Steve [Between the Sacred Silence and Sleep]

Hey, I'm Steve. Hopefully you knew that already because why else would you be reading my profile? I have a degree in History from SUNY Stony Brook.
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Hey- Have you ever been watching a tape of something you recorded and continually forgot to fast forward through the commericals? Yeah me too.
"No matter how many awards- or how many column inches are written about you- or how high the elected office is for me- it still isn't enough, am I right? We still feel like the little man? The loser they told us we were? A hundred times. The smart-asses at college. The high-ups. The well-born. The people whose repsect we really wanted. Really craved. And isn't that why we work so hard now? Why we fight for every inch? Scrambling our way up, in undignified fashion, whatever hillock or mountain it is, why we never tire, why we find energy or motivation when any sensible person would lie down, or relax. If we're honest for a minute. If we reflect privately just for a moment... if we allow ourselves... a glimpse into that shadowy place we call our soul, isn't that why we're here now...? The two of us? Looking for a way back? Into the sun? Into the limelight? Back onto the winner's podium? Because we could feel it slipping away? We were headed, both of us, for the dirt. The place the snobs always told us we'd end up. Face in the dust. Humiliated all the more for having tried so pitifully hard. Well no, hell with that. We're not going to let that happen. Either of us. We're going to show those bums, and make them choke on our continued success. Our continued headlines. Our continued awards, power and glory. We're going to make those motherfuckers choke. Am I right?" -Richard Nixon to David Frost in Peter Morgan's Frost/Nixon
"Stop!...
What do you get?
Someone to hold you too close,
Someone to hurt you too deep,
Someone to sit in your chair,
To ruin your sleep.
Someone to need you too much,
Someone to know you too well,
Someone to pull you up short
And put you through hell.
Someone you have to let in,
Someone whose feelings you spare,
Someone who, like it or not,
Will want you to share
A little, a lot.
Someone to crowd you with love,
Someone to force you to care,
Someone to make you come through,
Who'll always be there,
As frightened as you
Of being alive,
Being alive,
Being alive,
Being alive
Somebody, hold me too close,
Somebody, hurt me too deep,
Somebody, sit in my chair
And ruin my sleep
And make me aware
Of being alive,
Being alive.
Somebody, need me too much,
Somebody, know me too well,
Somebody, pull me up short
And put me through hell
And give me support
For being alive,
Make me alive.
Make me confused,
Mock me with praise,
Let me be used,
Vary my days.
But alone is alone, not alive.
Somebody, crowd me with love,
Somebody, force me to care,
Somebody, make me come through,
I'll always be there,
As frightened as you,
To help us survive
Being alive,
Being alive,
Being alive!"
-"Being Alive" from Company by Stephen Sondheim
Devil's Arcade by Bruce Springsteen, from the album Magic
Remember the morning we dug up your gun
The worms in the barrel, the hangin' sun
Those first nervous evenings perfume and gin
The lost smell on your breath as I helped you get it in
The rush of your lips, the feel of your name
The beat of your heart, the devil's arcade
You said heroes are needed, so heroes get made
Somebody made a bet, somebody paid
The cool desert morning, then nothin' to save
Just metal and plastic where your body caved
The slow games of poker with Lieutenant Ray
In the ward with the blue walls, a sea with no name
Where you lie adrift with the heroes
Of the devil's arcade
You sleep and dream of your buddies Charlie and Jim
And wake with the thick desert dust on your skin
A voice says "Don't worry, I'm here"
Just whisper the word 'tomorrow' in my ear
A house on a quiet street, a home for the brave
The glorious kingdom of the sun on your face
Rising from a long night as dark as the grave
On a thin chain of next moments
And something like faith
On a morning to order, a breakfast to make
A bed draped in sunshine, a body that waits
For the touch of your fingers
The end of a day
The beat of your heart, the beat of your heart
The beat of your heart, the beat of her heart
The beat of your heart, the beat of her heart
The beat of her heart, the slow burning away
Of the bitter fires of the devil's arcade