try being happy

I wanted to call this 'sunshine', because that's more what it's about, but this deeply engrained superstition (probably more to do with my writing habits than anything else) says that to call a post 'sunshine' is to ensure that there will one day be a post called 'rain'.

It will rain again, inside and out, but who cares? There'll be pain again, and crying again, but isn't there always? Find me someone who can give that kind of guarantee, that you will always feel this way and you'll have found me a fucking liar. I'm not in the mood for fucking liars. Ever again.

It's so sunny, every fleck of dust on my screen has a shadow of its own. Poetry is like that.

*****

Anthony says "This is the best interview ever", and he's right.

Imran, Anthony, Tara and I are sitting in Hyde Park, overlooking the fountain, smoking and talking and drinking cheap booze, eating bread, moral values and a wish to change the world all fresh out of the oven.

All we have in common is this job interview, our fascination with the interviewer's name (Hill - the kind of hippy you want to be your friend), the cancerous bad habit that they let us do in the hotel lobby to soothe our nerves. And this vibe, the good vibe.

The good vibe is at uni as well, spilling people onto the quad to drink and pretend to work. Catherine and Sam are trying to teach me French, someone steals my magazine, it's fine, it's all fine.

Sunshine has come, and I realise that the single most important thing you can do is to learn to get by, and to help others get by. Love breeds love; karma is only a cliche because it's true; sunshine brings out the best like sunburn. Red, irresistible, painful I guess, but everything is.

Get by. So what if you get burnt?