tomatobasil

            It takes place on a bench waiting for bus. Or better yet, in a train station. In an airport in London. Yes. And they’re sitting with their packs and cases waiting. For a train that will take them on a journey to a familiar and unfamiliar place. You see, as they sit and wait for the train, she really waits for him to put his arm around her. He really waits for the train. Who are my characters in this story? Well, they could be any mis-matched couple, really. Or maybe not. Maybe there is something intrinsically different about this pair of loveless lovers—an unspoken understanding about true, deep and mad love. Regardless, as they wait, she thinks that he is her true love, but is so sad that he will not put his arm around her. He complains about the waiting, the sleep deprivation, the hunger. She smiles sympathetically, and wonders why he thinks that she isn’t experiencing the same hunger, sleep deprivation and the waiting, not to mention her gassy stomach. Then again, she thinks he probably has indigestion as well. Later, she’ll realize she makes excuses for him all the time, but right now, these excuses comfort her. They comfort her because they enable her to understand where he’s coming from, and excuse his neglect. Watching this, from the outside, I wish her well. This young nineteen year old who’s never been in love before. But I need to be honest, I am scared from her. I am scared because I see things in her future that she cannot possibly estimate at this moment in the train station. All she sees is this magical man with so much talent and drive. She wants to lose herself in his love, and I am scared because I see her doing this. I have to let her live her life the best way she knows how. That means, unfortunately, her heart must be broken and mended several times by that same person she sits with in the train station before she will realize that he just cannot see beyond himself to get to her. She, with all her strength and intelligence, cannot see beyond him to get to herself either.

_johnny_cade_

Sometimes I sit up at night because I can't stop thinking about things I have done wrong in life, I am plagued to wonder "what if" whether things go good or bad. I think back on people I have hurt, directly or indirectly. Friendships I've squandered and let die for no reason. I often wonder the difference had I made any effort at all in high school. If I understood that I had opportunities there. A million things done wrong, and only half that many done right so to speak. I should push myself more.

I need to write, to be creative again, and yet I need to discipline myself and not leave pieces of work unfinished or with gaps in the story. I need to learn to master the guitar, and/or get around to relearning to drum and finally be involved with music in some way. Not for money or "being in a band" but for the sake of creating and sharing with people. 

Am I the only one that has days or nights like this? Tell me about them. I seek to rebuild friendships, and forge new ones. So let me leave you with "WHAT THE FUCK IS UP IN YOUR LIVES? TELL ME PLEASE" e-mail me long winded messages, call me and blabber on about nothing.

I miss you all dearly, even those of you whom I see regularly. I want to see you all more, and hear from you all more often.

I started to type this because I am hyper from drinking hot chocolate, and could not get to sleep. It's slowly rolling into a real post, which is interesting because I had deleted my journal for lack of desire to update anymore. However I realize that this is one of the few ways that forces me to write regularly as well as see what other people are doing. Fuck facebook. Livejournal is where it's at. 

I don't need your faces, I need your lives. In a non-soul collecting way of course.

Love you all

-Orange Tree

tomatobasil

WORKS CITED

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. “Aurora Leigh.” The Broadview Anthology of Victorian

Poetry and Poetic Theory. Eds. Thomas J. Collins and Vivienne J. Rundle.

Toronto: Broadview Press, 1999. 98-115.

Tennyson, Alfred. “Tithonus.” The Broadview Anthology of Victorian

Poetry and Poetic Theory. Eds. Thomas J. Collins and Vivienne J. Rundle. Toronto: Broadview Press, 1999. 277-278.

Powell, Barry B. “Procris and Cephalus.” Classical Myth. New York: Pearson/Longman,

2009. 391-2.