Ancient City of Babylon.

So you've been hanging out every night for a couple of weeks, and you've grown to realise that you no longer just think of her as a friend, but your friendship has grown wings and become a thing where you can't deny you really care for her now.

You miss her when she's away, and you're taken aback by it, because you've known her for a long time, and never have your feelings run away from you like this before.

Normally there's electricity at the get-go.

Normally you both know when your eyes meet for the first time, that they're not all that's gonna be meeting, if you know what I'm saying (and we both know you do).

Not this state of affairs where one day, months later, you wake up and realise you love this girl, and you can finally give her what she's been asking you for all this time.

Suddenly priority number one is no longer food, but now it's making her happy.

You think about her happiness a lot, and you want to add to it, til it becomes a bonfire of happiness, and it burns away all the shit she's still dealing with from the past.

But then she's looking at photos of your friends, and you see that familiar expression, accompanied by

"Oh my fucking God! He's hot!",

and your heart freezes, and you know you're not going to cherish her any more.

You're going to shut that big door out front, and lock it again, and settle in for the winter.

You're going to ignore the banging, and the protestations, until they eventually stop, or turn into missiles.

Until she trudges home spitting piss and vinegar, and firebombs and hate mail.

It's not that I'm the jealous type.

I'm not like that at all.

But I've seen that look before, and it has always associated itself with eventual heartbreak.

So I'm going back down the Titanic/Lusitania's gangplank before we've even left port.

I know I'm no big deal, despite some of the nice things people say at times. I'm not hot really, I don't turn any heads.

I'm not the guy all the girls look at in the bar, and wish they were talking to him, as they vie for his attention.

I'm not the guy your girlfriend thinks about when she's masturbating (but do not be fooled, there is someone, and he is not you).

I'm not in anyones sexual database under 'Incredibly and undeniably hot'.

I know all this, and that's usually OK.

But when I'm confronted by that look, the look that says "Here is everything I wish you were, but I will never say it, because I'd rather settle than be alone", well...it's time to turn out the lights, and not in the good way.

She'll say I'm over-reacting, she'll get angry, and she'll say I'm just like all the others.

She'll say I'm selfish and that I never cared.

She'll swear, and she'll tell all her friends I was morosely incompetent in the bedroom.

And in between hot flushes of rage and rejection, she will ask everyone she knows the identity of my friend, and she will track him down.

Then, when she is in the same room as him, she will make her move, her move up a rung or two on the ladder of attractiveness, up the stakes of hotness, and away from averageville where I'm hanging out with Steve Buscemi, and former Secretary of State to the Clinton Administration, Madeline Allbright.

She'll go for his sexual jugular when she tracks him down, and she will rip it out if she can, in a joyful and orgasmic orgy of bloodletting and ego-realignment.

But she's going to be very dissapointed.

She will never be in the same room as my friend, because that photograph of him, was me 7 years ago, when I looked very different.

And she had no idea.

Track 8, The Black Keys- Rubber factory, originally written by Robert Pete Williams...sums it up nice.


This is knifey, from 'the internet'.