What is it you said kid?

The world isn't all sunshine and rainbows. Its a very rough, mean place. And no matter how tough you think you are, it'll always bring you to your knees and keep you there. Permanently.

If you let it.

You are nobody. Aint' never gonna hit as hard as life. But it isn't about how hard you hit, its about how hard you can get hit. And keep moving forward. How much you can take. And keep...moving...forward.

If you know what your worth, go out and get what your worth. But you got to be willing to take the hit.

The Unions represented the first step, the natural solution to the 'natural' condition. The chasm between means and ends. When the hand that feeds gave me a slap in the same motion, it was rational and some would of argued 'only human' to ask:

"Who the hell is this man to feed me, and by what right does he force me to live in a section five, lot number four of his back garden?"

I'm only a traveller to these lands Sir, you tell me. Here I am, standing in the passenger lounge with a fools smile and a shovel in my hand. All I wanted was to build me a house, but I'm forced to participate in this sewer, whilst the insidious beckoning of product and promise finds me languishing ever deeper in your debt, and ever deeper in your service.

Its not that I wanted to ignite an insurrection, its not that I'm not grateful.

…I just wanted some fucking heating.

Tell me that I'm the product of my father's confident smile, and the sum total of my mother's reticent blush. And I'll tell you that I'm the product of three vodka martini's and of a commitment not to die alone.

We were alone in the moment, foolish in hindsight, and giddy with the intoxicating allure of what had already been dubbed "Jeune amour: une tragédie".

Its not that I wanted it to be any different, its just that I could never hold you for longer than the whisper of a promise in my ear.

...and the number of your house.

I drifted away at two in the morning, leaving you unsure as to the direction of your life. The world was vast and open, alive with different equations, solutions and variables. Your sky pulsed with numbers and my heart pulsed with letters.

The silence had been minimal, the passion had been phenomonal. But we were never more together than when we were alone in each others arms.

The night had proved decisive, chilly, the fold in the page. The start of a chapter. I was warm with the buzz of the after-coffee, despondent with the feeling of melancholy.

"To think that I lay next to you, wasting time when I could do. A simple job. In strip lights"

You were never more than the sensation of what you had done to me.

...and I was never more to you than a brace against the wind.