#ltse

[szepkerekkocka]

America’s newest stock exchange wants to fix one of capitalism’s fundamental challenges

The Long-Term Stock Exchange, explained.

[itstheidiotluna]

Learning to Seek Euphoria - Chapter 12

AGAIN I APOLOGISE FOR THE LENGHT OF THIS POST- I RUN THIS BLOG ON MOBILE SO I CANT PUT ANYTHING IN A READ MORE IM SORRY Genre: Angst, a bit of fluff Warnings: swearing (I don’t know if there is any in this chapter but…) , alcohol, alcoholism, depression, Summary: Dan is a musician who is really depressed, his music isn’t selling because it’s so depressing, and his labels threatening to drop him. So his manager sends him on a self exploration trip with Phil, a cheerful traveller and poet. Disclaimer: I hope I don’t offend anyone, I am in no way trying to imply anything about Dan or Phil. Also, I don’t know that much about Saint Helena :/ like seriously the stuff about wildlife, I have no clue. A/N: It feels like forever since I updated this fic last, it must be months! I apologise but lots of things got in the way, but I finally have the next chapter. It’s a long one, but I’ve worked really hard on this for about a month. Only ½ chapters left to go! I love all of you who read this, just being able to finish something for once is going to be amazing. Hope you enjoy.

~~~

And so here I am. A fancy black jacket draped on my shoulders and a bow tie wrapped around my collar. I look out the blacked-out windows, as the late evening sky spreads out beautifully like an oil painting. A long strip of red with lights flashing either side stretches in front of me. My hand rests excitedly on the smooth silver handle of the sleek car, buzzing and itching to pull and unleash my future. But I guess I should go back to where I last left off. Seems a pretty good place to start.

~*~

After landing at Heathrow Airport, with my heart smashed and held in my pocket, I got a taxi home. Despite the throbbing ache in my chest and the emptiness beside me, I couldn’t help but see things. The branches waving up to the pale apricot and saffron sky in a twisting, lovely dance that appeared to grow endlessly to reach as far as they could. The cats eyes on the roads glowed like bioluminescents and the streetlights flickered and flew like fireflies. The Thames shone like silver, and must have come from a measly, thread-bare stream somewhere back in its past. I guess I took a bit of the Island home with me. I saw pieces of it everywhere. I saw his face everywhere, but I stopped that pretty quickly. I returned to my crappy little apartment by sunset. I payed the taxi driver, and slipped my little silver key into the lock, twisted, pushed and walked into the sardine can I called home not long ago. Nothing had changed, but it seemed as though I was seeing the place for the first time. Empty bottles clogged the corners and shelves hiding my guitar, keyboard and books. How long had I hid them from myself? How long has it been that I had enjoyed my music? Too long. I had managed those two weeks without alcohol on The Island. I could do this. Summoning every bit of strength I could find within myself, I strode to my kitchen, reached under my dirty, cracked sink and grabbed a black bin liner. With a smash and endless cracks, I swept every last bottle in my flat into that bag, empty or full. With the crescendo of those bottles filling my ears, I felt like I was breaking my restraints. And I was doing this all by myself. I was strong, and I was going to do this. Not for Rich. Not for Phil. Not even for Grace. I was going to turn my life around for myself.

After consulting my doctor, he prescribed me medication and had me attend a few AA meetings. At first I was terrified: if I depended on drink to ease the pain in my life, take the edge off my grief, would I be able to cope with the horrors of my life at full force? No, was my original, anxious answer, but after a few weeks of telling myself I was strong and capable, I started to believe it. I could do this. And not to spoil anything, but I did. 6 months sober and counting. It wasn’t easy, but I was strong and determined. Grace would be proud, I think. Around this time, I started writing again. I thought it would be like before, all my ideas basically becoming my own depressed monologue. But as I picked up my pen on a sunny afternoon in my bright, clean flat, everything flowed out. Some sadness, yes, but also so much more. Happiness, awe, amazement, joy; things I thought I’d never experience again, much less write about.

Something About Memories Striped Dreams Through your eyes Proud Stay here Arcadia Shelter Heart on fire

And finally:

Euphoria

All these songs just came out. Rich couldn’t believe it. “Where did all of this come from?” He breathed in amazement as he read my notebook, filled with songs for the album. He looked up at me in the bright studio where I had just arrived. “Where do you think?” I remark with a quick, sarcastic exhale. “God, that guy deserves a medal” I shook my head, placing my headphones around my ears “Doesn’t he just”

~*~ Did I get over Phil? Well, I’d like to tell you I think so. But the truth is I don’t know. Do you ever fully get over someone? Whether you like it or not, people that you meet, and share are a relationship with (no matter what that relationship may be) affect your life forever, in ways you could never possibly imagine. But it wasn’t all Phil. Phil sparked something in me, but the kindling was already there, buzzing, waiting to burst into flames and throw off sparks and embers like a firework. Phil didn’t give me strength, he taught me that I already had it. I asked Rich about Phil, but he said he hadn’t heard of any more exciting adventures he was embarking on. He guessed that he was at home with his family. I couldn’t imagine the helium balloon that is Phil being buoyed down somewhere for that long. Nevertheless, I stopped asking.

It was a crisp morning when I walked through the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery. It was quiet, save for a the flutter of a few birds’ wings and the faint swell of notes of Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” that drifted from a distant window. It was peaceful here. The leaves crunched beneath my feet as I caught sight of the branches that rustled above me, blazing bright orange and saffron in the soft sunlight. Autumn, Grace once told me, was truly underestimated. In every poem she studied in school, she was taught that autumn signified death. Sure the leaves died, but they’re just there to make food during summer. The tree survives the winter, because it isn’t flaky and pretty and transient like the leaves, the trunk and its branches are sturdy and strong and beautiful. It can and will survive-providing someone doesn’t chop it down. So autumn never meant death to Grace; she saw only survival, endurance and more beauty. Those thoughts will stay forever in my mind. Just because Grace can’t speak, doesn’t mean her story, and everything that made her wonderful can’t be told. God, I hadn’t been here in an age. I turned a corner and found the path I needed. As I walked towards my destination, I stared at all the curves of carved stone, glinting on top in the light of the rising sun; how many stories were here? How many missed opportunities, and how many crazily taken? How many broken hearts and how many romances of a lifetime? How much heartache and how many adventures? I approached the light yellow grave stone that shone like no one else’s. A carved angel on top stood, hands not folded like many of the others - deep in prayer- but held up to the sky, as if to show the world her gift of the rising sun, resting perfectly atop her fingertips as i crouched down. “Hi Grace… It’s been a while” I said, glancing at the face of the angel who so resembled her “things are different now, you’ll be glad to hear.” I rested the bouquet I had been holding to my chest until now gently on the ground “I brought you these, they’re called Larkspur. Their supposed to symbolise a beautiful spirit, so I knew I had to bring you them” I sighed and turned my head to the sunlight that was slowly spreading across the sky, warming the scene and pushing away the cold night air. “I’ve been away for a while, you see. I went on this crazy adventure with a poet on this island… It was so beautiful, Grace. I learned so much about the world and myself an I… I thought I’d fallen in love, for a while. But he and I… Well we went our separate ways… But he made me realise that what I did was wrong. I threw myself into grief when I should have been living for you. I should have opened myself up to seeing the world the way you did. "But I’m turning myself around. I’m off alcohol, I’m writing and I’m… Im learning to live. You see, this crazy philosopher of mine told me once that I needed to seek Euphoria. That I needed to find my source of pure, exhilarating joy. Well, I haven’t found it yet, but I’ve come pretty close. I’ll find my way.” And with that I rose and, stroking the rough flowing hair of the angel figure, I turned away and left the cemetery, my feet barely touching the ground.

~*~

As I go to tug the small silver handle, a hand rests on my shoulder. “Are you sure you want to do this, mate?” I turn and smile at my friend. Rich has seen me turn my life around, yet he’s always there to put a hand on my shoulder to remind me I’m not alone. How did I ever hate this guy? Did I ever really? “I’m great, Rich. You don’t need to worry” He flashes a small smile back at me, and, with a reassuring tap, gets out of his side of the car.

The lights flash all around as I exit the taxi. It’s a glimmering whirlwind of camera flashes and screams and curious questions and famous faces smiling and waving. I glide into the arena in this swirl of magic and glittering fame. I’m so buzzed just to be here that I don’t pay much attention to what’s going on onstage until Rich grips my hand “It’s your category” he whispers breathlessly, his eyes shining. I don’t think he ever believed we’d get this far in a lifetime, let alone just over a year. I smile at him, full of gratitude, until the reality of what he has just said hits me like a tonne of bricks. I’m nominated for a BRIT award. I’m nominated for Best Single of the Year. Oh

My God Squeezing Rich’s hand as he increases his vice-like grip, I turn to look at where a beautiful woman and handsome man are stood, in designer outfits, holding a golden envelope. I’m up against the likes of Ed Sheeran, Rita Ora and One direction- I’m honoured to be nominated. I can’t wait to see them accepting their award- whichever of them wins it- knowing that I was ranked among them. The stadium grows quiet, as the reading of the nominations stop and the woman begins fumbling with an envelope. “And the BRIT Award goes to…” In that moment, time appears to stop. I look out among the famous faces and audience members, and marvel at the slowly glittering lights filling the arena, like a night sky full of sky, bearing more wishes than you could ever wish on. “Daniel Howell with Euphoria ” What The Fuc- I’m being launched into the air as Rich grabs my hand and pulls me into a hug that makes almost every one of my ribs break but- I won. That little song which I wrote on a sunny hilltop near my flat, crying with all the emotions that I had experienced through the last two years and grinning like an idiot at the world I had now entered, reflecting on all I had learnt- that little song won me a BRIT Award. I grab Rich in a vice like grip of my own, and as much as I wish I had a better grip over my emotions, I begin crying like an idiot. But people are clapping, cheering, yelling my name. Famous faces around me applaud and smile. My producers clap me on the back as Rich propels me towards the steps to the stage. I almost trip up the steps, I’m shaking so much. The stage spreads before me, sleek black gloss reflecting the billions of glimmering lights within the arena. A roar starts up from the crowd, like the crash of a waterfall on the pool below. This is it: all my dreams have led to this. The people presenting the award hand over the shining idol, covered in bright colours like bioluminescent fungi, glowing blue, orange, green into the dark night. I hold the award, feeling the weight of it, lightly running my thumb over the engraving of my name, as though afraid it will rub off. But it doesn’t, and I stare at it in awe. The arena falls silent. “Uh-” I begin. Strong start. “This may sound cliché, but I did not think I would win tonight, so I didn’t even write a speech. … Well I’d like to thank Angela Creek and John O'Shea for producing my album, as well as their team who put in so much effort and work as well to produce this album that I am so proud of.” I take a deep breath and look amongst the crowd near my table where I know a smug grin will be spread on a certain someone’s face. “I’d also like to thank my manager Richard. Rich you stuck by me with everyone else gave up, including myself. Cheers mate.” In this moment I’m back on that mountain, looking out at the swaying tree tops and soaring paradise birds. I see my potential. I see my dreams laid out before me. I see Euphoria. “I’d also like to thank someone else. A while ago, I met someone who completely changed my outlook on life. They saved me from destroying all hope of any of this. And for that I am truly thankful. They taught me so much, which influenced my songs. I loved them. It wasn’t to be, but even now, a part of me will always be their’s. They taught me that Euphoria is hard to find, but not impossible. But you’ll never find it if you don’t learn to seek it. You have to want to find that paradise, and then just go for it. I guess that’s what my single- the song that won me this- is all about. We work for our dreams. But when those a those dreams come true..” I grin at the crowd before me as I feel myself becoming absorbed by a bright, exhilarating light “…it’s so worth it. Thank you all so much” I walk off, my feet barely touching the polished floor as the crowd roars once more.

~*~

“Er- Dan?” I turn my head to glance at a clearly drunk Rich beside me. The cocky grin he wore half an hour ago has been replaced by a somewhat bemused expression. The technicians swarm around me, buzzing around me with their endless wires. “Yeah Rich?” I say halfheartedly. Despite my exhilaration at winning my award, I’m beginning to become nervous about my performance. I’m about to perform at the BRIT Awards. Shit. “Someone wants to see you” he tries to grab my arm, but missed in his drunken haze. “It can wait Rich, I’m on in a few minutes” I stop fiddling with my hands and hold Rich’s shoulder as he continues muttering. “Wish me luck” the technicians call me. “Good luck kid, but-” “No buts” I reply “see you on the other side”

I stand on that stage once more. The crowd roars once more as I am introduced. As the intro begins, I’m back to the island. The rains on the first day, the squirrel monkey beast, that midnight confessions, the jewels of bioluminescent fungi, fireflies and Phil’s beautiful poetry. The ache in my feet from hiking, the raw rope burn on my palms from assembling the tent and the smell of all kinds of beautiful trees and colourful flowers. Red Camillas and Striped Carnations. The river, the waterfall and the peak of the Volcano. Phil’s lips on mine, his giddy laughter and weird and wonderful facts. His undying hope. Hope. That summed it all up.

“The dark is scary when you’re all alone, I tried to push it all away but I couldn’t let go, Tried to fight it all to hide the pain I felt inside,

You can drown it in Jack but you wash your hands, Of your sick and twisted sad little wonderland, So you throw it all away so you can just hide,

But blue eyed philosophy will seek you out, They get you turning all around and you try to scream out, But your arms get weary so they lift you up, Bathe you in their light as they stand by your side,

But even in the darkness of my mind, I feel I get a little left behind.

But then you showed me that Time can heal and baby so can I, And now I’m climbing over mountains, one day I’ll reach the sky, This trickling stream’s running, glowing like fireflies, I may not know it all but I think I I found my euphoria in you, I found my euphoria in you, I believe it all when I got you, I found my euphoria in you,

The clouds start lifting with your hand in mine, You tell me all your secrets and you show me your mind, I never guessed I’d find my salvation in you,

You light a fire that burns through the dark, And you teach me that the world can never take my spark, I’m more than I imagined but I owe it all to you

So now in mess that is my mind, I’m pushing all that darkness behind,

Because you showed me that Time can heal and baby so can I, And now I’m climbing over mountains, one day I’ll reach the sky, This trickling stream’s running, glowing like fireflies, I may not know it all but I think I I found my euphoria in you, I found my euphoria in you, I believe it all when I got you, I found my euphoria in you,

Glowing bright I always had it in me, But you’re the one who taught me how to see This island glows like the northern lights But I found my paradise in your eyes

I found my euphoria in you

Oh baby you showed me that Time can heal and baby so can I, And now I’m climbing over mountains, one day I’ll reach the sky, This trickling stream’s running, glowing like fireflies, I may not know it all but I think I I think I I found my euphoria in you, I found my euphoria in you, I believe it all when I got you, I found my euphoria in you,

I found my euphoria in you”

And with that I’m with a joy like no other. It can’t- no it must be- there’s nothing like it: Euphoria.

I step of the stage, elated my feet barely touching the ground. I unattach my mic, smiling so hard my face almost splits in two. That was honestly the best performance I’ve ever done. “DAN!” I swivel round to see Rich, with a mixture of pride and urgency on his face. “What’s up Rich?” I ask, resting my hand on his shoulder to slow him down. “The person- here to talk to you… I couldn’t stop him- he left- Dan you have to-” I laughed “Whoever this person is, it can wait until tomorrow Rich, I’m going to my dressing room-” “No, Dan you don’t understand it’s-” I’ve already turned the corner. Rich is so excitable, one high up press guy wanting to chat to me and Rich makes a song and dance about it.

Pushing open my dressing room door, I walk towards the sofa, just about to drop myself onto it when a glinting light catches my eye. I walk towards the source, a small pile of gold on the coffee table. Picking the object, I examine it. A locket. Gold with a heart engraved on the front. … The locket. His locket. What the hell is this doing here. Turning it in the light, I notice that it’s slightly open. Prising apart the locket, I see that something has changed. There’s something in it. A small face, staring out at the horizon, the golden light of sunset bathing it. Wisps of light brown hair scatter across the smooth forehead. The brown eyes gaze in wonder at all the potential and hope laid out before them, crinkling at the corners as a small smile spreads across the face, a slight dimple enhanced by the evening shadows. Those eyes glow with all the gifts of Euphoria. It’s me. His words echo through my mind: “He told me that this locket is my heart, and if I can ever confidently, without a shadow of a doubt, put someone’s picture in this locket, then I know I’m in love” He loves me. Before I know what I’m doing I’m running, not caring who i barge into. I clasp the gold chain in my hand, my heart pounding as tears threaten to break. Finally, I turn a corner to find Rich. He looks startled, about to say something, but he doesn’t have time. I grip his shoulders in a vice like grip, searching his eyes. “Where did he go, Rich?! Where’s Phil?”

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