This weekend I was supposed to be hosting a reading party. I had invited about 15 guests to come over and help me choose some work to send to publishers. Why? Because a friend said I should. I felt obliged to do so, as I have been very liberal with my advice of late and it’s about time I took some.

I made a facebook event and left it at that. Did I type my manuscripts? Did I do any shopping? Did I properly invite people by ringing them and verbally conversing? I have rescheduled for January or February. Why does February always look wrong?

A friend of mine asked me if I’d like to contribute to a local Zine again. I remembered that I have some stuff typed from ages ago and then I remembered that I left loads of things swinging in the breeze with the blog, in relation to my dating antics.

So, in time honoured fashion, I’m not going to tie those ends up. I’m cooking tea (pasta with tomato and basil sauce) I don’t have time, or the inclination. As I’m writing this, I’m thinking of two men. The one who inspired the prose that will follow and the one I don’t act up in front of.

I’m also thinking of my friend who’s in the process of splitting up with her partner and I’m thinking, does anyone actually win? Which makes me think of the line “This love game’s expensive”, (It’s Too Late, The Streets). I just re-read that sentence and my grammar needs serious attention.

I failed to get to interview stage on a job. I spent 4 hours filling in another job app. and think this time could be better spent writing my book (now ten whole pages long!). I wish I had the balls to go self-employed.

I have decided not to edit any of my old work.

Having just proof read this, it is apparent to me I need to meditate. And I absolutely must stop doing things whilst I’m eating.

(currently untitled)
My love is deep, my love is profound. I did not choose you to love. You chose to be receptive to my love. My love has always been there. I do not judge, I only wish for you to love deeper. To be in touch with the spirit that is alive and breathing in this world. You say that he has 99 names; I say he has a million.

You say that I take refuge in music. I say that music takes me closer to God. Deny that you hear his heart beat in this song and I will never sing again. I’m alive when I hear the hum of his being. I can see the strands of his love beaming from your heart, to mine, to the rest of mankind. We are all connected, we are all one. I feel hope well up inside me when I hear the music of the universe bridging the divides between us. It’s only a matter of time before we are all one again.

Sometimes I lose faith and I allow doubt to reside in my heart and it dulls my love.

Then, he calls to me.

Sometimes he sings and sometimes he sighs in the whisper of the wind through the trees. He is never far away. It’s just that sometimes I am deafened by the roar of dogma and arrogance.

He lifts me up when I am low and he lifts me highest when he speaks to me through my brothers and sisters, in music.

Deny that you hear his heart beat in this music and I will never sing again.

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