<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14913059</id><updated>2011-08-02T01:40:49.353+01:00</updated><title type='text'>My Corridors</title><subtitle type='html'>A Collection of Short Stories</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mycorridors.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mycorridors.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Graham</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>12</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14913059.post-9112286358945254793</id><published>2011-08-02T01:40:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-08-02T01:40:49.362+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Honey</title><content type='html'>where would i be&lt;br /&gt;if we went separate ways&lt;br /&gt;i'd be drifting entirely from every day&lt;br /&gt;you are my blessing&lt;br /&gt;and i know i don't show it&lt;br /&gt;but that is true love, its not something you exhibit,&lt;br /&gt;it's something you have in the pit of your soul&lt;br /&gt;a connection in what seems a make believe world&lt;br /&gt;a place to turn and know something true&lt;br /&gt;honey i am so grateful for you&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14913059-9112286358945254793?l=mycorridors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/9112286358945254793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/9112286358945254793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mycorridors.blogspot.com/2011/08/honey.html' title='Honey'/><author><name>Graham</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14913059.post-8795026834862099239</id><published>2009-08-03T06:18:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T06:22:14.699+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Diamonds In The Dirt</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-CAp_DWPFlc/SnZ0AOe9aaI/AAAAAAAAARU/9fPlA7inL1E/s1600-h/434247098_eccae2edb6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-CAp_DWPFlc/SnZ0AOe9aaI/AAAAAAAAARU/9fPlA7inL1E/s400/434247098_eccae2edb6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365603553295296930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The stillness of the night&lt;br /&gt;The echo of barking dogs&lt;br /&gt;The hum of automobiles&lt;br /&gt;The sparkling lights, like diamonds in the dirt&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moonlight illuminates our collective unconscious&lt;br /&gt;Effulgence co-mingling in the ether&lt;br /&gt;Overhead, a plane navigates the mountainscape&lt;br /&gt;Below we are shackled and broken in,&lt;br /&gt;Liberated by confinement and flourishing within boundaries.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The others are shrouded in black&lt;br /&gt;Those we do not know that we do not know&lt;br /&gt;Fraying at the edges of the machine&lt;br /&gt;Free but still not free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Together we are diamonds in the dirt. &lt;br /&gt;We all reflect the light, were it to shine upon us without prejudice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14913059-8795026834862099239?l=mycorridors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/8795026834862099239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/8795026834862099239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mycorridors.blogspot.com/2009/08/diamonds-in-dirt.html' title='Diamonds In The Dirt'/><author><name>Graham</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-CAp_DWPFlc/SnZ0AOe9aaI/AAAAAAAAARU/9fPlA7inL1E/s72-c/434247098_eccae2edb6.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14913059.post-1699699510422465272</id><published>2009-08-02T06:31:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T06:32:56.632+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Secret Garden</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-CAp_DWPFlc/SnZ2fq6kcII/AAAAAAAAARc/XmlQNpuN9n4/s1600-h/green-field-michael-hudson.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-CAp_DWPFlc/SnZ2fq6kcII/AAAAAAAAARc/XmlQNpuN9n4/s400/green-field-michael-hudson.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365606292526493826" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see you lost in that secret place&lt;br /&gt;our garden where we used to play&lt;br /&gt;and, I refused to stray, waiting&lt;br /&gt;by those bristling roots&lt;br /&gt;and the tall oak &lt;br /&gt;its husks stretched out in protective grace&lt;br /&gt;and there i let you go&lt;br /&gt;because i loved to hear the melodies that you would sing &lt;br /&gt;roaming free in the glades, striding through the flower beds,&lt;br /&gt;sprinting unencumbered through the tall fields &lt;br /&gt;the ballad of your blue eyes&lt;br /&gt;and I was happy to just wait there for you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;until it went dark&lt;br /&gt;and silent&lt;br /&gt;and the pulsating envelope&lt;br /&gt;had been just an echo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and then i knew&lt;br /&gt;i had only known you briefly, and &lt;br /&gt;you did not stay long.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14913059-1699699510422465272?l=mycorridors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/1699699510422465272'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/1699699510422465272'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mycorridors.blogspot.com/2009/08/secret-garden.html' title='Secret Garden'/><author><name>Graham</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-CAp_DWPFlc/SnZ2fq6kcII/AAAAAAAAARc/XmlQNpuN9n4/s72-c/green-field-michael-hudson.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14913059.post-7554003377716872285</id><published>2008-05-28T11:49:00.005+01:00</published><updated>2008-05-28T12:52:55.717+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe Today...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_-CAp_DWPFlc/SD05gUeC1QI/AAAAAAAAAHY/3FNelJnrPtA/s1600-h/0528.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_-CAp_DWPFlc/SD05gUeC1QI/AAAAAAAAAHY/3FNelJnrPtA/s400/0528.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205379971723482370" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much time has passed&lt;br /&gt;Long and weary years, with vast distances traversed&lt;br /&gt;I'm here, in the place I want to be&lt;br /&gt;I'm free, and yet shackled by the chains of reality&lt;br /&gt;Thin, like mist dispersing in the breaking of dawn&lt;br /&gt;Disconnected, hurt, and withdrawn&lt;br /&gt;I've fought so hard to get this far&lt;br /&gt;To be here where I belong beneath these stars&lt;br /&gt;I've relied upon every ounce of strength&lt;br /&gt;I've emerged from hopelessness, resilient&lt;br /&gt;I've gone on, when I could go on no more&lt;br /&gt;Beaten down I've picked myself up off the floor&lt;br /&gt;The fruition of hard work is never immediate&lt;br /&gt;But, the blessings of commitment are their own reward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My kaleidoscope no longer flutters so colorfully&lt;br /&gt;I now approach everything pragmatically&lt;br /&gt;There is a sadness beneath it all&lt;br /&gt;But, what matters is the world beyond these walls&lt;br /&gt;Responsibilities I embrace with a determination to succeed&lt;br /&gt;Struggling to reconcile my emotional needs&lt;br /&gt;Motivated by a desire to accomplish great things&lt;br /&gt;The charge that the fragility of our existence brings&lt;br /&gt;Wanting to simply love and be loved&lt;br /&gt;That particular contentment that comes from above&lt;br /&gt;I am torn by my life today&lt;br /&gt;And the disregard to which I pay&lt;br /&gt;The somberness that I feel inside&lt;br /&gt;Something that can't really be specified&lt;br /&gt;But, I have fought for my job, my life, my house, and financial security&lt;br /&gt;The foundations upon which I can pursue prosperity&lt;br /&gt;The building blocks to my future that now exceed the struggles of my family&lt;br /&gt;Taking this for granted is not possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe today my dreams are less romantic than yesterday&lt;br /&gt;Maybe today will simply be an improvement on those before&lt;br /&gt;Maybe today will leave me adrift and alone, &lt;br /&gt;But, maybe today I will sail closer to my shore&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe today with my small steps, strength, and fight, a pathway will still emerge&lt;br /&gt;And the voyage of yesterday, today, and tomorrow will merge&lt;br /&gt;Into something that is well beyond my darkest days&lt;br /&gt;A good life, with good people, surrounded by beauty, and many possibilities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all, who knows... Maybe today I'll be free&lt;br /&gt;In a place I really want to be&lt;br /&gt;A place of practicality, perpetual hope, security, and self esteem&lt;br /&gt;Built, no longer upon just my dreams.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14913059-7554003377716872285?l=mycorridors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/7554003377716872285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/7554003377716872285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mycorridors.blogspot.com/2008/05/maybe-today.html' title='Maybe Today...'/><author><name>Graham</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_-CAp_DWPFlc/SD05gUeC1QI/AAAAAAAAAHY/3FNelJnrPtA/s72-c/0528.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14913059.post-112805432741150755</id><published>2005-10-03T20:37:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-10-03T23:30:47.556+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe tomorrow...</title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/33/47910442_0d50c7b15f_o.jpg" alt="Image hosted by flickr.com"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much time has passed&lt;br /&gt;The weeks and months went by so fast&lt;br /&gt;And I'm still here, wanting to be somewhere else&lt;br /&gt;I'm still trying to gamble with these cards that I've dealt...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I can walk underneath a different sky&lt;br /&gt;One where I don't perpetually deny...&lt;br /&gt;That my heart wasn't built for all my dreams&lt;br /&gt;Because my dreams are less attainable than they originally seemed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Choices flutter like a colorful kaleidoscope&lt;br /&gt;And when I really open my eyes I can find plenty of cause for hope&lt;br /&gt;After all, who knows... maybe tomorrow I'll be free&lt;br /&gt;In a place where I really want to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A place of practicality, perpetual hope, security, and self esteem &lt;br /&gt;Built on the most naive of dreams&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14913059-112805432741150755?l=mycorridors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112805432741150755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112805432741150755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mycorridors.blogspot.com/2005/10/maybe-tomorrow.html' title='Maybe tomorrow...'/><author><name>Graham</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14913059.post-112586129808158584</id><published>2005-09-04T19:29:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-06-16T10:49:13.983+01:00</updated><title type='text'>It's not dark yet</title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/26/40180581_8466a8468e_o.jpg" alt="Image hosted by flickr.com"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stardust molecules are collapsing in the corridors of my heart&lt;br /&gt;Aflame fragments perishing in the quickening dark&lt;br /&gt;Not wanting to journey this inevitable decline&lt;br /&gt;Not wanting to die and still be alive&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14913059-112586129808158584?l=mycorridors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112586129808158584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112586129808158584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mycorridors.blogspot.com/2005/09/its-not-dark-yet.html' title='It&apos;s not dark yet'/><author><name>Graham</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14913059.post-112554940246087748</id><published>2005-09-01T04:38:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-12-19T23:59:02.343Z</updated><title type='text'>Connections...</title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://photos26.flickr.com/39090049_341b261d84_o.jpg" alt="Image hosted by flickr.com"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two strangers stare at each other from the opposite ends of a subway escalator, smiling in acknowledgment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An individual starts a journal online, articulating his own depression and malaise. Within 24 hours he receives encouragement and advice from all four corners of the globe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A young woman leans over the fence that perimeters a field of horses, smoking a cigarette and gazing upwards to the dark clouds that are beginning to engulf the sky. Bad weather is on its way. The arms of her lover emerge from behind where she stands wrapping her in an emotional warmth. She rests her head on his kneck and feels at peace with the world regardless of what lies ahead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A group of old friends re-unite once a year in a city restaurant, catching up on each other's exploits while rekindling their fond memories from school. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two sixteen year olds move on opposite sides of a dancefloor. Via fate, coincidence, or just the way in which they express themselves they end up facing each other, looking into each other's eyes and eventually kissing passionately. Their summer is irrevocably transformed into a blissful adventure of sunshine, drugs, clubs and house parties. It might have been so different, if only one dance step had taken them both in opposite directions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A book club every fortnight brings together six disparate individuals to share their thoughts on literature and current events.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An older retired woman, living alone in a London Council block of flats likes nothing more than to read conservative tabloids, while getting wrapped up in the melodrama of popular Soap Opera's on TV. However by day she passionately reaches out to her community, volunteering to oversee the local tenant management organization. She listens to everyone's concerns, receving all of their phonecalls, personally making sure that the workers they employ receive their cheques on time. She fights for a youth center to pre-occupy local kids and steer them away from criminal behaviour. She negotiates Satellite TV for all of the residents... When she reaches, she does it with a concern and wisdom that makes her loved throughout her community.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two men are walking their dogs down a narrow pathway separating the heavy forestry, enjoying the uplifting energy of the summer sunshine after a hard day's work. They stop and enjoy a pint of lager. They bitch about their respective spouses and offer competing perspectives on politics, business, and sports. They find a solace in each other's companionship that is unspoken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man in his late fiftees watches an African Carnival ensue outside his London flat. He hates the noise. He hates the celebration of a culture that is alien, when there is no comparable celebration of his own. He hates that for the three days the carnival lasts it takes him two hours to walk less than a mile to his house from the local train station. He hates that he can't sleep at night because there are street parties carrying on into the early hours... He hates the music, laughter, and cheers... And yet, when the Carnival is gone, deep down, he misses it terribly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A younger man lies in bed with his wife... his fingers intertwined with hers and their hands placed together on the softness of her small stomach bulge. Together they receive an energy which brings a sense of purpose and meaning to their lives. They share imagined stories fortelling their imminent future, tucking their child into bed, reading him/her magical stories, playing games in the park, and taking holidays as a family... Together always, fighting to keep their child safe no matter the cost or effort required.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And in a remote farmhouse an old couple barely talk anymore. They go about their daily routine, cleaning, reading, gardening and shopping. They prepare a delightful dinner and eventually fall fast asleep infront of the TV. 50 years of shared experience binds them together. Their beautiful dance each day, hardly sharing a word, no matter how mundane, is all they need and all they desire. Their only fear is the prospect of losing each other. They only anticipate with dread the one inevitable day when they are no longer joined.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are we when we are not connected?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14913059-112554940246087748?l=mycorridors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112554940246087748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112554940246087748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mycorridors.blogspot.com/2005/09/connections.html' title='Connections...'/><author><name>Graham</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14913059.post-112535233082506733</id><published>2005-08-29T22:05:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-09-09T22:45:40.796+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Weight In My Heart</title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://photos21.flickr.com/38373940_f8db7fdacb_m.jpg" alt="Image hosted by flickr.com"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dark is especially cold tonight&lt;br /&gt;The streets are so desolate and quiet&lt;br /&gt;The sky is empty, starless and grey&lt;br /&gt;Car's are whizzing past in the swirling rain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel the wet grass blades underneath my feet, and the drizzle of tears that fall from above&lt;br /&gt;I notice the hanging tree branches reaching out into the world, longing to hold and be held, and desperate to touch&lt;br /&gt;Voices are intermingling – candlelight, faces, smiles, and warm words&lt;br /&gt;A hollowness that shouldn't be disturbed&lt;br /&gt;I am having a conversation with someone I am not listening to, and who isn't listening to me...&lt;br /&gt;Aloneness is a ubiquitous disease&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The weight in my heart is heavy and it crushes my breath&lt;br /&gt;I see sadness everywhere, tonight&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14913059-112535233082506733?l=mycorridors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112535233082506733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112535233082506733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mycorridors.blogspot.com/2005/08/weight-in-my-heart.html' title='The Weight In My Heart'/><author><name>Graham</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14913059.post-112477745326501416</id><published>2005-08-23T06:07:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-01-08T01:53:56.330Z</updated><title type='text'>Empty Spaces</title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://photos23.flickr.com/36524943_8d44b275c2_m.jpg" alt="Image hosted by flickr.com"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel as though I'm in a large dark room&lt;br /&gt;And I cannot see very far ahead &lt;br /&gt;I'm sitting with old familiar faces... distant, listening, nodding... &lt;br /&gt;and I am elsewhere in this otherworldly place.&lt;br /&gt;I think people's spirits drift away in rooms like this, all alone, dispersing into thin air&lt;br /&gt;I think they grow bitter and cold&lt;br /&gt;I think their heart's shrink as they grow old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you break one into two, what remains is two incomplete, broken pieces&lt;br /&gt;Shattered, broken pieces of glass&lt;br /&gt;And without you, girl, for the time being I am but half&lt;br /&gt;And in all of the empty spaces I am drawn back into our world&lt;br /&gt;The remnants of your wake left in the places we broke apart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But girl,&lt;br /&gt;I saw what you wrote last night&lt;br /&gt;I lived your strident public display, your charming evocation informing your explicit fantasy&lt;br /&gt;And I was just happy for those feelings inside you &lt;br /&gt;I no longer cared whether I was responsible for them&lt;br /&gt;I just saw the light break and embraced the sad sight of your wings fluttering away&lt;br /&gt;From my vantage in the shade &lt;br /&gt;Saying goodbye, my love, is no longer a masquerade.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14913059-112477745326501416?l=mycorridors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112477745326501416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112477745326501416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mycorridors.blogspot.com/2005/08/empty-spaces.html' title='Empty Spaces'/><author><name>Graham</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14913059.post-112441665926693167</id><published>2005-08-19T02:34:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-08-19T05:03:36.093+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Recollections</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos31.flickr.com/35222677_0bef658ebe_o.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos31.flickr.com/35228347_f0fba3d053_o.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Images flashing through my mind&lt;br /&gt;Memories of past and present, elucidating lost time&lt;br /&gt;Running around as a kid, playing football outside my estate block&lt;br /&gt;A ball, friends, and gradiose dreams until ten o'clock&lt;br /&gt;Carol walking into the living room telling me that Dean had died&lt;br /&gt;The emotional detachment, emptiness, fear, and pride&lt;br /&gt;Reading at his funeral, when the sadness emerged&lt;br /&gt;Infront of that packed church the reality of his loss, and my heart finally converged&lt;br /&gt;The volatility of my adolescence, spent embracing the company of others&lt;br /&gt;The sight of my father and uncle, strolling down the white stone village pathways in Cyprus, rekindling their beginnings as brothers&lt;br /&gt;The softness I sensed behind her tears on the phone&lt;br /&gt;The beautiful depravity we evoked, our own nightmarish world&lt;br /&gt;"Ocean Greyness" in the art gallery at the Venetian Hotel&lt;br /&gt;Those five days in Vegas when my delusions were dispelled&lt;br /&gt;Her intricate beauty, her depth, her charm, and her grace&lt;br /&gt;Her specialness is something that I shall never replace&lt;br /&gt;The long, vast road that lies ahead&lt;br /&gt;All of the possibilities, all of the dread&lt;br /&gt;Bound by shackles I rarely notice are there&lt;br /&gt;Of this I must always remain aware&lt;br /&gt;The residual hurt will dissolve through time&lt;br /&gt;And all that will remain are her recollections and mine...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14913059-112441665926693167?l=mycorridors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112441665926693167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112441665926693167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mycorridors.blogspot.com/2005/08/recollections.html' title='Recollections'/><author><name>Graham</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14913059.post-112434710025164034</id><published>2005-08-18T06:38:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-08-18T17:04:15.406+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Masquerade</title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://photos23.flickr.com/35010809_85ece7f140_m.jpg" alt="Image hosted by flickr.com"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've acquired this bad habit of saying goodbye &lt;br /&gt;And yet what lives on in my heart never withers nor dies&lt;br /&gt;The guilt and the sadness... it plagues me inside&lt;br /&gt;The memories of all those I've left behind&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My masquerade is the utterance of the word goodbye&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14913059-112434710025164034?l=mycorridors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112434710025164034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112434710025164034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mycorridors.blogspot.com/2005/08/masquerade.html' title='Masquerade'/><author><name>Graham</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14913059.post-112383012760985882</id><published>2005-08-12T06:59:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-08-22T06:41:47.640+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Overcast</title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://photos28.flickr.com/36103110_88c87df609_m.jpg" alt="Image hosted by flickr.com"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Solemnity forsaken by the blossoming gloom&lt;br /&gt;The masquerade finally fades&lt;br /&gt;Sunlight recedes into the black edges of the sky&lt;br /&gt;Time erodes our memories in the midst of the night&lt;br /&gt;Everything pales by comparison &lt;br /&gt;All that is left is a vague sensation&lt;br /&gt;Of the way we held each other's hand through the overcast azure...&lt;br /&gt;The way feeling you by my side was the most potent cure&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I let you down, How I walked away&lt;br /&gt;How I didn't retain the strength to continue on through the pain&lt;br /&gt;And be your well, your resource, your core, and your rock&lt;br /&gt;To be everything you deserve, regardless, no matter what&lt;br /&gt;All I want is for us to spend today&lt;br /&gt;Hiding in the places where our oneness lay&lt;br /&gt;Walking along streets in our make believe world&lt;br /&gt;...someplace where our bullshit could never unfurl&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where none of the past would dilute our exchanges&lt;br /&gt;And none of our sad memories would ever re-surface&lt;br /&gt;All I want is for us to be free&lt;br /&gt;And yet all I want is for I to be we&lt;br /&gt;All I want is to be by your side&lt;br /&gt;Your soul mate and dastardly partner in crime&lt;br /&gt;Holding each other's hand through the overcast azure...&lt;br /&gt;Being your boy, my love, is the best fucking cure&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14913059-112383012760985882?l=mycorridors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112383012760985882'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14913059/posts/default/112383012760985882'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mycorridors.blogspot.com/2005/08/overcast.html' title='Overcast'/><author><name>Graham</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
