Jason Rimbaud

Des, you are so bad. Jason R.

To Rad, thanks. I was busy typing an email and my friend took the picture. I thought it looked cool so I posted it. That's my lucky hat by the way, I always wear it when I'm writing. Kind of like my security blanket.Jason R.As for Wibby's comment. I understand, and believe me when I say I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that I like this new Garth song, but damnit, I do. It's not my fault, look at my hat for god's sake.Jason R.

CopyCat. I have half a mind to Damnit, be right back. Jason R.

I've been thinking about this topic for a long time. And I must say that the single most satisfying comment I have ever received came from Camy a few weeks/months ago after reading a poem I wrote called Rainbow Warrior. I can't exactly remember what he said, but it goes something like this... reading your poem made me think, like all your poetry does I guess that says it all really. If something I write makes another person think, then I guess that is most satisfying. And it helps to stroke the ego because after reading my poem, he wrote a piece called Iraq. I inspired him to write something, that's a compliment that can't be equaled. Jason R. What I won't say, is that his poem that I inspired him to write, was so much better than the one I wrote that inspired him in the first place. damn emu. If you haven't read it yet, I urge you to look it up. Great piece.

I disagree with "A". Some things, like this poem, are more a stream of conscious. If Josiah would take the time to polish it, the emotional impact would be lessened. I like this piece. The honesty and the almost clinical explanation of an extremely emotional event is at times under-stated with just enough anger to keep me reading. These types of poems are written usually for the sole benefit of the writer. It's a way to cope with the situation without resorting to violence. In a way, you could say that this poem was meant to be read by a single reader. I'm just glad that Josiah has decided to share it with us. I really like this one. Jason R.

Not describing sex in a story is completely different than ignoring sex all together. I've read stories where sex is implied, and maybe even described up and until the deed itself before leaving the final act up to the readers imagination. This doesn't mean the author was ignoring the gorilla. Quite the opposite really, because focusing on the mental and emotional part of sex is more rewarding than reading about insert rod "A" into hole "B", and repeat until you make a face. The mistake that is being made here, in my humble opinion, is authors who believe that writing erotica is the same as writing romance stories. They are two different writing styles. Erotica focuses on the description of sex, and its main purpose is to help others release sexual energy. Where, romance styled writing tends to focus more on the journey of finding someone to have sex with. And then there are stories that blend the two together, I called them romance-ica. Every author defines his own place on the scale between erotica and romance. Both forms are valid, and each have their place in the world. My tastes lean towards more romance styled writing. After all, I'm quite familiar with how sex works between two men. What I want to read about and experience, is how do two boys end up having sex, and then how do they make a relationship work. So to sum up, maybe Josiah writes more romance styled writings where describing the act of sex isn't really important to the plot. So if it is omitted, there is a gorilla in the room, but maybe he doesn't need to describe what that gorilla looks like to the readers who have their own gorilla sitting next to them. This is my thoughts anyway. Cheers. Jason R.

Speaking for myself, and this is something I do under protest, I must say that not only do I become aroused by my own writing, but usually the only way I become aroused is if I read something I wrote. I've been known, in my small imaginary circle of friends, to routinely pleasure myself while reading little love notes I've written to myself scattered about the apartment. It makes it a bit "hard" at times to keep my living space clean as in the act of cleaning, I find these little notes and immediately have to stop and take matters into my own hands. Now you must forgive me, something has come up and I must tend to it immediately. *turns on the new Garth Brooks song and lights a candle while unbuttoning my pants* Jason R.

I agree with Cole. It's nice to have someone in the "know" to let us less fortunate peeps educate ourselves. Even if that person in the "know" is from someone claiming to live under the rest of us. I have my suspicions about that claim as well. *looks under the table to see if i can spot the elusive dessie* Jason R.

I'm not usually one to listen to country music. But earlier today I was surfing through the channels and happen to land on CMT right when the new Garth Brooks video started to play. And WOW, it blew me away. The video is absolutely amazing. And might I even go as far as saying that Garth is a bit sexy as well. The name of the song is "More than a Memory". If you get a chance to listen to the song or even better yet to watch the video, you'll see what I mean. Very good. Jason R.

Bitter Remains Written July 30th, 2001 By: Jason R. ?Dammit,? Justin cursed, slamming the phone down even before he heard the first ring. He rubbed his hands over his freshly shaven scalp and shut his eyes. There were times he thought everything might disappear if he could only shut his eyes tightly enough. Hating the feeling of his shaved scalp, he mentally kicked himself for his drunken impulsiveness: shaving his beautiful curls only to spite ?him? was pure stupidity. He looked around the shabby, one-bedroom apartment with blurry eyes and frowned. There was a time not long ago that his surroundings would have been quite different. But he was far away from the grand house on the hill, and the stained carpet and worn furniture only served to remind him of his loss. Scowling, he turned his head and looked towards the kitchen. His eyes found a bottle of cheap vodka, mostly empty, on the counter. He stumbled towards it, and not bothering with ice or a mixer, he dumped the remainder into a glass, and walked outside to the small patio, the apartment?s one and only luxury. It was a rare summer night in San Francisco; it was raining. Leaning against the railing, he tilted his head back and emptied the contents of the glass. By this time in the night, the bitterness of the alcohol had no effect on him. The rain fell down on his half-naked body and mingled with the tears that fell from his eyes, blurring together his confusion and pain. ?Why me?? he screamed into the night sky, hoping, demanding an answer from some kind of higher power. ?Why did he leave me?? He had asked that question hundreds of times and never had gotten the right answer. No solace or forgiveness would come to him, no matter how many times he cried out. In his heart he knew the answer, yet he still cried out. He was alone and broken, because his boyfriend was tired of dealing with the lies, fed up with the cheating, and sick of waiting for love that was never given. This was why Justin drank himself into a stupor night after night?searching to find peace that always eluded him. He squeezed his eyes shut, so tightly that the tears could no longer fall, and gripped the railing. His mouth opened in a silent scream; he tried desperately to stop the memories, the raw emotion that careened through his drunken mind. But nothing could stop the memory of the night it all fell apart, the night ?he? left. ?I can?t take any more of this shit, Justin. It?s killing me,? Daniel screamed, pushing Justin away. ?Can?t you see that? You?re killing me.? That night went all wrong when Daniel arrived back at the house and found Justin in bed with another boy, for what seemed like the hundredth time. ?Wait,? Justin stammered, trying with one hand to cover his naked body with the sheet while reaching for his discarded boxers with the other. ?I can explain.? The invisible stranger, the boy who didn?t matter, had a look of confusion and embarrassment on his face as he tried to hide under the sheet, but he was having a hard time as Justin kept ripping it out of his grasp. ?No,? Daniel stated in a tired voice, his tone icy and barely controlled. ?No more explanations, no more lies. No more, Justin.? Hopping on one foot, Justin tried to pull his boxers on while saying, ?Wait! It?s not what you think. I didn?t want this to happen. He was a mistake.? ?Really,? Daniel said, spinning around towards the two boys. His eyes filled with rage. ?Did he force you at gunpoint?? ?Daniel.? ?Did he have a cardiac arrest and the only way you could think of to give him CPR was to pound him up the ass?? ?I?? ?No,? Daniel cut him off, pointing a finger at the boy. ?I?m sick of you fucking every little twink you meet the moment my back is turned.? The invisible boy spoke up, ?Wait, I?m not just?? Justin and Daniel both turned and yelled, ?Shut up.? The invisible boy ducked under the sheet again as Justin fell to his knees and begged, ?It won?t happen again, I swear. Just give me one more chance.? Tears fell down Daniel?s cheek, but he shook his head sadly and said, ?I can?t. Not again, Justin. You don?t get any more chances.? Justin stayed on his knees as the door slammed shut. He stayed on the floor, his arms wrapped around his body, crying. He didn?t notice the invisible boy leave the room, nor did he care. The man he loved just walked out of his life. Shaking from the power of the memories, Justin cried as he tilted his head back and let the rain wash over him. But the memories that crashed into his fragile mind would not let go until he looked at each and every one. Gripping the edge of the railing, he screamed again. But the scream couldn?t prevent the images from smashing through his defenses, shattering the last of his control, forcing him to remember. ?You?re so peaceful when you sleep,? Justin whispered into his boyfriend?s hair, causing the sleeping boy to stir. He leaned forward and kissed Daniel?s forehead, all the while fighting the passion that threatened to consume him. He moved down and gently kissed Daniel?s lips, tenderly and filled with love. ?Mm, I love you,? Daniel mumbled, still in that semi-lucid state somewhere between reality and dreams. ?How was the club?? ?It was fun,? Justin replied, kissing Daniel again. ?But Sheila was really wasted.? ?Tell me about it later,? Daniel said, then yawned as he settled back onto his pillow. Snuggling up behind his boyfriend, Justin lay there in the manner of all lovers?gently connected with legs and arms intertwined, making it hard to distinguish one from the other. And when Daniel pushed back into his embrace, Justin felt the warmth of his lover gently caressing his whole body. Daniel moved his head back until he could feel Justin?s shallow breath on his neck. He sighed. Justin?s lips found the back of Daniel?s neck and softly kissed him, completing the nightly ritual they shared before falling asleep. They drifted off, both feeling the comfort of the intimate experience they shared. ?I had it all,? Justin mused aloud. ?Why did I ruin it?? And as always, when he reached this point of inebriation, reality and fantasy blurred together. Not that he would listen to the truth if he heard it, but he always asked. He tried to wipe the tears from his eyes, but the pouring rain replaced them. His bare chest was slick from the rain, and his pants were soaked through. He shivered, the cold drops feeling like punishment from the heavens. He stood there shaking, crying from the pain in his heart so long that he turned numb?which is what he longed to truly feel. His ravaged mind tried to sort out this reality, to comprehend this behavior, but the pain and disillusionment kept him from seeing the destructive nature of this nightly ritual. So he kept playing this scene out in his mind, night after night, drinking until he couldn?t feel the pain any more, drinking until he passed out for a few fitful hours of sleep, before the agony set in again with the dawn, wracking his body with nausea. ?I love you, Daniel, he stated simply, staring up to the dark sky. But it was too late for any kind of admission. Daniel was gone, and nothing would bring him back. Stumbling inside, he headed for the bedroom, not bothering to remove his wet pants. He fell on the unmade bed and curled up in a fetal position, continuing to sob. A note lay next to him on the nightstand; he reached out for it and clutched it to his face until the tears made it a blurry mess. But it didn?t matter; he knew the words by heart. He had read it over and over again until the words were etched in his mind, burned there for all eternity. The letter was from Sheila, written two weeks earlier. The last line of the note read, ?I?m sorry, Justin, but he?s married now.? His world exploded around him and his mind finally had enough for one night, and he drifted away to the nightmares that haunted his dreams. His last moment of clarity was a longing look towards the phone sitting on the bed beside him. But he didn?t call Daniel. He never did.

See, I totally DIS-agree with both Pecman and Camy. Which is ironic considering I hold both of these authors in great esteem. Savage Moon starts out being a very promising story about werewolves and the struggle between religion and free-will. And for the first three chapters, it is very compelling. The characters are richly drawn and the world is very colorful. But from the forth chapter on, it quickly becomes bogged down with over-descriptive paragraphs and a meandering narrative that fails to give a payoff while dangling hope in front of the reader. I wanted to like this story, werewolves and such is a subject I find fascinating. But by the tenth chapter, I wanted to find out where the author lived, fly there, knock on his door, and punch him right in the face for making me read such pretentious drivel. I'm not sure if the author believes this style of writing is compelling or provocative, but I found Savage Moon to be a bit further out than boring. The characters begin rather engaging, in the first three chapters that is, but soon afterwards, they slip into the realm of one dimensional status, a few steps lower down the food chain than characters that exist in third rate porn movies from Canada. After the third chapter, the plot falls head first into stroke city. The lead character, I"m sorry I can't even remember his name, evolves into such a clich? of being a queer, not only tolerates but embraces situations where he is constantly manipulated into fucking other boys even though once the deed is finished, he is guilty about his sexual behavior. And where I understand this type of story has it's place, I wonder if this is something we should be heralding as the Best of Nifty. Because to me, if this is the best Nifty has to offer, why should we even bother with constructing a list? Jason R.

Jesus, Des, you make my head hurt. And I'm not saying anything about the collective intelligence of Funtails, The Pecman, or Graeme, because readng the very eye-opening posts you have made in just this forum, I know you are far smarter than I. But Des is the master of debate, no pun intended. Who would've thought someone on the bottom of the world would somehow manage to rise to the top, just like a bad yeast infection. Just kidding Des! Anyway, I love this topic. Being a huge Sci-Fi fan and time travel in particular, I have my thoughts on time travel and have made a outline for a pretty fantastical story I hope to one day write. But since this thread is really about clich?s in time travel stories, I'll offer one up. I just watched a movie called A Sound of Thunder, I believe it was a Ray Bradbury short story written years ago. Matter of fact, the only person probably alive when it was written is poor Des. (wow, what is this, pick on poor Des day?) To sum up a horrible movie, someone invented a way to go back in time, instead of using this technique to study the past, instead it was only used for taking rich men back in time to hunt pre-historic animals. On one particular mission, a man accidentally steps on a butterfly, that's it, a single butterfly, changing the entire future of the world. Humans never evolved, instead the predominate species seemed to be a cross between apes and lizards. Really big fucking lizards. But the future didn't change immediately, no, otherwise you wouldn't have a movie at all. Instead, it would change every twenty hours or so in what they called time ripples. With each ripple, more changes were made. They predicted that with the last ripple, humanity would be gone forever. To me, this is the worst clich?, I will never believe that killing one butterfly, 50 million years ago, would really ever affect anything. The world is too big for that to be more than a hypothesis. Going back in time and introducing a virus that we brought with us, thus changing the future, I can see that more the killing of a single butterfly. Jason R. PS: I love Des down under.

So I'm off on a romantic weekend getaway. Three days and two nights of pure bliss. I rented a beach house in Santa Cruz, and I'm bringing my laptop, a few bottles of wine, and a cooler filled with food. I plan on doing nothing for three days, and hopefully, I won't even see another living human. For some of you, this might sound very un-romantic. But for me, being completely alone for a few days is my little slice of heaven. I always seem to be able to recharge myself after taking a few days off. So, maybe this will give me the chance to finish a new short story I've been working on the last few months. After all, it's about a beach, a boy....well, you'll have to wait and read all about it later. Hope everyone has a good weekend, I'm off. Jason R.

BESIDES TRAB, YOU ARE THE QWEETEST PERSON I EVER MET!!!!!!!

Now, now, Trab. I don't think I ever said "HOT GUY" equals "COOL GUY". I know lots of hot guys who are assholes, and I know a lot of Cool Guys who aren't that good looking. My ex-roommate, Daniel, is one of the nerdiest looking guys in the world, but I think he's one of the coolest people I ever met. I wouldn't lose my job over you, but I'd definately talk to you, just because it doesn't matter what you look like, Cool people are above that shit. And by the way, I ALWAYS talk to anyone in the family. Jason R.

Unfortunately Rad, getting his number, if my manager ever would find out, would be disastrous. It's never a good idea to shit where you eat. And he has strict rules about maintaining a professional work ethic at all times. I was pushing the limits even with the harmless flirting I was doing with the couple.And if you don't recognize the term, shit where you eat, it basically means you don't jeopardize your job for a cute guy. The same principle applies that you should never date a co-worker, because if the relationship doesn't work out, you are now stuck with working and seeing your ex every day. Bad for business let me tell you.And Trab, if you ever came to my restaurant, I'd make you feel like a king. I always talk to the cool people, especially if their in the family. Des, I can see it now, qweet will be popping up all over the web. And the straights will be confused, but they'll repeat it anyway because it's a good word and they'll want to be cool. They'll start calling their friends qweet, and before you know it, the INTERNET will be full of sweet queers and the Republicans will try to curb the practice saying how the word qweet is destroying the fabric of America. Hmm, I like the sound of that.Jason R.

So I had a single GAY man and his mother come in to the restaurant today. When I saw him walk in the door, I actually paused in mid-step. He was gorgeous. One of the female servers was near me and she made the remark that he was dreamy. I smiled at her and replied, "Don't bother, he plays for my team." She asked, "How do you know?" I smiled mysteriously at her and said, "Trust me." As luck would have it, the man and his mother sat in my section and I ended up serving them. Throughout the dinner, the man and I would do some chit and some chat. Nothing really bad, just some harmless flirting, much to the amusement of the man's mother. Once dinner was over, they ordered a dessert and declared that they would share it. What I wanted to say was, "Aw, that's sweet." But what actually came out of my mouth was, "Aw, that's qweet." The man looked at me and flashed a smile, saying, "Did you just say that's qweet?" I blushed and nodded my head. His mother spoke up, "Qweet, that's sounds like a mix of queer and sweet. What exactly are you accusing my son of being, a sweet queer?" Needless to say, I blushed even more and they had a good laugh at my expense. I walked away and got the check ready. I placed it on the table after they paid and wished them a good night. I just happened to be standing at the door talking to my manager as they were leaving. My manager, as he inquires of every guest, asked, "How was everything this evening?" The mother looked at me and with a big grin, said, "The dinner was wonderful. And the service was lovely." My manager, completely unaware of the earlier conversation, looked at me and said, "Jason's one of our best servers." The mother replied without missing a beat, "He deserves a raise, not only did he take care of us but he invented a new word for my son." They walked out the door as my manager looked at me, a confused look on his face. I shook my head and just walked away. So today, I invented a new word. What did you do? Jason R.

Hey Gabe, I've read this over and over and I must say, I like it better now than I did when you let me read it the first time. It's hard to put into words, but this piece is amazing. I love it. Jason R.

I second that motion. Hmmmm I'll make a deal with you Camy. If you put this piece to music and let us all hear it. *Takes a deep breath* I"ll do a reading of The Finale. There, I said. And everyone is a witness. The ball's in your court now Emu. Jason R.

I don't know. Shower at 10:17 followed by movies at 11:00.This made me fall on the floor laughing. Seriously, no self-respecting queer would ever finish a group shower in under three hours. I know you're a bit older, but really, it should read Shower at 10:17Followed by movies at 3:34 Snacks and such served intermittently (spelling ???)Jason R.

Wow Camy, This is one time I'll gladly take credit for inspiring you. This piece is brilliant, tied together by such simple questions. My god, but what powerful questions they are. I only wish we, as American's, would've asked some of those questions before our last election. A remarkable piece. Hands down, brilliant. Jason R.

Somewhere in Between As many of you know, life has been more than a bit chaotic for me lately. And where I appreciate all the advice and private messages I received from those of you that care about me, even the someone, that will remain nameless, that persuaded someone else to check up on me, which I thought went so far beyond simple moderator duties and into the realm of a truly caring person. This site is not named Awesome Dude for nothing and I don't think I could ever find a better on line home anywhere. Enuff said about that. When I first decided to begin this blog, I named it My Chaotic Life, my life in narrative. The purpose of this blog was twofold. First, I had written many things that really had no place on Awesome Dude (they weren't stories per say and I never thought they fit in Awesome Dudes drawn from life category) and I thought they would make for interesting reading. When you can't find a place to post your work, you create a place. So My Chaotic Life was born, after all, just because something I posted happened several years ago, doesn't make it any less important or funny. So the first few entries were pieces I had written over the years about some of the juicier bits of my life. I didn't find this wrong nor did I think I was deceiving anyone. Truly, I never imagined that people would read it anyway, and never in a million years did I think for one moment that these entries would be something others found interesting. This blog WAS and still IS a place for me to vent my frustrations, share some of my funnier experiences, and come to terms with the darker parts of my personality with no apologies and no censorship. I guess you could say that I imagined this blog as a safe zone. A place where I could write about my depression, analyze my addictions, and try and comprehend why I fuck my life up over and over again, and NEVER be judged for the things I say. I know its a bit naive to think I won't be judged, this is a public forum after all, but...that's how I view it. And my second reason.... I didn't fully understand this at the beginning, but over a year and some fifty-eight entries later, I started this blog because I hated being sober. I had just begun seeing my therapist and we were really getting into my past and my addictions. Re-living some of those experiences helped me to cope with the sudden intimacy I had with a perfect stranger. I've never let a lover inside my head and here I was telling a therapist that I once tried to drink myself to death by chugging two bottles of Vodka one night because someone said I didn't have the guts to kill myself. Of course he ruined it by taking me to the emergency room. But as I began talking to Susan, I started looking back fondly on my life. It's funny how an addict can look back at the train wreck of his past and only remember the good times. I chose to ignore the bits when I was strung out and sucking dick in alleys hoping I'd get AIDS so I could die. Letting anyone fuck me bareback because sex is always better when there is a bit of danger involved. How I made it through without so much as a harmless case of crabs I'll never know. I've watched too many people die for lesser offenses. I had been sober for three months, and in a matter of a few weeks talking to Susan, I was back to popping pills and snorting lines. What a pathetic liar I had become, for an hour a week, I was a normal human while in her office. But I didn't even wait to leave the building before getting a bump or swallowing a few pills. This went on for a few weeks until she asked why I was losing weight. And that's the other thing I hate about sobriety, without pills and lines, you gain weight. I freaked out in her office, she wasn't stupid, and she had called me on my bullshit. Like an addict, I ran. I couldn't face her, not fucked up. So I stopped, and quickly fell back into my normal patterns. I started drinking again, partying, and fucking anything. But as all addicts do, they hit a place, a few miles down from bottom, and they realize their faced with a crossroads. Down one path, parties and living stupid, and down the other path, sobriety. Every addict knows this crossroads. And usually the addict figures out a way to bypass this crossroads a few times, but sooner or later, the addict must decide which path he will walk down. My crossroad came a few weeks ago. I'd been up for three or four days, doing coke and drifting in and out of bars looking for sex. It was late Saturday night or early Sunday morning, I sat down at my computer and wrote ??????. For the first time, in quite a while, I was honest and wrote the words as they poured from my sick mind. I knew that the right person would read those words, the right person that wouldn't let me go this way, the right person that would fight the hordes of hell over my addict soul. Two days later, the right person did read it. And the duality of myself wouldn't let it end like this. I am an addict, have always been and will always be. But I can't let addiction keep dragging me down, pulling me away from the only thing I truly love doing. I called Susan and begged her to see me. It seems that I'll only ever measure my sobriety by days instead of how it should be....by years. But I'm working on it, I truly am. Friday I spoke the words I never thought I'd have the balls to say out loud. I told Susan that I would never do coke again. When she asked about pills, I shrugged. After all, it's not healthy to quit everything at once. But I'm working on it. So over the last few weeks, I've come to realize just how negative this blog has become for me. I trapped myself right from the beginning, I named it My Chaotic Life. I talked it over with Susan and she, amazingly agrees with me, that I should stop writing My Chaotic Life. Focusing on those parts of my life are self-destructing and really have no positive affect for anyone, myself included. I've always been a creature of extremes. I didn't just want to be happy, I had to be euphoric. If I was sad, then I was one step away from killing myself. But I'm sick of living like this. It's okay to just be happy, it's okay to be a bit sad, maybe living in the middle isn't that bad. A bit boring perhaps, a bit fat perhaps, but the alternative is something I'm not prepared to face just yet. Friday, during our session, I was silent and drawing in my diary. Susan asked what I was writing. I'll share it with all of you just as I shared it with her. So from here on out, my blog will be re-named, Somewhere in Between. I'm sure my more chaotic parts will show up here and there, but now I'll have something else to focus on. Life doesn't have to be chaotic, not even for me. Jason R.

Hey Des,You just say the word, and I'm on a plane. I've got muscles, and compared to you I'm young, But then most folks around here are young compared to you. But then if you look at it in animal years, Wibby might be older than all the rest of us combined. I don't know how long the average raccoon lives, and as for Emu's, anyone figured out how old Camy is? Now that is out of my system, I wonder.....When someone is being physically abused by their significant other, don't they usually make up silly stories like falling in the shower, running into a door, etc etc...Just a thought, maybe I should fly on down to Des and check it out anyway. Anyone want to come with me?Jason R.BTW, glad you didn't break your head and stuff. Feel better.

I'm not saying I'm thinking about recording myself reading a poem. But if I would want to record myself reading my poem, how would I go about doing that? Not that I would ever want to do that. Well, maybe for the crazy emu. Perhaps. Jason R.

The Finale By: Jason R. Written October 1st, 2007 Its five o?clock and I arrive home This house is empty I feel so alone I wonder if you?re working late There?s a message saying you?ll be home by eight I place my coat on the chair in the den Go to the kitchen and get a bottle of Zin The one you bought that time at the fair The liquid tastes bitter without you there By six o?clock the shadows fall I stare at memories lining the walls There was a time when the sun would set You?d be right beside me and the day we?d forget There?s something special about the dining room We?d light candles and romance would bloom We?d laugh and talk with nothing to say Building up for the climax on the way Holding hands start the passion there At times we never made it up the stairs Making love in the fading light Inside of you my life felt right But something happened along the way Divided by things we forgot how to say It?s bittersweet as I drink my wine Realizing that your life?s no longer mine But we still live in my fantasy In my dreams it?s still you and me Can we get back to how it used to be Here in my memory Seven o?clock and I?ve got a plan Tonight?s the night I make my last stand Maybe there in that dining room We can cut through the silence and the gloom I made a fish the kind you like A bucket and ice chilling the white The tables set and I wait for you I?m a bit nervous but play it cool At eight o?clock you walk through the door I?m standing there with a glass and I pour Hoping to see some encouraging sign I walk into the kitchen as you drink your wine You sit down and the dinner begins The talk is small like estranged friends I can?t believe the silence is there Where once our lives always shared At nine o?clock your cell phone rings And to your face a smile it brings You walk out and I wonder why I guess it?s easier than telling a lie You hang up and head off to bed I stay back realizing love is dead In my head I know I can?t fight anymore You?re just as gone as if you left out the door So here I am finally facing reality There?s nothing left of you and me We?re just another used to be Existing only in my memory