Flashback Friday: Just a kiss

Greetings Earthlings, and welcome back to Flashback Friday! – the series where we get all up in your face for not reading enough of our posts; are we not good enough for you or something, huh?

When we last left off, we were exploring the convoluted world of dating through the eyes of some of our top contributors. Today we’re taking that theme and rolling with it into the logical next step – kissing!

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Mmmmmmmouah!

Whether it’s a simple peck on the cheek, or a good old-fashioned tongue-wrestle, go out and get some!

Unless you’re new to the concept and can’t tell a pair of lips from an arsehole (or maybe that’s your thing), kissing is for everyone. Who doesn’t remember their first awkward kiss? This writer sure does, and I assure you it was most regrettable.

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Once you’ve had a bit of practice in the art form, and possibly experimented with a few other physiological pleasures of the flesh, kissing is one of those things which gives us that extra boost we need to carry on with the tedious monotony of everyday life. It’s a jolly good spot of fun too…


 

Unlike our previous editions, today we will be focusing on just one of our must-read posts:

Mr. Bright(er)side.

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Jai Reddy invites us once more into his meticulous mind of madness and misery, this time with a more tender tale of a most touching memorable moment – a kiss.

…not a snog, or a smooch, or a smack, just a kiss.

More than that though, Jai delves into his more sentimental side as his inner-demons take the night off and give him a rare glimpse of hope at the end of the lengthy tunnel of loneliness and longing.

Do me the honour of preserving this story, for stories are where memories go to die. This memory is one of the few that are felt in a sense that words alone can not express. I’ll do my best to interpret the way my fingers shake as I move through the moments or the way my heart races well and truly after the event, but, I can not promise you clarity in what I am about to say, nor even the truth. You see with any crystallized moment when the light hits it, it scatters into a million different colours. This is the last time I get to remember this moment and with these words, like a spell, this moment is going to die right here in your eyes. By reading this you are destroying it and I want to thank you for it in advance.

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Doubtless the particular individual he shared this moment with was a special one, and a keen reader may uncover clues as to her identity were they to probe through Jai’s Wolfie’s Dreams . This writer believes he already knows the answer, however it is not mine to reveal.

Jai being the unpredictable whirlpool of thoughts that he is, I have found in his writing different pieces of the overall puzzle to the man beneath the coffee-stained mug of whisky and pasta sauce, but who can truly say where the real Jai Reddy lies at the end of the rainbow?

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The Jai of today is not always the same as the Jai of tomorrow, so just what were his thoughts when he wrote this piece, and what does he think of it now in retrospect?

Well, earlier I asked Jai precisely that…

“Jai, the fuck?”


 

Hi.

Mwahahaha.

So you want the truth and nothing but the truth? The story behind the story? The inspiration? My Muse? (Well so help me God) –

“So, I met this girl, right?” aaand cut scene. That’s basically it.

I was sitting in my room one night after getting dogged by a new girl and this song came on (actually the entire album came up on my playlist):

I betcha anything this will be on the ‘goldieZ for oldieZ’ hit lists when we are 50 years old. It got me thinking. I had enough chop in my Pikachu bowl for two and ‘Designated Survivor’ lined up, but my ‘Netflix and Chill’ buddy was a no show. Lameo.

Unfortunately I was still on the comedown from constant partying, I had found some pretty neat friends after ‘the perfect girl’ dumped my ass. Unfortunately my new BFF’s liked to have a good time, all the time.

A lot of ‘unfortunate-lys’ later…

It was one of those “this is catching up to me” moments.

Things looked amazeballs on the surface and the new stories of being afraid of spiders (#Spider-stage), dark alleys and the purple man on the wall were surfacing… I was still unfortunately for the most part super miserable. So in my boredom I wrote a story (and yes it was 3AM at this stage).

So the Blow-by-blow:

Do me the honour of preserving this story, for stories are where memories go to die.

“Stories are where memories go to die  be forgotten”

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Its from Doctor Who. I LOVE Doctor Who. I must have marathoned this series so many times by now. Peter Capaldi’s Doctor never made any sense to me till my post-‘holyfuck she’s perfect’ phase but here I was hanging off the Doctors every word.

I’ll do my best to interpret the way my fingers shake as I move through the moments or the way my heart races well and truly after the event

V.

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I get the shakes from drinking too much V.

The ‘pretty girl’ that kept me company ‘post-perfect-girl’ phase was a gym junkie AND a stoner AND pretty in the classic ‘society approved’ kinda way. She used to bring me V for stoner/goss sesh’s. Caffeine rushes and anxiety attacks feel very much the same.

You see with any crystallized moment when the light hits it, it scatters into a million different colours.

The themes fit, this song inspired that line.

The entire story is a mismatch of thatched together songs, stories and movies that just vibed right in the moment (I am not an inventor, more an innovator in that sense). Kind of how a painter loses himself when painting, it was a story that was born from a moment.

Me,

alone.

In my room,

with enough hash for two.

By reading this you are destroying it

The entire purpose of the story is the ‘cure’ I mentioned in that empty chair interview. I really wanted to forget a super special private moment that should have been ours forever and ever…but ‘Perfect-girl’ wasn’t there, she was awake, she was only a few streets away as I penned my thoughts, a few suburbs away as I obsessively read over it and got the wording right, her head was just as big a chaotic mess at the same time…

but, I can not promise you clarity in what I am about to say, nor even the truth

Memories are like falling tree’s in the forest, if the witnesses aren’t there, did it ever even happen?


 

That’s just about all the flashback we can handle for one Friday. Until next time, we’ll leave you with a quote about kissing from none other than Albert Einstein (yeah, he actually said something about kissing!):

“Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves.”

THATSALLFOLKS_z

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