clinging to the wreckage

I think that the most hilarious story I ever read was one in which Charles Bukowski explained that he wanted to call the police on his neighbours. Why? Because they left the house to go to work each morning at 8am and they returned at 6pm. At 9:30pm their lights would go out and they would all go to sleep, only to repeat the process the following day. For this behaviour, Bukowski wanted to call the police. He was the first to acknowledge, however, that his call would fall upon deaf ears as he did not have much of a case. Never the less, the story tells us so much about his unique mind and his original outlook on life. He considered it unacceptable, nothing short of a crime, to spend life behaving in a conventional manner. Conventional thought and behaviour was something that Bukowski would not tolerate and he spent his entire life writing prose and poems about this very thing. It wasn’t so much that he had to point it out or specifically mention it, unconventional thoughts simply o

Why does it mean so much to me and so little to them? Why is it so easy for them to walk away and move on whilst I remain lingering in hope and clinging to the fading memories, making a fool of myself as they replace me with the next fresh flavour?

Wake up, Monday morning, wondering why… what is the point of it all? The second you step outside you see them; the busy ones buzzing around, coffee cups in hand and their days carefully planned. They are so excited to be heading back to their offices… to be escaping their families… to push onwards and upwards for a profitable new week whilst you feel as if you just might die at any given moment. It doesn’t matter if you drive or walk or catch a train, you will see them everywhere... they will be holding their Starbucks coffee… it’s not about the coffee, it is about the status, the symbol, the message. Everyone who drinks it has some serious mental issue. The younger ones sip a red bull… it is not about the drink… it is to say ‘I partied hard last night, I am cool, I never slept but I am still up and about my business… I repeat; I’m just so cool.’ So, what is the point? Why do we drag ourselves on through the sludge and drudgery of this daily play… this tragic comedy in which nobo

There are days such as today during which life feels almost liveable and enjoyable... made so by you. Sincerely. Through the darkness that I try to block you cast a blinding light and lift me beyond hope. Clinging to this through deaths calls I arrive at home after a troublesome drive upon flooded roads to read the first chapter of A Moveable Feast having being advised that I shouldn’t give up on the author simply because I disagree with his lifestyle... this was good advice considering how much enjoyment the language and imagery of that first chapter brought to me. However, after a short period of time, I had to escape from that too and so I had a brief flick through certain social websites and found myself floundering in fear of these modern times and modern humanity. As Greg Graffin once wisely said: ‘Welcome to the New Dark Ages.’ Celebrity gossip seems to be more important than actually learning something in modern life. There is no thought, no creativity, no individuality...