Scurrying Ants

My mind and spirit soar brushing the vaulted ceiling.

The music in the stadium propels us all into a blissed out 

state of being. It feels as if my skull has been opened up wide

causing me to lose all control of my brain. I begin to feel woozy 

and terribly strange. My limbs jump about as if possessed, 

perhaps they no longer belong to me. 

My circular eyes flicker and snap into ugly 

snare drums untuned. My thick brown hair rattles

around like spinning crash cymbals close to breaking.

My ears are engulfed in fuzzy bass-lines 

humorous and light. My arms and legs now utterly foreign to me

are moved about by discordant guitar chords

that patter through the air like overweight pigeons. 

The elevated human crowd are now lost wandering

in a different sonic dimension. All of us 

smell of over-priced liquor and burnt cigarettes.

The crowd sways and splutters like swarming plankton.

Despite my feeling of being underwater I continue to 

sip my plain lemony drink in my recycled paper cup. 

Finally the band takes to the stage for their final encore,

with what little energy they have left to give. 

After a time the lights switch on abruptly ruining 

the show, it's playful illusion broken in two.

Immediately everyone is reduced to scurrying ants. 

Foraging for Money

My hands dug through the snow looking for money 
We wanted our due and thought it not funny 
That some fool had left our cash buried in ice 
Without our modest wages we could only eat rice 
The men despaired doubting their pays existence 
I remained calm awaiting my crews enrichment  
For under a gnarled tree in a frozen forest
Were thousands of dollars fulfilling my promise  
So I dug up the folding without a second glance
Then preceded to wave the money about like a silly fan
The others crowded around and the loud roaring began 
Our pockets transformed our spirits blurred drunk   
We burned through cash faster than our ship would be sunk  

Desperation

Desperation had brought us all together. We had similar motivations for why we did what we had to do. 
Some of us had no job prospects, others needed more money for family, while others simply wanted a 

break from the languishing monotony of life. We did the jobs no one else wanted to do or ever thought of taking 

up. We were specialists in mopping up spilled milk and tying up loose ends. The higher the stakes were 

the more we charged. Overwhelming odds simply made us laugh. Of our small squad of five I was 

tasked with overseeing all the operations we took on trying to bring about the best outcome for all. 

Nothing compared to making away with the drugs and money and cashing them in for flowing riches.

We didn't like breaking the law none of us did but we needed more than a life offered under the law.

Living hand to mouth in one of the most expensive cities in the world was enough to break a man's spirits.

A complete lack of security, not being able to supply the bare necessities, struggling to pay the rent 

had made us monsters, lions, death machines that stalked the streets lurked in shadows and enforced 

secret codes the average citizen never knew existed. We lived in the grey zone between heaven and hell.

Only the Brave Look Inside

What are you running from and do you have any real hope
Of out running it 

why not be brave stand tall and slay the murky inner demons that congregate in your foolish thoughts at night 

Haven't you heard the glistening sword of clarity is the greatest gift you can give to oneself 

so weld it high like a double edged long sword and cut down the approaching enemy of negative emotion that persist in your head

In the deep recesses of your mind they are begging to be released set free and laid to rest in a bloody grave 

Once restored set out on a quest of any magnitude for however long it takes you be the judge but make sure to gather up a handful of friends that glisten brighter than rare freshly cut gem stones 

Also be careful not to drink to much in the depths of your sorrows only partake of rich wine to heighten your natural inclination toward ecstasy 

Have no fear when travelling over distant lands were danger often lurches hidden in the garb of poverty 

Laugh at the blandness of existence while cherishing the exotic vision of nature 

But always remember the only place that truly matters is inside you

Powerless as a bee dies

I saw the worst thing today
A trapped bumblebee slowly
eaten alive

The poor thing was lost looking
For an open window to escape
Into warm air

Instead it crashed against a musty
windowpane knocking itself unconscious
spelling out its own doom

The bees golden black body
Ricochet downward across the room
into a heavy drapery of silken cobwebs
spun by a menacing spider a waiting silent killer

I thought i saw the eight legged monster bounce up with glee
before letting the bee tire itself out completely
in woven webs ten times stronger than human concrete

I'm also ashamed to say that the bee was not the only one
that lay paralysed in the room I too was glued to the lounge chair
once in leisure now writhing in unabashed terror

I desperately wanted to grab a broom and shove it into the webs
saving the young bees life in the bloom of its youth
but worried I would only do more harm than good

Now I can't bare to look at that window again in case
I see the bees slender body drained of all life
a mere husk of the beautiful flying creature it once was

It was so happy and free before being murdered

All I can do now is erase and destroy all the webs
around my house to negate my sullen conscious
as a small token in homage to that fair bees life  extinguished

Only now have I come to realise how an innocent life can be lost
by my own inability to keep my house in order and free from vagabonds
lurking upon dirty windowsills

My heart will shatter like stained glass flung from the heights of heavens window

A Poem for my Mother - 'Drunk with Grief"

Gym Time!

I recently joined the gym which is great as I'm not really drinking so its good to get some kicks some how. Whenever I go to the gym most days I think of Bukowski and how he would've liked going to such a place and all the things he could have written about it, Hemingway too. Yet these two writers were more interested in getting blind drunk, gambling on horses and deep sea fishing and bull fighting (all great options laughs). However, what both authors stressed simmilarly was the neccesisty to have an expert knowledge of whatever subject you write about and love what you choose to write about more than anything else or something that consumes your life, like work and leisure.

Some days I walk into the gym with that underlining feeling of getting ready to put my body to a brutal test. Endorphins and adrenaline flood my body before I've even start working out. Just standing in the air-conditioned room is a beautiful experience. A gym is really a room of self-improvement that is a unique thing in our modern society. It's also a nice change from gigs and bars and things that can be rather destructive. As I look around the modest room I see other athletes, woman, men young  and even elderly citizens pumping iron thrashing treadmills all with the aim of staying fit and having a good time in a sort of masochistic sense haha.

I choose to sign up to the YMCA and not some poncey Les Mills where i've heard they have beautiful machine, stringent contracts and and a plethora of uptight people working out constantly sneering being rude like corporate yuppies have a tendency towards. I have to tell you there is something rather demoralising about working out and having some steroid induced hulk like figure lifting about a bajillion kilos next to you while your slumming on the neophyte levels of about 15-20 kilos on your machine laughs. If you want to humble the ego just sign up to the gym and be prepared to fall to the bottom of the food chain like a piece of plankton. Thankfully when you join up with a kind community orientated gym their are people of all shapes and sizes working out. You have people really overweight doing their best to slim down and become more healthier and they are a real inspiration to me. I think if you're struggling with your weight you should be allowed to go to the gym for free. In Japan I believe it's actually illegal to be fat haha imagine that the state watching your waistline, thats a worry.

One time it was rather funny, there was a rather fat man who though rather large looked strong and was trying to lose some pounds. That in itself wasn't memorable, it was the fact that he was working out with his girlfriend or wife and to encourage him doing his sporadic reps on the leg machine she had positioned a box in front of his machine and was doing squats in front of him for an added bit of encouragement which made me laugh inside and slightly envious haha. The irony was also the fact that the girlfriend was fit as a fiddle which made the situation even more absurd than it should have been. I could also tell the man's heart wasn't really pumped about getting fit. He had that sort of lazy personality and seemed to be feeling the pressure and being slightly forced into working out, maybe as means not to lose his girlfriend! There was no sign from his that he was aiming to improve his health of his own accord, obviously I could be very wrong. Regardless of motivation the man reminded me of Aristotelian virtue ethics and how one should really abstain from doing the right thing if you don't willingly want to do it for its own sake. One should love the means not the end as one becomes virtuous and lives a better happy life. If you don't like working out don't do it, as this opens the door in the future for actually really wanting to work out!

I also stumbled across a great quote from Aristotle that said; 'people of a virtuous disposition and character are not usually subjected to great change over the course of ones life' (paraphrased).         So if you are are a good person and fall into bad ways or problems, usually you can dig deep within yourself and find the good person your bedrock and rebuild yourself in a more virtuous and happy healthier way, all you need is the will to become the beautiful person you can be,. Like fighting addiction you simply have to choose and strive towards being healthy everyday, while enjoying the process and dis-regarding the ends and whether you succeed or fail. Nietzsche also once said its the people that don't lust after the great accolades of society that in the end achieve greatness on an exceptional scale and not the ones who want things for shallow or empty reasons like fame, money or adoration. For the vacous mentioned things in themselves are not enough to motivate one to become virtuous and strive for human perfection and self-improvement. True selfishness can produce remarkable things but perhaps nothing of real lasting value or merit "The gifted people are not given something, the opposite is true of them that have something to give back to everyone".

An Alternative Ending to Eugene Onegin

Torn in two Onegin wept giant tears 

Rejected by the woman who loved him for years 

His great blunder to spurn young love

Grasping Olga's waist oh what did he think of

Now his sweet Tatyana bid him goodbye 

While he fought of great fears to give up and die 

Alone in his bed he seethed with self-hatred 

Soon his depression turned to great fits unsated 

With his trusty pistol, he shot great holes in the walls 

In deep despair, he fell into a succession of pitfalls 

Then a maniac idea ran through his burning chest 

To storm the castle and challenge the general blessed

So, he threw away his sadness to draft a scarlet letter 

To die in the name of love he could think of nothing better

(continued)

Mosquitos fly over me like lethal dive-bombers
I'm the moving target
Their aim is deadly accurate
Aiming for the prime targets of my fleshy legs or arms full of rich addictive blood
My saving grace is their loud humming 
That gives away their precarious position like a snapped twig ringing out eliminating silence
Methodically i squash the flying insects with their transparent flimsy wings A well placed swat almost collides causing a concussed bug to fall to the ground
Faster than a spitfire shot down behind enemy lines
Only with the power to end this miniscule life and cause him to go tumbling into the next
Does my conscious attack me like friendly fire
Ashamed I pray for his recovery and future pilgrimage of blood that is less sweet than mine

My first introduction to the work of Byron - 'She Walks in Beauty'

According to wikipedia Byron the poet/writer was the first rock star celeb.
Apparently the public of his time suffered from Byronmania haha.
His name at birth was George Gordon Byron. He arrived on the
22 January 1788 in London, England. All I know is this man could write. 
Check out one of his most famous poems below that he wrote about his 
cousins widow dressed in black while attending a fancy ball.
Apparently Nietzsche was also a fan of Byron and his idea of the superman
stems from Byron and his byronic hero that figures heavily in his written works.

Gasping for Oxygen

It's such a shame she didn't say yes 
Melancholy waves of sadness rolled over me
The pretty girl with blue eyes went on staring blankly into the computer screen 
I asked her out to no avail although we chatted 

She said she didn't like boat parties 
they just weren't her thing 
oh well another polite rejection 

when I looked up deep into her eyes 
I saw she was almost tempted to say yes 
to take a chance on a menace of a man
i would've been so happy if she did 
you know say yes 

But in the end she didn't 
i quickly excused myself 
so i could hyperventilate in private 
in the library bathroom before regaining my composure 
and the remnants of my self-esteem

Thankfully I didn't feel to bad, happy even!

Try as I may and i did try i couldn't for the life of me
wrestle the beloved from the lofty windswept heights of adoration 
I thought how lonely it must be for her 
Up so high looking down on us mere mortals 
with our creaking limbs and flawed personalities 

I decided to go for a walk to shake 
off my feelings of mild despair and existential angst 
Not long into my pointless wandering 
I felt deeply depressed 
It wasn't the girls fault she was ever so tender at saying
No... to me     It was just my natural dissposition 
In a way I was glad I wouldn't have to inflict myself on her
Like a mad juggler grasping at straws to entertain her on a mad tug boat 
what a bloody disaster of a thought

Perhaps why it stung so badly but only for mere seconds was 
because it felt like my very spirit not to mention my decrepit body
had been weighed, judged and simply dismissed as superflourous 
With the ease of a seasoned bureaucrat she continued typing 
after our exchange

While I gasped for oxygen in a room with no sound
Then quickly resolved to buy some new sandals 
To take my mind off my triumphant failure 
As my feet sometimes do get sweaty laughs
Anyway at least I wasn't a coward or lacking a man's backbone 
And she was so close to saying yes I could feel it 
on the tip of her serpents tongue 
I would've died of happiness 
had she uttered those sweet perfumed words 

As i left her in peace to continue the secure monotony of her work 
marketing or something rather boring 
She flicked her hair out with both hands
I laughed to myself perhaps I disgusted her 
Oh how the lover usually has that sort of feeling on the beloved 

Merk at the Winecellar - 2017

                                                         Photo by Josh Yongy


My friend and I rolled up late to the gig at the Winecellar. We paid our door charge and then quickly a young man scribbled the name of a band on each of our hands. I was labelled a Bozo laughs. My friend Azriel and I bounded through the narrow doorway and then crashed to a halt drinks in hand as the sweaty tall crowd barred most of the gig we came to see. People were crammed into nooks and crannies filling up the newly renovated room of the wine cellar.    
                                            
A nostalgic pang nudged me forward as I realised for all intents and purposes that this winecellar before my eyes was not the original but a simulacrum or version 2.0. Long gone were the mouldy couches and decrepit furnishings even the ceiling of the venue seemed to slouch less like an old fat mans tummy who has discovered the virtues of a good trusty belt to keep his overflowing gut under wraps. I also hazily seemed to recall carpets in winecellar but that could be mind playing tricks on me. Whatever it is this new place seemed considerably less homely and instead more vibrant and awake ready built for gigs and entertainment of a less sleepy nature. For to be fair in the past there were a lot more acoustic gigs in the previous reincarnation of the wine cellar.  But now it seemed the midnight country crooners had fell out of favour and instead bands reigned supreme which is all good in my book. 

Getting back to why I was even there for I cast my vision to the centre of the stage at the far end of the room where I spotted Merk on guitar, Fazerdaze on bass, someone who I think is Neil Finn's younger son on drums (although I could be completely wrong) and a curly headed man with fingers dancing up and down millions of piano keys. The ramshackle bunch of musicians were all silhouetted on stage by cheap manual overhead projectors, the ones with lightbulbs inside them that they use to use at school when I was in primary. Like before the invention of computers as we know them laughs. Huddled round the projector were two girls with dark hair who looked rather tall pouring cooking oil on a see-through plastic tray and scraping it around with a piece of plastic so they could make funny shapes and textures that were in turn lashed onto the barren walls by the two projectors creating instant mind-bending ambiance. 

With all this going on Merk's music seemed to come alive as did the whole band who were all laughing and grinning as they jumped from one song to the next with the odd bit of banter in-between. What I really like about the sound of the music set was firstly the tone of the drums which sounded excellent and larger than life in many parts due to the expert talent of the metronomic drummer. Indeed the band as a whole all seemed very precise and well rehearsed making it a pleasure to listen too. The bass guitar played by Amelia was like a chunky fat little child struggling to be pushed up a great big hill by a petite mother gripping onto her wayward pram for dear life. While Merk pounced around like a black panther in the middle of the stage overflowing with equal measures of happiness (that comes from within from what I have read) and joy (that comes from without or outside). 

It was fun to see the bands ringleader dash from instrument to instrument smiling and laughing with a theatrical jib or joke thrown in to catch the baited audience off guard. One of the most memorable parts of the show for me was when Merk looked to be standing high up on something maybe a box playing a simple yet eye watering guitar lead in a crashing crescendo of a song while simultaneously looking around the crowded room with piercing eyes. To me it looked like he was trying to ascertain whether anyone was aware of how simple and easy what he was playing on the guitar was to play. And perhaps if given half a minute any one from the audience would've been able to play what he was doing and usurp him. Then again I could be completely wrong and he could've just been struggling for air and hot up on stage while nearing the end of his set.

My favourite highlight from the show in hindsight was when Merk and his band collaborated with the crowd at the wine cellar choosing a chord structure by throwing jacky sacks into hoops or trash cans or something to that affect. With the chords on the wall I think he pulled up some lyrics and recited them over the music, but maybe he came up with them on the spot I'm not sure? Anyway I really enjoyed the song this song that was sweet and crusiey that Az and I were loosely a part of helping create. After the jingly song ended Merk was gracious enough to state to all of us in attendance             "that everyone will be getting a fair-share of the Apra royalties from that song!" laughs.

https://www.facebook.com/merkscoolsongs

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

Some quotes I found earlier in the day:

Love – By a wildly misunderstood although highly desirable malfunction of the heart which weakens the brain, causes eyes to sparkle, cheeks to glow, blood pressure to rise and the lips to pucker. – By Author Unknown

The very first person you think about when you wake up that’s who your heart belongs to.

Love is like an hour glass, with the heart filling up as the brain empties. – By Jules Renord

Love is metaphysical gravity. – By R. Buckminster Fuller

Love is when you can be your true self with someone, and you only want to be

Love unlocks doors and opens windows that weren’t even there before. – By Mignon McLaughlin, The 

Second Neurotic’s Notebook, 1966

A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous. – By Ingrid Bergman

Absence diminishes small loves and increases great ones, as the wind blows out the candle and fans the bonfire. – By Francois Duc de La Rochefoucauld

You have touched my heart in so many ways with your gentle tenderness, I am lost forever in your love. – By Shae Lynn

Without Valentine’s Day, February would be… well, January. – By Jim Gaffigan

A Russian Novel in Verse - Eugene Onegin

A painting of Eugene Onegin from Pushkin's novel in verse one of the most famous works of Russian literature. Eugene above slandered love and hurt sweet Tatyana a woman late to be married who patiently waited for the love of her life to arrive. For time she was convinced Eugene was the one. In the end being an aristocrat she was forced to marry and found happiness of a kind with and older loving husband. Eugene by contrast was eventually shrugged off by Tatyana the woman who at one time had loved him madly to which he detested her passion. It was only much later in life that he came to see Tatyana's vibrant and unique character becoming deeply infatuated by her in the Russian city of Moscow. In the end Eugene was forced to live a lonely and itinerant life desperately trying to outrun his inner demons. Scholars believe the character Eugene symbolises a westernised Russia that inevitably falls into decay producing nothing of worth. Tatyana by contrast is the inward looking Russian figure and nation. She reaffirms her connection with rural and then civic life by looking inward into herself in an act of self-mastery instead of wandering around helplessly for help or guidance from others in the world. The story is a metaphor for how everyone should embrace their past before moving onto conqueror and confront oneself to achieve lasting happiness.

Captain wears shorts to a Nightclub - Friday Night Escapades

After being denied entry into Roxy club because Abhinaw was wearing shorts, finding the last open bathroom for Kims before he wet his pants at Sals pizza, Anniruth busting his ankle on the dance floor at Havana Joes, Boomin trying to emotionally blackmail into drinking his last Woodstock on Queen street and to top it all of being forced to attend a gig by myself at Casette 9 because the guys would under no circumstances pay a door charge hahaha not inspite of but because of all these crazy things we had a very fun and memorable night on the town in Auckland! 

How a Gazelle Escaped the Jaws of an Inept Lion

God I screwed up and it’s the worst feeling. But sometimes you have to embrace your failures and not beat yourself up. I’ll tell you exactly what happened if you’re bored and want to escape the drudgery of your life. I’d headed into town to study at the local University. For some reason I changed places mixing it up from where I usually holed up to study. I guess I just wasn’t feeling the overcrowded humdrum of Auckland’s general library. That’s when I peered through a dirty window pane and what did I see but the most beautiful blonde headed woman you have ever seen. Her hair was the striking type of blonde you couldn’t buy off a poorly stocked supermarket shelf, she must’ve had roots in a Scandinavian country. As if guided like a puppet on a string devoid of free will I flew around the corner and took up a new residence in the new study room I had neglected all year. I set up a makeshift camp a few desks down from her trying to stealthy meld into the grey desk in front of me. 

There was not a distinguishing sound to be heard in the silent study room. Well except for my young heart drumming away at 180 bpm outside my body. It was as if my whole body groaned in worship at the feet of this flawless feminine figure. I was overcome and lost in crashing waves of love, desperately trying to swim toward solid land. However, as soon as my feet touched the soft sand of normality my vision became impaired as all I could see was perfectly tanned skin. In my watery delirium I had failed to realize the Scandinavian nymph had taken off her grey greenish blue hand knitted jersey exposing her toned rail thin dreamlike arms with a sprinkling of light freckles to my surprise. Having been cursed with a million freckles myself the speckled quality of her skin was almost too much. If anything I imagined she could understand me more. Her top was a light peach colour and her bra from what I saw was encrusted with lace while on her feet were pink laced purple sneakers worn from copious amounts of exercise. I almost don’t want to mention it but her glutus maximus was tightly clutched in black unbranded yoga pants. The way she also sat on her chair heavily accentuated the womanly curve of her hips and fullness of her ample rump. Blaring blue tie-die eyes shone forth from her head complimented by kind and caring features of nose and mouth that spoke of a rare and caring nature. All up the mere sight of such a woman could turn any man’s blood to boil without end perhaps even overcoming death itself. Even if the lowest fool locked eyes on this rare emerald diligently studying they would have diverted their eyes in fear. The great Michelangelo himself would have most certainly failed to carve her likeness into the finest of marble rock, the gods themselves being angered at such an act of hubris.

After recovering all of my senses like Perseus stoned before the treachery of Medusa I gathered all my wits and cunning education at my disposal and with Athena goddess of wisdom helping hand I drafted a fatal note to take this great beast down. Note in hand as she was leaving the room I earnestly prepared to attack and give this she-devil my note laced with poison and charms. However, instead of working the note recoiled in my hand sticking to my palm and burning my sensitive skin. In an instant my prey raced past me untouched and unhindered. Despair washed over me as I valiantly tried to fight the feeling that I was way out of my league. My comfort zone was lost in the land of the living while I teetered on the edge of distant realms where mortal and gods mingle and meet. To recover my spirits and return to the land of the living a retired and rekindled my body with a brief and light meal of cheese and bread, in which 'all enjoyed an equal share' although I ate alone. 

My self-respect, ego, masculinity all were bruised and damaged. I then rationalized to myself that the Gods may have sent me a blessing for surely the note was destined for disaster and not inevitable victory. How could a mortal a man ensnare the intoxicating image of Aphrodite herself with a hastily written note in a foreign mortal language? I then recalled a past calamity that had beset myself under similar circumstances. Years ago I had the arrogant audacity to hand deliver a cat card of all items to a woman. At the time it sounded and felt like a brilliant idea with a bulletproof chance of success. Oh how wrong I had been! As the girl who I had offered my entreaties of passion would turn and stare and mock me with her eyes and whisper hurtful comments to friends under her breath about me. If one could hate a woman this other woman I despised because I still desired her. Despite the fact that the cat-card woman had the most painful voice that made the high-pitched sound of nails scratching down a chalkboard sound appealing. I thought it rather funny how I would see her who had had jilted me with such marked satisfaction every now and then between large intervals at university. Evidenced by her face many years later she still found my failure a memorable episode worth remembering causing her to fall into uncontrollable fits of laughter as i walked past her. 

Thankfully many moons ago I had made the decision that it was better to remembered while incurring the burden of failure than being quickly forgotten without memory. However, this whole bad re-run had me smarter and less inclined to wander into the dangerous line of fire ill prepared. Still compared to the cat-card woman I came out by far the victor in the long run as puzzling it would’ve seemed to me at the time. This was due to the fact her boyfriend looked like under educated Gorilla who was obviously dim-witted and remarkably stupid. Even if it was to my own annoyance that the girl wedded to this monster still induced feelings of admiration and love in me at the mere sight of her complexion. I wonder if she ever realized how much more I could have loved her, how our souls may have danced together in a flaming celebration of existence, endless cat-cards raining down from the sky.

After recuperating after my meal I returned to my seat in the ornate study room. To my surprise the blonde girl was still to my side not far from me. To my unabashed surprise she even cast her eyes upon me looking at me with unnerving desire. I mentally slapped myself for not washing my hair that day. How I prayed to the God that the petite blonde was not just quizzically looking at my unkempt hair. To my dismay I hesitated in giving the blonde my note but knew it was a rather crap idea to win a woman of such quality with so little effort, it was utter madness, plus I preferred a long and drawn out hunt, and it was never a good idea to ruin your chances as soon as the quarry had been spotted in a murky concrete jungle. This didn’t stop me racing after her as she left the room. Thankfully I thought it best to let this jumping gazelle enjoy another day of life. This inept hunter of a lion was quite happy to try again, or even meet the same prey under more favourable conditions which just so happened to occur as fate would have it. Indeed the sparkling dragon would be slayed eventually.

Why are adult love relationships so hard?

Why are adult love relationships so hard?

I think they are hard because they are dependent
on virtue to have a long-lasting and fulfilling one.
Aristotle himself believed that only when two virtuous
people meet can they have a successful and happy
relationship, this is true of love and friendship.

What then follows from this finding is that virtue although
in off itself a great good, also delivers a pivotal end being 
long-lasting and happy relationships for human beings.
This in many ways accounts for why the virtuous flourish
and achieve eudiamonia, while others don’t.

If Aristotle is correct the core reason for having a relationship
will be not to enjoy anothers wealth or good looks but to share
in each others virtues and increase our virtue and our partner theirs
from our shared contact and connection.

So it seems like flowers that never flourish and bloom in isolation, 

humanity also needs friends and lovers of a virtuous nature to share life

and experience with and only through long-lasting relationships 

can the good life be achieved by virtuous people and not persons.

My heart only sings for you

My heart only sings for you 

So what on earth should I  do 
give in give up 
breakdown or shut up
and wait 
I guess I'll choose to wait 
How long will I last
I just don't know 
I guess

Until I see your rosy face 
that lightens up my dull dreary day

from countless others I've turned away
turned away turned away 
but with you with you 
I want to stay
See I know you could never love someone as dumb as me

my racing heart keeps chasing thieves

But if you oh if you you did I would forever return your affection 
even when I'm grey old and dying or at least till I'm forty years old 

Your a gal of the finest stock with nimble hair and flaring locks

Oh how much courage does a man need 
 to overcome this harsh life knock after knock
Nevermind my harmless heart falls victim everytime

Perhaps you are the one then again maybe your not 
To fill in the chipped cracks in this rotten soft spot