Teddy Thompson (teddythompson) wrote,
Teddy Thompson

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jaded eyes can see nothing left for me, all pride is gone and here is nothing to love

I removed my glasses from the front dash and placed them over my eyes, aiding in my drive back to New York. It had been a stressful few days, stress that was expected but still unwelcome. I left Juska a couple of days before my first show in NY, giving me time to get comfortable in my apartment and practice some. He and I drove silently in the car to the Helsinki airport. Possibly because we didn't know what to say and possibly because... maybe we did. Fear. Fear can provoke you to do some of the stupidest things in your life, without really doing them at all. You are scared that telling this person, this friend of yours everything, it will ruin all of it. What you don't know is... it's the exact opposite. Your fear is what ruins it; you lost that potential experience, emotion, and love. All because you were afraid. Juska casually rolled his hand from the wheel in front of him to the hand at my side. He squeezed it gently, almost as a way of reassuring me that he knew and it was okay. He knew I wanted to apologise, he knew I didn't mean it, he knew I did, but he also knew I really did love another, no matter how much it may seem otherwise at times. That is what made him push me so far away that I sometimes got lost within his empty, once visited abyss. We had been to this place before; both of us. He held, I pushed, and now he knew... so he pushed. I was in this familiar territory that I had visited but never seen. I was too busy looking in one direction instead of around, or at him. As his thumb softly caressed the top of my hand, I knew it was okay, but at the same time, I knew it wasn't. We both opened our mouths, empty words spilling out into the cold air. Our relationship was like a natural disaster. Even a significant warning couldn't prevent the damage we caused to one another. He pulled his hand away quickly to make a sharp turn, only to never return it. I just stared at the window and thought, as he began to shift in his seat. Probably uncomfortable at the stressful vibes being thrown out and bounced around at this moment.

We arrived at the airport shortly after. The drive taking a lot longer than we both would have preferred. Juska helped me with my bags as we walked toward the gates. My mind was running millions of miles a minute as we walked slowly through the terminal. Each one of us walking slower than the other, in hopes the moment I boarded would be pushed further and further back. Juska reached out to hand me one of my bags. I grabbed it from him, causing me to feel his fingertips brush across my skin. He reached out to hold my hand once more on the way to the gate, knowing that handholding was one of my favourite moments. I moved my hand away from his grasp and nothing else was said. No expression, no words, not even a motion. I freed my other bag from his grip and hugged him tightly. Trying to hold him so closely that I would be able to recall the feeling of him when I need it. When I needed him. I turned around after a "Thank you for everything" speech. He continued standing still. As I finally boarded my gate, I turned around to see that he was gone. Probably better that way.

I slept most of the plane ride home, which isn't all that normal for me, but I was happy I could make it pass quickly this way. When I arrived in New York it was a sobering experience to see no one waiting for you at the gate. No surprise pop ups throughout my walk to the outside. I hailed a taxi and made my way to my vacant New York apartment. I hadn't been here in months and it showed. My voice echoed off the walls, there was a chill in the room as I walked through to set my bags down. I walked to my bedroom and curled up in bed before I could think anymore; sleep overcoming me much more quickly than I remembered before. The next night was the New York show at Fez. The people were loud, unappreciative, and acted as if they were generally too good to be there. It would be a lie if I said I wasn't used to it. The highlight in the evening was having Rufus attend. After I played my set, which was first before Rachael Davis', we sat down at the bar and had a few drinks. We were both fairly tired from the long flights home from Finland, and ended up turning in pretty early in the evening. I stayed to play a song with Rachael, who is a lovely girl. I was her opener for these past few dates. She is a very cute, punkesque, but still folk sounding girl. Shawn Colvin actually introduced me to Rachel's manager who was looking for someone to open. I agreed and it was all set up.

I drove to Boston early the next morning in a rental car for my show that night. We played at a very cute, almost coffee shop, club. We sold it out, and there were even people watching my set through the windows on the side. It was a smoke free, alcohol free environment, which prompted me to frequent the bar across the street for a couple of Margaritas. After the show, I stayed again to play a song with Rachael before hopping back into the car and driving home. Unfortunately, hotel prices are not all that cheap, and I couldn't afford to stay. Saturday night I drove to New Jersey for a show there. It was in a city called Twin Rivers, which in all my time in and out of Jersey with friends, I had never heard of. When I pulled up to the "venue", I found out why. There wasn't even a venue in Twin Rivers... we were played at the Twin Rivers Community Center. Quite depressing, really. Earlier that day I was asked to do some modeling for New York Magazine, which I was rather excited about. Here I am later that day, playing at a community center no bigger than my bedroom, which is run by a bunch of older Christian women. Ups and downs, I suppose? They tried to offer me dinner but I asked to be directed to the nearest bar, which ended up being at some sleazy motel where they ran the movie "Evolution" on a loop. I went back right before my set after a few beers. I tried to wait around and play with Rachael after, but the whole community center, mixed with everything else was depressing me immensely. I got in my car and drove back to New York full of thought. I thought of Ville, and how much I really didn't want to be here. No matter how much I loved performing, I wanted to see Ville. I wanted to be out of this car. I wanted to not be alone. Despite how much I thought, and wished... I was still in this car on my way back to New York, alone.

The next night was Philly. I invited a friend of mine to come along with me and she obliged. This basically enabled me to finally indulge in the bar and get pissed enough that I couldn't even see straight. It's what I needed. Somewhere between the state line and home I passed out. Leaving my companion to work the manual car herself. I woke up in my bed Monday morning with a terrible hangover, alone. So I guess she made it home alright. I'm a terrible host. I returned the car earlier this morning when I was feeling somewhat better, and spent the rest of my day deciding what I wanted to do. I know I have to get back into the studio sometime in the coming month. I can either stay in New York and record, or go back to London and use the one my Mum has set up. At some point I wanted to return to Finland, actually I do very soon. I miss his embrace, and his early morning whispers of hello. There is nothing better than being comfortable and secure when you fall asleep at night, and wake up in the morning light. To receive a kiss and not care that you just woke up, to snuggle next to them and know you don't have to move until you want to. There are things you learn to do without, but there are some things you can't bare to let go of. It's always the little things that linger in your head, rather the ones you think you would miss.

On stage I thought he would be all that was in my mind. Somehow I was able to clear my head completely. I guess performing can do that to you; maybe that's why some people love it so much. Besides the general love for music, and writing... performing your life in front of a bunch of nameless faces is almost as nerve wracking as it is soothing. You can feel your stomach turn as you step on to the stage; the first few notes for me are always stressful. Once I start the song, close my eyes, and begin singing, it just flows from me. Almost like a poet, reciting their favourite lines from memory. It just keeps coming and I can't really explain how, or why, but it's what I love. I can feel the heat on my face from the lights, and the presence of the bodies in front of me... watching me, listening, studying intently. I feel my fingers pluck the strings one by one, quickly, but smoothly, almost as if I was in no rush at all. My fingers turn to liquid, the strings are like the shore, with each note being the tide. After each song, I take a deep breath and come back down from that beautiful, almost natural high, with the knowledge I am able to enter it again with the next song. It's a unique experience that I often feel as if I take for granted.

So here I am, stuck in this empty, dim apartment, wondering where I should go from here. At least for the time being, I have some time to compose a few new tracks to test out in the studio. Once done I must approach the task of dealing with record companies again. I got into an interesting discussion with a lady at one of my shows, she wasn't a fan before she saw my set, but swore she was on her way to pick up my CD. Anyhow, she explained to me that through all the musicians she had met, she noticed one thing... they were all relatively depressed. Not so much miserable as they were "a tortured soul". She conveyed her theory on how artists torture themselves unknowingly in hopes of bringing some exquisite material out of it. The best creative sessions do come from my lowest points. Her words have been in my head ever since, maybe more relaxingly than haunting. The only replacement for a warm body next to yours is a big piece of polished wood that can make some of the most beautiful sounds in the world. As they echo across the almost bare living room, they fill my ears, and wrap my mind up. Almost like the warm set of arms I dream about. There is no better comfort.

Some tears will fall from my eyes
some blood will spill from my veins
I cant see hope,
I can't care less for the next morning
and everything is so damn lost again
..and I can't see your heart
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