eilahtan's words

Spending time. Indifferent. Lost focus. Loosing time not knowing time where has it all gone? Missing you. Missing touch. Taste. Times. Times together times apart. Times apart feel longer still. Times together don’t last as long as needed. Needs. Closeness needed. Need to feel your hand in mine. Hands. Hands smaller than mine. Softer than mine. Smoother than mine. Less bony. Less worried. Less time. More time spent on phones. More time spent writing. Tapping away. Tapping away on phones. Phones ringing. Phones vibrating. Making me happier. Making me think. Talk. Sad. Happy when alone. Happy when alone in a crowded room. Happier to be alone with you. In a crowded room. Crowded out. Crowded thoughts. Loss of concentration. What was said? I’m half deaf. Sorry. Music too loud. Still see your lips. Can’t lip read. Don’t need to. See you. Feel you. Touch you. Here. All I need is here. Feel safer now. Waiting for your voice. Waiting to see you. Four days. Four days till trains. Trains to take you. Borrow time. Beg. Lose yourself. Postpone. Wait anxiously. See your face. Light up. Colours vivid. Can smell again. It's you. It's now. It’s you I’ve been waiting for.

Tiny Dancer

Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand

Jesus freaks out in the street
Handing tickets out for God
Turning back she just laughs
The boulevard is not that bad

Piano man he makes his stand
In the auditorium
Looking on she sings the songs
The words she knows, the tune she hums

But oh how it feels so real
Lying here with no one near
Only you and you can't hear me
When I say softly, slowly

Hold me closer tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me down in sheets of linen
you had a busy day today

Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand.

From the second you fit yourself into the glorious opening piano riff you feel at home in Elton’s voice, where he’s going where he’s from and where he wants to take you. It’s a shame he’s such a figure of fun now a days, but in all fairness he doesn’t really help out his fans on that notion much at all.

It’s a love song written by Bernie Taupin, Elton’s lyric writer. For while John possessed some of the finest soul golden lined pipes in all of the 70’s he couldn’t transfer that to words at all. He and Bernie marauded the US touring and writing, producing untold amounts of music, they were simply prolific. This song symbolises Bernie and John coming together, doing what they do best and creating a mother God of a song.

I don’t know, listen to it and try not to think about his fashion directions and you’ll be fine.

I can't stand...

English Language studies, it's as interesting as a man telling you about his breakfast when in fact he didn't have time for breakfast and had to make do with a nutri-grain bar so instead he reads the ingredients off the back of the packet in a monotone voice as if to say he's not even interested himself but you'll be interested because you've got no where else better to be.

GAH!

Constant Amusement

http://icanhascheezburger.com/

Summer pt3 Uni life.

And so to the final large development of the summer/early autumn, me leaving home and going to university. This has been a rather uprooting and traumatic time all round for me, and one that’s taken a while to get used to. Leaving everyone behind has been tough. Leaving Dickie after only just getting him back, leaving Mike who’s been my main man for the last few months and leaving Nathalie just when I was getting used to seeing her every day.

Most of all leaving my parents was tough, I love them to bits. Equal parts to annoyance.

Uni is fun though and I’ve made new friends and got to know people which has been fun. My course looks like it’ll burn my retinas out by the end of it all with the vast reading lists, but hey, I am reading English Lit. My lectures and teachers all seem thoroughly nice sorts, my tutor emailed me to wish me a happy birthday. I think I fit in here.

My university is no longer called UCE (University of Central England) however, I’m now a student of Birmingham City University, which sounds a bit grander and by the looks of it means we’re getting plasma screens put in the windows of the buildings. Hurrah for change eh?

Here’s evidence of my cooking skills,

Here's my cooking buddy Shaun



And the view of brum from my penthouse (complete with greyhound track)

Fun times await, I've blogged enough.

Night loves

x

Summer pt2 Sidari

“The sky is often used as a metaphor,

I suppose it’s because it’s so big and expansive,

When a long stranded cloud sits just above the horizon,

Leaving a strip of clear blue beneath it,

It becomes the panorama,

And you turn your head 360 degrees,

And the same line follows you round,

If the land is sufficiently flat,

Really nothing can be compared to it.” – Paul Smith

So onto Sidari, which came at the right place at the right time with the right person doing the right things with me and enjoying every moment. Leaving the day after returning from Leeds the day of leaving was a strange one, an evening flight a strange un-day. Nathalie and I went shopping in the day time through want of not wanting to just sit around all day willing ourselves onto a plane.

Soon enough 5 came around, and so did 6, 7 and 8 and finally 10 decided to show up and we got on our plane. Flying scares me and enthrals me in equal measure. Deep down I believe it’s not normal or right that a human being with legs and arms can be 15,000 feet above land, sea and air but at the same time you get such abject beauty from the height that my mind forgets my worries for minutes at a time wherein I take it all in. I end up feeling small, overtaken by the vastness of the open expanses. Then we get turbulence and I fear for my unborn and previously un-thought of children.

We arrive after me placating myself with the greatest hits of Sir Elton John through some serious (read: minor) shaking and rolling of the plane. Well Tiny Dancer anyway. I could write an essay about Tiny Dancer. But for now the fact is that it’s brilliant and that’ll have to keep you going. Corfu has a strange angular airport with all sorts of styles being attempted, but one never actually having authority over the other. It’s dizzying after 26 hours on the go.

(Stray Lizard)

We arrived at the hotel at 5, local time and went straight to sleep. I don’t know what it is about foreign climes but in the dark they mostly have to look of a building site or war zone about them, it’s all a bit strange and scary. I assured Nathalie of this but she was very worried. I was secretly worried, but after years of having the parents that I’ve had you learn to keep those sorts of things to yourself and make the best of a warzone if you have too. However this really wasn’t necessary because the place was simply lovely! The wonky shower rail was fixed by the time we came out of the pool and the cleaner was really kind to us, we locked ourselves out on the third day and I had to ask her half naked (the acceptable half) and soaking to be let back in. To be honest she probably thought we were mental. We’d made friends with a cat which I’d named Timothy (later found to be a female Timothy with Kittens) and she’d come in and have food in our apartment, and twice Timothy left with me and Nathalie and walking past a rather confused maid, obviously wondering if we were sleeping with stray cats on holiday. We left 5 Euro, hoping this princely sum would buy her silence.

(Timothy's Kittens)

A lot of the holiday was spent larking in the very literal sense around the pool and sun bathing, whole heartedly unspectacular but I loved every moment of it. We did our own shopping and cooked our own meals and I felt as if Nathalie and I were living together just like we had done for a week earlier this summer and it was amazing. It wasn’t jarring, I feel more comfortable in her presence than I do at home. The miniature homes we make while together keep me happy. It’s in stark contrast to what we’ve got for the rest of the year on a whole, snatched moments and weekends together. I love our snatched moments, I can get out of situations and feel happy even if it is only for a few days at a time, and they’re no less special. It just excites me that we’re capable of being together for longer periods without wanting to kill each other.

(Part of Corfu Town Old Fort)

We joined in quizzes and did film nights; we went for walks along the beach and held hands.

Sidari is an inheritantly beautiful place. Its views are stunning but jarred against rapid and obviously un-planned development. Sections of Sidari seem rushed and un-kept but the parts where you can’t stick a block of flats on are simply gorgeous. The architecture in Corfu town is chaotic and draws from all sources but is beautiful.

(The Popcorn Seller, Corfu Town)

I loved my holiday; it was the best present I’d ever been given and was everything I needed and more.

I love her quite a lot. I don’t think I need to elaborate on that do I?

Summer (Pt1) Leeds Festival

The months of august and September where particularly sparse writing times for me, for one I wasn’t really around a computer for too much of it all, and secondly I was too busy living the events and soaking them all up, I didn’t really want to ruin it all by rationalising it in my head. So now, in hindsight I look back on one of my favourite summers in a long long time.

Leeds Festival.

Leeds festival is good fun no matter what happens, that’s what we all had in our minds and to a certain extent that’s still universally true. I had to think this harder than most this year, because frankly the line up was sparse and obtuse. My favourite bands were clashing or on in mid day, people had gone mental for nu-rave and the beer were a ten pence cheaper. However, this all was eroded upon the first day of glorious sunshine and good old fashioned joshing.

Friday’s highlights included buying the guardian and thinking that Trent Reznor looked like David Gest.

Saturday’s highlight was seeing MAXÏMO PARK (sorry but they have to be in caps) blow the entirety of Leeds away with some as always jaggy art pop driven genius. I can’t hear them without smelling room oderiser. They just make me happy, they’ve got artsy lyrics about girls and love and roughly 14 amazing choruses. Me and Philip greeted each other on the morning after with –

“Five times five equals?”

“TWENTY FYYYYYYYYYVVVE!”

Amazing, topped off by a rather thin but ultimately sublime Patrick Wolf the day was one to be savoured.

Sunday came round with pangs of guilt and regret. I’ll tell you the tail but first you must agree not to judge me or condemn me until you know the facts. On Sunday I burnt my friend’s guitar. Right. “Bastard” you’re thinking and think you might, however here be the facts and in some way there is a redeeming logic to it all. Skip back a night to the Saturday of fun times, I’d had fun and as with fun, when 4am roles around you kind of get tired and in thinking that you’ll be up in roughly another 4 hours anyway it’ll be best to get some sleep. (Due to the transparency of tents, and the overzealous nature of Leeds campers). So when 5 rolled around and some CUNT sorry but CUNT was playing “Why does it always rain on me?” for the fifteenth time with boy band vocals added that perfectly rational part of my psyche snapped. I was not only over the edge of reason I was somewhere past Cuba lighting up a cigar and giving the US border guards a rounded V sign. I cracked that night in Branham Park. And I’m not proud of my exacting revenge.

Sunday passed without remark, the bands were average the cider was flowing and I’d finished off my box of wine, I’ll be very honest in saying I was very drunk. Yes very drunk in-fact. However not too drunk not to remember I had yesterday’s guardian in my tent that I hadn’t read yet and through utter despair at the line up headed that way with Sarah, possibly Hayley too. We arrived to find Phil, Nic, Georgia, Mike and Dickie. Possibly others were there, I’m not sure. They seemed to be stuffing grass into Luke’s guitar. Now call this full blown twatishness or sheer excitement but seeing my tormenter royally stuffed filled me with a passionate joy. And like most passionate joys when inebriated it bypassed my brain and went straight to my foot. And my foot went straight through the guitar. Oops.

I hadn’t quite intended it to all happen so soon, but then the memory changes and becomes confused and quite separated through myth and fiction. I can remember someone shouting “BURN IT” (this may have been me, though more than likely Phil) and I dutifully obliged, it seemed those fire lighters were in my pocket for the speed at which they were dispatched. The guitar was gone. No one claimed the deed, no one dobbed the other in. We passed it off as a moment of madness.

So there we go, judge me. (On a side note the guitar was a £9 child affair from Asda)

In true “American troops in Basra” style we decided not to just get our kicks but to incriminate ourselves with photographic proof.

So that was Leeds.

And here’s our truth.