything into a U-haul one day and left. Some may say that I live my life very close to that. I have very high expectations for the people in my life mainly men. It isn't a question if I have to pick up and leave any of them and I think that, may be a bit of defense mechanism on my part. I suppose some people may find that harsh, but it's worked for me and it keeps the drama in life to a minimum.
I've had men in the past accuse me of deliberately starting arguments in an effort to create drama. Hmm. I suppose they could be somewhat correct in that statement. Living life as an artist does give you a little bit more of an extreme edge on life. From how you dress, speak, make love, but most of all fall in love. Sometimes I curse my creativities. Some little girls were read love stories, and then they grow up and realize that prince charming is actually that guy eating chips on your couch to the Lakers game. They have the chance to get away from the happily ever after, and just accept that sometimes being content ever after has to be good enough. Then some just accept ever after, which is what this song is about. Most of us have been brain washed with the fairy tale, but the truth is none of us has lived it. Reading an article on soul mates one day, I thought it was summed up very well when the writer said that not every lifetime has one, or at least not one of love.
Although, here I am writing love songs, writing about heartbreak and lust. The ideal never seems to go away, not even with age. I wonder if romance writers have normal relationship. Perhaps I should speak to one. Have any of them ever been referred to as "a bit of a handful"? If I never hear myself referred to as this ill educated cliché again it would be too soon. I guess the truth is that none of the songs are really about one person, except this one. This song was written about a specific person, one whom I will never reveal. Aside from making an amazing song, I think it is an amazing story. A story of a woman who gives everything for love, someone who has sacrificed her ever after all together and dealt with life at every passing moment. Never knowing what will come after and just hoping to make it thought the day, hour, minute. Believing that life is just a series of nightmares that you're never woken from not even with death.
So, accuse me of leaving prematurely, accuse me of being harsh to those who bring grief. Tell me that I have to have more understanding and that I need to "tone down" my stubbornness. Convince me that love is worth all of the heartache that it brings, if you only stick it out and wait. Bring to me all of these conclusion and more, and when you wake up, let me know.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The One That Got Away
To the left my half packed bags lay waiting for some kind of response from me as if they were more anxious to get away from me than to go with me. I guess I didn't blame them. Ashes still covered the stove where I had burnt everything he ever pacified me with over the years. Slowly the ashes and empty bottle of rum seemed to keep in time as they rolled back and fourth to the dance of the fan above. Who sends fucking post cards anymore anyway? Then again lovers through the years liked this tame attempt at distant romance.
They taunted my mail box whenever they decided to delicately place themselves among the other reminders of my lack of discipline and provided about as much excitement as my past due reminders. Their pretty pictures of places and things I've never done, things they did without me, things that were more important than I was. Swimming through the ashes to find my lighter for the last cigarette I swear to smoke over him, I find one that had been missed in my drunken fiery rage. Of course, Jamaica, the last one and the name on the plane tickets sitting by my bags. I had been more excited about it the night before he joyfully reminisced about our sexual rendezvous on the phone while his friends laughed in agreement. I guess guilt had gotten the better of the conversation by the end his confession of a relationship with another woman had been revealed. My breath stopped, my heart in my throat. I knew that this was probably the case, I just hadn't had any real evidence until now.
His delivery was swift and cold as if to hurt me as much as possible in one five-minute conversation. I sigh, put the post card back on the stove and light it on fire. I have my own post cards to send, and it isn't like I am lacking in the romance area. The truth is that I was always out of his league, from the very start. I remember when he spoke to me looking over his shoulder at the more attractive men in the room, taller, built, better spoken. Though, I can't deny the chemistry, for some reason I let him in. Our clumsy dance would continue for years, the games and drama that are inevitable of an uncontrollable pull to one another. Although, in the end seeing him again, made me realize, I wasn't actually in love with him. I was in love with the pain, because it was comfortable and exciting. The "chemistry" was of my own making, molding him into this prince charming in my mind in an effort to make him into the man that he will never be. The attentive, caring, faithful man that he will never be. I don't love you, but when all is said and done, one day when you hear my music on the radio or you read about me somewhere or I just cross your mind; you're going to regret not becoming that man.
I loved you; I loved you in a way that no other woman will ever love you for the rest of your life. Now that love only exists in the pile of ashes on my kitchen stove. I was the best thing that ever happened to you, now all I'll ever be is, the one that got away.
The One That Got Away is a spoken word track, my first attempt at spoken word. It was inspired by true events based on the story above. It will not be included on the album, but is a pre-release leading up to Naked Singularity.
My lovers in the past have always asked which songs were about them, which ones could they play on repeat when they needed an ego boost from a recent break up. Some kind of reminder that someone at some point in their lives actually wanted them. So, to all of them I say, you'll never know, and if you ask my reply will always be "Of course it's about you!"
They taunted my mail box whenever they decided to delicately place themselves among the other reminders of my lack of discipline and provided about as much excitement as my past due reminders. Their pretty pictures of places and things I've never done, things they did without me, things that were more important than I was. Swimming through the ashes to find my lighter for the last cigarette I swear to smoke over him, I find one that had been missed in my drunken fiery rage. Of course, Jamaica, the last one and the name on the plane tickets sitting by my bags. I had been more excited about it the night before he joyfully reminisced about our sexual rendezvous on the phone while his friends laughed in agreement. I guess guilt had gotten the better of the conversation by the end his confession of a relationship with another woman had been revealed. My breath stopped, my heart in my throat. I knew that this was probably the case, I just hadn't had any real evidence until now.
His delivery was swift and cold as if to hurt me as much as possible in one five-minute conversation. I sigh, put the post card back on the stove and light it on fire. I have my own post cards to send, and it isn't like I am lacking in the romance area. The truth is that I was always out of his league, from the very start. I remember when he spoke to me looking over his shoulder at the more attractive men in the room, taller, built, better spoken. Though, I can't deny the chemistry, for some reason I let him in. Our clumsy dance would continue for years, the games and drama that are inevitable of an uncontrollable pull to one another. Although, in the end seeing him again, made me realize, I wasn't actually in love with him. I was in love with the pain, because it was comfortable and exciting. The "chemistry" was of my own making, molding him into this prince charming in my mind in an effort to make him into the man that he will never be. The attentive, caring, faithful man that he will never be. I don't love you, but when all is said and done, one day when you hear my music on the radio or you read about me somewhere or I just cross your mind; you're going to regret not becoming that man.
I loved you; I loved you in a way that no other woman will ever love you for the rest of your life. Now that love only exists in the pile of ashes on my kitchen stove. I was the best thing that ever happened to you, now all I'll ever be is, the one that got away.
The One That Got Away is a spoken word track, my first attempt at spoken word. It was inspired by true events based on the story above. It will not be included on the album, but is a pre-release leading up to Naked Singularity.
My lovers in the past have always asked which songs were about them, which ones could they play on repeat when they needed an ego boost from a recent break up. Some kind of reminder that someone at some point in their lives actually wanted them. So, to all of them I say, you'll never know, and if you ask my reply will always be "Of course it's about you!"
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