Here's Where the Story Ends

people I know, places I go, make me feel tongue-tied
I can see how people look down, they're on the inside
here's where the story ends
people I see, weary of me showing my good side
I can see how people look down
I'm on the outside
here's where the story ends
ooh here's where the story ends

it's that little souvenir of a terrible year
which makes my eyes feel sore
oh I never should have said, the books that you read
were all I loved you for
it's that little souvenir of a terrible year
which makes me wonder why
and it's the memories of your shed that make me turn red
surprise, surprise, surprise

crazy I know, places I go
make me feel so tired
I can see how people look down
I'm on the outside
oh here's where the story ends
ooh here's where the story ends

it's that little souvenir of a terrible year
which makes my eyes feel sore
and who ever would've thought the books that you brought
were all I loved you for
oh the devil in me said, go down to the shed
I know where I belong
but the only thing I ever really wanted to say
was wrong, was wrong, was wrong

it's that little souvenir of a colourful year
which makes me smile inside
so I cynically, cynically say, the world is that way
surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise
here's where the story ends
ooh here's where the story ends

Music & and Lyrics by the Sundays

In an 90’s interview with the Sunday’s Harriet Wheeler and David Gavurin, they described the lyrics on their recording, “Reading, Writing and Arithmetic”, as ripped from a page of a diary rather than being a defining statement of their life as a whole.

I think of this blog in much the same way. Nearly a year ago, I was mired in frustration as I was consumed with my writing or , should I say lack thereof. I bounced from one story line to the next only to end with a bunch of unfinished crap. I began to doubt both my ability as well as my resolve when it came to a literary future.

Then, on a particularly good day in November, I got the bright idea of lowering my expectations a bit. I realized that if I wanted to actually finish something, I should start small. That is, go back to basics of beginning, middle and end all in a page or two. Like a journalist!!...only twisted. From that spark came Mephistophilese, the ranting blogger.

This year has been an eventful one for me. I have done a fair amount of traveling, partying, laughing, and crying. All of which have inspired me in equal measure to express myself… in writing. The last couple of months have been particularly bizarre as I have been consumed with human loss, a potentially fatal car crash, and a trying family battle over an estate that includes a sizable corporation. As my partner and I emerge from this experience, we find ourselves changed but somehow richer for the scrapes received. I find myself as reflective as ever, yet somehow more satisfied to simply live and let live. I realized the other day that aside from a brief periods of nicotine withdrawal, I’m just not that pissed off anymore. I’m happy about that in most ways; however, I fear that my days of delivering irreverent and acerbic blog rants may be numbered.

I find myself thinking in terms of new directions and story lines. One’s that may divert my attention toward a different style and page. I’ve always lived by two sometimes conflicting mantras. The first is simply, “Fuck it!”. Nihilistic?...yes, but it works for me. Secondly, “Change is good”. I wholeheartedly believe that everything should be questioned and everyone should embrace change as a means of moving forward in a positive way.

So, with those two philosophical rallying cries, I’ll be off again. Can’t say for sure if I’ll keep this site up as a continued release of frustration or reinvent it to support other creative avenues. At any rate, I’ve had fun with it and along the way and Ive gotten some nice feedback from people all over the planet. I still haven't heard from Harriet though. Well, fuck it.

And finally, to Harriet Wheeler, David Gavurin and the rest of the Sundays: you are my constant source of inspiration. Surprise, surprise, surprise.

Peace