Rock-solid

Disclaimer from May 2018: In truth, this was written about one month after the break-up in question, so I was still very much in the frankly unreasonable "anger" phase of the five stages of grief. After posting it back then, I rightly thought the blog post was too bitter to be published publicly, so I deleted it... and now I'm posting it again for the sake of completeness, but I'd much rather no one reads it, to be perfectly honest.

I'm declassifying it as a final symbolic gesture, if you will.

******************

I don't think you'll ever end up reading this, but true to myself and my need to write my inner thoughts where I can later access and re-live them, I'm choosing to write this post anyways. It isn't a bitter post I'm writing with manly tears streaming down my ruggedly handsome, bearded face- I'm over it, and I've been over it for a while... but I won't rest until I've expressed these feelings in some form... and to be honest, I don't think I want you or anybody else to read this at all, which is why I'm not going to share this post on Facebook. I just needed to get this off my chest so that hopefully in the future if I ever feel lost or nostalgic, I'll read this and realize why things never really worked out between us.

You never loved me.

Sure, you were attracted to me. I was a shiny trophy for you to start your collection with... but let's call things what they are; it wasn't love. Call it lust, call it chemistry, call it a double cheeseburger with extra jalapenos for all I care, but don't insult love by pretending otherwise. All those memes you sent me, claiming that "you're the one" and "I want you as you are with all your flaws" etc etc... yeah, these were lies you wanted to believe. You just wanted to live a fairytale love story, and I was the idiot with a God-complex and illusions of grandeur who wanted to make your wish come true.

You stayed with me during the oxytocin-fueled first months, when you actually felt that high and got "butterflies" in your stomach every time you saw me, as you liked to call them. You stayed with me as long as you could show me off to your friends as an older, charismatic successful guy with a job who pampers and spoils you. You stayed with me while it was all googly eyes and late-night chats. 

You stayed with me while it was convenient. You stayed with me while it was easy.

But when the shine was off the apple and you had to face the ugly reality... the reality that I was actually just a man -a simple kind of man, as it were- full of flaws and doubts and fears and expectations; you couldn't handle it. You preferred to throw away what we had rather than compromise, and that to me shows that you were not ready for me or for any kind of serious relationship... because guess what? Real relationships need work. If everybody broke up with their significant other over their first fight, the entire world's population would be single. I was prepared to radically alter my career path for your sake, but you couldn't imagine making a commitment as small as a promise. Yes, towards the end I was going through depression and possibly not dealing with it in the best way; and yes I was the first to express my doubts, but I still wanted to try until the last breath, and that's the difference between us. You quit. I didn't.

And that's why I'm quite positive that you didn't love me. I believe you thought you did, or that maybe you wanted to... but you didn't; because when you love someone, you can't imagine your life without them, and it takes a hell of a lot longer than two weeks or a fight for you to fall out of love and move on.

That's everything I wanted to say. Future me, please learn to be more skeptical when a girl claims that she's in love with you... at least until she proves it with her actions.

I believe we had something good. I won't insult all our happy memories by pretending we didn't... because we had some good times, and I actually did love you... and I'm not writing this to hurt you or to make you angry; this isn't some kind of petty revenge post... it's just me realizing some cold, hard truths I'd been selectively blind to. I genuinely hope you find someone whose flaws you're actually able to tolerate, but in the meantime if by some chance you should feel confused and decide to stalk my blog and happen to read this post, I want you to ask yourself, and I mean really ask yourself if 

you were ever actually in love with me... because I think our brief relationship needs real closure, not lies and cliches. 

At any rate, this is all academic. Like I said, you probably won't ever read this post, and even if you do, it's over and nothing is going to change that. I've made my peace with it, because this was completely your choice, not mine... I was perfectly clear about wanting to give it another shot, but you closed the door on that, for better or worse. 

This is the last blog post I will ever write about you; I've officially written you out of my life. Good luck; I wish you a long and happy existence with someone else.

And as always, I remain unshakable; you might even say... "rock-solid".

A Bittersweet Ending

One day,
Way in the future
As fate will have it,
We'll meet again.

I'll be a nerdy dad
Fussing over his kid's stroller...
Happily walking down the street,
My wife's arm hooked in mine.

You'll look vibrant
In a beautiful black dress;
Your make-up complimenting
The contours of your face.

And by your side
Will be someone who's merely
A shadow of me, but it's only fair;
My wife's a copy of you.

And as we draw closer
Walking our separate ways...
Our eyes will suddenly meet,
And we'll go back in time.

To when we were in love,
With not a care in the world...
We were so sure we'd make it,
But fate had other plans.

Your face will look different,
But I will still remember;
Your scent; your taste; your touch...
And the loving look in your eyes.

Those eyes will search mine
For any sign of residue;
Love, hate, lust, or pain...
Anything but indifference.

And I will find in yours,
The answer to my question;
Of whether or not you forgot...
And if I'm ever in your thoughts.

Your face will arrange itself,
In the approximation of a smile...
You'll introduce your man,
I'll introduce my wife.

And through the pleasantries,
Our eyes will still probe...
While we both try to mask,
The raging storms inside.

But then the moment's over...
And we part ways again.
It doesn't hurt this time;
We've both done it before.

And as I walk away,
You look back, but I never see it...
As I assure my wife
That you’re just somebody that I used to know.

******************

Note: the title has been changed from “Somebody That I Used To know” to “La La Land”, “Serendipity” and finally to the current title.

Eagle

Spread your wings and soar above,
Cast your shadow on terrified prey
Be it rodent or pigeon or dove,
They scurry for cover, or else they pay.

The majestic flight of winged death,
Power and pride in mortal flesh.
With every wing beat and steady breath
Spreading fear in the hearts of foes afresh

But the eagle was old and not as strong,
For time leaves a mark, even on a king
Dull talons and beak can not belong,
To the proud eagle, so he took wing.

To the mountain top, where he was purged,
The pain was such that he might die
But our friend persisted and thus emerged
Once more a king; and took to the sky.

A defiant screech shook heaven and Earth,
Terror in the hearts of lesser beasts
King of the skies, by right of birth...
The mighty eagle has been released.

*************************

Eagles are amazing creatures... everything about them is inspiring and regal, but perhaps none more so than the fact that old eagles tend to pluck out their own feathers and break their own beaks and talons in order to sharpen them. It has always fascinated me that eagles can subject themselves to such pain rather than live as shadows of their former selves... or it would, if any of it were true. Eagles don't in fact do any of these things; this has been a long-standing myth popularized by motivational speakers which has absolutely no basis in reality. However, it serves the themes of rebirth and pride very well... also, it gives me a good excuse to be an insufferable know-it-all. Anyway, your suspension of disbelief would be appreciated.

The Center Didn't Hold.

Been a while hasn't it? Miss me yet? I'd always suspected that unhappiness is what triggers my creativity, and since I hadn't been truly "happy" in years, it had been a difficult claim to verify... but now after a brief interlude, I have a refreshing gust of miserable tailwinds in my sails and I can confirm that theory.

Right, so this blog post is very different; it's a song I've been working on since November... well, putting off since November. For better or worse, it's an almost 100% personal effort; I wrote the lyrics and wrote, played, recorded and edited literally all the instruments... and just FYI, I used a very low quality amplifier (a 10W LTD amp for any guitarists reading this) and my laptop's voice recorder to make all the recordings... and I can't stress how difficult the editing was as well, especially since this was my first time.

For everyone who's not that familiar with editing or how music is recorded in general; usually each track is recorded separately (guitar, drums, bass, vocals, etc.) and then compiled and glued together on editing software. The agony of listening to the song over and over to make sure all the instruments were in sync and re-recording some of the tracks tens of times because of a small mistake here or there is one that will likely keep me up at night for days in the future with this song stuck on repeat in my head like elevator music in my own personal hell.

The point I'm trying to make here is that the quality is not perfect, but a) this was more of a proof of concept to prove to myself that I'm an actual musician -so I had to forego superior quality for the sake of doing everything myself- and b) it's the best I could produce under the very strict $0 budget I've allocated for this project... so go easy on a busy corporate musician who barely has an hour or two to work on this stuff every day.

Anyway, now that I've lowered your expectations as much as humanly possible and hopefully shamed the trolls away, the link to the song is below, and you can see the lyrics below as well. Little did I know when I wrote them 6 months ago that they would prove to be eerily prophetic.

https://soundcloud.com/mahmoud-bondok-149713244/the-endless-loop

Before I leave you, allow me to give a shout out to Mona Bassel, whose angelic voice made this whole project possible and who is the only reason why the few of you who are going to actually listen to the whole song won't attempt a very messy suicide to escape the agonizing torture that is my voice. I also can't forget Mohamed Abo Hussein and Yehia El Sherbini, who provided helpful artistic suggestions along the way and whose feedback -while brutal at times- was invaluable.

And finally, don't try to decipher the title... it might not seem to have anything to do with the song, but trust me, it does.

****************

The Endless Loop

 <Verse 1>

She Woke up in the morning

Feeling sad & drained

Must have dreamt of him again last night

Like she does almost every night

Barely drags herself out of bed

Trying very hard not to think about him

Looks at her phone one more time

But she won’t be the first to break

<Chorus>

She will not be the one...

Who will beg for his love.

If he wants her at all,

He’ll be the one to call.

Deep down she knows he cares...

He will come crawling back.

All she can do is wait...

All she can do is hope.

<Verse 2>

Busy day at his work

But all he does is think about her

Her smile lights up his day

Her laugh is the music of his life

He can’t take this anymore

Looks at his phone one more time

But he’s too proud to ask twice

He will never be the first to break

<Chorus>

He will not be the one;

The one she will ignore...

The one that she’ll forget...

She’ll be the one to call.

Deep down he knows she cares...

She will come crawling back.

All he can do is wait...

All he can do is hope.

  

<Outro>

She will not be the one...

Who will beg for his love.

If he wants her at all,

He’ll be the one to call.

Deep down she knows he cares...

He will come crawling back.

All she can do is wait...

All she can do is hope.

 He will not be the one;

The one she will ignore...

The one that she’ll forget...

She’ll be the one to call.

Deep down he knows she cares...

She will come crawling back.

All he can do is wait...

All he can do is hope.

Yo ho, yo ho, The Sidekick Life For Me!

It's never easy being a sidekick.

Tales are sung of heroes, not of their faithful companions...

How many times has the brilliant Dr. Watson been sidelined by Mr. Holmes? 

How many people hated Ron Weasley in Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire when he tried breaking away from Harry's orbit?

How many times were Samuel Gamgee's motivations and sexual orientation questioned because he was true to his friend Frodo?

It is truly a thankless job, and isn't it ironic how every one of those sidekicks is infinitely more interesting than the main protagonist?

Isn't Jon Snow all the more relatable because he started off as a sidekick?

Being overshadowed makes one grow, like a tree branch growing ever longer, eventually poking out triumphantly from underneath the shadow and into the beautiful, bright sunlight.

Instead of being handed things on a silver platter, a sidekick develops themselves and works hard to earn their place in the sun.

Sidekicks are excellent, faithful friends. They never complain or waver in their support. They are always there for the hero through thick and thin. They graciously accept living behind the curtain; to support their friend and help them grow too... but here's the plot twist;

Because sidekicks have to work so hard all the time, they grow up to be much more likable than the hero... because while the hero just needs to smile and charm, the sidekick has to learn to be diplomatic at times, tough at times, caring at times, and sometimes a little vengeful. They're also usually the comic relief in most stories, so you can bet that they're funny too.

Sidekicks are always humble; never egotistic; never narcissistic... always there to offer a helping hand and a reassuring smile.

And you ask why I prefer sidekicks?

Because they give and they give and they expect nothing back.
Because they never flinch from their duty or grow to resent the hero.
Because they know how to put someone else's needs before their own.
Because they know how to be selfless and how to love unconditionally.

And when that sidekick's tree branch finally finds the sun,

Oh, how they glow!

***************************************************

The reason I'm writing this is a girl
More beautiful than she knows, both inside and out.
She seems to thinks she's still a sidekick...
But she has unknowingly already claimed her place in the sun
And overshadowed the hero and the whole tree, in my book.

You know who you are.

Whiskey Lullaby

"Next round's on me, guys" Jared said, already heading towards the bar counter.
"Damn right it is, bitch... last round you got us was back in our freshman year" Quipped Sam with a smirk.
"Oh, blow me" Replied Jared irritably.
"Don't mind if I do" said Emily with a sly wink to a chorus of rowdy hoots and catcalls...

It was going to be a good summer.

After weeks of all-nighters and a strict Ramen noodles and Redbull diet, finals week was over and he was finally looking at a full 3 months of non-stop partying and gaming without a constant feeling of guilt because he wasn't studying for an exam or writing a paper for a course... and to kick it off, Jared and his friends had decided to get some drinks at their usual bar. Curiously enough, although their original plan was to get completely hammered and wake up with vicious hangovers and no memory of the night before, when they'd reached the bar they realized that they were far too tired for hard liquor and instead decided on having a few beers and turning in early. They had the whole summer, after all... there was no rush.

It being a Tuesday evening, the bar was almost empty. As far as he could see, there were only two men at the pool table; a kissy couple who seemed to be transitioning from second to third base and a fidgety middle-aged blonde woman who seemed to be nervously waiting for someone but who kept stealing glances at a well-dressed man sitting alone by the bar; whose formal attire made it seem oddly obscene that he should be drinking on a Tuesday night rather than sitting at a negotiating table somewhere, or shouting at a subordinate or poor person.

The bartender was a pretty girl who looked to be in her early 20s. Her wavy brown hair cascaded elegantly in an artful tumble over her collarbone and down almost to her tiny waist, and her black, low-cut tank top emphasized firm, shapely breasts which he couldn't help noticing even in the dim yellow light. He briefly considered flirting with her until he noticed that her green eyes were fixed on the same young man at the bar, almost as if she were trying to catch his eye. As he drew close, she shifted her gaze to him with a forced smile.

"Hi, what can I get you?"

"I'd like 4 Coronas, 2 Blue Moons and a Guinness, please"

"Coming right up!"

As she went to get the beers, he started fumbling for his wallet but he couldn't find it, and after several seconds of vigorously frisking himself he was forced to accept that maybe he'd left it in his jacket pocket back at their table. The handsome young man was looking at him, his eyes twinkling with dry amusement.

"Lost your wallet somewhere?" He asked with a smile. If he'd had to guess his age, Jared would have guessed mid to late 20s.

"I must have left it back at the table" Jared replied with an exasperated shake of his head. "I'll go get it". He was turning back when he heard the man say "don't worry about it, I've got this- hey sweetie, put it on my tab"

He imagined a bartender as pretty as her must hear similar comments all the time, so he expected her to snap back at the man or at the very least give him a cold look... but what he didn't expect was that the girl would blush bright pink and murmur "sure!" while twirling her hair. Damn, that guy was good! All the same, he wasn't about to lose a gallantry fight in front of the girl, so he had to at least try to turn the man down.

"I can't accept this- hang on, I'll get my wallet" He said aloud, but making no move back towards his table.

"Don't worry about it, man. Enjoy!" He said, raising his scotch glass in a toasting gesture.

"I swear I have money, there's no need! I'll run back and get it" Jared said, inwardly hoping he'd insist. Money was tight and free beer was free beer.

"I'll tell you what, have a drink with me and we're even. Fair enough?"

Jared was checking out the bartender again who was still staring at the man and evidently in the midst of a wild 50 shades of grey-esque fantasy. Any man who could do that to a girl that pretty deserved a drinking partner.

"Deal. I'll just go give these beers to the guys and be right back"

He took the beers to their table, and after a quick "be right back", he went back to the man who seemed unusually interested in the wall opposite his face in spite of the bartender's obvious interest in him.

"Dude this girl is into you, you should ask for her number" Jared murmured to the man as he seated himself on the stool next to him.

The man replied "Not interested" with a bored, dismissive yawn.

It figures, Jared thought. Someone like him probably got all the girls he wanted without even trying. Everything about him screamed "rich"; his black suit was visibly expensive and obviously tailored since it seemed to perfectly complement his tall frame and muscular build, and he didn't even want to think how much his golden Rolex must have cost. Even his face had an air of regal nobility about it; from his slicked and side swept black hair to his tightly cropped reddish brown beard which emphasized his square jaw and prominent jawline. His cheekbones were so high they jutted out from directly under his sparkling blue eyes, and his teeth were so white and perfect they made Jared's look like he'd just walked out of a boxing match with Mike Tyson.

"So how come you're here on a Tuesday night? Don't you have work tomorrow or something?" Jared asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

The man gave him a warm smile that didn't quite reach his sad blue eyes. "I'm celebrating! It's the seven year anniversary of my marriage"

"Oh, you're married! I'd have never thought... so your wife is here?"

"No we've always had this tradition where I'd get drunk and go home late after she'd gone to bed"

"I see. Trouble at home, Mr. ...?"

"Ted" Answered the man, extending his hand and curtly shaking Jared's. His grip was firm and business-like.

"Jared"

"Nice to meet you, Jared... and yes, I'm not exactly on great terms with my wife"

"What happened?"

A pained expression flashed across Ted's face for a split second, only to vanish without a trace as it returned to its previous look of bored elegance. He gestured for the bartender to bring him another scotch as he pondered the question, evidently having an inner struggle of some sort.

"Sure you want to hear this?" Asked Ted, his gaze still fixed on the wall in front of him.

Jared was almost sure he did not. He felt like he was intruding on the man's private moment, but Ted clearly needed to talk to someone and it didn't seem right that he should leave him. Besides, he had paid for the beers... Jared was in his debt.

"I'm all ears" Jared replied dutifully.

Ted didn't respond at once. He didn't look at all like he wanted to talk about it either, but after a few awkward seconds had passed he reluctantly muttered "she cheated on me".

The silence stretched on for what seemed like years. Jared knew he had to say something, but how do you console a half-drunk man whose name you'd only learned a few minutes ago? He was just about to make some sympathetic noises when Ted continued in a flat voice:

"I love her. I really do... that's what hurts, Jared. I gave her everything she wanted, everything I had, everything I am... but it wasn't enough for her. I love her, and she cheated on me, and I still love her, and isn't that just pathetic?" His speech was slurred, but he spoke in a matter-of-fact voice, like he'd had sufficient time to process her betrayal. Jared guessed it must have happened quite some time ago.

"How long ago?" Jared asked as Ted emptied another scotch glass in one gulp and asked for another.

"Months, years, decades... who cares? The important part is that it happened... and you know? I used to blame myself. Doesn't that just make you want to punch me in the face? She cheated on me, and the first thing I thought of was that it was somehow my fault. But you know what? It really wasn't. I was right there with her through thick and thin. I remembered all the events and the anniversaries, I spoiled her with gifts and traveled everywhere with her, I wrote songs about her, I nursed her back to health when she got sick, I turned down a great job offer to stay in town because she didn't want to move. Can you believe that? I lost the opportunity of my life for her sake, and the irony is that it turned out that the reason she didn't want to move was because her lover lives here. I ruined my career so she could get to cheat on me some more. How the hell is it my fault?" He finished with a sour laugh.

"Of course it's not your fault... but why are you still with her, then?" Jared asked, involuntarily empathizing with Ted and hating his wife.

Ted grunted and continued as if he hadn't heard anything:

"The next few years were tough. I didn't file for divorce, because I think a small part of me always expected us to make up eventually... but I left town. I took a job abroad and I threw myself into my career, and life was fine for a while... I made some friends, traveled the world and tried to convince myself that my random hook-ups meant that I was over her. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore and I did something I hadn't done in years- I checked her Facebook profile. It was the worst thing I could have done, Jared. She was happy. I was miserable and in all that pain, while she was dating someone else and not thinking about me at all. That was rock bottom for me, you know? I started drinking, neglecting my job... almost got myself fired. I hated myself for not being enough for her. Maybe it really was my fault... maybe I just wasn't good enough."

At that point, Ted must have had at least 5 scotches since they'd started talking... and Jared guessed he must have had a few drinks before. He caught the bartender's eye, inclined his head ever so slightly towards Ted, and then lightly shook it. The meaning was clear; no more drinks for this guy.

"Come on man, don't say that. That girl over there is practically sleeping with you in her head... your wife just didn't know what she had."

"Well she realized it later. When I saw her happy like that, I decided to be happy too. I stopped thinking about her at all. I began enjoying my life, and even started dating again. Life was looking up for me... and that was when she started trying to reach me. It was like a blitzkrieg; social media, phone calls, common friends, you name it. She even called me at work claiming to be a client once. But I was having none of it... My life was finally good again. I was over her. She could grovel after me for years but I was rock-solid... I'd show her what a grave mistake she'd made." He was so bitter, Jared could almost smell it.

"And then what happened?"

That was when a single, solitary tear rolled down Ted's face. He looked away, evidently furious with himself, wiped the tear away with a gracefully fluid motion you could have missed if you'd blinked, and continued with a completely expressionless face as if nothing had happened:

"She tried to get in touch with me for 2 whole years. Would I be a horrible person if I told you I enjoyed that? I enjoyed putting her through that pain. There, I said it. I figured she deserved it. It was my way of exacting petty revenge on her, and I think I was successful for a time. But then something terrible happened... she stopped. For a while, I pretended like I didn't care for the sake of my ego... but as weeks stretched into months, I got a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something was wrong... something was terribly wrong. When I checked her social media, her life seemed to have frozen a few months earlier. She didn't answer any of her phone numbers. For some unknown reason, I started panicking. I took the first flight home and came back to town. That was yesterday."

Jared tensed. Ted's story was approaching its climax.

"Turns out my wife had been diagnosed with late-stage cancer. She was trying to reach me for all these years because she wanted to make amends, apologize and tell me she loved me one last time... but I didn't make it in time to see her before she passed away." Ted's voice cracked as he tried to control himself. "I was so fixated on hurting her that I never heard her last words... they were screamed at me by her tearful mother at her funeral procession today, which I had barely arrived here in time for."

It suddenly made sense why Ted was wearing a black suit and drinking on a Tuesday night. Although his face was completely void of expression, tears were streaming freely into his beard now, and he made no move to wipe or hide them as Jared sat there frozen to his seat, with no idea what to say.

"You don't have to say anything, Jared. There's nothing to say. I love her, and she's gone, and we never made up. I never forgave her... never talked to her. I wanted to deny her closure... but you know what's funny? I didn't get any closure either... and now I'll have to live with this for the rest of my life. I know what she did was unforgivable, but why couldn't I have just talked to her? Why couldn't I have just ended things like an adult once and for all?"

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Jared decided to break it.

"OK, Try not to think about that now... what about all the good times? You must have been happy with her at some point, right?"

Surprisingly, Ted's lips curled upwards ever so slightly- the closest he could get to smiling, Jared guessed. "We were. It was like something out of a movie... we were inseparable. She had this thing where she was always getting super excited about things and then changing her mind about them days later -weeks if she's persistent. One day she's a painter, then she's a pianist, then she's really into football, then she's a painter again, you get the gist. I remember one time when she decided to be a cook, and tried to make us dinner. It was the worst thing I'd ever eaten in my life, somehow both under-cooked and burned at the same time- I think it was chicken, but I can't be sure. Anyway, it was only our fourth month as a married couple and I didn't want to hurt her feelings, so I tried to force it down and pretend it was delicious, and she sat there staring at me with her mouth wide open, like she couldn't believe what she was seeing... then she started laughing so hard, she fell out of her chair. Turns out she literally ruined it on purpose to see how far I'd go to pretend to like her cooking. From then on, we agreed that I'd always give her my real opinion on everything she did." Ted gave a snort. "No wonder she slept with someone else, huh?" He laughed, and Jared deemed it safe to nervously chortle along. He was starting to feel relieved that Ted seemed to be in better shape, but one look at his face told him that they were back to square one.

Ted must have read his mind.

"Nice try, Jared... I appreciate the effort, but it would take more than some nostalgia to get me over this one. This is the sort of thing that breaks you for life, there's no happy ending for me... but do me a favor, will you? You can't save me, but you can save yourself... don't make the same mistake. If there's someone you love, hold onto them as hard as you can, and when you can't hold on any longer, for the love of God, END IT or it will end you... as it did me."

Ted took out a wad of hundreds from his pocket, and drunkenly slammed them down on the counter top in front of him... it was at least twenty times more than what he'd owed.

"Thanks again for listening to me. All your drinks are on me tonight... and leave a generous tip for the bartender" Ted got up and staggered towards the door with surprising speed. Jared hurried after him, stumbling over his stool in his haste and crashing to the floor.

"Where are you going, man? You can't be alone like this!" Jared said to Ted's back as he struggled to catch up with him.

"You've done all you can, Jared. I'll be alright" Ted replied without turning around.

"At least let me call you a cab" A sense of dread took hold of him as he quickened his pace to a jog.

"They don't need cabs in hell" Ted said as he pushed himself outside the door, pulling out something from his pocket which had the gleam of metal.

Jared was running now. He had to reach the door. He had to stop him.

A few people outside the bar screamed. There was a gunshot.

He was too late.

They found a note in his pocket:

"It was all my fault"

Talent ≠ Creativity

I've wanted to discuss for a while so I'll jump right to it...

We often mistake talent for creativity, but they are two very different things. There are 3 main factors that determine any artist's success; creativity, talent and hard work... but let's disregard hard work for now because it's not the point of this post... and again, you're going to have to forgive me for the business metaphors I seem to favor more and more as I slide deeper into a career in finance, but bear with me here; a talented person is a person who is able to package their product in an attractive way which appeals to the consumer and makes them "buy" it, regardless of the content... in other words, they are the "Apple" of artists.

Picture an author who can make an international best-seller out of a middle aged housewife's sex dreams (I'm looking at you, Twilight's Stephenie Meyer); or one of the dime-a-dozen "pop-stars" -such as Justin Bieber or Rhianna- who can be reliably counted upon to create hit songs on a regular basis with lyrics a hungover 5 year old could write with their eyes closed and very basic music -if you can even call it that. In such cases, the actual content seems almost irrelevant if it's packaged well enough; Stephenie knew how to write books to appeal to a wide demographic of aging, bored housewives with unfulfilled fantasies, and Bieber's combo of genuine musical talent and boyish good looks won him massive appeal with pubescent teenage girls. However, considering their frankly disproportionate success with such embarrassingly bad content (baby, baby, baby, oh), it's fairly obvious that even though they're talented artists, they are most certainly not creative.

Creativity is completely different; creativity is getting out of bed at 3 in the morning because you just had an amazing idea for a book that you had to write down so you don't forget it come morning; creativity is when you lock yourself at home for days because you have an idea for a song in your head and you physically can't bring yourself to enjoy anything else until you've perfected it; creativity is when you can picture a beautiful scene in your mind's eye and it's all you can do to paint it before it fades away...

But here's the hiccup; talent and creativity don't always overlap. When they do, we get the greats like Jimmi Hendrix, Jimmy Page, Van Gogh, J.R.R Tolkien or Steven Spielberg; in all of these examples, the artist is both creative enough to come up with amazing ideas and talented enough to execute them perfectly and present them to us as clearly as if we could see into their mind. In such cases, humanity is blessed that these individuals had both traits aplenty... but can you imagine what would have happened if genre-defining giants like The Beatles weren't very good at playing their music and couldn't get a record deal? Their art might have never reached us and the world would have been that much darker for it.

That might have been how A Song of Ice and Fire ended up (or Game of Thrones as you might know it), if George Martin hadn't been incredibly lucky.

You see, George Martin had amazing content, but he simply isn't that good a writer. The qualities that make him such a brilliant world builder are also the same qualities that make him a mediocre writer; he can't control his thought process or guide it in a certain direction... he simply allows his mind to wander and take him where it would, which results in very vivid descriptions in his books -usually of food and sex scenes, but I digress- and all the intrigues and subplots we've grown to love so much about the series, but it also makes him lose sight of the over-arching story-line and get completely side-tracked, and left unchecked, this has resulted in what was originally supposed to be a trilogy spiraling out of control into a 3000+ page behemoth of a series that intimidates all but the most invested fans.

The point is that George Martin's mediocre talent almost cost us something as wildly popular as A Song of Ice and Fire... and he's an OK writer. What would have happened if the idea for the series had come to a construction worker of no literary talent whatsoever who just shrugged it off or tried to write it down but simply wasn't good enough a writer to do it?

Here I am finally arriving to my key message; it's truly a tragedy when creativity and talent don't coincide. All the artists on the other side of the Justin Bieber coin must endure constant frustration; the feeling of being constrained and chained down when your mind is soaring through colorful skies and realms of surreal beauty is more painful that you might imagine... like being gagged and tied down (and not the sexy kind), or wearing a strait-jacket every day of your life. You're on a boat in a vast ocean of ideas and possibilities in the midst of the raging storm that is your fury at your own limitations.

I count myself among that unlucky number. What small measure of talent I've been blessed with at writing and creating music is not nearly enough to keep up with my creativity, and it can often feel very suffocating as I try to find some way to express a thought or a feeling... and that is precisely what I wanted to direct your attention to; never confuse talent for creativity. A talented artist can swindle your senses and sell you the artistic equivalent of a fish and custard cream pie and have you asking for seconds; while an insufficiently talented creative person could be bursting at the seams with artistic genius... which you and everyone else in the world would appreciate IF ONLY YOU COULD SEE IT TOO... but sadly you never will, because they're unable to express it.

How many Stairways To Heaven and Comfortably Numbs have we lost? How many would-be Mozarts? The answer is too many.

One of humanity's greatest tragic ironies is an untapped creative mind.