clinging to the wreckage

A week spent pushing the limits. Too much alcohol. Too little sleep. Too many interactions. Too many emotions. Finally the play, the dance, the decay… the constant striving of people for sex… driven by the genetic coding deigned to cause every living species to procreate, and yet humans do it with less finesse than any other species. We get drunk and turn into a species massively inferior to all others and we focus on nothing other than the most attractive person in the room. I am guilty, I find myself in a room and taken by a magnificent specimen. I approach and talk for a few seconds but I don’t have the drive or competitiveness to compete with the other gorillas all looking to mate. I sit in the corner with a drink and watch the date dance – the queue of primates trying to break through – people oblivious to what they are doing or why but simply driven by primal instincts. I finish my drink, take my coat off the rack, and sneak silently out of the door before a

Every day I awake to a blue sky and although it makes everyone happy, it somehow depresses me. It never changes… every day another clear blue sky. But I should not complain because on the winter week days I awake in darkness and get up to prepare for work. I walk to the office in the cold morning air, filled with anxiety and depression. The thoughts I harbour upon that walk are all bad thoughts… thoughts of aggressive environments, thoughts of lost love and of the fickle nature of human beings.             I am grateful for these mornings in bed, alone, with music and books. The sounds of Johnny Cash’s ‘Get Rhythm’ currently fill the room and the day stretches out before me filled with leisure time. This is happiness. And yet I am aware that the normal anxiety will creep in as the day comes to an all too abrupt conclusion and the threat of a five-day working week looms. It is not working hard that I fear, it is the attitude of people… the pressure that we exert

We had lunch in the Mosque… it was quiet, romantic, beautiful, peaceful. The scent of the food wafted through as I gazed into you and you told me about your weekend with intensity and laughing… and the very same fucking day there was an Islamist attack in Paris whereby 12 French cartoonists were killed for drawing Mohammed in their magazine. It’s a tragedy I simply cannot reconcile with and one that makes me fear even more deeply for the human race as a whole. We have fallen so deeply into an abyss; an abyss where shooting people is not as bad as drawing the image of a man-made god. Pain magnified. Different levels of pain. Yesterday there was total silence and today two words. Two words which may as well have been ‘fuck you’. They weren’t quite but they meant as much. And so I sit here, Friday night, alone, sipping a glass of wine and watching a film about an Amateur American poet. My thoughts, of course, turn to you and… one of the last things true… a genuine

Each time I think of meeting up with you I remember your walk and I change my mind. It’s strange that you still contact me. But, I suppose, we are always contacted by those we are not interested in. I do it, I contact people I am interested in and most probably because I know they are not interested in me. I am not sure if it is because we are all aiming too high or if it is the challenge or if it is simply a security measure built into us… we go for those who don’t want us because, ultimately, we are afraid of the person truly being interested. If we are going to sacrifice our lives in that way we may as well aim high and ensure that the pain is somewhat worth it. So many of us waste so much time waiting for, or clinging to, or obsessed with someone who does not have the slightest of interest in us. It’s a food chain, and endless competition. Like social media content… everyone striving for the best photo – these days it’s action sports – if you can get one of yo