You'll haunt a man whose days are measured

love pull your sore ribs in, I will pull your tangles out

Mon, 14 Apr 2003 20:03:34 GMT

Most of us speak of love as a tangible thing. We almost protect it like a best friend that’s in a war of sword throwing. We defend its honour, and its purity… just like it was the one we actually cradled at night. Either that or we curse its name and wished we could find the bastard again so we could make it feel the same pain we did. But the truth is love is nothing but a vapor. Something we breathe in for a split second before we are forced to exhale. When you sit outside somewhere, anywhere in the warm weather… the sun is shining, and this light breeze brushes over your face. The gentleness of it almost feels like fingertips trying to comfort you, or reach past your skin and be within you. That moment of contentment could be love as well as the moment you say goodbye to the arms leaving you. I remember a time I wished it could be summer forever. There was an early winter that year. I really don’t care for love as much as I speak of it, it’s just a subject lately that has fascinated me.

I haven’t updated in a while, but you can read a couple of entries from Rufus and Juska on what was going on during this time period.

I’m staying in the states longer than I expected, as I will be touring with my Mother in May.

11.05 Black Mountain, NC Lake Eden Arts Festival
13.05 Annapolis, MD Ramshead
14.05 Alexandria, VA The Birchmere
16.05 Pittsburgh, PA Rosebud
17.05 Sellersville, PA Sellersville Theatre
19.05 Northampton, MA Iron Horse Music Hall
20.05 New York, NY Joe's Pub
21.05 New York, NY Joe's Pub

Until then I’ll just sleep a little more and maybe eventually make a few more phone calls. Silence is golden.

I give in to sin Because you have to make this life livable

Tue, 25 Mar 2003 19:31:41 GMT

Traveling can tire me quickly. Note the lack of any significant updates. Tuesday, the 18th, I flew out to LA early in the AM. On the plane ride over there I broke my watch when trying to use the loo and hitting a fun burst of turbulence. My wrist went flying into the side of the 1x1 spaced area. Luckily the watch protected my wrist, but it cracked and stopped working completely. My father gave me that watch anyway, so I suppose I could care less. Although now, I never know what time it is. In any light, the point of that was, when stepping off the plane I was exhausted and then had no idea what time it was… except that it was dim out. I took a cab directly to my hotel, trying not to bother with viewing the sites around me, as I know them all too well. Couldn’t I have been booked at a hotel in a different section of town? One I didn’t frequent? I hate it here.

The next day was my show at Largo, with an interesting twist and surprise… my mother. I arrived at the venue somewhat early to tune my guitar then, as Largo can get somewhat noisy toward the evening. When I walked in, guitar in hand, I saw the back of a person I thought resembled my mother. I brushed it off as my crazy illusion, as I know my mother was in London. I began walking toward the stage when I heard her laugh; I could know her laugh from anywhere. I turned around and noticed the woman chatting up the owner; she turned toward me and smiled widely. 'Teddy!' '…Mum?' was the only thing I could get out in response. She glided over toward me, because my mother does not walk, nor run, she glides, and threw her arms around me. I managed to get out something along the lines of 'what are you doing here' and she gave me some answer I didn’t quite catch. Basically saying she wanted to stop by and surprise me since she hadn’t talked to me in so long. I knew this wasn’t the actual reason. I had been in London for months now, why didn’t she stop by then? It was nice to see her, I suppose, so I guess I shouldn’t question any of the things I don’t want to know of anyhow.

The show went well, I thought. I always loved playing at Largo. The stage is a good size, but the setting is still very intimate. As much as I complain about the people in LA, the Largo crowd is generally very respectful while you are playing. It was just my guitar and I performing a couple of older tracks, a couple of newer ones, and two new ones I have been working on in the studio. Half way through my set I saw my Mother sitting in the audience with almost a glow surrounding her face. I decided to call her up and we did a couple of traditional folk songs together, and one of the songs from her CD. I always love performing with my Mother, and as much as I can dislike him offstage, I always love performing with my Father as well. After the show my mother decided to chat up a few more people while I wondered outside (after frequenting the bar a few times, of course). I knew down the street and to the left would take me to a place Rufus and I used to go, 2 stop lights down would take me to a place my father and I fought on his tour for the fifth time and I stormed off to walk down here. And a few or more blocks down to the right would take me to the intersection where I let go of Ville’s hand… or when I let go of him completely. Why could I remember the stupidest things, but not the important details? My head was spinning.

I reached into my pocket and dug around for my cell phone. I had already forgotten an important detail, when I arrived at the venue earlier; there were a bouquet of tulips waiting for me up front. Assuming they were from my mother I didn’t read the card until after I tuned my guitar and set up. They were from Hugh. I didn’t know what to think, in all honesty. I’m not one accustomed to the spoiled lifestyle. Of course I receive some lovely gifts from my friends every now and then, and I appreciate them completely. Though a call from them would work just as well. I’m not sure if I have ever received flowers from anyone before, just so randomly. The card was very sweet, and yet I could remember where my heart broke in all the places of LA but not to call him and thank him for the thought.

Time differences… I’m horrible with them. It was around 6am in London when I rang him, and I didn’t realise it until he picked up the phone with a scruffy voice. I apologised profusely but he assured me that it was perfectly alright and he was just happy that I called. We didn’t talk for too long because it was loud outside, I was thinking too much, and he needed to go back to sleep. I sent him a couple of things in response to his flowers the next day. I hope he enjoyed them.

To my discontent, I stayed in LA until Saturday morning so I could catch Jon Brion’s show Friday night. I gave him a call Thursday to let him know I would be there and he asked me out for coffee before the show. I met him in some small independently owned shop near Largo that I don’t remember seeing before. I assume it was new, which is always good for my peace of mind. We chatted about things… music mostly. I told him about my projects, he told me about his. We both strayed away from the words of personal lives, simply because it would be better that way. Last I heard from him, his wasn’t going so well. I didn’t ask, he didn’t ask, all was well. He did ask me if I wanted to perform with him that night and I extended my thanks for the offer but declined, as I just wanted to sit back and watch him. He’s just amazing live. We said our goodbyes after the show and I rang my mother to find out where she was. With some person, somewhere in Santa Barbara. Perfect.

I boarded my plane the next morning and headed to New York. I am playing at Club Passim once again on March 30th (Boston, MA or, rather Cambridge for those of you who are unaware). I liked the place last time I was there. Good food, although only for vegetarians, good crowd, nice sound… and all around good place. I’m lucky they are having me there again. So I figured I could fly into JFK and check up on my apartment again, stay there for a while and actually work on my music with no distractions, and then go to my show in Boston before going back home to London. I asked Rufus already if I could borrow his car and drive to MA. He never uses in anyhow; I mean it still has Montreal plates on it. He said I could borrow it as long as I remember to fill it up with gas this time… oops. Since the show is only a few days after mine, I will probably stay and drive up to (or take the train) Utica for Rufus’ show with Ben Folds on April 3rd. Upstate New York isn’t my favourite place in the world, but I haven’t seen Rufus perform in a while, and plus, I’d really like to see Ben Folds play. I invited Rufus and Juska along with me to Boston. Road trips are only fun with other people. I think they are still talking it over.

So here I am, in New York, finally caught up on my sleep. I haven’t really talked to anyone, nor seen anyone. I have just been sleeping, writing, and playing music for the past few days. I may call Rufus and ask him out for coffee later. I don’t remember who else is in New York. You all move way too fast.

I suppose I need to give Hugh a call too. I haven’t spoken to him in a few days and I believe I am beginning to miss him. Plus, he helps chase away everything else in my head for the short period of times we talk. I really wish I could see him sooner, but I guess you can’t pick your schedule, they pick it for you. I’ll be back in London soon enough. Though I can’t say being in this quiet little apartment, secluded, isn’t fun for the time being.

I do wish I had some bagels though.

I would give everything that I own, I'd give you my love and this heart made of stone

Mon, 17 Mar 2003 16:32:14 GMT

“This one” I asked Gareth pulling out an army coloured hoodie. “No, something darker” he replied.
This went on for a couple of hours. Hugh Grant agreed to meet me for tea last night. What does one wear to meet Hugh Grant? He is one of my favourite if not the favourite actor of mine. I said a nice button up and khakis, Gareth said shabby was in. So we compromised and I wore the hoodie, with a pair of jeans… and he let me borrow his nice shoes (which he polished for me) and I gelled my hair. I’m glad no one else lives with us, I think we would have driven them out already.
I was nervous, extremely nervous. And of course for no good reason… Hugh is only highly successful, attractive, handsome, funny, witty, brilliant, and… yes, I could go on. Gareth gave me a good pat on the back and stuffed an exit plan in my pocket if needed. He’s such a great friend and flat-mate.

I jogged up to the coffee shop half winded. Never rely on public transit to take you anywhere on time. When I ran in, there he sat, looking at me from a corner of the shop. I tried to give my best “I was only running to tone up those legs” smile, but it didn’t work. He stood up to shake my hand and greet me; I offered my hand up in return and took the seat across from him. We chatted as much as we could between coy smiles, glances, and hiding flustered faces. I knocked over the salt container more times that I can count, and I must have chain smoked enough to make the people across the way begin to cough. But he didn’t mention it once… just smiled at me and asked what I wanted from the waitress. He nodded at my reply and brought back 2 mugs filled to the rim with the most delightful tea. We added the necessities and toasted before sipping on the drinks and simultaneously taking long drags from our cigarettes, only to tease the other one with the smoke. It was relaxed. I don’t normally feel relaxed in the presence of new people.

I blushed again and looked away, this time he caught my face with this fingertips and forced me to look at him. I felt my stomach turn into knots as he approached closer. And closer… and closer… until his lips were set upon mine. This went on for a few tender moments before he knocked his tea over and I noticed the many eyes fixed on us. I pulled away as gently as I could and he apologised like a gentleman, although there was absolutely nothing to apologise for.

I walked him back to his house a mile or so away. It was already 2am, the streets were empty, and the stars were bright… why not walk? When arrived he placed a gentle kiss on my cheek and thanked me for the evening. I thanked him immensely in return as I tried my best impression of flirtation. I looked up at him and smiled. How I must look like such a boy to him. It worked, anyway, as he asked me if I would like to come inside. I nodded and slipped my hand into his as he led me upstairs.

Luckily, he has plenty of spare bedrooms and I crashed in one of those. When I woke up this morning, there he stood in boxer shorts and a white Hanes t-shirt. He was in front of the stove attempting to cook breakfast. I had to laugh at the sight. The faces he made as the eggs popped up and the oatmeal exploded to the left of him. “Oh!! You’re up!” He yelled to me enthusiastically. “I attempted to cook breakfast, but I knew this was going to happen so the take away is sitting on the kitchen table if you want to set it up, darling” he gave me a sly grin, and I couldn’t help but laugh. We ate and talked some more over a delicious breakfast that we pretended he cooked.

I hope Gareth wasn’t checking his watch and pacing around waiting for me. Oh wait, the E would have taken care of that anyway. Nevermind.

Sat, 15 Mar 2003 07:18:19 GMT

[So, yes... I was hacked for those of you who are still unaware. Instead of going into the whole explanation again, I will paste what was posted to the OOC list.

I have no idea what is going on. Thank you to Juska for answering my email
so promptly and taking time out to reply to inquiring posts and post in MBP
with the situation.

Basically, I went to leave some comments early on this afternoon and my
password didn't work. I have typed it in wrong a million times, so I tried
again... and again... and, you get the picture. So I go over to another
journal and realised from their info page that Teddy was deleted. During
this time frame of freaking out I also realised he had left a comment in
this time period to Ville Valo, which I found incredibly strange. So far, it
seems to be the only comment I could find. If you DID receive a comment from
Teddy between 1am last night and 1pm today, it wasn't from me. Well, if he
comments anymore until I make a post about it, its not me either.

My password isn't one easy to guess, and Teddy is generally nice to
everyone, so I don't see any "enemies" doing this. I know it has nothing to
do with real Teddy because he knows about the journal and actually likes it.
It was confirmed that it had nothing to do with Teddy when I found the
comment (or actually, my friend found it and called me).. and when I also
received this email about 15 minutes ago.

>From: "Listen To Me" dontdoitagain@hotmail.com
>To: daysinthepark@hotmail.com
>Date: Fri, 14 Mar 2003 18:30:20 +0000
>
>i know you will get it back. but consider this a warning. a big one.
>
>i can do what i want and get what i want so watch your step because i
>W-I-L-L do it again fucker.
>
>next time ill make sure its better and worse. you wont even want to come
>back.
>
>haha
>

Fun times. I have no idea what this is or why its happening but I'm
annoying, frustrated, and just disgusted by the immaturity of this.

I've been in contact with livejournal for the past 2 hours or so. They
changed my email from this to "dayinthepark" so there is no defined email or
ID. Well, unless you consider "dayinthepark" and "dontdoitagain" to be
evidence. On either hand, livejournal is trying to contact the higher form
of their help desk so they can override all these changes. When this is
done, I should receive an email and full access back to my journal.

I remember a post I think Kevin person made a while back stating that if you
still own the original email address you can get your password back. I know
this works because I have done it before for a personal account. However, in
this situation it is refusing to work. Either that, or livejournal is
incredibly slow and/or hateful today.

I just wanted to inform everyone that I did NOT delete and I have no idea
where to even begin with what is going on. I don't think anyone needs to
take precautions, as I was obviously targeted specifically. *sigh*

A very frustrated,
-Teddy "the real one, damn it" Thompson

Everything seems to be all fixed, and fortunately, nothing has seemed to be removed or deleted. Thank you to everyone for their support. I really appreciate and needed all of it.

-Teddy Person]

the day you took my breath, the fading breath of a candle blown

Tue, 11 Mar 2003 04:24:16 GMT

The feeling of a guitar beneath your fingertips is a feeling like no other. You can get almost everything out and take something else in. When I got back from Miami I went straight to my room at Gareth’s and played for as long as my fingers could stand it, or actually, until I fell asleep. I woke up the next morning, smoke a cigarette and then began playing again. I closed my eyes and plucked at each string hard, loving how the vibrant sound bounced from wall to wall and echoed back into my ears. The more pain I felt inside the harder I pulled each string… emotion pouring out and balancing with the wounds forming on my fingertips. I don’t know how many strings I broke, but I did have to replace a couple a few different times. Sometime mid-day on Sunday I finally felt what I had been missing for weeks, maybe even months… peace. I felt at ease. I took everything from within me and let it escape through the blood on my fingertips, the tears in my eyes, and music I was churning out. I let go, and it felt wonderful. The feeling I felt when I finally set my guitar down, took a deep breath, and opened my eyes cannot be described… but it was a good feeling.

He hammered in the final nail to our coffin yesterday, and I think it was what I needed. I needed to be angry at him, I needed to finally let go of him and push him away. I finally made a decision and I let him know it. The final decision to stop waiting, wanting, loving, hurting, aching, yearning, and bleeding for him. I can take a breath now and feel my lungs fill to their full capacity instead of falling short. I almost feel reborn in a way… a shackle being unlocked from around your heart can do that, I suppose.

Miami was beautiful, and Amanda was even more beautiful as she walked down the aisle. In a way I always looked at her as sort of a little sister, with much protection. When I saw her in that white dress, and speaking her last lines of the vows… I knew she was in safe hands and didn’t need to be protected anymore. She’s more grown up than I can even picture being right now. She later announced she was pregnant, which even blew me away more. I know she’ll make an excellent mother, and I hope I’ll be able to baby-sit at least once.

I was more than ready to arrive back in London, and it almost saddens me that I’ll have to leave again very shortly and head back the states. I have a show in LA on March 19th at Largo. I hope everyone in the nearby area will attend, as I miss a lot of my LA friends… even if I do hate the city. I’ll probably fly in the day before and leave the following Saturday. I’d like to attend Largo Friday night in order to meet up with Jon Brion and maybe play a few songs with him. I adore that man, and he is a musical genius. Besides, we have a lot of catching up to do.

Back in to the studio I go. Fresh attitudes are always helpful. Maybe I can actually write some more upbeat songs now, although even the happier numbers still tend to be pretty slow. I like it that way. The only question is where to go from here. I guess that’s one of the answers that will come with time. We aren’t supposed to be able to see into the future for a reason, probably because that would actually prevent happiness. Most people would never take the leap into something if they knew it was going to end badly. It’s easy for us to forget how happy we actually were when it’s all over. I didn’t forget though, I’ll never forget… and I like it that way as well. It was good while it lasted, that’s all I can really say.

I fall asleep, I'm never waking up. I wish I could accept me, But I think I'm giving up.

Wed, 05 Mar 2003 18:14:02 GMT

I believe I have hit my lowest point. Despair. Pure and utter emptiness mixed with an ounce of pain when the numbness wears off. There are no more empty spaces left on my skin and the blood pumping through my veins gets slower every hour. Maybe even every second. I’m lost, but cannot be found. It’s my own castle I have built; decorated with the wounds I have caused, and painted with my own shame. It’s dark, black as night, I cannot see and I prefer it that way. All the mirrors are shattered at my feet because my reflection returns to me battered and bare, something I cannot stand. I walk over the shattered pieces and then stare in awe at the tainted red pieces behind me. Everything is behind me now. I have caused my own losses. I’m aware I can only move forward from this point but the noise in my head is so loud… so loud that it’s deafening. It’s turned to silence, my silence. My despair, my shame, my black hole, and my pain. It’s all mine now, and that’s how I made it. Hurt them before they can hurt you? I’m tired of hearing that. I try to learn it and it sounds repetitive and only more painful than the last 20 times it was repeated. Wear your scars like a trophy, for they are they map to your pain which leads to the constellations of your heart. This is my aching and I wear it well. Everything is mine and I didn’t want to share it with the others I come in contact with because their smiling faces and loving hearts should stay intact. Mine will always be broken, but theirs shouldn’t be broken as well. They deserve a chance to live, to breathe, and to feel things I have long since waved goodbye to. Avoid it, avoid me. I’m doom in a painted mask. The smile on my face is not real, the song in my heart is only notes on a bar… one beat per measure. Sometime, somewhere in my life, someone changed the beat and failed to inform me. I live with the mistakes I make everyday… they pain me, they cut at me like a freshly opened razor; new and striking a mine of red with the first easy push across milky terrain.

You want the truth? I’ve hurt all of you, and I know I have. I feel for each of you every day. I refuse to say sorry now because it’s so tedious and it helps no one, especially the pain that has hopefully faded. Why open new wounds? Because I know some of you are still hurting. Want my advice? Stay away from me. Stay as far away from me as you can. I’ll admit it… it’s what you want to hear anyway, right? I’m a horrible man, a horrible person. I deserve to be locked away in this shameful dungeon and have the key thrown away. That way if I hurt anyone, it will only be myself and it can be my own ruin. My own demise. Something I can control. I was burdened with not being able to stop the tears from your eyes and that’s a pain I can’t stand. I can stand any other pounding pain except the pain of yours. I can’t watch it anymore, I can’t watch myself.

I guess the only way for me to move is forward. I’m so far down that there is nowhere else to go, and I believe that is a good thing. I’ll move forward without a cross over my shoulder and without the scars upon my arms. When I pass you, I won’t look at you or even look back. It’s better that way. Find someone who can love you without hurting you. Unfortunately, I haven’t learned that trick yet.

Sinking Slowly.

Sat, 01 Mar 2003 07:33:27 GMT

I called Brian the other night. I’m not sure why, there really wasn’t much of a reason. Loneliness? Possibly. Maybe guilt… or maybe I just missed him. Either way, I called, he answered and we were engaged in a few words of awkward conversation. Eventually I asked if he would be interested in meeting for coffee. He obliged and asked when, I told him whenever he was available and we ended up meeting at a café shortly after. It used to be “our” café, if you want to call it that. This only ended up adding to the uncomfortable aura the situation carried. Anyhow, he arrived in sunglasses… it was 5am, mind you. I laughed to myself as it was a very Brian thing to do. I began to chain smoke unconsciously. How do you face a person you know you caused a great amount of pain to? It’s hard to even look them in the eyes, more less stand up and give hug them. We chatted over nothing, I played with packs of sugar and he looked for the waitress. His knee hit mine once… I moved away. Then it happened, the silence was becoming far too loud and I thought I might explode if I didn’t speak, so I did. I told him all the words I could form. How sorry I was, how if he was feeling like I did now that words could never be enough. He began to cry and it was the last thing I wanted to see. Tears from those close to me hurt more than my own. It’s my weakness. I asked if I could hold him and he nodded slowly before moving into the space next to me. Eventually we went back to his flat and talked for a while, until the sun was fully up and he had practice to go to. We parted ways vowing to keep in touch with one another. Don’t be a Stranger.

I’m meeting with Adam for lunch soon. Well, whenever he comes to pick me up. I made Macaroni and Cheese for Gareth and he abandoned me, so Adam is taking his place. I should throw his rat into the toilet and add a few bricks to the top of the lid. Maybe flush it a couple of times and then leave a note for him before I depart.

I think I’m going to lock myself into the studio for a few days, possibly a week. I need to work and there is no better way to get your mind off things.

I’m tired. I think I may take a nap before Adam arrives.

Read between the lines and feel weak.
There are no lines to read between. Nothing happened.

Denial.

Wed, 26 Feb 2003 07:54:00 GMT

Sometimes I wonder if I have some sort of malfunction where I need affection all the time. Then of course, most of my time, I want to be alone. I never really want to be alone, and then I wonder if there is some sort of balance of the two. Hold me, but don’t touch me? Love me and need me, but don’t call me? That’s far from how I am, but its sometimes what I crave. I can’t let go. Is that something you are taught at a young age? How to let go? I’m sure I could find a self-help book on it somewhere, but can you teach an old dog new tricks? Maybe feelings are too strong to be let go of or replace. Sure you can replace any feeling you want with a new one, but the new one is far from genuine. Then you develop real feelings for this person you basically used to hide the old emotions and by that time it’s too late. They’re untouchable because they know. Maybe they have known all along, they just know its time they don’t deserve to be second best… can’t blame any of them, really.

I came back into London a few days ago… as quietly as I possibly could. I’m not sure why, maybe it’s just that ‘alone’ thing again. Gareth’s here, as it is his house. He’s been nice enough to let me move in, seeing as I was asked to leave my former residence at Brian’s. I can’t really blame him for asking, although I did. I know there are a few people worried about me, though I ask them not to. Catherine flew in yesterday. I was supposed to call her hours ago. I should have known better than to mix medications… hyped up sedatives can do wonders; I must have slept almost 20 hours. Which only makes up for the lack of sleep I have been plagued with lately. Lying in bed, counting bumps on the ceiling, or cracks in the plaster, it drives me insane and never puts me to sleep. I get to that state where you are almost asleep but your mind is still too active to actually let go. In this time colours swirl together, worlds collide, thoughts become more surreal than you could have ever imagined. It’s almost like the tip of insanity… a swift turn before you run off the road.

"I can't be alone, so don't you dare leave me"
That was ours. How I feel like a bastard. He was right.

A lot is on my mind. Where to go, what to say, how to mend, how not to mend. It’s not even worth getting started on.

I want to call him.

Use this time as creative force. Make every piece something new, something beautiful and hand written. Strum a few chords on the guitar and turn your heartache into a melody. A beautiful melody. One that someone will buy your CD and find it on accident… miss their favourite track by one number. Then cry as the words touch them some place deep. They recognise this pain, this ache, this breaking. It won’t be a sad song though. It will have a happy beat to it, maybe just to spite myself. I could always title it “Self Loathing”. Although it will probably end up being changed to “Slowly Trembling”. An upbeat number about rebuilding the pieces. I will immediately follow it with a deadly slow track about how rebuilding doesn’t matter because that part of you will always be missing no matter what. “Void”.

So many things needing to be done, so much time to do them in and so little motivation left. Despair. Falling. Need. Want. Hate. Alone. Alone. Again, as always.

Now that I have found someone I'm feeling more alone Than I ever have before

Tue, 25 Feb 2003 06:08:47 GMT

I just noticed 2 new additions to my friends list. Of course I'm late, but still, its enough of a reason to post.

ben_folds, and my dear m_wainwright. Welcome, darlings.

Other than that, I'm actually on AIM tonight. Seize the moment.

Wed, 19 Feb 2003 19:34:34 GMT

I feel like I’m stuck in quicksand and the only place for me to go is lower and lower. Each piece of sand represents the pieces of my heart; unable to be held in the hand, seeping through the cracks of my fingers bit by bit. I’m broken.

I learned the other night that he had been sleeping with someone else throughout the end of our relationship. I can’t lie completely and say I didn’t expect it. I’m almost honoured he stayed faithful as long as he did, although maybe I’m giving him too much credit. While some part of me may have been prepared to hear the news, the biggest part of me, unprotected, wasn’t ready to hear who it was. I ran into Juska’s arms the night Ville ended it. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t stop crying, and I felt like I was barely alive. He took me into his arms and tried to mend every broken piece inside of me. We slept together that night; I don’t even want to call it making love anymore because I don’t feel like it was. He knew what he did was going to hurt me if it came out, instead of telling me, he just fucked me. Interesting concept. I left as soon as I found out. I didn’t know where I was going but I left as quickly as I could and out to explore Kouvola. I walked until my feet hurt, and until I was shivering from the cold. I knew I had to go back, had to face him, and it was making the frost against my face seem even colder. It was late, he should be asleep… but alas, he wasn’t. He immediately looked at me with an expression of relief. Probably thinking I jumped off a bridge or threw myself in front of a car. I wish I had. He tried to wrap his arms around me which only left him with a violent push away and a couple of sporadic “fuck you’s”. I was hurting and each look at his face only made me disgusted. He got on his knees before me and took my hand, begging for me to even look at him. The words… they just kept coming from his lips; each new one a pin, striking another side of my heart and my ears. Before I could even rationalise my actions, I lifted my hand up and forced it down hard across his face. Finally I looked at him, holding the side of his face as it slowly began to bubble up and turn red, shock and disbelief painted across his brow. I held his stare this time. I was able to feel the tears burn the back of my eyes as I started to cry again. Why did I do that? I turned away from him again; it hurt too much to see him. I walked out to the living room where he followed me. He wanted to help me breathe. The room was becoming smaller by the second. I let you help me breathe before. Look where it got me. He was quiet. I couldn’t sort out any thought in my head. Was this my punishment? I could only think it was. Maybe this was my punishment for sleeping with Juska that night, or maybe it was for all the sins I have committed against Rufus and Brian. Karma. Bad Karma. That’s all that I could think about. Are you still fucking him? He looked at me, and I looked away. Never mind, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. And I really didn’t. I wanted to keep every ounce of love I had for Ville left. I didn’t want him to take it. It was almost as if when I broke apart, I saved a small bottle and stored it away. I wanted to love him still; I wanted to need him still. What the fuck was wrong with my mind?

I needed an escape. I didn’t know if I wanted to leave, or where I would even go if I did leave. I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling and thought for a few moments. Razors, I had razors up stairs. I also had a few bumps left. I was out of Xanax except for five pills. I wondered if I could take them all. He talked throughout this whole time. All I wanted was an escape.

I called every airline in Helsinki I could think of. The next flight out won’t be for a couple of days at least. They are all either booked or something I cannot afford. I’ll just do what I have been doing until I am able to leave. Lay in bed with the door locked and pretend to ignore the soft knocking present every so often.

Motherfucker

Wed, 12 Feb 2003 23:46:26 GMT

Dear Assholes of my Friends list,

Hi. If you do not like my 'long ass entries' please do me a fucking favour and remove me. If you have me on some sort of filter because you don't want to see them, remove me as well. It's that simple.

Oh and one more thing. Saying something behind someone else's back only proves you are a stupid fucking coward. If you have a problem with me, which it seems some of you do, please come to my face and not to your friends. It's pointless really. It won't go away unless you fix the fucking problem.

Now Please die.

Teddy

PS: Is this short enough for you?

Maybe you've got the time, Maybe you'll share yourself with me, I don't need to call you mine

Tue, 11 Feb 2003 18:25:53 GMT

He held me last night as I cried, just as he had many nights before. This time was different though, this time I knew he was sincere. He didn’t want me to cry, he didn’t want me to not want this, and I knew he wanted to take all of it away, but the choice he made had to stay. It was over. I really didn’t know what to do or say as he spoke the words to me. Something overcame me and it was dominating my thought; disbelief? Pain? In either light it swept over me, and swallowed me whole until I was unable to breath, unable to speak, and unable to do anything coherent but cry. I tried to stop them in vain; I didn’t want to do this to him. He was doing what was right, and I was holding on to thin air, reaching out and wrapping something in my arms that only left me hugging myself, and rocking back and forth, searching for a comfort that was lost, or maybe that was never there.

I can remember the first few times we met, it was short, and intense, but none the less, very beautiful. He took my breath away before I could even wrap any sort of protective layer around my emotions. I fell hard for him; it was obvious to any one who spoke to me. I couldn’t hide it, and I didn’t want to. A relationship during that time period was the last thing we, or maybe he, could produce. So we lived out each new day tangled in our own emotions. Lost in their fiery tendrils, and blinded by their icy crystals. Perhaps he was the smart one, refusing a relationship from the get go. Maybe it was only because we were already wrapped up in others. Others who comforted us, took care of us, but never seemed to be enough. I wanted him more than I wanted anything else. It conquered my thoughts; he was all I could think of, all I wanted to think of. Finally we emerged and decided to enter a relationship. It was time, or maybe we were just too exhausted to begin with. I know I unconsciously pulled away from him, I slipped away slowly from his arms. We stopped sleeping together. The thought of being intimate with him terrified me more than I could explain. I didn’t know why, I couldn’t elucidate it. I was scared that things would fall back to how they once were, and he wouldn’t be mine. All I wanted was to hold him. While I was thinking this, and fighting this war within myself, he slowly walked further and further away. Until I finally looked up and all I could see was a silhouette of him, as tiny as a pin prick in my vision. I reached out and tried to grasp for him, even offered myself up to him. It was okay now, I sorted everything out, I understood it, I fixed it, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It was too late. While I was wrapped up trying to fix something within myself, he was trying to reach for me, and I didn’t see it. He backed off, until he finally took his last step. He was gone. He was leaving me. I tried not to look at it like that, because I know it wasn’t his fault. Its funny, the thing I was trying to fix within me before I finally looked up, only ended up shattering as each new word left his lips. I don’t want to fix it this time.

Our last moments were beautiful, he touched my face and embraced my heart, and I touched his lips and touched his lips. How could I not have seen it? He told me not to think of the things that could have been done, should have been said, but that’s all that has been encasing my mind. I didn’t want this one to end, not this one. I couldn’t repair this. I didn’t know how to live without loving him. It’s been so long, he’s all I really had. I wanted to go back more than I could convey. I wanted to tell him the words before, I wanted to hold him, make love to him, and give him everything that I was. Tell him I was broken and let him help me rebuild the pieces, pick each one up and place it back with his healing touch. I had been so selfish. I hate fear; I think I may hate it more than myself. I hate the question “why”. Why didn’t I just let him in? Why did I push him away? Why can’t I go back? I can’t live without him within me, I don’t know how. I can’t handle this. I feel more broken than I did before. There aren’t just pieces this time, just finely broken glass that I want to tread across. Let it cut and slice my skin until my blood soaks each last piece. Until the pain and confusion stop, until my hands stop shaking and my eyes stop watering. The tears keep washing away the blood on my arms, and I just want to see each drop. I need to know I’m still alive, because I have never felt so dead. Please stop the pain. I begged him. That’s all I knew to do. The words were flowing from my mouth like a waterfall off a broken cliff. Please tell me you still love me, please don’t leave me, please, please, I need you, I’ll die. He asked me if his arms would hurt, I shook my head no. They were the only comfort I knew. I reached out for him and gripped his waist so tightly, hoping maybe if I held on tight enough I could fall into him and live inside him, never leaving. He stroked over my back, and I opened my eyes in realisation that I was still here, and my chest still hurt. I slowly slinked out of his arms and fell onto the floor, pulling my knees to my chest and sobbing into them. He reached up and grabbed a blanket to wrap around me, before joining me on the floor and looking at me helplessly. This time I knew he wanted to do something, but there was nothing he could do. Just love me.

The pain in my chest was becoming more and more predominate. I couldn’t even breathe anymore, and I didn’t want to. I looked up at the ceiling with tear stained cheeks and blood shot eyes, wishing one was able to hold their breath and just stop breathing. It hurt too much to breath. With each rise and fall of my chest I felt a sharp pain within me. My head was pounding, and the room was spinning. Please just make it stop. He reached out and wrapped his arms around me. I limply fell against him and sobbed more. He held me tightly, smoothing my hair, and trying to whisper any words he could think of that would make it stop, make it all okay again. He said it was never okay. With the first touch of his hand, everything stopped. My head stopped pounding, the room stopped spinning, and I was forced to breath fully again. The pain in my chest never left though. I knew it never would. It was my wounded heart trying to beat and pump the blood that I would later empty from my veins. Why wouldn’t it just stop? Everything else had an off button, why didn’t we? I just wanted everything to stop. Please. Please. I took some more shaky breaths before he asked if we could lie in bed. He wanted to hold me, he wanted me to sleep. I knew he just wanted me to stop crying, wanted me to be in oblivion. My sleep wouldn’t stop the burning pain. I would only dream of a boy on fire, with his heart still beating soundly through the flames. He was in an immense amount of pain, melting, the smell of burning flesh filling his senses, but he couldn’t die. The cruel hand of god wouldn’t let him. His heart kept on beating until he fell to the floor and let the blaze enrapture him. At least he’d have the scars to show later.

His arms fit around me like silk against skin, or water being poured into a glass. They swept over me and around me, embracing me until my sobs subsided. He kissed every new tear falling from my eye away, until sleep over came me, and the pain was painted even more vividly than before.

I woke up in the middle of the night sometime. I probably laid there for a couple of hours, just feeling his breath on the back of my neck. Eventually it began to feel like hot flames scorching my skin, I could almost feel the tears begin to rise and form into my eyes. I tried to keep myself from thinking this would be the last time I would ever have this feeling of him, so close but yet incredibly distant. I tried to ease myself from his arms without waking him. I couldn’t face him again. I didn’t want to answer any questions of where I was going, because I didn’t know. Luckily I freed myself with only a small sigh from his part and a shift in position. I gathered up my clothes thrown across the floor. How naïve I had been. I slipped each article on and stood in the door way, just to stare at him. I began to shiver as it felt colder than I had remembered before. I watched his expression, his features, I studied everything I could; trying to place him permanently in my memory so I could remember this moment, and him always, no matter how much it hurt. A couple strands of hair lay carelessly across his face, framing his high cheek bones, the ends dancing across his lips. His arms looked so empty, and I then realised I wasn’t the only one hurting in this. He looked so innocent, so… peaceful. I remember him once speaking of watching lovers sleep. I didn’t appreciate the beauty until now. His lips were parted slightly and he was breathing heavy, I could see each breath as his chest rose and fell. I had to get out of here. Hold me, Please. Stop me, don’t let me leave.

I wrapped my arms around myself as I entered the freezing night temperatures of Helsinki. I didn’t know where I was going so I just walked and walked, until I felt my feet going numb and the tears on my face so close to freezing to my skin. I don’t know how long I walked but eventually I got tired, I wanted to collapse and stay here, freeze in the snow. I wanted the rest of me to feel as cold as my soul did. Eventually, a car came and I hitchhiked with them until I entered Kouvola. I walked around aimlessly until I was steps away from Juska’s house. Hanging my head I walked up to the door and knocked quietly. It took him a few minutes to answer, as he was probably in bed. He answered looking almost as dead and lost as I did. He studied my expression for a few moments before just wrapping his arms around me and pulling me inside. He didn’t need to ask any questions, maybe he knew, or maybe he just didn’t know what to say. I sobbed into his chest, falling to the floor. He fell with me, still holding me and rocking me gently. I didn’t know what else to do. I was hoping each tear would be a drop of my pain trying to escape. I cried until the sun rose, and it didn’t ease or fix anything within me. I couldn’t cry anymore, I sobbed but no tears came out, my body just shook. Juska did everything he could to take my mind off of it, but he never really succeeded, although I didn’t expect him to. Erase me, I don’t want to breathe.

Once bitten, forever smitten

Sun, 02 Feb 2003 23:28:45 GMT

My musical guru and otherwise annoyingly compulsive friend, Ann, who sometimes acts as my manager, gave me a call a few days ago. A European label based in London is very interested in hearing my 'demo' when it is completed. I offered to send them the last CD I released (which was a live bootleg of a New York show), against Ann's advice, and they declined, saying they would like to hear the new material I was planning on recording anyway. They extended an offer of some studio time, and I accepted, which gives me an extra 16 hours for free to play around in the studio. At least I don't have to call my Mum now (for a few days, anyway). Unfortunately, Ann already beat me to calling my Mum who called my Dad who spread the word about this European label. I was immediately reprimanded as I have been told to sign with a label in the States, not in London, or anywhere else for that matter. Oh how I'm grateful to have my parents' guiding business hands. I hope my sarcasm was notable in that.

Record sales have fallen drastically in the past two years. It's said that in 2000 CD sales were at around 785 Million, whereas in 2002 it was only 681 Million. Of course they are blaming this on downloading, MP3s, and all of those fun things. Basically, it's the internets fault. Didn't we copy tapes back in the day? Before I was burning CDs, I know I was making mixed tapes, or copying albums for my friends, but whatever, that's not the point. Sony decided to try something new and combine music, advertising, and the internet with digital downloading and their record label. Lana Davis left a major record label last summer due to them trying to make her into some pop princess when she just wanted to be a musician. Sony ended up choosing her for their new 'experiment'. Everyone knows how they started putting songs into commercials, and it has always had a pretty good response. It boosted Moby's career (who actually let people openly sample anything from his album PLAY, which increased his record sales immensely), Lenny Kravitz let a commercial or two sample his song, and also Dirty Vegas' song "Days go By" was actually in a commercial and that's how it found mainstream popularity. In all of these example cases, the music has been recorded before hand, and just sampled by whichever company asked to use it. Sony decided to try something new and audition singers to record a song called "Carry On" to be in a new commercial for some of their electronics. At the end of the commercial they had a website address on where you could find out who sang the song and actually download it for .99 cents. Sony's label "Columbia Records" then will release a full length single version in stores. It's essentially an interesting concept. The commercial, with the song, was aired during the Super Bowl and I have yet to see how the sales went. The point of me bringing this up is, I actually auditioned to do one of the songs for these commercials. While Davis was picked, if everything goes over well, they are going to pick up the other artists who auditioned and set them up with commercials and different ads. Many people seem to be against this, in fact, they asked Rufus to do a song and he was the only artist approached by them to say no. Which sort of amuses me, considering he did a GAP ad back in 1998, but times change I suppose. I'm sort of sketched down the middle on what to think about this. Some say it brings new meaning to the phrase "sell out", but how can you be a 'sell out' when no one knows who the hell you are anyway? I'd like to think it exposes you and your music to a great extent. I guess you do always run the risk of getting shunned upon because you were exposed in that manner, but at least you do get some exposure, even if it is somewhat controversial.

Anyhow, I'm set to start recording in a few weeks. I could start sooner if I preferred, but I want to spend some much needed time with him first. Maybe my priorities are backward but they seem pretty straight to me. Sleepless nights and thought filled days consume me without complaint. I think I may feel at ease for once.

these words were never going to be on the tip of your tongue

Thu, 30 Jan 2003 23:52:41 GMT

"The arctic surrounded my cold wooden room.
I don't think I've ever felt so warm"

I could still remember the exact moment this photo was taken. She walked down the stairs, long, winding, splashed with the colour of dark cherry oak. I told her to pause as I slipped the camera from my messenger bag and snapped a photo of her, the one I held in my hands. Her sun dress looked like strips of white flame, flowing and breathing against her mocha skin. The spiraling curls of her bangs, hanging lonely, cupped her face and dangled just above her shoulders. One look into her eyes and I was able to find what I was looking for, what she was saying, and even what she wanted to say. The dark iris cradled her pupil translucently, they blended into one. I could stare into her eyes for hours and see a new word in this swirling almost black abyss. Her eyes would sometimes sparkle as she parted her lips and smiled, or even laughed, making the darks of her eyes almost look like an aureole. She was an angel, my angel. Even in this photograph I held in my hands she could still capture she me, hold me with intrigue, and possibly still love.

"These waters brought back to me what I reluctantly believed.
And I watched as the 4 corners gave way to the ice,
and the life, and the death, and the warmth,
And they were all joined together."

I wondered why I still carried around this photograph, or why I ever had it. Maybe as a reminder of that smile, or those lively eyes; how it could be all gone with one stupid choice, or one blind love. I remember the day she called me and told me about him. She had met him at a book store, they were both reaching for a copy of "Dorian Grey" blindly and oblivious to one another until their hands bumped into each other. I have never wished more that I could go back in time. Pick up that book for her, put another copy there, anything, I would have done anything. I didn't think someone with a face so bright could have a fate so cruel, so I didn't go, I didn't pick the book up for her, and I didn't do anything. They went out on dates, more and more, she stopped calling. I would get an email every now and then. Four years of friendship, I could see the sun, moon, and stars in her eyes and I received an email every month to let me know how things were going now. I tried to call, I left messages, and I even try to write back. Nothingness was all I was given in return; an empty answering machine, a blank computer screen, and a silent apartment. One day she called and said he had mentioned the three of us having dinner. I scrambled to accept the invitation; thoughts of seeing her filling my head almost immediately.

"In that one instant I could feel you crushing me.
But I didn't want to remember what it felt like to be alive,
And still feel so cold."

I remember walking into what was now "their" house. I became dizzy at the sight of her; warmth rushing through my veins and splashing against my heart, breaking and bruising any rational thought that was left. In the 6 months I hadn't seen her she had changed so much. Her hair was shorter; it framed her dark face, and curled just under her chin. Her eyes were darker than I ever remembered, and it wasn't deeper, fuller, or even older. They were dead... she was dead. Dead already and gun hadn't even been pressed to her head yet. She hadn't fought for her last breath, spoken her final departing words, or bowed after the closing act. She had no idea, but I did. This wasn't love, this wasn't even friendship. I could read each underlying motive as he placed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her so close and held her so tight I thought she might break and crumble underneath him. She stopped looking me in the eyes after he did that. She was so far gone that even I couldn't reach her. My best friend, the woman I truly loved has slipped off my heart and I couldn't pull her back in, no life line could be long enough. Everything I loved about her that smile, those eyes, the way she dominated a room and made it shine, it was all gone. She was lifeless. I wondered what sort of punishment this was. Why didn't this man take me instead? Why didn't he take someone who was already dead, someone who wanted to die? Why did he step on a daisy instead of drowning an already wilted rose? The questions from that moment still live within me. Especially at times like these, when I cling to nothing but a photograph that captures everything she was, and would never fully blossom to be.

"But if you think that I was just being cold,
You don't know how scared I was
Of what I knew."

I just left after that. It was the last time I saw her and I try not to remember her that way. I want to remember this photo, not that haunting last goodbye. I gave her a hug before I left, it was a weak embrace, and I knew why when I saw him looking through the blinds out the window... smoking his cigarette, acting completely calm; he knew, he knew he had her. I didn't call anymore, I never checked my email, and I avoided being any place I knew they would be. She was no longer mine, and she was no longer hers. I remember her eyes, almost pleading with me as I turned around to look at her before I got into my car. I had done all I could, and she knew that just as well. They got married. Her funeral was 4 months later.

"In crayon and ink what I understood the least.
Were these words not spoken?
Out of fear of the law
Or self sacrifice?"

I try to not remember that; the closed casket, the tears, the reports in the newspapers. I even try to forget the example made out of her for a couple of "domestic violence" seminars. I just remember this picture that I carry with me. The way she ran to hug me after I took it, the feeling of her lips; soft against my cheek, and the scent of her, almost like spring captured in a fragrance. As the frayed, torn, and aged pictured serves for strength, it also reminds me to never let anyone close enough to spin their sticky web around you. If she had a photograph like this, would I be able to hold her now? Some people are meant to present a purpose, and I think she was banished for an example. I think God has a great sense of humour. I must have laughed about it a couple of times. How could I have been so fucking stupid? Somewhere between that thought and the end, I lost the punch line. I remember wanting to bow a couple of times and watch the curtains close in front of me. I knew though that I couldn't, I had to finish out the final act for both of us. She would be my sole motivation, director, producer and audience. I was her actor, her unfinished life was my stage, and this photo of her would serve as my script.

"I was proved wrong
When you came back.
In a room filled with nothing,
This table looked away from me.
A kick to your foot and a twist of your head
And I saw that you were afraid."

Lyrics: Crayon and Ink by Allison Crowe</align>

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

Thu, 16 Jan 2003 00:05:57 GMT

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

Slowing down the metronome, slowing down.

Fri, 03 Jan 2003 23:28:58 GMT

My head hurts, my body's sore, and I am pretty sure this is not just the mother of all hangovers. The days have gone by and the days have gone slow since Christmas, and since I have arrived in Finland. I can't quite peg the relevance or meaning of this, just maybe that my head is mostly overloaded. I haven't been able to sit in one place for long, nor have I been able to really listen to anyone around me. I can hear the voices murmur, sometimes I even feel a gentle touch on the shoulder, but yet I am still unable to comprehend most of these actions. All I hear are these voices in my head, so loud, so intense, and so consuming that I can't even hear anything, even myself. I try to talk over them, maybe even make some rational thought or decisions pull through, but they are too loud. My voice is nothing but a muffled child banished to the corner, waiting to hear its okay to come out and face the rest of the world again. I supposed this zombie like form could be construed as being detached as Juska put it.

The dictionary defines detached as:
1. Separated; disconnected.
2. Standing apart from others.
3. Marked by an absence of emotional involvement and an aloof, impersonal objectivity.

So I presume that would make Juska correct.

I arrived in Finland Sunday afternoon with the knowledge I was going to be greeted by Juska and Rufus when I stepped off the plane. I wasn't exactly sure how I felt about this fact. Seeing as I was basically avoiding Brian, I didn't see as to why I wouldn't be avoiding Rufus too. Maybe I was, but Juska's pleas can be quite convincing. When my plane landed, I walked off and immediately began to search for familiar faces. Most of this was distracted by the immense amount of couples sharing moments all around me. The smiles on their faces, the joy, the way they ran to their lover's arms as if this was the first time, and only time they would be able to hold one another. I tried to divert my eyes away but they were all I saw, everywhere. They swirled around in my mind like some sort of masochistic play, showing again and again, taunting and laughing at me for being the fuck up that I am. I lowered my head to the ground before the laughing got too loud. As I continued walking I saw a new couple ahead of me, one I recognised. Juska and Rufus were sharing some sort of precious moment right before my eyes, and I wasn't sure how to take it. The laughing appropriately stopped, as did everything else, while Rufus noticed my presence. I was greeted with warmer hugs and affection than I ever could have imagined… unfortunately it didn't last long, nor did I expect it to, really. Most of my actions and words thereafter were a result of nothing being with me, myself not being me. Although I can't write two positive words about myself, so I assume I am never myself. Just some person walking around trying to hold someone for a second, before I realise what I am doing and push them away. Just for a second.

The whole car ride back to Juska's was mostly fighting, maybe a few tears and resentful whispers. It didn't stop for long once we actually reached our destination, prompting me to take a walk and clear my head. This of course isn't possible without the use of some substances other than fresh air. I shared when I returned to the house; they seemed a little more than grateful, as it lightened the mood greatly. I think the words and other things exchanged between the three of us should just stay there, between us. There is not much to say except tension was very expected, it happened, it's probably still happening, and it will probably always be present. Seeing Rufus again would have probably been more painful if I was able to comprehend more of it, luckily when the voices finally stopped, I went to sleep. They greeted me when I awoke, and haunted me throughout the day… preventing me to allow anymore pain and suffering in. I was appreciative.

New Years was something I didn't prep myself for. Juska, Rufus, and I all attended HIM's New Years show they do without fail at Tavastia every year. Juska held Rufus tight at his side as I made my way through scattered fans. As Ville came out to join the band for the first number, I looked around and saw how these girls were looking at him. With such love, such devotion, and such… desire. I watched him work the crowd so flawlessly; making girls swoon, and impressing the others with his silky, unique, and tantalizing voice. I wondered if anyone was studying me the way I was scrutinizing everyone else. I looked to my right to see Juska looking back. I gave him what I could of a smile to reassure him that I was fine. From the look on his face, I know he didn't buy it… of course I didn't either. As I watched Ville sing, amuse, and generally entertain the crowd in front of him, I believe it all clicked. So many things came rushing to my head that I can't even explain nor recreate every last one, not even a word of it. When they hit the chorus of "In Joy and Sorrow" was when I felt myself start to break. I was crumbling inside. I was waiting for myself to fall, shatter on the floor, and sink in to the earth where I wanted to belong. I wondered if he could even see me… through each person he made eye contact with, if he could see my eyes through the bright lights in his eyes, and through each admiring fan clinging to their shirt with his face and work printed all over it. I didn't expect him to, and he probably didn't. I looked down to my arm as I felt some sort of liquid trailing down my hands. Throughout the whole song I had unknowingly been digging my nails into my flesh, causing a not so attractive wound and an open gateway for blood. Maybe that was punishment for my thoughts, or maybe that was my way of keeping me alive. Focus on the pain you caused on your arm, not the death of your heart. I ran to the nearest bathroom to clean up. As I washed my arms in the sink, I looked up into the mirror and winced. I looked away just as quickly as I glanced, I should have known better. Returning back to the crowd I stopped by the front to pick up my coat, covering any trace of what I did. I didn't feel like answering questions, and I knew they would be coming.

I was reading a research report stating schizophrenic people are more at ease with a pet in their life. My cat is in London. This little fact really had nothing to do with anything… I just thought it was an interesting observation.

I hope all of you have a nice New Year.

I watch the english evening skies reflect my heart as I walk behind him, looking for what's been los

Sun, 29 Dec 2002 04:47:46 GMT

My Christmas experience was, unfortunately, something I can't say I haven't experienced before. Things happened just the way I thought they would, and that is never a good thing. I, for the most part, think of the worst case scenario before I think of the better. This way you are always prepared for the bad, and are surprised and appreciative when you get the good. Maybe this way of thinking is not as healthy as I'd like to believe, but either way, it's all I know. I arrived at the London airport about 6am Monday morning, with virtually no delays, which is always nice. To my surprise my Mum was not there to greet me, instead I was greeted by a man dressed in all black complete with a sign. I hung my head low as I approached him and he led me to my ride home. I guess in a way you could say I was disappointed, I wanted to see my Mother, I came to see her, and she wasn't there. It almost made me think about the past and wonder if things had really changed. Probably not, but I knew it was best to not think about that. Luckily, I had so many other things on my mind that one just slipped away into the sea of uncertainty.

I arrived at my Mum's flat, bag in hand, still somewhat questioning why I decided to spend the holidays with my family instead of just alone, or even with Ville. My sister Camy opened the door with a sweet smile and open arms ready for a hug. I hugged her half-heartedly, and gave her a look I knew she would understand. "Mum just wasn't feeling too well, Teddy. Don't worry about it." I shrugged her arm off my shoulder almost unknowingly and threw my bag down at the side of the door. "Teddy…" I heard my Mother's voice and looked up at the stairs as she walked down smiling. I could only smile back her and run to meet her half way, throwing my arms around her and holding her close. Perhaps searching for the comfort I felt that I had lost somewhere between the last time I saw her and now. I met her on the last step as I wrapped my arms around her waist. She just held my head over her heart and smoothed my hair soothingly. God, how I missed her touch. Mother's seem to have this touch, and this comfort that no one else can offer. No matter what they do to you, or how much you may dislike them at the moment, they can put your head over their heart and stroke your back, making you forget all of it. The first thing out of her mouth after the embrace was something along the lines of, "Teddy, you're so cold." I didn't know how to respond to her, so I didn't.

We went to Trafalgar Square for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve as planned. It was just my Mum, Camy, and I, as none of the others had bothered to come. It was really beautiful, but not necessarily my idea of fun. Christmas morning I was woke up about 8am. I shared a cup of tea with my sister while waiting the arrival of my Father and his fiancée, not to mention my other sister. As 10am rolled around we heard a knock at the door, they were all 2 hours late, which I can't say is overly surprising. When my Mum opened the door, the look on her face took me by surprise. It seems as if my Father bringing his fiancée took her by surprise. From what I gathered later, it was my sister's job to tell my Mum, but she conveniently "forgot". The rest of our Christmas proceeded in being extremely awkward, and filled with fighting from about Noon until late into the night. My Mum asked why he would bring "that tramp" to our family gathering, my sisters argued on why the other one didn't warn my Mum, and my Father's fiancée said she wasn't appreciating the way she was being treated. Thankfully, I was able to retreat to one of the guest rooms and strum my Mum's guitar over all the yelling. This used to be a nightly occurrence in my childhood, and I didn't want that memory flooding back into my head.

Around 8pm that night I couldn't take much more so I went on a long walk, a very long walk, and I haven't really been back since. I come in around 3 or 4am in the morning, when I know everyone is sleeping, and leave to go back out around 7am before anyone is up. I don't get much sleep, but I'm used to that feeling. I don't want to be there, but at the same time I don't really have anywhere else to go. It's a strange feeling… to feel as if you don't have a home, or anywhere to go. Was this what I was striving for all along? To push everyone away so I would be stuck wandering the streets most of my days, into all of my nights, wishing I had a home to return to? I know Brian offered his flat to me, and I know I am more than welcome back there. All of my belongings are still there, and he has told me more than once I am welcome back at anytime. I just haven't figured out how to face him yet. I had coffee with him on his birthday while I was still in LA, and it was more than I could handle. He sat at a table in the café I met him at, complete with a large pair of sunglasses. Even through those sunglasses, I could tell he wasn't able to look me in the eyes. After I gave him his gifts, he ran straight to the bathroom, and I knew it had made him cry. I couldn't handle it. I can't handle seeing that I cause such an effect on someone, such a bad one. I passed by the door to his flat more than a few times, wondering if I would be able to walk up and knock like I had pictured doing so many times. I thought of what I would say, how I could look at him, and more importantly, how I could even have the audacity to hug him, or apologise to him. I just continued walking each time, and I assume that was for the better.

I received a phone call earlier this evening as I was wondering around Trafalgar Square. As I picked the cell phone out of my pocket and looked at the display, I wasn't sure what to think, or even if I should answer it. While I missed him terribly, I didn't want him to hear my voice, or the condition I was in. I answered it with a soft hello, after a small debate with myself. "Hi Teddy, it's Juska." He spoke softly. The only reply I could think of was, "I know." We talked for quite some time. I ended up at the foot of a tree, trying to keep warm, discussing things with him I never thought I would tell him about. I started acting nonchalant before I let out too much and became too vulnerable. I'm sure he knew what I was telling him, anyhow. The conversation proceeded with an invitation out to Finland for the New Years. I wasn't sure if Finland was the place I needed to be right now, but I knew it was better than freezing in the streets of London. Juska arranged a flight out tomorrow at 1:35pm, and invited me to HIM's New Year's Eve show at Tavastia. I graciously accepted his offer and began to make plans with him upon my arrival.

I began to get very cold as the wind picked up and I realised it was probably time for me to head back to my Mum's place. I said my goodbyes to Juska and told him I would see him soon before hanging up and making the long walk back. All I kept seeing were couples, and children running around along my way back. The last thing I wanted to think of was couples, and children. It reminded me of how much I missed him, and how much these past few days has made me remember my childhood. My Father, of course, left when I was very young, and my mother subsequently blamed us children for that. It was my fault, or so I was told for many years, that their marriage fell apart. It was my fault my Mother was alone, and it was my fault she was so miserable. As I grew older I had to watch her struggle with many things, dry spells in creativity, losing her parents, and dealing with my Father. I heard them fighting on the phone often, her fighting with my sisters or some boyfriend she would have for a couple of weeks. When it was no longer "my fault" it became "my problem", not hers to help me through. I struggled just as well, if not more through this whole process. Before I left for LA when I was 18 was when we got pretty close. Maybe it was because I was older, or maybe it was because this time she needed me, and I didn't want to leave her dry like she had done to me so many times. We have been relatively close since then, but I know not to rely on her like I wish I could.

Pack my things once more, board one more plane, go see a handful of people one more time, and hope that this one last time will ease everything within me.

"Sometimes I feel my heart fall to vague depths between words, there are such spaces that I can't help but feel. My heart falls between the pregnant pause of all you will not say, and all I can not ask."

Twice bitten, twice baked.. Twice led down the same mistake

Sun, 22 Dec 2002 22:36:05 GMT

Breathe into my hands

A breath, a puff of air, someone's means of living all in your hands. Cupping their breath and holding it close to your heart; knowing that their life, and source of living is encased in your hands; they are encased in your hands.

I'll cup them like a glass to drink from

Drinking their life and accepting it as your own. Breathing from your lover's mouth and hoping they give you enough air to live off of. But their air is different than your own; one lung full keeps you alive, while only a handful of theirs keeps your heart beating. Just like a drop of their blood makes you mourn while a drop of your own makes you nonchalant. A handful of their air is all you need to keep you alive, to keep you with them. As long as they are near you, you could breathe the tiniest air from them and it would be enough. You are fighting to stay alive because they are near you. If you were on your own, that cupful of air would eventually lead to your suffocation, but without them, what would there be left to fight for?

Are you still, still breathing?

Your heart beat is slow, your breathing is shallow and I wonder if you can still feel me on your chest. I wonder if you are saving your last breath for yourself or if you shall give it to me. I wish I could give you my heart and live off of yours. When I'm with you I don't need my lungs, my heart, my blood, everything I need is in you, just let me lay on your chest and fall into you.

Breathe into my hands

Let me hold you.

I'll cup them like a glass to drink from

Let me be a part of you. Let me live off of your breath.

Are you still, still breathing?

I breathe from your air, I feel from your heart. For you are me, and I am not myself.

Don't they know it's the end of the world? It ended when you said goodbye

Sat, 21 Dec 2002 02:18:21 GMT

I was hoping by hiding away in some secluded area I would be able to escape everything; I was only half right, as always. I have been able to stay away from my journals, meaning most of my deep thoughts. I scribble down random things in my paper journal when the mood strikes me, and lately it hasn't been that often. My flow of conscious hasn't been that prominent. I have been able to get out some good song lyrics, but only one line at a time, which is overly frustrating. I lack my guitar, and being secluded without your creative outlet can get tiring. Most music is formed off of emotions, right? I can't even write anything at my most emotional time. Certain things aren't meant to be grasped I suppose.

I received a call from my Mother a few days ago. We talked for a long time, longer than usual anyhow. It could have been because I felt so alone or maybe because I was alone. I hold so many things from my childhood against my Mother, which I know is not fair, but it's almost human habit. Blame your creator or care taker. In reality she is almost like my best friend, and I love her dearly. She was going through a hard time while raising us kids, so I guess I can't really blame her for the way things happened. We talked about a lot of things; love, life, family, friends. I thought out loud a lot. The thoughts I was unable to express on paper just openly flying out to whoever was listening. She told me she hated to see me the way I was, when I replied with, "What way am I?" She just said, "You know." And sadly, I did. "Come home, Teddy. I miss you, Camy misses you. Just come home, please." I didn't know what to say to her. I gave her my silent okay; she knew what I was thinking. She arranged all the details. I'll be flying out Sunday morning around 9am LA time, and arriving in London early Monday morning around 6am local time. Conveniently, I have a pretty lengthy layover at JFK in New York. Normally this might annoy me, but the layover gives me the ability to go check up on my vacant apartment. As far as I know, Tuesday evening we are attending Midnight Mass in Trafalgar Square, not my idea. Christmas day will be at my Mum's house, complete with my Father, his new fiancée, and my two sisters. Oh did I forget to mention my Father's new fiancée? We can suitably keep it that way.

I have no thoughts on my current situation, nor do I even really know my current situation. Living in my little bubble world had its advantages. I know I owe a few of you some phone calls, and some comments, just give me time. I promise I will return to the world of AIM soon. I just need a bit more time alone.

Job 9:16-31

Thu, 12 Dec 2002 03:24:20 GMT

Even if I summoned him and he responded, I do not believe he would
give me a hearing.

He would crush me with a storm and multiply my wounds for no reason.

He would not let me regain my breath but would overwhelm me with
misery.

If it is a matter of strength, he is mighty! And if it is a matter of
justice, who will summon him?

Even if I were innocent, my mouth would condemn me; if I were
blameless, it would pronounce me guilty.

"Although I am blameless, I have no concern for myself; I despise my
own life.

It is all the same; that is why I say, 'He destroys both the blameless
and the wicked.'

When a scourge brings sudden death, he mocks the despair of the
innocent.

When a land falls into the hands of the wicked, he blindfolds its
judges. If it is not he, then who is it?

"My days are swifter than a runner; they fly away without a glimpse of
joy.

They skim past like boats of papyrus, like eagles swooping down on
their prey.

If I say, 'I will forget my complaint, I will change my expression, and
smile,'

I still dread all my sufferings, for I know you will not hold me
innocent.

Since I am already found guilty, why should I struggle in vain?

Even if I washed myself with soap and my hands with washing soda,

you would plunge me into a slime pit so that even my clothes would
detest me.

We are all just prisoners here Of our own device

Sat, 30 Nov 2002 23:58:48 GMT

How many of you are still left in that terrible, disgusting city known as LA? Unfortunately it seems as though I am back where I started. I set foot on this dirty ground a few hours ago. The only good thing in this city right now is the man by my side, though further than he feels. I wonder if Andy and Eric are back yet. As far as I know we will be out here for at least a few weeks. They are mixing their new CD, I think. What do I know? I am just Ville's little puppy dog, and I happily follow him to any city he asks just to be by his side. Gareth should make a trip out to California. I miss him and together we can terrorize all the American folk. I'm sure if Ville saw Gareth and I together he would probably get highly annoyed, take away our candy and walk off. Then Gareth and I would go to Toys 'R Us and bounce on those giant bouncy balls. Oh, I miss him and his bacon breakfast. I might even miss that stupid little fucking cat, Sadie. No, I don't.

I asked Linde out to see a musical performance of Saturday Night Fever before we left, but I didn't know we were leaving. So, luckily I know this city well enough to find something else for us to see. I'll even be able to find a bar afterward. Puppetry Of the Penis is playing, but I promised Eric I would take him to that first. Linde you have your choice of The Lion King, All Men Are Dogs, The Nutcracker, or Burn the Floor. Musical, Musical Comedy, Ballet, or Dance.

I've lived in this city for 6 years previously. I really did hate it. When I first got here I just never went out. I had some actor roommate for a while. He was a phony little bastard that ended up sobbing because he wasn't in the final selection for RENT. I kindly asked him to leave. After a while you get accustomed to the LA life and you begin to do things you didn't before, pick up some habits. You find yourself going to the gym every morning when you really didn't care before. Of course not everyone conforms to LA; if you have someone to keep your grounded you're usually fine. When I arrived in LA and met Rufus later on he had already been in LA for quite sometime. After being stuck in Montreal with his Mum for so long he was ready to let go in LA, so I just fell into it even further. This city has no shame to chew you up and spit you back out. Sometimes I get nostalgic as I pass by certain places on the cab ride to our destination. I look over at Ville through the cab ride; he's holding my hand while thumbing through some papers. I just look back outside at the passing sights. I see Largo in the daylight as we pass by and realise how small it really looks, one wouldn't even recognise it. Just a small black awning that has the name on it. I wanted to tug on Ville's hand and point it out to him, but he seemed preoccupied, so I just kept my eyes fixed on the passing scenery. As much as I remembered land marks, and places I used to go.. I was getting lost with all the streets we were turning on. Somehow we got down toward Beverly Hills with just a few turns. I saw the Starbucks Rufus and I used to frequent, it was gone as quickly as it came. For a moment as things were passing by I wanted to squeeze his hand, I just wanted him to feel everything I was thinking because there was no way I could open my mouth right now and get out coherent words that in the end would just mean "hold me". Before I could do anything he pulled his hand away to catch the papers that were about to fall out of his lap. He didn't return it. It could be the fact that I put my hand into my lap, but that wasn't a conscious decision.

I think on two different conscious levels; one being the doom and one being the happy outcome. I express my doubts, concerns, and all around worries in my journal. This doesn't mean our relationship is shit, nor is it falling apart. I would hope not anyway. These are just things I can't express forwardly. I tell him how beautiful he is, how happy he makes me, and how I would just love to stay in his arms all day, all night, and never move. I know those things. What aren't stable are my doubts, and that's how they are supposed to be.. they are doubts, everyone has them. So I express them here in order to get them away from my head so I don't reflect them upon him, which I seem to do anyway when he reads these and gets worried. One side of me speaks in tongues, which basically means, I cannot understand it. I can feel it but cannot explain it because the words are formed into a thought I can't understand or express to him. My doubts are funny things, really. I know exactly what they are inspired from, and I don't know at all how to make them go away. Although I honestly assume they are natural. I used to be scared that he would leave me.. I'm not really scared of that anymore. I'm scared I am hurting him with my jumbled words and inconceivable thoughts. I'm scared I will run.. I always run. I will get scared and I will run so far from him that he will have no other choice but to push me the rest of the way away. Or I will do something to force him to push me away, because I don't want to hurt him. I know I will do something to hurt him so I want to get as far away from him as I can before I push that dagger in the final inch. Maybe I am scared to let him too close to me. But I've wanted this for so long, I've wanted him. Maybe I should give him what he wants. Give him every single one of my pills, drugs, all my means of release and let him see me with no masks. I'll probably end up slapping him across the face while I am sobbing in his arms and begging him not to leave me. I will probably call him and asshole and tell him how much he fucking tears me limb from limb, and how my heart aches for him every single second of the day. How I have to fight back tears when I reach over for him to be in bed and he is not. Just to follow that statement immediately with tears and beg him not to leave me, tell him how sorry I am that I hurt him and how I never want to let him go. How I'm scared when he is not in bed he is with someone else, or I am not satisfying him enough. Everything is all my fault and I never meant to drag him into my upside down world of misinterpretations and doubts. Then I will push him away violently and run and cling to his side and apologise. This is why I have my trusty pill box. No one can leave me first, either. I have to be the one to go, because my mind can't understand the concept. I can't handle it. I'm sure my doctor would call this Fear of real or imagined abandonment, but what does he know?

Person A: Unfortunately, I do know you.. more than you think.
Person B: No you don't. You know the version of me you wrote in your head to satisfy that need of something smaller and perhaps more fragile than yourself to keep and care for since you missed out on that with your Father.

While I express these doubts in my journal, like I said before, there is another side; a more stable side. I love him, and I mean it when I say it. I love him more than anyone. I love him by my side, I love him in my arms, I love speaking with him, I love feeling him, I love just being with him. I love everything about him. From his eyes to his smile, from the way he laughs to the way he hides. He makes me happy.. generally happy, tingly all over and everything. I even get that warm feeling in the pit of my stomach when he walks into a room and looks directly at me first.

don't hurt them before they hurt you. don't hurt them before they hurt you.

It's an interesting thing to get off of a plane in Los Angeles with three fifths of the band HIM (ahem, HER). Having lived here for years I know how it is, I know how people act, and I know the attire. I wore one of the few LA designer outfits I have left. It's an overly expensive pair of jeans, an extremely too expensive t shirt, and a "I could put a down payment on a car with the money I spent on these" pair of shoes.. complete with sunglasses of course. It's not what you wear, it's the name on what you wear, right? Did I mention I hate LA yet? Either way, when you get off of a plane with a bunch of dark Finnish Rockers in LA, it's sort of entertaining. When people hear their accent it's even more entertaining. No one knows what it is, but they are "those foreign, gothic, satanic men with heavy accents". I am entertained. Although I am entertained pretty easily, so it's expected. I make everyone in LA seem shallow, really they all aren't. A lot of "Hollywood Hopefuls" come here to try to find their big break. Most of them are pretty sweet, innocent, and very naïve. They are nice people to hang around with. The rest of them have all lived here too long and have been swept up in plastic bullshit. Surprisingly the people who work at places in LA are all very nice. It's just the civilians and snotty actor people. I will refrain in ranting on LA any further.

Spanky is back! He is my favourite mini man ever. He says he came back to stalk me which makes my heart flutter with joy. You all should go add him back, or add him if you didn't have him there before. He still owes me a smoke up I think.

It's funny how things change so quickly. So Juska is with Rufus now. Where do I go with that one? First he wanted Ville, which is my boyfriend mind you. Then he starts flirting, fucking around, and whatever else with my ex, Brian. Now he is apparently dating, fucking, or whatever he is doing with my ex, Rufus. Really, I find this more of a source of entertainment rather than anger. I mean come on, it's fucking funny. Did I mention between all of this he has been trying to get with me as well? I might have left that small detail out. I'm sure there is some beautiful psychoanalyzing needing to be done.. but who am I to psychoanalyze anyone? So I'll just mail him my shrink's card in New York for Christmas. My only final word on all of that bullshit is; how fucked up. That's all. I am too relaxed to vent any more. Maybe I will call him later and tell him what a pitiful, desperate, repetitive asshole he is.. but I suppose that could be passed as a reflection of myself, so I won't. Who really cares anyway? Certainly not me. I am the one who cheats on all my lovers, right? Oh I haven't go into that yet.

Someone, who doesn't even know me all that well, decided to stick their nose in where it doesn't belong. As much as I do adore them dearly, it was annoying. They proceeded in telling me that I cheat on every one of my lovers, and I being faithful was a joke. Something along those lines. I brushed it all off, so forgive me if I can't remember word for word. In the end I just laughed. I hope she has her calendar out.. because if you are keeping track like you insinuate it should be about that time of the year in my relationship. Pay close attention so I can prove your point! Remind me to buy you an amateur detective kit for Christmas. I think you could get good use out of it.

I sound bitter. What happened to my relaxed mood? I think I'm going to head off to The Griffith Observatory. It's a beautiful park that I used to frequent all the time. My favourite part is the murals painted on the ceiling in the Observatory. It's gorgeous. It's a fun place to sort of lay around at.. in the lawn and such. I heard that it has turned into a sort of popular hang out for shirtless gay men. I don't know if that's true or not, but why not find out? If I leave now maybe I could catch the sunset and snap a few photos.

"You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave"

Bad habits drip like honey, no tongue can lick me clean

Mon, 25 Nov 2002 21:20:52 GMT

My head hurts, and not because I drank too much the other night either. Surprisingly, anyway. Juska and I decided to throw Ville a surprise birthday party. Two days late but it still held the same thought and effect I hope. Juska and I fight in everything we do. I swear we could go check the mail somewhere together and start fighting because one is walking ahead of the other, or which one was stupid enough to actually think the mail was coming so early. May sound stupid, but that’s just our relationship. Of course it didn’t start out like that, but when things happen, and tension forms, and you’re both just too stubborn and like each other too much to let the other go, this is where it ends up at. Will we always be like this? Probably not. For now though, this is where we stay.. not able to do one thing together. Strangely enough, or maybe fortunately, we were able to plan Ville’s party together without one fight. Even decorated, set up, and invited people.. without fighting. Probably that common bond we share or what have you. Of course we fought during the party, but that was expected. I think I remember being called a tramp once somewhere during the night. The one thing I do remember the most, which we jointly agreed on almost to a scary extent was shoving Ville’s face into his birthday cake. Priceless moment simply because of the irony underneath the visible surface. Besides all of that, thank you to everyone who showed up and made the party a somewhat success. Linde, Migé, Gina, Drew, Hannah, Emerson, Catherine (who provided moral support), Kitty, Tarja, Melanie, John, Dita, Judita, Keri, Adam, Korben, Gil, Ricky.. I hope that’s everyone. Then of course the crowd that ended stayed way into the early morning.. Hannah, Migé, Gina, Juska, and of course the man of the hour, Ville. I think that’s everybody. My memory is not all that put together. I’m surprised I even remember that much.

Saturday Night Fever, the musical, is playing at Hartwall Arena for a few days in Helsinki. I was going to make Juska go with me but he seems to have skipped down on some secret getaway he hasn’t told a soul details about. Maybe I can drag Linde along instead. For some reason I have doubts that Ville would like to attend.

I received a call from my Mother a few hours ago. I haven’t talked to her in a long while which has been slowly getting to me. I updated her on a few things and I could hear her shaking her head in disappointment, disapproval, or just plain mother-like. I have no idea what’s going on in her head, but I guess some of my spread out family has decided they would like to have a family Christmas for the first time in, oh, 24 years or so. My Father would fly over to London, my sisters would be there, and we would actually have a Christmas tree. While growing up my Mother didn’t believe we should have a Christmas tree, her excuse was “Christmas trees are for families, and we aren’t a real family”. Those were her darker, more depressed years I suppose. To this day, I have never had a real Christmas, so the holiday really never meant all that much to me. I am not planning on going. Simply because I know my family more than they probably think I do. What will happen is; my Father will call to talk to my Mother about the plans.. they will fight, my Father will suddenly have something come up and he won’t be able to make it to London. Then my sisters, in disappointment, will only drag themselves over to please my Mum, they will all be pissed off, tired, and generally annoyed and end up fighting or canceling the whole thing before all of this even takes place. This would be why I am not going. I wish Christmas would just go away. I’d rather stay in bed with Ville all day like it was any other day. He will probably go see his family though, I hope he does anyway. I have a whole month to worry about plans to ignore and boycott the holiday. I am going to make you all popsicle people for Christmas. Crazy eyes, pipe cleaners, and all.

I also got an annoyed call from my doctor/shrink/crazy person who thinks he knows me. Somehow he got my cell phone number when I didn’t show up to my appointments for a couple of weeks while I was in London. I suppose he called Rufus or something. Either way I told him I was in London and that was the reason I was not showing up, he called me back a couple of days later to recommend me someone to see in London. I started going to them once a week and getting my medication refilled. Then I picked up and jumped to Helsinki. I guess the London shrink called my New York one and told him I was not showing up any longer, so he called my cell phone and proceeded to express his concern and distaste with me. I explained to him where I was and he wants to set me up with another shrink here. He insists that I will not be able to get my medication refilled if I do not go to a doctor specifically where I am. He also made a couple of unnecessary comments that I saw coming from a mile away, he’s right I guess. He said he would call me in a couple of days with a recommendation of somewhere to go. Whether I decide to listen is another subject.

We must find the haven for our souls, 'Cos we know that we have lost our will to live

Wed, 20 Nov 2002 01:53:09 GMT

I wonder if one earns their disillusionment early on in life. Then I wonder if it is more of a gift or a burden. The thoughts that inhabit your mind in the middle of the night when you can't sleep are boggling. I'm sure I'd be able to write a best seller on it. It would probably be dubbed as an acid induced account of the 70s. Not that I even remember the 70s, nor do I indulge in acid or mushrooms, but that's beside the point. It could be "Naked Lunch" part two. I think the author was sober when he wrote that though. Well, I would be as well, or maybe not so sober. Put away the pills, drugs, booze, and you are still drunk on something. I wonder if the only sober state of mind is in sleep... maybe not even then. Your subconscious whacks out your dreams to give you few hints about your current state of mind, of course mixed with a heavy dosage of mushrooms, and possibly some vodka. That's for the better I suppose. If we understood everything we wouldn't be able to live, think, or even feel. Common logic tells you that you aren't supposed to know everything, and you do know that... but that part of you that thrives on knowledge and searches for it won't let that small fact go.

Sometimes we just want certain understandings of certain situations, or maybe just certain people. It blows my mind how I am playing something so opposite of myself, and something I used to hate so much. I kick, push, insult and generally hurt this person and yet they leave me a note to express how much they still love me in the morning. It confuses me and puts me in awe all at once. Then I go back, hold, love, comfort, and then start the cycle back. Then I think back to how and when I was once in this situation, and how the roles are reversed. That often happens. Maybe to give us that better understanding we are looking for. Of course it comes days, weeks, months, maybe even years too late, but at least we eventually knew the truth, and that's all we really were seeking, right? I think about how much I was hurting, and how much I would never want to do that to someone else. Then I think about how much love I felt, and how the hurt didn't matter... I just wanted that one touch. Is that how they feel? So then, for the understanding purposes, I think to how I am acting now, and how I feel now and compare it to the person who used to inflict the most pleasurable pain upon me. It sets in more. I judged so harshly back then. To now know what it feels like, I feel ashamed.

I regret that I have not been able to get out and explore as much of Finland as I have been hoping. Miikka promised to show me around before I left, although he warned me his driving might get us killed first, but I am still looking forward to it. I think I am going to go out before I leave to see the Villa Gyllenberg Art Museum. It's a privately owned Museum on the island of Kuusisaari in west Helsinki. Not that I know where that is, but I am sure I'll be able to find it. This seems like a nice city to get lost in, and either way I'll just call someone I know here to help with the language barrier and maybe directions. The Forces of Light festival started a few days ago in downtown Helsinki. Around Esplanade Park and city centre artists, producers, and citizens set up lights around the heart of the city during the darkest time of the year (November-December) to emphasize environmental values among other things. I think that is the general statement at least. I am not exactly sure, which is why I would like to go down there and check it out. I have also made a few trips out to Kouvola to visit Juska. It's about an hour ride and pretty normal for the most part. Once into the city you pass by the Provincial Park, which always looked very nice to me. I'm hoping on my next visit to Kouvola I will be able to stop and see it.

Ville's birthday is this Friday (the 22nd). I'm just making sure you all know this, and remember to wish him a Happy 26th Birthday when the time comes.

I had an interesting phone conversation with Brian the other morning. It was very short, but still very intense. While I called what we were agreeing on a separation, I think he thought something different. I wasn't asking him to "wait" for me by any means, but I think that is how it all came across. So he called me to inform me he was no longer going to wait around and he was officially calling it a break-up. Confusing to some, possibly, but I sadly understand it perfectly. I left him a small note that I hope he finds soon. I told him that I should have been a friend before a lover and saved him from someone such as myself. It makes me think about the people around me right now as well... maybe I should stop worrying about my repetitive need for affection, and attention and focus on pushing these people away to save them from the fucked up place that is my head, and sometimes my heart. But people like me don't do that. People like me can't be alone, so they string everyone else along for the ride. Don't love me, alright?

We all (which would mean Ville, Juska, and myself) took a somewhat last minute trip to Los Angeles. It was Ville's idea, as I hate LA with every fiber in me. We came out to attend Sean's party, which was actually quite nice and I'm hoping to get a 'Thank you' card out to him before we depart. When we actually arrived, Juska and I were on anything but speaking terms. Maybe it's the fact that we are overdramatic, or there are just too many unresolved issues. Either way, we weren't even able to exchange glances without the other one looking away or cringing. At the party I decided to apologise, and less than 24 hours later we are not really speaking again. I'm almost ready to let it continue on like this, it just seems to be the way we are, and we shouldn't exhaust ourselves in fixing something that will probably always be somewhat broken. Before we continued on our non-speaking charade he stopped by Ville and mine's room to request something that I suddenly felt terrible for. I let him inside a world he really shouldn't be apart of, and now I know he will be forever chained to it with me. I stared at him for a moment; wide eyed, trying to remember why he was requesting such a thing. I knew I had started something, and I couldn't just deny him what he was asking, because I knew what that was like. So I separated some things and handed him a small box, and he left with a nod. I shut the door trying to figure out really how guilty I should feel, but then Ville emerged from out of the shower, and all of those thoughts were gone.

Before I left London I had picked up a book called, "I Hate you- Don't Leave Me" by Dr. Jerold J. Kreisman, and Hal Straus. I have had it for quite some time now... a few weeks, and I have still yet to pick it up. I was ready to one day until I flipped the book over and saw the back cover and realised I wasn't ready to read it yet. On the plane ride over I finally started to read a few chapters of it. Interesting, to say the least. It discusses such things as, "Absent Father Syndrome" as well as different aspects of the disorder. It's strange to read about something of that nature. I think it ends up making you feel worse. You read all of these passages and you think, "wow, that's fucked up" and then you realise you can relate to almost every single word. It may sound strange, but really, it's something you have to be prepared for.

"She was perplexed at the respect she received from other adults; she expected them to see through her disguise at any moment, revealing her as an emperor with no clothes. She needed someone to love and protect her from the world. She desperately sought closeness, but when someone came too close, she ran."
...
"She could storm out of one session, vowing never to return, and at the next session cower with the fear that Dr. Gray would refuse to see her again"

I feared that Ville was beginning to catch on to my uneasiness, especially when he asked what I was reading, so I put the book away. And it has stayed there.

Sometimes I feel very scared, while other times almost completely secure. I utter the words "I know I'm losing him" and receive a look or tone so condescending it makes me wonder who there is left to talk to. Probably no one. It may have seemed like a joke from the beginning to a lot of people, but this joke is something I put my full heart into, my full love, trust, and maybe even sanity. It's a joke to you, but it's pain and maybe even love to me. "You know what's going to happen." Of course I do. Some things are worth the struggle, the pain, and the fight. All in the name of love, right? I'd like to think so. The greatest things of all time were laughed at before they were taken seriously, before people saw the beauty in them. Did I mention I forgot my medication back in Finland? I hope that isn't a problem.

"Everything looked and sounded unreal. Nothing was what it is. That's what I wanted - to be alone with myself in another world where truth is untrue and life can hide from itself." -- From 'A Long Day's Journey Into Night' by Eugene O'Neill.

At least the dirt will wash off when it starts to rain. Soap won't wash away your shame.

Wed, 13 Nov 2002 23:21:37 GMT

It's strange when one says they can't feel. We can always feel. For the feeling of not feeling anything is a feeling in itself, right? Maybe I am out of my mind, but I have feared that for some time now. I cannot feel the love around me. I feel it wrap me up, I feel it touch me, and envelope me but I can't feel it inside. Maybe I feel nothing inside. I cling to people. Don't you see how sick I am? I cling to many people, I will hold on to them. So when the first one falls I can move on to another, and another, and then another. I'll never be alone. But in reality I have been alone the whole time.

How can you entertain the company of others when you cannot stand the company of yourself? How can you expect to hold, cherish, and protect the heart of someone else, when you can't even find your own? I wonder if I gave it away. Maybe I give it away to everyone. I wonder if I gave myself away along that path. I am lost inside my own head and I push away the ones who I love the most. My words cancel each other. I speak nothing but contradictions constantly. I cling, I push. I love, I hate. I'm happy, I'm hurt. I'm lost, I'm lost.

I don't know how to correct this, but a part of me knows. I know what I have to do and it's going to hurt. I hate hurting others, but I can't hurt the one I'd lie down and be crucified for. He will hate me. I know he will. There is no other cure. No instant fix. Not even a guilty pleasure can fix this one. I'm on my own, and I have to stand up with my shoulders back and learn how to drive a stake through the heart of another. Because things can't continue.. not like this.

I was once told by someone, "Never love a borderline". I see now why it's true.

Maybe I am too young.. but he is younger than I. Not by much anyway, 9 months or so. It's all mental I suppose. Or maybe his head is healthy and mine is far from it. Mostly everyone knew I was a basket case to begin with. Live with me and see the many medicines I take, you would probably run.. either that or laugh. They are not all legal of course. I prefer it that way. I can't think clearly otherwise. It's like my mind is constantly clouded over. You feel the right choice, words, or answer in the pit of your stomach. You know it. You feel it in you, but your eyes and head cloud over. You read words, hear them, speak them.. and they just don't make any sense. You cannot comprehend them. Then your eyes water over and you become this ball of frustration. You feel so fucking angry because you can't explain things. You feel a certain way but you can't explain why, you just know. You wish you could wrap this person up around you and push them deep within you and let them feel it. If they felt it they would know. You wouldn't have to cry, scream or get angry trying to get the words from within you and form them effortlessly into words that aren't coming. But you can't put them there.. because you can't even go there yourself.

'Maybe' is a word I use a lot. It fits people of "our mentality" perfectly. It's not a yes, it's not a no. It's perfectly on the border. You can say 'maybe' this, and 'maybe' that.. and it's so fickle. I never realised how much I used the word until it was pointed out to me. Don't point things out to me. I analyze every fiber of it until my head hurts.

I can't claw my way out of it if I don't know where I am.

I think I have misplaced my Paxil.

sometimes i breathe you in and i know you know

Fri, 08 Nov 2002 05:21:51 GMT

Trust is always a jaded subject. Never once has someones trust not been broken, whether it be by a lover, friend, or even a parent or sibling. It has happened once in everyones life.. and it hurts, no matter how petty the situation may be. It's hard to put your full trust into something you already know is going to break. Are things even worth the trouble if you know they are going to break? I'd like to think they are. Live for the moment, right? Maybe.

How much can one person take when they deal with two different faces? You deal with the King of Spades by day and the Queen of Hearts by night.. or maybe it's vice versa. Either way, I often feel like someones doormat.. although I probably let myself feel that way more than anything. Sometimes I am just at a loss for control, I give up the fight before it even begins.. I'm just too tired. You finally get what you have been fighting for. It's there, but you have been fighting for so long that you are just exhausted.. not to mention terrified. So you lay down and let them leave their foot impressions all over you, you're a sloppy mess anyway. It doesn't matter anymore, but I guess it should. You just want to give them what they want, so just maybe they'll stick around. Probably not. The cycle has already began.

Some people seem to think that lust leaves a permanent imprint on your soul. That makes me laugh. Lust is a state of mind.. a state of passion that can hardly be recalled in later years. Lust is nothing deep. Unfortunately passion is nothing deep either anymore. I remember when people actually associated it with love. Now love is associated with sex. I remember hearing it was overrated and now I hear it's suddenly needed. I wonder if the headache excuse works for men.

Then we have other people who tend to be clinging to both sides of the nether world. God only knows what they want, and I am at the point now where I don't even really care. I'm waiting for them to take either/or, because we all know it's going to happen eventually.

Maybe it's just too early to be awake. It's always too early to be awake, being awake at any time is an inconvenience. Not that I can actually ever sleep or anything. That's why they make drugs for this. That's also why we have undereducated doctors eagerly ready to sign out every single drug they can possibly give to you to make all your 'pain' and 'suffering' cease to exist. Who cares if you actually need it or not? As long as you're happy, right?