Case 1 Nobody could ever ever have a life as screwed up as mine—not ever. No matter how screwed up their lives are they'd never ever have to take on grown-ups acting like kids way before their time. It's unfair. Okay, maybe what's unfair is that I'm ranting about it. It's unfair that I'm living in denial while not actually on the Nile. But why must everything pile up way before my externals? I'd love to laze around being lazy lazing with my thoughts. Life is not a veritable torture rack; it's the damned people who are the torture devices. Anguish. Heartbreak. Anger.

Case 2 Yet all these don't stem from me being disallowed the advanced technological devices that allow us humans to communicate with one another in this modern age. Especially communication with some dear one. For that is a totally different subject. Heartbreak. Sorrow. Loneliness. But I can't say no more on this or risk facing charged under the OSA (Official Secrets Act for the uninitiated though what kind of act that is can be left to our wild fantasies) from one who to me is the world and Heaven, though at times Hell makes an appearance (haha, don't get angry, I meant that in jest... but seriously I may have a different view of Hell after all). And like those three worlds, I can't live without that certain someone so here I go shutting my mouth. [Hush] But I do miss a certain voice in my ear. [Shut up!]

Comedy in this moment of darkness. I am in stitches over the lyrics of this song by the venerable and much respected Johhny Mercer (dead dee of course). Singing somewhat like a native of the Islands, the co-founder of Capitol Records, writer of many an American Standard, the okay-voiced singer comically croons: "I don't like men, women I don't like too/ Do I like anyone ?/ I don't, don't, don't/ But I do, do, do like you/... If you think I'm strange/ It is intentional/... I think that I don't even like myself/ Baby, you're the one exception/ I do, do, do like you".

Usual lyrics to a song that strummed on my heart-strings. No detail have I on this song that's a terribly poor reproduction (as far as ear hears this transfer-from-a-record-to-mp3 methinks). Still Matt Monro's voice come's clear crooning:

The Ghost Of Your Past
Matt Monro

You're living your life trying not to remember,
That cigarette ash, that last dying ember;
They only recall when the long shadows fall,
The ghost of your love from the past.

Maybe you're like me and hate to admit it,
You've tried a new life but find you don't fit it,
You hide with a smile as you walk down the aisle,
The ghost of your love from the past.

You drink at a dive, take a long country drive,
But you can't escape from your past,
And just before dawn when you dread the new morn,
You have to see reason at last.

You turn back for home you re-live it all,
And grope for a light in the cold empty home,
But as you climb the stair, who is that standing there?
It's the ghost of your love from the past.

Sad tune, even sadder lyrics.

Now time to run along for lunch. It's an hour already. Most of it spent editing out things that shouldn't be revealed to the world but shared by two. Which mind you, is harder than it sounds since I started out wanting an honest (do I hear sniggers? shame on you!) blog. Honest to myself what! Bye bye and best of luck to my friends who are taking the AS with me. Oops! Just realised title of this entry has nothing to do with its contents. sigh